by force, with the aid of his soldiers."

The two other women shuddered slightly. The eyes of pretty Madame
Carre-Lamadon sparkled, and she grew a little pale as if she felt
herself already taken by force by the officer.

The men who were arguing among themselves, came near them. Loiseau,
excited, wanted to deliver up that "miserable woman," bound
hand and foot, to the enemy. But the Count, descended from three
generations of Ambassadors, and endowed with the physique of a
diplomat, was advocating more tactfulness and persuasion--"We should
persuade her"--said he.

Then they conspired.

The women drew close to each other; the tone of their voices was
lowered, and the discussion became general, each giving her opinion.
It was most correct, besides. The ladies specially found delicate
euphemisms, charming subtleties of expression to say the most
shocking things. A stranger would have understood nothing, so well
were the precautions of language observed. But as the thin veneer
of pudor[*], with which every Society woman is provided, covers
only the surface, they showed their real selves in this wretched
adventure, and were as a matter of fact enjoying themselves
immensely, feeling themselves in their element, handling love with
the sensuousness of a gourmand cook who prepares supper for somebody
else.

[*][Note from Brett: I think this is an excellent, though unintentional,
pun. "Pudor" is Spanish for "shame," but this meaning makes the