all night long. It is not nice of you, Monsieur Xavier."
His voice became hard and thoroughly wicked.
"If you lent me your ninety francs that you might say that, you can take them back. Here, take them!"
"No, no," I sighed. "You know very well that it was not for that."
"Well, then, don't bother me."
He had quickly finished dressing, and he started off without kissing me and without saying a word.
The next day nothing was said about returning the money, and I did not wish to claim it. It gave me pleasure to think that he had something of me. And now I understand the women who kill themselves with toil, the women who sell themselves to passers-by, at night, on the sidewalks, the women who steal, and the women who kill, in order to get a little money with which to procure indulgences for the little man whom they love. That is what has happened to me, in fact. Or has it really happened to me in the degree that I say? Alas! I do not know. There are moments when, in presence of a man, I feel so soft, so soft, without will, without courage, so yielding . . . yes, so yielding!
Madame was not slow in changing her manner toward me. Instead of treating me nicely, as she had done before, she became severe, exacting,
