would have to undress in the dark, and so he waited. At first he had
not heard her stir; she had no doubt remained standing against the
iron bedstead. But at last he detected a slight rustling, a slow,
faint movement, as if amidst her preparations she also were listening,
frightened perchance by the candle which was still alight. At last,
after several minutes, the spring mattress creaked, and then all
became still.

'Are you comfortable, mademoiselle?' now asked Claude, in a much more
gentle voice.

'Yes, monsieur, very comfortable,' she replied, in a scarcely audible
voice, which still quivered with emotion.

'Very well, then. Good-night.'

'Good-night.'

He blew out the candle, and the silence became more intense. In spite
of his fatigue, his eyes soon opened again, and gazed upward at the
large window of the studio. The sky had become very clear again, the
stars were twinkling in the sultry July night, and, despite the storm,
the heat remained oppressive. Claude was thinking about the girl
--agitated for a moment by contrary feelings, though at last contempt
gained the mastery. He indeed believed himself to be very
strong-minded; he imagined a romance concocted to destroy his
tranquillity, and he gibed contentedly at having frustrated it. His
experience of women was very slight, nevertheless he endeavoured to
draw certain conclusions from the story she had told him, struck as he
was at present by certain petty details, and feeling perplexed. But