"Let's go," she said, "and shut ourselves up at Fontainebleau for a couple of days."
"No, at Campiégne. It's more of a desert."
She wanted to start on the spot. Her provincial prudery seemed suddenly to have flown away. She was no longer the calm mistress who had never yielded except to the most passionate entreaties. The proud—hearted woman was turning into the lover, full of tenderness, a little reckless.
As he packed his bag, Leonor felt very happy, though still very much surprised. He decided, however, that he would ask no equivocal questions. The woman he was looking for, and whom he would not have found, had just fallen into his arms. What was more, he knew this woman, he was in love with her, though without passion; he had derived from her furtive but delicious pleasures. She inspired him, in a word, with the liveliest curiosity: he trembled at the thought that he was now to see her in all her natural beauty.
"Is she as beautiful as she is elegant? Suppose I were to find a farm-girl under the dress of the great lady."
Less than an hour after their meeting, they
