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WHILST Milona was running in the direction of Ars, her mistress returned quietly to the salon. Flinging herself on the sofa, she abandoned herself to a delightful reverie. What a difference she found between Cesare Agostini and Marcel! A feeling of nausea came over her when she compared them with one another. The complaisant and needy lover, who always knew when to close his eyes, when some mysterious interests of his were at stake, and this tender, sincere lover, who thought of nothing but her happiness, and sacrificed for that his own.
She remembered Hans' sarcastic remarks, "Take care you are not caught in your own net, and fall in love with this young man. " Had he then read her inmost thoughts, this dread accomplice of hers, who trampled humanity under foot, and who had no more respect for joy and happiness than the hail has for the harvest? Suppose it were so? Had she not the right to do as she wished? Was she a slave, linked to obscure and threatening adventurers engaged in some formidable though tremendous task? Or was there equality for both them and herself, in danger, success, and pleasure alike? Who could compel her to do what was displeasing to her-above all, who would dare to attempt it? She knew she was as dangerous as any of them, and they, too, were well aware how powerful and audacious she was. If it were necessary to try conclusions with them, they would see who would come out the winner.