frank, generous, and disinterested state of mind in which women sometimes
are.

Only, would it happen to him to find her so in the future? That was
doubtful, thanks to M. de Camors. It often happens that by despising men
too much, we degrade them; in suspecting women too much, we lose them.

About an hour passed; there was another rap at the library door. Camors
felt a slight palpitation and a secret wish that it should prove
Mademoiselle Charlotte.

It was the General who entered. He advanced with measured stride, puffed
like some sea-monster, and seized Camors by the lapel of his coat. Then
he said, impressively:

"Well, young gentleman!"

"Well, General."

"What are you doing in here?"

"Oh, I am at work."

"At work? Um! Sit down there--sit down, sit down!" He threw himself on
the sofa where Mademoiselle had been, which rather changed the
perspective for Camors.

"Well, well!" he repeated, after a long pause.

"But what then, General?"