"But you won't unless _he_ is willing--And he doesn't care for you." "He does!" retorted Camille in a fury.

"He's kind and pleasant with me, and that's enough." Her brother felt afraid as he noticed the blackness of her glance, and the clenching of her weak little hands, whose fingers bent like claws.
And after a pause he asked: "And papa, what does he say about it ?" "Oh, papa! All that he cares about is the other one." Then Hyacinthe began to laugh.
But the landau, with its tall horses trotting on sonorously, had turned into the street and was approaching the house, when a slim fair-haired girl of sixteen or seventeen, a modiste's errand girl with a large bandbox on her arm, hastily crossed the road in order to enter the arched doorway before the carriage.

She was bringing a bonnet for the Baroness, and had come all along the Boulevard musing, with her soft blue eyes, her pinky nose, and her mouth which ever laughed in the most adorable little face that one could see.

And it was at this same moment that Salvat, after another glance at the landau, sprang forward and entered the doorway.

An instant afterwards he reappeared, flung his lighted cigar stump into the gutter; and without undue haste went off, slinking into the depths of the vague gloom of the street.
And then what happened?
Pierre, later on, remembered that a dray of the Western Railway Company in coming up stopped and delayed the landau for a moment, whilst the young errand girl entered the doorway.