And I suppose she knew that which was in my heart.
"Some day," I retorted, "you will have to apologise for having said that!" "Then others will need to do the same! Lucille herself does not believe in you." "Yes," I answered, "others will have to do the same, and thank you for it." "Lucille will not," answered Isabella, with a note of triumph in her voice, "for she had reason to distrust you in Paris." "You seem to be on very confidential terms with Mademoiselle." "Yes," she answered, looking at me with quiet defiance.
"Is the confidence mutual, Isabella ?" asked I, rising to go; and received no answer.
When I bade good-night to Madame de Clericy, she was standing alone at the far end of the room.
"Ah! mon ami," she said, as she gave me her hand, "I think you are blinder than other men.

Women are not only clothes.

We have feelings of our own, which spring up without the help of any man--in despite of any, perhaps--remember that." Which I confess was Greek to me, and sent me on my way with the feeling of a hunter who, in following one all-absorbing quarry through the forest, and hearing on all sides a suppressed rustle or hushed movement, pauses to wonder whence they come and what they mean.
"Tell me," said Alphonse, who helped me with my heavy coat, "if you have news of Miste or propose to follow him.

I will accompany you." He said it awkwardly, after the manner of one avowing an unworthy suspicion of which he is ashamed.

So Alphonse Giraud was to follow me and watch my every movement, treating me like a servant unworthy of trust.