Alice Dulaurens blushed, but did not dare to protest. The young man was not so easily disconcerted. He did not disdain, in his flirtations, a tone of irony and mockery, which exasperated, if it also attracted, his companion, the pretty and spoilt darling of her family. “It is true,” he admitted, “that the Guiberts, on meeting each other after three years of separation and mourning, neglected to conform to custom to please you. And even your dress did not win a single glance from the handsome captain.” “The handsome captain, indeed!” “He is bald,” observed de Marthenay, whose own thick hair stuck up like a tooth-brush. “Yes, he became so in the colonies. In a French garrison he would perhaps have kept an abundant covering on his head.” Isabelle would not own herself vanquished. A spitefulness to which she would not have confessed urged her to attack Jean’s friends, and she went beyond all bounds: “You heard, I suppose, that your captain’s mother is a perfect phenomenon? She has never set foot in a theatre! I wonder what sort of a life she has led.” Jean Berlier, who had the greatest respect for Madame Guibert, became bitter. “She has done what you will never do, Mademoiselle, she has lived for the sake of others.” “That is not living at all,” retorted Isabelle. “Do you think so? For my part, I believe that she has lived more than you will ever live, if you were to exist for a hundred years.” “Oh, indeed! I defy anyone to live at a higher pressure than I do.” “You get excitement, but that’s not the same thing. Of what effort are you capable?” And then, cutting his lecture short, the young man asked with a laugh: “Are you even capable of a love match?” “Certainly not! You mean, I suppose, one without money? Thank you for nothing. Fancy vegetating mournfully on dry bread and cotton dresses!” As she spoke, her lovely teeth looked sharp and greedy. “Come, cheer up,” said Jean, “and show me your hand.” She held out her fine ungloved hand. He pretended to examine it carefully. “I see that you will marry a man forty years of age, ugly, and a millionaire. But, after the marriage, he will show his real disposition, sordid avarice. One is always punished in the same way in which one has sinned.” The grave sententious tone in which he uttered his nonsense amused the whole carriage. When the conversation had again become general, Isabelle, restored once more to calm, murmured gaily to her _vis-à-vis_: “So much the worse for the miser! I shall be untrue to him.” “With me, do you mean?” asked Jean, smiling. “Perhaps with you. Yes, certainly with you!” And again bursting into laughter, she showed her white teeth, as sound as a puppy’s, while she stared boldly at the young man who appealed so much to her taste.