With all his scepticism, Olivier was still a slave to current illogical prejudices. While he was young it had seemed the most natural thing in the world for him to carry on his intrigues under the shelter of pure-minded women who might happen to be friends or relatives of his mistresses. And yet he was astonished that Pierre was not shocked at the idea of Madame Bonnacorsi and Corancez installing themselves comfortably in the same compartment as Monsieur and Madame du Prat! But the principal portion of his reflections had to do with the painful deductions that had been interrupted for a few hours. "No," he thought, "this plump Italian and this mountebank from the South cannot interest him.--If he tolerates them at all, it is because they are in his secret; they represent an easy-going complicity, or they are simply people who know his mistress.--For I am sure he has one. Even though I did not know that he had passed the night away from his room, even had I not seen him in bed this morning, with sunken eyes and pallid complexion, even had I not held in my hands his ring with its inscription, I should only have to look at him now.--He is another man!" As he soliloquized in this way Olivier watched his friend intently, taking note of every movement with eager avidity, observing the very fluttering of his eyelids, of his respiration, as closely as a savage would note, analyze, and interpret the trampled grass, a footprint in the earth, a broken branch, a crumpled leaf upon the road taken by a fugitive. He also noticed the weakening of the exclusively Gallic character in Pierre, which he had formerly liked. The young man had been in love with Ely only three months; it was only three weeks since he had learned that she loved him; but by dint of thinking of her all his associations of ideas, all his quotations, had been modified insensibly but strikingly. His conversation was tinged with an exotic quality. He referred to Italian and Austrian matters quite naturally. He who formerly astonished Olivier by his absolute lack of curiosity, now appeared to enjoy with the pleasure of the newly initiated the stories of the cosmopolitan society to which he was attached by secret but none the less living bonds. He had now an interest in it, was accustomed to it, sympathized with it. And yet nothing in his letters had prepared his friend for this metamorphosis.