I opened the house door; I paid the cabman; Caroline gathered up her boxes, and I took her hand to lead her upstairs; for it was dark and we could hardly see. I was amazed that her hand did not tremble in mine. At the moment of such a tremendous change in her position she was not at all excited. She was a young woman of great strength of character--that was clear. At last we were in her apartment; an old woman on the same landing gave us a light, and Caroline was able to examine her new quarters. She looked about with rapture; I could see her joy gleaming in her eyes. "Oh! how pretty it is! how pretty it is!" she kept saying, again and again; and she sat down on the easy-chair, on the sofa, looked at herself in the mirror, examined her curtains, her commode, her clock, her table, her chairs. The bed was the only thing that she dared not examine. Was it from modesty? "You are satisfied, then?" I said inquiringly, as I took her on my knees. "Why, how could I help being? These rooms are charming; everything is so elegant, and nothing is lacking; I shall be just like any _comme il faut_ woman." "And you think you will be happy here?" "I feel already as if I could never go anywhere else." "I am delighted to have succeeded so well; everything here is yours." "Mine? really? You are too generous!" "And if you don't love me, you are at liberty to refuse to see me; I do not intend to put any price upon what I do." "Oh! what an idea! if I didn't love you, would I have consented to come with you? would I accept anything from you?" I allowed her to say no more; a kiss closed her mouth. The doorbell rang violently, and Caroline started up in alarm. "Who can that be?" she asked. I calmed her and opened the door. It was the man from the restaurant, with the supper I had ordered; that sight restored Caroline's gayety completely. We set the table; the basket was unloaded, the dishes placed on the table, the waiter dismissed. We were alone, on our own premises, our own masters. I was not very hungry, but I was pleased to see that my companion did honor to the repast. She partook of everything and declared that everything was good. "At all events," I said to myself, "she hasn't begun to play the _petite-maîtresse_ yet; she doesn't try to conceal her pleasure or her appetite." She admitted that she never had such a good supper at her aunt's, and that she loved good things to eat, sweetmeats, and muscat wine. Thereupon I filled her glass with muscatel. I did not wish to make her tipsy; but a little "point," I thought, would banish the last traces of ceremony that still held her gayety in check.