"No matter! You will find us sitting opposite the Cirque." "Very good!" "It will be about two o'clock. You may come and speak to me. They live near by, on Rue de Ponthieu. When they start to go home, I will say that I am waiting for Frédérique. They will leave me, I will stay with you, and then----" "Oh! you are adorable! I swear to love you all my life!" "Really? I thought that you were in love with Madame Dauberny too?" "With your friend? No, indeed; I have never dreamed of such a thing! I would have been glad to obtain her friendship; her original character pleased me mightily; but I have failed to do it. You must have noticed how coldly she treated me yesterday." "Yes, I did. But I don't know what has been the matter with her lately; she is so capricious; I see much less of her than I used." The doorbell rang, announcing visitors. I took leave of Madame Sordeville at once, fearing that something might happen to make her change her mind; for she was very capricious, too, and it was not safe to give her time to retract. "Until to-morrow!" I said, very tenderly, as I left the room. I was so happy, that I trod on air. I was sure of my triumph now. When a woman gives us an assignation, is it not equivalent to a surrender? And, under such circumstances, the man who does not grasp the opportunity is an idiot--or something worse! XXIX AN ENCOUNTER ON THE CHAMPS-ÉLYSÉES The day of my assignation was magnificently clear. I gave thanks to the weather; for if it had been stormy, she would not have been likely to walk on the Champs-Élysées; and the day before, in my delight, I had not thought of that. But everything seemed propitious, and I fairly swam in bliss. Pomponne curled his lip slightly, as he looked at me with an idiotic expression; the fellow evidently considered himself very penetrating. I thought of nothing but Armantine; I was really in love with her, and it seemed to me that I had never loved other women so dearly. While dressing, I found Madame Dauberny's note in my pocket. I was overjoyed that I had not heeded her advice; but still I reread the note once more. I determined that, when I met the writer, she would have to explain what she meant by that warning.--"Our brief intimacy," she wrote, "has left in my heart marks of its passage."--Really, I should not have suspected it, in view of her present treatment of me. I was on the Champs-Élysées a little before two. It was cold; but the sun was so bright that there were many people driving and walking. The Champs-Élysées is the general rendezvous of the world of fashion. Magnificent equipages passed back and forth, or vanished in the direction of the Bois de Boulogne, escorted by innumerable equestrians, who always glanced inside the carriages as they passed; and when they saw a young and beautiful woman, they instantly assumed a more dashing air, and made their steeds prance and curvet, so that horse and rider might be admired at the same time.