He was not exactly jealous, but he had a certain amount of proper pride. Had he known that Madame de Gromance was unfaithful to him, his vanity would have suffered. On the other hand, the desire he had for the pretty creature was proportionate only to the desire he believed her to inspire in others. He was not at all sure that it was considered necessary to be the lover of Madame de Gromance, or of any other society woman; many of his intimate friends preferred an automobile to a mistress. He liked her well enough, and had no objection to being her lover so long as it was considered the thing, but if it was not, he could not see why he should persist in the matter. The deep animal instinct in him and his outlook as a man of the world scarcely agreed, and he was not clever enough to conciliate such conflicting elements, the result being that there was an imperfect, indeterminate tone about his remarks that rather fascinated Madame de Gromance, who would not take the trouble of finding the solution and making things clear. If it came to the point, his charmer would say to him, “Of course I’ve never loved any man but you!” but that was less in the hope of convincing him than in the desire to say the thing most fitting the occasion. And at such moments when reflection is at a disadvantage the tremendous difficulty presented by belief in such a statement never occurred to him. Later, when he began to reason, doubt assailed him. His doubt found expression in cruel and sarcastic remarks, and he practised the art of keeping his mind in a state of vague unrest. On this particular occasion he was less sulky and bitter than usual, and hardly even jealous or mistrustful. He merely displayed the ill-humour that naturally follows gratified desire. Madame de Gromance, on the contrary, was quite prepared for the blackest fit of spite and unkindness, for on that very day her strength, combined with her weakness, her natural inspiration and deep artifice had obtained from him a more liberal display of affection than that which on principle he usually vouchsafed. She had led him to overstep the bounds of moderation, a thing he did not easily forgive, for he was solicitous of his health, and keen on keeping in condition for exercise and sport. Whenever Madame de Gromance led him further than he wished, he afterwards avenged himself by unkind words and a still more unkind silence. She did not mind, for she loved love, and experience had taught her that all men are disagreeable as soon as they get what they want. So she calmly awaited the reproaches she knew she deserved. She was disappointed in her expectations, however, for a remark from Philippe showed her that his mind was quiet and at rest. “My shirtmaker is an ass,” he said. He carefully dressed himself before the glass, and turned great thoughts over and over in his mind. After a few moments of silence he asked in quite a pleasant tone: “You know Loyer, don’t you?”