As she went about among her friends Odette perceived that she was regarded in Paris as one of the women who during the war was sacrificing herself for the public good. One must have a "war" reputation at all costs. No one said a word as to her conduct as a widow, or as to her moral ideas. But because she had been absent and was known to have been for a long time a hospital nurse, every one ascribed to her that spirit of self-abnegation which gives reason to expect all things from certain exceptional persons, born for sublimities. The compliments that she received were not ironical. Her profound and unalterable grief for her husband's death, the very discretion which she observed in making no lamentation before her friends, were not lost upon them. Odette, sad and silent, enjoyed what might be called "a good press." The praises bestowed upon her simply transformed into extraordinary virtue what was only natural to her. At first she found it stupid; then it disturbed her. "But what am I, after all?" she would ask. "You are an exquisite woman! Your conduct is admirable!" And every one present would acquiesce. It was in a drawing-room which might have been supposed to be the seat of the War Committee, where were young women, women on the further verge of youth, poetesses, princesses; through which passed generals, convalescent heroes, ministers, men of all shades of politics, literary celebrities, and the sad relics of before-the-war æstheticism. The secrets of military operations were known there, whether carried out or simply planned, the underside of diplomacy, future declarations of war, historic nights, scandals unknown to the public. News was handed about, discredited, misconstrued, torn to pieces. An apparition from another world, like Odette, felt herself facing all Europe in arms, or some world-congress; rising from the modest tomb in which she had been living she was dazzled, her head was turned with it all. She rose to return to her solitude. On the staircase she met La Villaumer, his smile scornful at the thought of the foolishness which he was about to hear. "What do they expect of me?" she asked. "Imagine, there are those up-stairs who were ready to swear that I, all by myself, directed the battle of the Somme!" "Not at all," he replied. "It is simply that you are a very worthy woman; you honor the house." "All very well! But they frighten me. They seem to be expecting something of me----" "That you will do the house still greater honor! Receptions of this sort would fain be taken as pictures of the country, in the small." "Tell me about yourself, La Villaumer; how much truth is there in what they tell me--that you are going to distribute all your property and live in a garret?"