"Three o'clock," said RenÉe, looking up at the time-piece from the little woollen stocking she was knitting. "Really, I begin to think NoÉmi will not come to-day. She'll spoil the rehearsal. We shall have to fine her."

"NoÉmi?" put in Mme. Mauperin, as though she had just woke up. "Why, she isn't coming. Oh, I never told you! I don't know what's the matter with me—I forget everything lately. She told me last time that very probably she would not be able to come to-day. They are expecting some people—I fancy—I forget——"

"Well, that's pleasant! There is nothing more tiresome than that—to expect people who don't come after all. And this morning when I woke I said to myself, 'It's NoÉmi's day.' I was looking forward to having her. Oh, it's quite certain she won't come now. It's funny how I miss her now—NoÉmi, when she isn't here—ever since she began to take me on again. I miss her just as though she were one of the family. I don't think her amusing, she isn't lively, she isn't at all gay, and then as regards intelligence, why, she's rather feeble—you can take her in so easily. And yet—how is it now?—in spite of all that there is a fascination about her. There is something so sweet, so very sweet about her, and it seems to penetrate you. She calms your nerves, positively, and then the effect she has on you—why, she seems to warm your heart for you, and only by being there, near you. I've known lots of girls who had really more in them, but they haven't what she has. I've always felt as cold as steel with all of them."

"Oh, well, it's very simple," said Denoisel. "Mlle. Bourjot is of a very affectionate, loving disposition. There is a sort of current of affection between such natures and others."

"When she was quite little, I can remember, she was just the same—and so sensitive. How she used to cry, and how fond she was of kissing me; it was amazing—she did nothing else, in fact. And her face tells you just what she is, doesn't it? Her beauty seems to be made up of all the affection she feels, and of all that she has left of her childhood about her. And above all it is her expression. You often feel rather wicked and spiteful, but when she looks at you with that expression of hers it is as though everything of that kind disappears—as though something is melting away. Would you believe that I never ventured to play a single trick on her, and yet I was a terrible tease in the old days!"

"Nevertheless, it's very extraordinary to be as affectionate as all that," said Mme. Mauperin.

"Oh, no, it's quite natural," answered Denoisel. "Imagine a girl, who is born with the instinct of loving, just as we have the instinct of breathing. She is repelled by the coldness of a mother, who feels herself humiliated by her daughter, and who is ashamed of her; she is repelled also by the selfishness of a father, who has no other pride, no other love, and no other child but his wealth; well, a girl like this would be just like Mlle. Bourjot, and in return for any trifling interest you might take in her, she would repay you by the affection and the effusions of which you speak. Her heart would simply overflow with gratitude and love, and you would see in her eyes the expression RenÉe has noticed, an expression which seems to shine out through tears."

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