"Here's a lovely orange tree," she said; "for a long time I have wanted one in my boudoir; I like this one very much; don't you think it pretty?" "Yes, madame, very pretty." I was embarrassed; I kept my eyes on the ground, avoiding Nicette's. "I am afraid it's too large, though," continued Madame de Marsan. "Have you any others, my girl?--Well! why don't you answer?" Nicette did not hear her; she had her eyes fixed on me, and doubtless her expression was very eloquent, for Madame de Marsan, greatly surprised, scrutinized her closely; her pretty face, her confusion, my emotion, my embarrassed manner, aroused in Madame de Marsan's mind suspicions, which undoubtedly went beyond the truth. Women divine very swiftly, and their imagination travels fast. Madame de Marsan no longer loved me, but she had the curiosity which no woman ever loses on that subject, and, in pure deviltry, she pretended to be very fond of me. She entered the shop, leaning nonchalantly on my arm; she bestowed an amorous glance on me and addressed me in the familiar second person, which she had not done twenty times at the very outset of our liaison. "What do you think of these trees, my dear fellow? tell me which you like, my dear Dorsan; I want to choose the one you like best." Vexation and anger were suffocating me; I was hardly able to stammer a few disjointed words. I glanced at Nicette; I saw her turn pale and stagger; her eyes filled with tears; they seemed to say to me: "She loves you! do you love her?" Madame de Marsan saw it all; she smiled maliciously and watched Nicette closely. "What's the matter with you, child?" she asked, in a contemptuous tone; "you seem very much excited." "Nothing, madame, nothing's the matter," the poor girl replied, in a trembling voice, looking at Madame de Marsan and at me in turn. "What's the price of this orange tree?" "It's--it's--whatever you choose to give, madame; I don't care." "What's that? you don't care? That's a strange answer!--What do you think, my dear Dorsan? Come, answer; I don't know what's the matter with you to-night, really!" "When you are ready, madame, we will go." "Ah! I see, monsieur; you have reasons for not wanting to stay in this place with me; my presence embarrasses you--and seems to grieve mademoiselle! Ha! ha! this is too good! to grieve this poor child!--that would be cruel beyond words! Come, monsieur, when you choose. But, I beg you, don't leave her in despair.--Adieu, my girl!" She left the shop at last, and I followed her after glancing at Nicette. But she was crying and did not look at me.