I know that it was absurd and ridiculous to believe in such a deliberate piece of coquetry when apparently overcome by such a weight of sorrow; but whether it was the result of her habitual desire to appear charming, or was merely accidental, it would be impossible to see anything more perfect than the expression of her uplifted eyes, shining so beautifully through the limpid crystal of her tears; her slender, graceful form thus bending on the carpet, her swan-like throat with its lovely curve, and even her charming foot with its high instep, that was exposed by the disorder of her costume, as well as her ankle and the lower part of a delicate limb bound with the ribbons that fastened her black satin slippers,--the whole picture was ravishing. After my first astonishment and my doubt as to the reality of her grief, my only feeling was one of admiration at the sight of so much perfection. I hesitated for an instant, to decide whether I would enter suddenly, or whether go back to the door of the salon, and, by coughing slightly, give warning of my approach. Deciding on the latter, immediately I heard the doors of the little cabinet close suddenly, and in an alarmed voice Madame de Pënâfiel called out: "Who is that?" I advanced, giving many excuses, but saying how there had been no one to announce me. She answered: "I beg your pardon, but as I felt far from well, I had ordered no one to be admitted. I supposed my orders had been carried out." I could only offer a thousand excuses, and turn to go away. But she said: "If the companionship of a poor nervous and miserable woman does not alarm you, I beg that you will stay. It would give me real pleasure." When she told me to remain, and said that she had given orders to let no one in (which explained the absence of the _valets_ in the waiting-room), I had no more hesitation in believing the scene of the crucifix was a piece of acting, and that the servant's orders were to let no one enter but me. Of course this fine piece of reasoning was but the height of folly and impertinence, such a thing being quite improbable, but I preferred being conceited enough to think a woman of Madame de Pënâfiel's position capable of deceiving me by a miserable comedy, than to believe that she was suffering one of those terrible hours of mental agony, when we can only implore the aid and protection of God. If for a moment I had reflected how often I, who also was young and in the enjoyment of every worldly pleasure, had been subject to just such an overpowering sense of causeless chagrin, the sad state in which I found Madame de Pënâfiel would have been quite clear to my mind. But no, my incarnate distrust and fear of deception paralysed my reason and generosity.