She fell sobbing on a chair. Her tears were so genuine, her grief so intense, that Violette got up without thinking of putting on her dressing gown, and, half naked, went in her turn to kneel before her.

“Come, Madame la Comtesse; do not cry so,” said she.

“What? Madame la Comtesse, again!”

“Come, Odette, you are unjust.”

“What, 'YOU' again?”

“Thou art unjust.”

“How?”

“Could I see that you loved me?”

“You did not see it then, when you called at my house?”

“I suspected nothing. I was so innocent.”

“And you are not innocent now?”

“Not quite as much as I was,” said Violette, laughing.

The Countess wrung her hands in despair.

“She laughs at my grief!” cried she.

“No, I swear I do not. I swear it!” The Countess shook her head.

“Ah! All is over now! I could forgive, but I shall never forget! But I must not be weak. Adieu! You will never see me more! Adieu.”

And the Countess beside herself with grief, like a lover who has just discovered the unfaithfulness of his mistress, opened the door and rushed downstairs.

Violette waited for a moment and listened, thinking she would return; but the angry woman had indeed left for good. Violette closed the door, and turning round, perceived me at the entrance to the dressing room. She uttered a cry of surprise. I burst out laughing, and she threw herself into my arms.

“Ah! how happy I feel now that I was not naughty!” said she.

“Did you find it difficult?”

“Not too much. I must confess, however, that when she kissed my bosom a kind of burning sensation went through my whole frame.”

“So that, now, I should not have to use violence.”