Since his return to Savoy three weeks ago, Jean had often gone to Le Maupas. He did not go there solely to comfort two poor sorrowing women. Paule attracted him immensely--by her pride, by her serious depth of feeling, by the youth which he knew her to be holding in check. He noticed with surprise at each of his visits, that this reserved, sensible girl, had a bright, lively spirit, ready to taste joy without timidity as she had tasted sorrow without flinching. With that touching trait of lovers, who try to magnify their love by imagining its extension back into the past, he connected with his present fascination little memories of long ago, of the times when he played with a laughing child Pauline. Forgetful of his own forgetfulness, he imagined an ancient fondness which had survived from childhood. But, still more, with instinctive clearness of vision he felt that his future achievement and the rounding of his life, so that it would not be spent in vain, would depend on her, and on no one else. So he loved her as a man loves at thirty, confidently and tenderly. Her gracious influence filled his heart with a new peace. Isabelle Orlandi’s passion had thrown itself meantime across his path. Since her marriage for money she had dedicated to her former admirer all the unsatisfied ardor of her senses, all the fury of her tortured heart. She had been much more faithful to her friend Jean than to M. Landeau. She had waited for his return. When she saw him again she was even more fascinated by his serious and thoughtful face than she had been before by his careless good temper, and she promised herself she would wait no longer. For his benefit she displayed the full fascination of her loveliness. In the box at the theatre, she had indeed triumphed for a few wild moments, though she did not know it. During the whole of the act she had doubted her power to charm because of the hesitations of this Adonis whose spoken words were so ambiguous. When the curtain went down, her only wish was to take up the interrupted conversation again. Devoured by anxiety she turned round immediately and leaning over with practised art, so as to display all the beauties of her throat and bosom, asked: “What were you thinking of? I felt you were not listening to the music.” Jean smiled and said frankly: “I was thinking about two charming women.” “That is one too many.” With arrow-like glances she tried to pierce the impenetrable mask. M. de Lavernay was keeping his eyes on the pair, while mixing up all his classical knowledge in his conversation with Madame de Marthenay. Isabelle grew impatient and, eager to make sure of her happiness, rose from her seat. “It is stifling here. Will you take me into the hall, Captain Berlier?”