She looked at me for a few seconds, put up her opera-glass to see me better, and seemed to think she recognised me, without being quite sure who I was, for when she put down her glasses, a smile, that charming, feminine salutation, flitted across her lips, as if to answer the bow which she seemed to expect; but I did not respond, so as to have an advantage over her, as if I had forgotten, while she remembered.

Supposing herself mistaken, she looked away.
The curtain went up.

I have often seen Marguerite at the theatre.

I never saw her pay the slightest attention to what was being acted.

As for me, the performance interested me equally little, and I paid no attention to anything but her, though doing my utmost to keep her from noticing it.
Presently I saw her glancing across at the person who was in the opposite box; on looking, I saw a woman with whom I was quite familiar.
She had once been a kept woman, and had tried to go on the stage, had failed, and, relying on her acquaintance with fashionable people in Paris, had gone into business and taken a milliner's shop.