One evening she had hinted at the necessity of retrenching, when Mrs. Chevassat had shot at her a venomous glance, which pierced her to the very marrow of her bones.

“It must be done,” she said to herself.

In her mind she felt as if the five francs were a kind of daily ransom which she paid the estimable concierge’s wife for her good-will.  It is true, that, for such a consideration, the terrible woman was all attention for her “poor little pussy-cat;” for thus she had definitely dubbed Henrietta, becoming daily more familiar, and adding this odious and irritating presumption to all the other tortures of the poor girl.  Many a time poor Henrietta had been made so indignant and furious, that she had been on the point of rebelling; but she had never dared, submitting to this familiarity for the same reason for which she paid her five francs every day.  The old woman, taking her silence for consent, put no longer any restraint upon herself.  She declared she could not comprehend how her “little pussy-cat,” young and pretty as she was, could consent to live as she did.  Was that a life?

Then she always came back to M. Maxime, who continued to call regularly twice a day, the poor young man!

“And more than that, poor little pussy,” she added, “you will see that one of these days he will summon courage enough to come and offer you an apology.”

But Henrietta would not believe that.

“He will never have such consummate impudence,” she thought.

He had it, nevertheless.  One morning, when she had just finished righting up her room, somebody knocked discreetly, at her door.  Thinking that it was Mrs. Chevassat, who brought her her breakfast, she went to the door and opened it, without asking who was there.  And she started back with amazement and with terror when she recognized M. de Brevan.

It really looked as if he were making a supreme effort over himself.  He was deadly pale; his lips trembled; his eyes looked dim and uncertain; and he moved his lips and jaws as if he had gravel in his mouth.

“I have come, madam,” he said, “to ask if you have reconsidered.”

She made no reply, looking at him with an air of contempt which would have caused a man with some remnant of honor in his heart to flee from the spot instantly.  But he had, no doubt, armed himself beforehand, against contempt.

“I know,” he continued, “that my conduct must appear abominable in your eyes.  I have led you into this snare, and I have meanly betrayed a friend’s confidence; but I have an excuse.  My passion is stronger than my will, than my reason.”

“A vile passion for money!”

“You may think so, madam, if you choose.  I shall not even attempt to clear myself.  That is not what I came for.  I came solely for the purpose of enlightening you in regard to your own position, which you do not seem to realize.”

If she had followed her own impulses, Henrietta would have driven the wretch away.  But she thought she ought to know his intentions and his plans.  She overcame her disgust, therefore, and remained silent.