However, through the open door, I could hear the four ladies whispering together and stifling their outbursts of laughter; I had never seen them so gay. I made up my mind. I crossed the room, and, shaking off the pretty little white slippers which my mother had embroidered for me, jumped into bed. I was not long in finding out that it was no longer my own narrow little bed. It was immense, and I hesitated a moment, not knowing which way to turn. I felt nevertheless a feeling of physical comfort. The bed was warm, and I do not know what scent rose from its silken coverlet. I felt myself sink into the mass of feathers, the pillows, twice over too large and trimmed with embroidery, gave way as it were beneath me, burying me in a soft and perfumed abyss. At length the ladies rose, and after giving a glance round the room, doubtless to make sure that nothing was lacking, approached the bed. “Good-night, my dear girl,” said my mother, bending over me. She kissed me, carried her handkerchief, now reduced to a wet dab, to her eyes, and went out with a certain precipitation. “Remember that the old friend of the family kissed you on this night, my love,” said Madame de P., as she moistened my forehead. “Come, my little lamb, good-night and sleep well,” said my aunt, with her smile that seemed to issue from her nose. She added in a whisper: “You love him, don’t you? The slyboots! she won’t answer! Well, since you love him so much, don’t tell him so, my dear. But I must leave you; you are sleepy. Goodnight.” And she went away, smiling. At length I was alone. I listened; the doors were being closed, I heard a carriage roll along the road; the flame of the two candles placed upon the mantelshelf quivered silently and were reflected in the looking-glass. I thought about the ceremony of that morning, the dinner, the ball. I said to myself, clenching my fists to concentrate my thoughts: “How was Marie dressed? She was dressed in--dressed in--dressed in--” I repeated the words aloud to impart more authority to them and oblige my mind to reply; but do what I would, it was impossible for me to drive away the thought that invaded my whole being. “He is coming. What is he doing? Where is he? Perhaps he is on the stairs now. How shall I receive him when he comes?” I loved him; oh! with my whole soul, I can acknowledge it now; but I loved him quite at the bottom of my heart. In order to think of him I went down into the very lowest chamber of my heart, bolted the door, and crouched down in the darkest corner. At last, at a certain moment, the floor creaked, a door was opened in the passage with a thousand precautions, and I heard the tread of a boot--a boot!