marrying her, the dompteuse! Accident had let him render her a service,
not unimportant, once at Versailles, and he had been so courteous and
considerate afterwards, that she had let him see her occasionally, but
never yet alone. He soon saw that an amour was impossible. At last he
spoke of marriage. She shook her head. She ought to have been grateful,
but she was not. Why should she be? She did not know why he wished to
marry her; but, whatever the reason, he was selfish. Well, she would be
selfish. She did not care for him. If she married him, it would be
because she was selfish: because of position, ease; for protection in
this shameless Paris; and for a home, she who had been a wanderer since
her birth.

It was mere bargaining. But at last her free, independent nature
revolted. No: she had had enough of the chain, and the loveless hand of
man, for three months that were burned into her brain--no more! If ever
she loved--all; but not the right for Count Ploare to demand the
affection she gave her lions freely.

The manager of the menagerie had tried for her affections, had offered a
price for her friendship; and failing, had become as good a friend as
such a man could be. She even visited his wife occasionally, and gave
gifts to his children; and the mother trusted her and told her her
trials. And so the thing went on, and the people talked.

As we said, she turned her eyes to Gaston's box. Instantly they became
riveted, and then a deep flush swept slowly up her face and burned into
her splendid hair. Meyerbeer was watching through his opera-glasses.
He gave an exclamation of delight:

"By the holy smoke, here's something!" he said aloud.