“Uncle, weren’t you to play a game of backgammon this morning with that Englishman who challenged you yesterday?” “It isn’t this morning, my dear girl, but to-night that we are to play.” “I thought that it was this morning.” “You are mistaken.--Backgammon is a very fine game; do you play it, Monsieur Dalbreuse?” “A little, monsieur.” “It was Dazincourt who taught me; he was a very fine player. I remember that one evening we played for one of his wigs; it was the wig that he wore in--wait a minute--a beautiful wig, and that counts for a great deal on the stage. It was the wig he wore in----” Caroline rose and exclaimed impatiently: “That will do for to-day; I do not want to tire monsieur; let’s go to drive; it is a fine day and I long for the fresh air. Uncle, will you be good enough to fetch my bonnet?” Monsieur Roquencourt went to fetch the bonnet, scratching his ear and muttering: “Strange! I can’t remember the name of the part.” When he had left the room, Mademoiselle Derbin said to me: “To-morrow, if you choose, we will have a sitting earlier, when my uncle is reading the papers; for really he is terrible with his actors and his acting. One forgets what one is doing; it seems to me that you must be able to work better when there is no one beside you, talking; that is to say, monsieur, unless you are afraid to be alone with me.” She smiled as she said that; but there was a touch of sadness in her smile. “Really,” I thought, “this young woman is able to assume every sort of expression. Sometimes laughing, playful, mocking; sometimes serious, thoughtful, and languishing; she is never the same for two minutes.”--Was it art, I wondered, or was it that the different sensations that she felt were instantly depicted upon her features? It mattered little after all. However, I had not yet answered her question; I felt almost embarrassed. At that moment her uncle returned with her bonnet, crying: “This much is certain, that I won the wig by a _carme_, which gave me twelve points. Dazincourt jumped from his chair in vexation, and said: ‘I won’t play with you again.’” Mademoiselle did not care to listen to any more; she took my arm, and we left the room. She took me to drive, without even asking me if I would like to go with them; she evidently divined that it would give me pleasure. She was successful at divination: I was never bored with her. The next morning I went to her uncle’s room at the hour she had appointed; I found her alone; I had no feeling of confusion or embarrassment, for I had no declaration to make to her; even if she had attracted me, I should not have told her so. I was not free, and I did not propose to deceive her; but I had nothing to fear. My heart would never know the sensation of love again; I liked Mademoiselle Derbin’s company, I liked her disposition, her wit, her unreserve; I did full justice to her charms; but I was not in love with her.--I could never love again.