Clorinde smiled, compressed her lips in a peculiar fashion, and then in her turn looked at M. Kahn. The latter thereupon noticed that she was wearing an eccentric ornament which he had never seen before. It was a dog-collar encircling her bare neck; a real dog-collar of black velvet, with buckle, ring and bell. The bell was of gold, and a pearl tinkled inside it. Upon the collar there were two names in letters of diamonds, oddly twisted and interlaced. And from the ring a thick gold chain fell over her bosom, and then rose again, ending in a gold plate fastened to her right arm, on which were these words: _I belong to my master_. 'Is that a present?' softly asked M. Kahn, pointing to the ornament. Clorinde nodded assent, still keeping her lips compressed with a cunning, sensual expression. She had desired this servitude and she paraded it with shameless serenity, as though she felt honoured by a sovereign's choice, an object of envy to every other woman. When she had made her appearance with this collar round her neck, on which the keen eyes of rivals fancied they could decipher an illustrious name interlaced with her own, every woman present had understood the truth, and had exchanged significant glances with her acquaintances. However, business in the refreshment room was suddenly becoming brisk. 'A glass of beer, madame, please,' said a fat gentleman wearing a decoration--a general--as he looked at Clorinde smiling. When she had brought the beer, two deputies asked her for some Chartreuse. A crowd was now pouring into the buffet, and orders were given on all sides for liqueurs, lemonade, biscuits, and cigars. And the men, while staring at Clorinde, repeated in whispers the various stories which were current. For her part she turned her neck in all serenity, the better indeed to show her dog-collar and the heavy gold chain which tinkled as she moved. That she had been a queen of the left hand imparted additional piquancy to her present assumption of the part of a waiting-maid, who, answering every one's beck and call, dragged statuesque feet--which had been passionately kissed by august moustaches--over the floor of a mock café, amongst pieces of lemon-peel and biscuit-crumbs. 'It's really quite amusing,' the young woman said, as she came back and stood by M. Kahn. 'One of the gentlemen actually gave me a pinch just now! But I didn't say anything. What would have been the good? It's all for the sake of the poor, isn't it?' M. Kahn motioned to her to stoop, and when she had done so, he whispered: 'Well, what about Rougon?' 'Hush! You'll know everything soon,' she replied, in equally low tones. 'I have sent him an invitation card, and I am expecting his arrival.' Then, as M. Kahn wagged his head, she added, with animation: 'Yes, yes, I know him, I'm sure he'll come. And besides he knows nothing of what has happened.'