Vicomte Maurice, under whose protection she then was, had a great deal of difficulty in accustoming himself to her untamable disposition, intoxicated with freedom, and it was with jealous impatience that he awaited the return of Musette after having seen her start off to Marcel's.
"Will she stay there ?" he kept asking himself all the evening.
"Poor Maurice," said Musette to herself on her side.

"He thinks it rather hard.

Bah! Young men must go through their training." Then her mind turning suddenly to other things, she began to think of Marcel to whom she was going, and while running over the recollections reawakened by the name of her erst adorer, asked herself by what miracle the table had been spread at his dwelling.

She re-read, as she went along, the letter that the artist had written to her, and could not help feeling somewhat saddened by it.

But this only lasted a moment.