Léon stood and gazed after that coach which was carrying away from him his new conquest, and, caring no more for the ball, he made his way homeward, his brain in confusion, his heart a little troubled; his mind ran upon his adventure, and he reproached himself bitterly for not having found some means of carrying it a little farther. "Who can she be," he said to himself, "so attractive and so odd? She cannot be a _demi-mondaine_, with that noble bearing, at once modest and proud, and with such unmistakable ease of manner. What can she want? And why should she alternately encourage and repel me? She talked of her plans, and wanted to know all sorts of details about me; our meeting might prove a happy thing for her--yet I am never to see her again, and must never know who she is--Was she only playing with me? If I thought that, what a revenge I would take! But pray, how and on whom? She may not come to the next ball; I may have lost all trace of her forever. I should be sorry, for I am convinced that she is charming. What a soft sensuousness there is in her pretty, flexible figure! What beautiful eyes she has, and what an expressive voice! And such a graceful, witty way of talking! These three weeks are going to be endless. I had better spend them in looking for and finding her. It might be as well to get some sleep in the first place!" But there was no sleep for Léon that night. At an early hour he rose and began at once his search. II The whole of the first week was spent in searching the streets, shops, theaters, and pastry-cooks'; in following up every woman who seemed to bear the faintest resemblance to the stranger; committing a thousand blunders, and many impertinences, with no other result than to prove to himself the utter uselessness of his attempt. The second week found him thoroughly disheartened, and in the course of the third he began to wonder how much longer he was going to act as a puppet in the hands of a coquette who was perhaps only concealing herself from his eyes in order to enjoy the sight of his discomfiture. Then one day a missive was left at his door containing these words: "M. de Préval will of course remember that he is expected on Thursday at the Opera Ball at one A.M., under the clock." As he read, his hopes were fired anew. On the day appointed, midnight had scarcely struck when Léon took up his position beneath the clock, consumed with amorous impatience and keen curiosity. A long hour had slipped away when, at length, the white domino flitted by. She bowed slightly, and, slackening her pace to allow her companions to pass on before her, she accepted the arm that Léon had sprung up to offer her. Delighted to meet her again, beside himself with hope and happiness, he gently pressed her round arm to his side, and described in eloquent terms all the sufferings of the last few days, his vain search, his fears, his impatience. Quietly she listened, then suddenly interrupted him.