them to my nose, would wonder who she was who sold them to me, if she
ever thought of those who bought them of her, and if she distinguished
me above her other customers. It seemed to me, that, if she had the same
angelic smile and happy greeting for them as she always bestowed upon
me, they must one and all be her slaves; and yet I couldn't decide
whether I really loved her or was only touched by a passing fancy for
her.

I looked forward, however, through the day, to my interview with her
with a great deal of impatience, and found myself making short cuts
in the long walk which led me to her. I used to arrange, on my way,
well-turned sentences with which to please her, and by which I expected
to startle her into some intimation of her feelings toward me. I was
angry that she was obliged to stand in so public a place, exposed to the
gaze and remarks of all who chose to stop and buy of her. In fine, I
was jealous, or rather was piqued, that she should receive all others
exactly as she received me, and almost flattered myself that necessity
forced her to meet them with the same sweet smile inclination led her to
bestow on me.

This was the state of affairs at the time I moved into my new lodgings,
before referred to, in the Place Maubert, and I was suffering these
mental torments for Thérèse's sake, when the appearance, or rather the
non-appearance, of my mysterious neighbor aggravated and complicated the
symptoms and converted my slow fever into an intermittent. I had called
my fair unknown Hermine;--the pronoun _she_, as it applied equally to
every individual of the female sex, and in the French language to many
things besides, soon became insufficient, and I took the liberty of
calling her Hermine. I was so ashamed of my foolish passion, that I
could not make up my mind even to question the porter at the door with