And the success of Zozé was no less real in the ladies’ tribune.
Of course, the good ladies did not spare her the contemptuous tone which they used indiscriminately when passing judgment upon all women who were not of their caste: demi-mondaines, actresses or plain bourgeoises. Yet, apart from that disdain, their verdict was a favorable one. They found the strange woman nice, her dress a good fit and Gerald a man of taste. Several maliciously inquired about Zoz name of the baroness who, to save her face, joined the others in praising her.
Yet, Mme. Chambannes perceived nothing of this exciting triumph. How could she discern it? She saw no one in the whole crowd but Gerald, her true mate, her lover to be. She walked on, with evasive glances, like a happy bride advancing to the altar on her wedding day.
She was almost there when the races were over. Gerald had begged her, had pressed her as if he were already her master. He wanted to see her again, to possess her, the very next day. She remembered his ardent voice when, on leaving her, he had dared to whisper in the midst of the crowd, within Georg own hearing:
“Why wo you to-morrow? Oh! please, do refuse me!”
Nevertheless, she had refused, with a slow movement of her head, while her eyes turned up as if plunging into despair.
She had to resist, to oppose this man with as much coldness and as much caution as he was deserving of her love; she had to make him gain her instead of abandoning herself to him. A voice within her dictated this unusual reserve to Mme. Chambannes; she heeded it like the voice of duty, being persuaded that her delays were safeguarding the future.
She gave in only after a siege of three weeks, at the moment when he had grown discouraged and was on the verge of renouncing his intentions.
During that period, she had thought deeply and found out what she wanted, with that superhuman cunning which women often show in order to arm and defend their threatened passion.
She now knew everything about Gerald. He had led an idle, discontented life since the time of the financial smash of 1882, when, in a fit of juvenile anger, he had resigned his commission in the 30th cuirassiers. From the disaster his father had saved him a yearly income of about 40,000 francs. She learned also the names of the people of his set; heard of many of his liaisons, without names this time, all about the last one ... with the baroness; she was told of his antipathy for a world wherein his reduced circumstances no longer allowed him to figure as he wished.