“Why can one only please a woman by being as womanish as herself in the worst sense of the word? The charming Camille is happy now. She is undressing and dressing with the gaiety of a brave creature who has been under fire and won a battle for the man she loves. She has acted so well in this scene. Hardly is her back turned when he deceives her. This treachery doubles the pleasure he experiences in manœuvring with the other woman. No coquette ever had her eyes so lit with desire to please as the famous author then. He is cordially shaking hands with the two men who are with the lady! One of them probably is her husband and the other a rival. Good, he is talking of me, for her wicked blue eyes had fixed me with the aid of glasses. Let me follow the play. It will be more worthy and more agreeable.” Was I talking to myself quite frankly? No, alas, I vaguely felt I was not. Molan’s perfidy, and it alone, would not have disgusted me like this. Had it been applied to any other person than the little Burne-Jones girl of the Vaudeville, I should have found it amusing enough. Particularly I should have been diverted by his somewhat sheepish look when he got back to our box. “You have not quite the air of triumph I expected, but everything seemed to go on well from the distance.” “Very well,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “Madam de Bonnivet has invited me to supper with her after the performance.” “But what of little Favier?” I asked. “You have put your finger on the sore,” he replied. “I have promised to see her home. I cannot desert her at the last moment.” “Ah, well!” I said, “desert Madam de Bonnivet. She does not play in the piece, and as you admitted just now, is a coquette and a half. She will invite you again.” “In the meantime, I have accepted,” he interrupted, “that was the coquettish thing to do. Playing with women would be very simple if it only consisted of feigning coldness. There are times when one has to take a high hand with them, while at others one must obey their lightest caprice. So I repeat I have accepted. I must find a way of getting rid of Camille. Good,” he said after a moment’s silence; “I think I have it, if you will help me. I will present you to Madam de Bonnivet. She will invite you to supper; she is a woman of that sort. You will refuse.” “I should refuse in any case,” I replied. “But I do not understand your scheme.” “You will see later,” he said, his eyes again expressing the joy he felt in performing before a sympathetic audience of one; “give me the pleasure of scheming and promise to do something else for me. Oh, it is nothing wrong, noble person. This is the interval. Before going to see Queen Anne, we will go and see Camille again. It is all in the scheme. What a good house there is to-night!”