The fine gravel of the avenues, the waves of the river, seemed to emit green sparks, and all those microscopic flashes formed a sort of holiday illumination in which Savigny seemed to be enveloped in her honor, to celebrate the betrothal of Georges and Sidonie.
When she rose the next day, her plan was formed.

Georges loved her; that was certain.

Did he contemplate marrying her?
She had a suspicion that he did not, the clever minx! But that did not frighten her.

She felt strong enough to triumph over that childish nature, at once weak and passionate.

She had only to resist him, and that is exactly what she did.
For some days she was cold and indifferent, wilfully blind and devoid of memory.