We take the eleven o'clock morning train. We had breakfast at ten; everything was ready for departure when the chambermaid softly opened the door: "Mademoiselle," she said, "I have learned something more."

In a single bound I was in the corridor:

"What have you learned?"

"About M. d'Audiffret."

"Yes — go on."

"Well, I have learned the name of the woman he brought here. It is always the same one — never another — and when he is in Paris he always goes to her."

"Her name?"

"Madame Laura."

"Madame Laura?"

"Yes — oh! but she is a very grand cocotte: she has horses, carriages, and two chambermaids. And when she came here to M. d'Audiffret's, in the morning, to get dressed, she sent for her own chambermaid."

"Is that what you learned?"

"Yes — that is quite a lot, is it not?"

"Indeed. Thank you."

I gave five francs — and got my money's worth.

Cocottes, always cocottes! Is it not vile? I do not know how others think — those who are older than I, more blasé — but for my part I am indignant.

Go ahead and love brutes who spend their lives with riff-raff!

All day long on the train I shiver, smoke, and love this brute. It is incredible how many scenes I have imagined with him — not for the novel, simply for myself: whole days, whole weeks — oh! such a quantity of things. And I saw him so beautiful that I loved him.