every one is in this world where beings, agitated like grains in a van,
are mixed and separated by a shake of the rustic or of the god. This
idea of the agricultural or mystical van represented measure and order
too well to be exactly applied to life. It seemed to him that men were
grains in a coffee-mill. He had had a vivid sensation of this the day
before, when he saw Madame Fusellier grinding coffee in her mill.

Therese said to him:

"Why are you not conceited?"

She added few words, but she spoke with her eyes, her arms, the breath
that made her bosom rise.

In the happy surprise of seeing and hearing her, he permitted himself to
be convinced.

She asked who had said so odious a thing.

He had no reason to conceal his name from her. It was Daniel Salomon.

She was not surprised. Daniel Salomon, who passed for not having been
the lover of any woman, wished at least to be in the confidence of all
and know their secrets. She guessed the reason why he had talked.

"Jacques, do not be cross at what I say to you. You are not skilful in
concealing your sentiments. He suspected you were in love with me, and
he wished to be sure of it. I am persuaded that now he has no doubt of
our relations. But that is indifferent to me. On the contrary, if you
knew better how to dissimulate, I should be less happy. I should think