Meillan's yesterday."

"You are right to show yourself there as little as possible. It is not a
house for you."

He explained. All the women that went there had had some spicy adventure
which was known and talked about. Besides, Madame Meillan favored
intrigue. He gave examples. Madame Martin, however, her hands extended
on the arms of the chair in charming restfulness, her head inclined,
looked at the dying embers in the grate. Her thoughtful mood had flown.
Nothing of it remained on her face, a little saddened, nor in her languid
body, more desirable than ever in the quiescence of her mind. She kept
for a while a profound immobility, which added to her personal attraction
the charm of things that art had created.

He asked her of what she was thinking. Escaping the magic of the blaze
in the ashes, she said:

"We will go to-morrow, if you wish, to far distant places, to the odd
districts where the poor people live. I like the old streets where
misery dwells."

He promised to satisfy her taste, although he let her know that he
thought it absurd. The walks that she led him sometimes bored him, and
he thought them dangerous. People might see them.

"And since we have been successful until now in not causing gossip--"

She shook her head.