“We’ll skip the scene with Chavigny,” said Juliette.  “He won’t be here this morning.  Let us see Madame de Lery’s entrance.  Now, Madame de Guiraud, here’s your cue.”  Then she read from her book:  “’Just imagine my showing him this purse.’”

“‘Oh! it’s exceedingly pretty.  Let me look at it,’” began Madame de Guiraud in a falsetto voice, as she rose with a silly expression on her face.

When the servant had opened the door to her, Helene had pictured a scene entirely different from this.  She had imagined that she would find Juliette displaying excessive nervousness, with pallid cheeks, hesitating and yet allured, shivering at the very thought of assignation.  She had pictured herself imploring her to reflect, till the young woman, choked with sobs, threw herself into her arms.  Then they would have mingled their tears together, and Helene would have quitted her with the thought that Henri was henceforward lost to her, but that she had secured his happiness.  However, there had been nothing of all this; she had merely fallen on this rehearsal, which was wholly unintelligible to her; and she saw Juliette before her with unruffled features, like one who has had a good night’s rest, and with her mind sufficiently at ease to discuss Madame Berthier’s by-play, without troubling herself in the least degree about what she would do in the afternoon.  This indifference and frivolity chilled Helene, who had come to the house with passion consuming her.

A longing to speak fell on her.  At a venture she inquired:  “Who will play the part of Chavigny?”

“Why, Malignon, of course,” answered Juliette, turning round with an air of astonishment.  “He played Chavigny all last winter.  It’s a nuisance he can’t come to the rehearsals.  Listen, ladies; I’m going to read Chavigny’s part.  Unless that’s done, we shall never get on.”

Thereupon she herself began acting the man’s part, her voice deepening unconsciously, whilst she assumed a cavalier air in harmony with the situation.  Madame Berthier renewed her warbling tones, and Madame de Guiraud took infinite pains to be lively and witty.  When Pierre came in to put some more wood on the fire he slyly glanced at the ladies, who amused him immensely.

Helene, still fixed in her resolve, despite some heart-shrinking, attempted however to take Juliette aside.

“Only a minute.  I’ve something to say to you.”

“Oh, impossible, my dear!  You see how much I am engaged.  To-morrow, if you have the time.”

Helene said no more.  The young woman’s unconcern displeased her.  She felt anger growing within her as she observed how calm and collected Juliette was, when she herself had endured such intense agony since the night before.  At one moment she was on the point of rising and letting things take their course.  It was exceedingly foolish of her to wish to save this woman; her nightmare began once more; her hands slipped into her pocket, and finding the letter there, clasped it in a feverish grasp.  Why should she have any care for the happiness of others, when they had no care for her and did not suffer as she did?