She did not go to bed until the first break of day, when the cold of the morning, chilling her, compelled her to leave the window.
The next day and the day after, she maintained a reserved and melancholy attitude.Her thoughts were busy; she was learning to spy out, to guess at conclusions, to reason.A light, still vague, seemed to illumine men and things around her in a new manner; she began to entertain suspicions against all, against everything that she had believed, against her mother.She imagined all sorts of things during these two days.She considered all the possibilities, taking the most extreme resolutions with the suddenness of her changeable and unrestrained nature.Wednesday she hit upon a plan, an entire schedule of conduct and a system of spying.She rose Thursday morning with the resolve to be very sharp and armed against everybody.
She determined even to take for her motto these two words: "Myself alone," and she pondered for more than an hour how she should arrange them to produce a good effect engraved about her crest, on her writing paper.
Saval and Servigny arrived at ten o'clock.The young girl gave her hand with reserve, without embarrassment, and in a tone, familiar though grave, she said:
"Good morning, Muscade, are you well?" "Good morning, Mam'zelle, fairly, thanks, and you?" He was watching her."What comedy will she play me," he said to himself.
The Marquise having taken Saval's arm, he took Yvette's, and they began to stroll about the lawn, appearing and disappearing every minute, behind the clumps of trees.
Yvette walked with a thoughtful air, looking at the gravel of the pathway, appearing hardly to hear what her companion said and scarcely answering him.
Suddenly she asked: "Are you truly my friend, Muscade?""Why, of course, Mam'zelle."
"But truly, truly, now?"
"Absolutely your friend, Mam'zelle, body and soul.""Even enough of a friend not to lie to me once, just once?""Even twice, if necessary."
"Even enough to tell me the absolute, exact truth?""Yes, Mam'zelle."
"Well, what do you think, way down in your heart, of the Prince of Kravalow?""Ah, the devil!"
"You see that you are already preparing to lie.""Not at all, but I am seeking the words, the proper words.Great Heavens, Prince Kravalow is a Russian, who speaks Russian, who was born in Russia, who has perhaps had a passport to come to France, and about whom there is nothing false but his name and title."She looked him in the eyes: "You mean that he is--?""An adventurer, Mam'zelle."
"Thank you, and Chevalier Valreali is no better?" "You have hit it.""And Monsieur de Belvigne?"
"With him it is a different thing.He is of provincial society, honorable up to a certain point, but only a little scorched from having lived too rapidly.""And you?"
"I am what they call a butterfly, a man of good family, who had intelligence and who has squandered it in making phrases, who had good health and who has injured it by dissipation, who had some worth perhaps and who has scattered it by doing nothing.There is left to me a certain knowledge of life, a complete absence of prejudice, a large contempt for mankind, including women, a very deep sentiment of the uselessness of my acts and a vast tolerance for the mob.""Nevertheless, at times, I can be frank, and I am even capable of affection, as you could see, if you would.With these defects and qualities I place myself at your orders, Mam'zelle, morally and physically, to do what you please with me."She did not laugh; she listened, weighing his words and his intentions; then she resumed:
"What do you think of the Countess de Lammy?"He replied, vivaciously: "You will permit me not to give my opinion about the women.""About none of them?"
"About none of them." "Then you must have a bad opinion of them all.
Come, think; won't you make a single exception?"He sneered with that insolent air which he generally wore; and with that brutal audacity which he used as a weapon, he said: "Present company is always excepted."She blushed a little, but calmly asked: "Well, what do you think of me?""You want me to tell.Well, so be it.I think you are a young person of good sense, and practicalness, or if you prefer, of good practical sense, who knows very well how to arrange her pastime, to amuse people, to hide her views, to lay her snares, and who, without hurrying, awaits events.""Is that all?" she asked.
"That's all."
Then she said with a serious earnestness: "I shall make you change that opinion, Muscade."Then she joined her mother, who was proceeding with short steps, her head down, with that manner assumed in talking very low, while walking, of very intimate and very sweet things.As she advanced she drew shapes in the sand, letters perhaps, with the point of her sunshade, and she spoke, without looking at Saval, long, softly, leaning on his arm, pressed against him.
Yvette suddenly fixed her eyes upon her, and a suspicion, rather a feeling than a doubt, passed through her mind as a shadow of a cloud driven by the wind passes over the ground.
The bell rang for breakfast.It was silent and almost gloomy.There was a storm in the air.Great solid clouds rested upon the horizon, mute and heavy, but charged with a tempest.As soon as they had taken their coffee on the terrace, the Marquise asked:
"Well, darling, are you going to take a walk today with your friend Servigny? It is a good time to enjoy the coolness under the trees."Yvette gave her a quick glance.
"No, mamma, I am not going out to-day."
The Marquise appeared annoyed, and insisted."Oh, go and take a stroll, my child, it is excellent for you."Then Yvette distinctly said: "No, mamma, I shall stay in the house to-day, and you know very well why, because I told you the other evening."Madame Obardi gave it no further thought, preoccupied with the thought of remaining alone with Saval.She blushed and was annoyed, disturbed on her own account, not knowing how she could find a free hour or two.She stammered:
