"Who told you?"

"Every one knew it; I often came to inquire after you, and I was
happy to hear of your convalescence."

"They never gave me your card."

"I did not leave it."

"Was it you, then, who called every day while I was ill, and
would never leave your name?"

"Yes, it was I."

"Then you are more than indulgent, you are generous. You, count,
wouldn't have done that," said she, turning toward M. de N.,
after giving me one of those looks in which women sum up their
opinion of a man.

"I have only known you for two months," replied the count.

"And this gentleman only for five minutes. You always say
something ridiculous."

Women are pitiless toward those whom they do not care for. The
count reddened and bit his lips.

I was sorry for him, for he seemed, like myself, to be in love,
and the bitter frankness of Marguerite must have made him very