Two more days--two more days would take us to Rosny, and my task would be done, and Mademoiselle and I would part for good and all.

What would it matter then what she thought of me?
What did it matter now?
For the first time in our intercourse my silence seemed to disconcert and displease her.

'Have you nothing to say for yourself ?' she muttered sharply, crushing a fragment of charcoal under her foot, and stooping to peer at the ashes.

'Have you not another lie in your quiver, M.de Marsac ?' De Marsac!' And she repeated the title, with a scornful laugh, as if she put no faith in my claim to it.
But I would answer nothing--nothing; and we remained silent until Fanchette, coming in to say that the chamber was ready, held the light for her mistress to pass out.

I told the woman to come back and fetch mademoiselle's supper, and then, being left alone with my mother, who had fallen asleep, with a smile on her thin, worn face, I began to wonder what had happened to reduce her to such dire poverty.
I feared to agitate her by referring to it; but later in the evening, when her curtains were drawn and Simon Fleix and I were left together, eyeing one another across the embers like dogs of different breeds--with a certain strangeness and suspicion--my thoughts recurred to the question; and determining first to learn something about my companion, whose pale, eager face and tattered, black dress gave him a certain individuality, I asked him whether he had come from Paris with Madame de Bonne.
He nodded without speaking.
I asked him if he had known her long.
'Twelve months,' he answered.