a moment previously; an expression of voluptuous irony appeared on her
bold bad face. After a spell of silence she inquired, "And is my good
cousin Marianne quite well?"

"Quite well," replied Mathieu.

"And the children are still growing?"

Yes, still growing."

"So you are happy, like a good paterfamilias, in your little nook?"

"Perfectly happy."

Again she lapsed into silence, but she did not cease to look at him, more
provoking, more radiant than ever, with the charm of a young sorceress
whose eyes burn and poison men's hearts. And at last she slowly resumed:
"And so it is all over between us?"

He made a gesture in token of assent. There had long since been a passing
fancy between them. He had been nineteen at the time, and she
two-and-twenty. He had then but just entered life, and she was already
married. But a few months later he had fallen in love with Marianne, and
had then entirely freed himself from her.

"All over--really?" she again inquired, smiling but aggressive.

She was looking very beautiful and bold, seeking to tempt him and carry
him off from that silly little cousin of hers, whose tears would simply
have made her laugh. And as Mathieu did not this time give her any