They were asking each other, with sly winks, who that pretty little woman was Gerald was keeping so close to. Not one of them knew. A professional? No, she could not be that. Probably a little woman from some sunny, hot land, whom that rascal de Meuze made feel warmer still, in order to tease the baroness.... Why, yes ... the Baroness Mussan ... from whom he had parted ... it was over ... didn't you know?... Oh, not more than a fortnight.... Just the same, this one was a jolly, good-looking creature! And the success of Zozé was no less real in the ladies' tribune. Of course, the good ladies did not spare her the contemptuous tone which they used indiscriminately when passing judgment upon all women who were not of their caste: demi-mondaines, actresses or plain bourgeoises. Yet, apart from that disdain, their verdict was a favorable one. They found the strange woman nice, her dress a good fit and Gerald a man of taste. Several maliciously inquired about Zozé's name of the baroness who, to save her face, joined the others in praising her. Yet, Mme. Chambannes perceived nothing of this exciting triumph. How could she discern it? She saw no one in the whole crowd but Gerald, her true mate, her lover to be. She walked on, with evasive glances, like a happy bride advancing to the altar on her wedding day. She was almost there when the races were over. Gerald had begged her, had pressed her as if he were already her master. He wanted to see her again, to possess her, the very next day. She remembered his ardent voice when, on leaving her, he had dared to whisper in the midst of the crowd, within George's own hearing: "Why won't you to-morrow? Oh! please, don't refuse me!" Nevertheless, she had refused, with a slow movement of her head, while her eyes turned up as if plunging into despair. She had to resist, to oppose this man with as much coldness and as much caution as he was deserving of her love; she had to make him gain her instead of abandoning herself to him. A voice within her dictated this unusual reserve to Mme. Chambannes; she heeded it like the voice of duty, being persuaded that her delays were safeguarding the future. She gave in only after a siege of three weeks, at the moment when he had grown discouraged and was on the verge of renouncing his intentions. During that period, she had thought deeply and found out what she wanted, with that superhuman cunning which women often show in order to arm and defend their threatened passion.