For a moment Juliette betrayed signs of embarrassment, but speedily regained her self-possession. “Of course, I should be very happy. Only I have so many things to look after; I must do some shopping first, and I have no idea at what time I shall be able to get to Madame de Chermette’s.” “That doesn’t matter,” said Hélène; “it will enable me to have a walk.” “Listen; I will speak to you candidly. Well, you must not press me. You would be in my way. Let it be some other Monday.” This was said without a trace of emotion, so flatly and with so quiet a smile that Hélène was dumbfounded and uttered not another syllable. She was obliged to lend some assistance to Juliette, who suddenly decided to bring the table close to the fireplace. Then she drew back, and the rehearsal began once more. In a soliloquy which followed the scene, Madame de Guiraud with considerable power spoke these two sentences: “‘But what a treacherous gulf is the heart of man! In truth, we are worth more than they!’” And Hélène, what ought she to do now? Within her breast the question raised a storm that stirred her to vague thoughts of violence. She experienced an irresistible desire to be revenged on Juliette’s tranquillity, as if that self-possession were an insult directed against her own fevered heart. She dreamed of facilitating her fall, that she might see whether she would always retain this unruffled demeanor. And she thought of herself scornfully as she recalled her delicacy and scruples. Twenty times already she ought to have said to Henri: “I love you; let us go away together.” Could she have done so, however, without the most intense emotion? Could she have displayed the callous composure of this woman, who, three hours before her first assignation, was rehearsing a comedy in her own home? Even at this moment she trembled more than Juliette; what maddened her was the consciousness of her own passion amidst the quiet cheerfulness of this drawing-room; she was terrified lest she should burst out into some angry speech. Was she a coward, then? But all at once a door opened, and Henri’s voice reached her ear: “Do not disturb yourselves. I’m only passing.” The rehearsal was drawing to a close. Juliette, who was still reading Chavigny’s part, had just caught hold of Madame de Guiraud’s hand. “Ernestine, I adore you!” she exclaimed with an outburst of passionate earnestness. “Then Madame de Blainville is no longer beloved by you?” inquired Madame de Guiraud.