She passed her hand over her forehead and answered, "At Mademoiselle

Lempereur's."

"I was sure of it! I was going there."

"Oh, it isn't worth while," said Emma. "She went out just now; but for

the future don't worry. I do not feel free, you see, if I know that the

least delay upsets you like this."

This was a sort of permission that she gave herself, so as to get

perfect freedom in her escapades. And she profited by it freely, fully.

When she was seized with the desire to see Leon, she set out upon any

pretext; and as he was not expecting her on that day, she went to fetch

him at his office.

It was a great delight at first, but soon he no longer concealed the

truth, which was, that his master complained very much about these

interruptions.

"Pshaw! come along," she said.

And he slipped out.

She wanted him to dress all in black, and grow a pointed beard, to

look like the portraits of Louis XIII. She wanted to see his lodgings;

thought them poor. He blushed at them, but she did not notice this, then

advised him to buy some curtains like hers, and as he objected to the

expense-"Ah! ah! you care for your money," she said laughing.

Each time Leon had to tell her everything that he had done since their

last meeting. She asked him for some verses--some verses "for herself,"

a "love poem" in honour of her. But he never succeeded in getting a

rhyme for the second verse; and at last ended by copying a sonnet in

a "Keepsake." This was less from vanity than from the one desire of

pleasing her. He did not question her ideas; he accepted all her tastes;

he was rather becoming her mistress than she his. She had tender words

and kisses that thrilled his soul. Where could she have learnt this

corruption almost incorporeal in the strength of its profanity and

dissimulation?




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