He found her there in the boarders’ refectory with some of her companions in the house—­a tall, thin, severe-looking Englishwoman, with lifeless eyes and bloodless lips, who called herself Amy, and a pale red-haired girl with a tip-tilted nose and a big mouth, who was known as Victoire.  Then, too, there was a young person of great beauty answering to the name of Rosine, a jeweller’s daughter, so Norine told Mathieu, whose story was at once pathetic and horrible.  The young man, while waiting to see Madame Bourdieu, who was engaged, sat for a time answering Norine’s questions, and listening to the others, who conversed before him in a free and open way.  His heart was wrung by much that he heard, and as soon as he could rid himself of Norine he returned to the waiting-room, eager to complete his business.  There, however, two women who wished to consult Madame Bourdieu, and who sat chatting side by side on a sofa, told him that she was still engaged, so that he was compelled to tarry a little longer.  He ensconced himself in a large armchair, and taking a newspaper from his pocket, began to read it.  But he had not been thus occupied for many minutes before the door opened and a servant entered, ushering in a lady dressed in black and thickly veiled, whom she asked to be good enough to wait her turn.  Mathieu was on the point of rising, for, though his back was turned to the door, he could see, in a looking-glass, that the new arrival was none other than Morange’s wife, Valerie.  After a moment’s hesitation, however, the sight of her black gown and thick veil, which seemed to indicate that she desired to escape recognition, induced him to dive back into his armchair and feign extreme attention to his newspaper.  She, on her side, had certainly not noticed him, but by glancing slantwise towards the looking-glass he could observe all her movements.

Meantime the conversation between the other women on the sofa continued, and to Mathieu’s surprise it suddenly turned on Madame Rouche, concerning whom one of them began telling the most horrible stories, which fully confirmed the young man’s previous suspicions.  These stories seemed to have a powerful fascination for Valerie, who sat in a corner, never stirring, but listening intently.  She did not even turn her head towards the other women, but, beneath her veil, Mathieu could detect her big eyes glittering feverishly.  She started but once.  It was when one of the others inquired of her friend where that horrid creature La Rouche resided, and the other replied, “At the lower end of the Rue du Rocher.”

Then their chatter abruptly ceased, for Madame Bourdieu made her appearance on the threshold of her private room.  The gossips exchanged only a few words with her, and then, as Mathieu remained in his armchair, the high back of which concealed him from view, Valerie rose from her seat and followed Madame Bourdieu into the private room.

As soon as he was alone the young man let his newspaper fall upon his knees, and lapsed into a reverie, haunted by all the chatter he had heard, both there and in Norine’s company, and shuddering at the thought of the dreadful secrets that had been revealed to him.  How long an interval elapsed he could not tell, but at last he was suddenly roused by a sound of voices.