“I have presumed too much upon my strength,” she replied. “I was quite well up to the moment I was presented to this woman and heard her voice. Oh! that voice! Then Jacques came in, and I felt ill. Look, he is going to her. They are talking, and are alone. Go and tell him that he must not trample too much upon my heart. I am exhausted, and can bear no more.” She pronounced these last few words hesitatingly, and forced herself to smile, a convulsive smile like a nervous tremor. I do not think that I have ever seen her so beautiful. The absence of jewels in the midst of these well-dressed women and the simplicity of her toilette in these luxurious surroundings gave her something like a tragic character. I had no time to reply, for the professional “beater” was there with his stereotyped phrase— “Mademoiselle, allow me to present to you my young friend, Roland de Bréves, one of your most passionate admirers.” “With what selections are you going to charm us with this evening, mademoiselle?” the young noodle asked Camille, who was still vibrating with emotion. “It is rare good fortune to hear you in society; Madam de Bonnivet will make many people jealous.” “Really there is no occasion for it, sir,” Camille replied, and to correct his impertinence added: “I shall give a scene from _La Duchesse Blue_ with Bressoré, and then three or four fragments. Besides, your curiosity will soon be satisfied, for I can see Bressoré coming. He was acting this evening in the new play, but he has got away early. What luck!” “What good fortune for us,” her questioner said, “who will hear you all the sooner!” “No,” she brutally said, “for me to be able to go to bed all the sooner.” She turned her back on the young man, who was disconcerted by the harshness of this strange reply, to exchange a few equally amiable words with another gentleman who greeted her. The insolence of the phrases she uttered, she who was usually so gracious, proved quite well that she was hardly mistress of herself. Of what an outburst she would be capable if Madam de Bonnivet, as her attitude towards Jacques at that moment made me fear, gave too bold a display of coquetry. My anxiety was suddenly borne to its highest pitch. I understood that in insisting upon Camille figuring at this party, the cruel woman had not only proposed to put her husband’s suspicions at rest for ever. For that she relied upon other weapons. The dominant trait of her implacable nature was vanity, and this vanity wished to have the actress at her mercy, to revenge herself for the two humiliations she could not forget—the insulting heroism at the rooms, and the return of the bill for the bracelet with the receipt from the priest of Saint François Xaviers.