transformation of Cecily inspired but one fear to Jacques Ferrand: he
thought that if this woman did not speak the truth she was an adventurer,
who, believing him rich, introduced herself into the house to cajole him,
find him out, and perhaps cause him to marry her. But, although his avarice
and cupidity revolted at the idea, he perceived, shuddering, that these
suspicions and reflections were too late; for, with a single word, he could
put his suspicions at rest by sending this woman away. And this word he did
not speak. Already he loved her, after his manner, and passionately.
Already the idea of seeing this seducing creature leave his house seemed to
him impossible. Already, even, feeling the pangs of a savage jealousy to
think that Cecily might bestow on others favors refused to him, he
experienced some consolation in saying, "As long as she is sequestered in
my house no one will possess her."

The boldness of language of this woman, the fire in her eyes, the provoking
liberty of her manners, sufficiently revealed that she was not, as she
said, _a prude._ This conviction, giving vague hopes to the notary, assured
still more the empire of Cecily.

In a word, the licentiousness of Jacques Ferrand stifled the voice of cold
reason; he abandoned himself blindly to the emotions which overwhelmed him.

It was agreed that Cecily should be his servant only in appearance; in this
manner there would be no scandal. Besides, to assure still more the
security of his guest, he would take no other domestic; he would himself
serve her and himself also; a neighboring coffee-house keeper could bring
his repasts. He paid in money the breakfasts of his clerks, and the porter
could take care of the office. Finally, the notary ordered to be promptly
furnished a chamber on the first floor, according to Cecily's taste. She
offered to pay the expense. He opposed it, and expended two thousand