soft; and there were, besides, two _etageres_ and a table also covered
with old flowered silk, at the further end of the room.

Clotilde at last put on her stockings and slipped on a morning gown of
white _pique_, and thrusting the tips of her feet into her gray canvas
slippers, she ran into her dressing-room, a back room looking out on
the rear of the house. She had had it hung plainly with an _ecru_
drill with blue stripes, and it contained only furniture of varnished
pine--the toilette table, two presses, and two chairs. It revealed,
however, a natural and delicate coquetry which was very feminine. This
had grown with her at the same time with her beauty. Headstrong and
boyish though she still was at times, she had become a submissive and
affectionate woman, desiring to be loved, above everything. The truth
was that she had grown up in freedom, without having learned anything
more than to read and write, having acquired by herself, later, while
assisting her uncle, a vast fund of information. But there had been no
plan settled upon between them. He had not wished to make her a
prodigy; she had merely conceived a passion for natural history, which
revealed to her the mysteries of life. And she had kept her innocence
unsullied like a fruit which no hand has touched, thanks, no doubt, to
her unconscious and religious waiting for the coming of love--that
profound feminine feeling which made her reserve the gift of her whole
being for the man whom she should love.

She pushed back her hair and bathed her face; then, yielding to her
impatience, she again softly opened the door of her chamber and
ventured to cross the vast workroom, noiselessly and on tiptoe. The
shutters were still closed, but she could see clearly enough not to
stumble against the furniture. When she was at the other end before
the door of the doctor's room, she bent forward, holding her breath.