"Ah! If I hadn't been so childish as to marry for love, I would marry Mme. Suif's millions to-day, for Mme. Suif would be grateful to any man who would relieve her of her name. Being an architect of churches and ancient monuments, I could hardly get divorced, could I? But of course she may be willing to call herself Mme. Leonor Varin. For she looks at my nephew with no unfavourable eye!" "Thanks, I don't want her," said Leonor, blushing. Rose had looked at him and he had suddenly felt quite ashamed of his secret cupidity. Leonor, who was nearly thirty, looked older from a distance and younger from close at hand. He was large, rather massive and slow in his movements. But when one came near him one was surprised at the sentimental expression of his eyes, surprised at the youthful appearance of a beard that still seemed to be newly sprouting, at the awkwardness of his gestures and, when he spoke, the abrupt shyness of his speech; for he could hardly open his mouth without blushing. It is true that the moment after he would frown and contract his whole face into an expression of harshness. But the eyes remained blue and gentle in this frowning mask. Leonor was a riddle for everybody, including himself. He liked pondering, and when he thought of love it was to come to the conclusion that his ideal hovered between the daydream and the debauch, between the happiness of kissing, on bended knees, a gloved hand and the pleasure of lying languidly in the midst of a troop of odalisques of easy virtue. He had no suspicion that he was like almost all other men. He was afraid of himself and contemptuous too, when he caught himself thinking too complacently of Mme. Suif's millions, those millions that would give immediate satisfaction to his vices and, later on, to his sentimental aspirations. He looked at Rose in his turn, but Rose did not drop her eyes. Meanwhile, M. Hervart was growing bored. "Mme. Suif," said Lanfranc, "is still quite well preserved. For instance...." "Rose dear," interrupted M. Des Boys, "doesn't your mother want you?" "Oh, no, I'm sure she doesn't. Mother would only find me in the way." "Your father is right, Rose," said M. Hervart glad to make trial of his authority. She did not dare oppose her lover's wish, but she felt angry as she rose to go. "Acting like my master already!" she thought. "I should so like to listen to M. Lanfranc...." She dared not add: "... and to look at this M. Leonor and be looked at by him and still more, to hear them talk of Mme. Suif. What was he going to say? Oh, I don't want to know!" She entered the house, came out again by another door and hid herself in a shrubbery from which she could hear their voices quite clearly.