And all the horror of quarrels, which sprang from her egotistical desire to be happy, caressed, flattered and adored, was returning to her.

But Camille, still threatening, still unsatiated, showed her heart as it really was, her stern, black, unforgiving heart, intoxicated with cruelty.

There came a moment of supreme silence, while Duvillard's gay voice again rang out in the adjoining room.
The mother was gently weeping, when Hyacinthe, coming upstairs at a run, swept into the little _salon_.

He looked at the two women, and made a gesture of indulgent contempt.

"Ah! you're no doubt satisfied now! But what did I tell you?
It would have been much better for you to have come downstairs at once! Everybody is asking for you.