“Why, he is my lover,” said Violette.

“Your lover!… You have a lover?”

“Yes.”

“And that lover has had you?”

“Well! yes.”

“You are no longer a virgin?”

“No.”

“Since when?”

“Since two days ago.”

“Oh!!…”

The Countess uttered a cry of rage.

“Oh! the little fool!” she went on, “to think she gave her virginity to a man.”

“To whom else could I give it?”

“To me! To me! I would have given you your weight in gold for it. Ah!” said she, in a despairing tone. “I will never forgive you for this.”

And she caught up her stays and dress as if about to dress herself again.

“What did your lover do to you? He hurt you cruelly; dare you say he did not; dare you say he gave you pleasure!”

“Oh yes, he did!” cried Violette.

“That is false!”

“Such pleasure as I never could have imagined.”

“That is false!”

“I thought I should have become mad with happiness.”

“Hold your tongue!”

“What does it matter to you?”

“What! What does it matter to me? Why, it is so much happiness he has robbed me of. I who thought you un-defiled as yet; who wished to initiate you little by little into love's mysteries; I who would have invented for you a new pleasure every day. He polluted you with his coarse caresses! That rough skin, covered with hairs; do you mean to tell me it was pleasant to touch?”

“Ah! Dear Christian has a skin like a woman's!”

“Well, I see I have no chance against him! Good-bye.” And mad with rage she put on her corset.

“Are you going away?” asked Violette.

“What can I do here now? Nothing. You have a lover! Oh, I suspected as much directly I saw the warmth with which you took his part against me.”

She dressed herself rapidly.

“One more fond illusion flown away!” said she. “Ah! how unhappy to wish to uphold the dignity and pride of our sex. I expected so much pleasure with you, you wicked child! I must weep or my heart will break.”