With the letter lying on her lap and her heart beating violently she remained with her eyes fixed on the blinding light which came in by one of the windows. There was a confession which she had been obliged to make to herself in this very room, during her sleepless hours: if she still trembled when he passed, she now knew that it was not from fear; and her former uneasiness, her old terror, could have been only the frightened ignorance of love, the perturbation of passion springing up amidst her youthful wildness. She did not reason, she simply felt that she had always loved him, from the hour when she had shuddered and stammered before him. She had loved him when she had feared him as a pitiless master; she had loved him when her distracted heart was dreaming of Hutin, unconsciously yielding to a desire for affection. Yes, she had never loved any but this man, whose mere look terrified her. And all her past life came back to her, unfolding itself in the blinding light from the window: the hardships of her start, that sweet walk under the dark foliage of the Tuileries Gardens, and, lastly, the desires with which he had enveloped her ever since her return. The letter dropped on the floor and Denise was still gazing at the window, dazzled by the glare of the sun. Suddenly there was a knock and she hastened to pick up the missive and conceal it in her pocket. It was Pauline, who, having slipped away from her department under some pretext or other, had come up for a little chat. "How are you, my dear? We never meet now----" As it was against the rules, however, to go up into the bed-rooms, and, above all, for two of the saleswomen to be shut in together, Denise took her friend to the end of the passage, to a saloon which Mouret had gallantly fitted up for the young ladies, who could spend their evenings there, chatting or sewing, till eleven o'clock. The apartment, decorated in white and gold, with the vulgar nudity of an hotel room, was furnished with a piano, a central table, and some arm-chairs and sofas protected by white covers. After spending a few evenings together there in the first novelty of the thing, the saleswomen now never entered the place without coming to high words at once. They required educating to it; so far their little circle lacked harmony. Meanwhile, almost the only girl that went there in the evening was the second-hand of the corset department, Miss Powell, who strummed away at Chopin on the piano, and whose envied talents were for much in driving the others away. "You see my ankle's better now," said Denise, "I was just going down." "Well!" exclaimed the other, "how zealous you are! I'd take it easy if I had the chance!"