'A fine expedition you sent me on!' he said to his wife on his return. 'When I mentioned your headache the old woman gave a grunt that almost knocked me down, and when I told her that René was gone to see a sick friend--a very queer excuse, by the way, but let that pass--she said, "In some palace, I suppose!" During dinner poor Claude was the only topic of conversation. She pulled him to pieces till he hadn't a rag on his back. "He is an egoist and an ill-mannered fellow, he is in bad health and has no future!"--and goodness knows what she didn't say! If it hadn't been for a game of piquet with Offarel--and even that the sly old fox won. Oh!--Passart was there too. Remind me about recommending him to the Abbé for the college. He's a nice young fellow. Between you and me, I think Rosalie rather likes him.' Emilie could not help smiling at her husband's marvellous perspicacity. She had often heard Madame Offarel complain of the pressing attentions of the young drawing-master, and she immediately understood that he had been asked at the last minute to prove that, besides René, there were other suitors on hand. Thereupon the Offarels, who had never allowed four days to pass without coming in after dinner, had not set foot in the Rue Coëtlogon for a fortnight. When they at last decided to resume their visits, at their wonted hour, they were escorted by the aforementioned Passart, a tall, fair, gawky lad in spectacles, with a shy look on his freckled face. Emilie saw at once that their motive in bringing him was to arouse her brother's jealousy, and the old lady was not long in showing her hand. 'Monsieur Offarel is engaged this evening,' she said, 'so Monsieur Passart was kind enough to bring us. Give Monsieur Jacques that seat near you, Rosalie.' Poor Rosalie had not seen René since receiving his cruel message through Emilie. In passing from the Rue Bagneux to the Rue Coëtlogon--in reality a short, but to her an interminable distance--she had suffered agonies, and her heart beat fast as she entered the room. She had, however, the courage to steal a glance at her old lover, as a kind of protest that she was not responsible for her mother's mean calculations, and the courage also to reply coldly, as she took a seat in a corner and placed a chair before her, 'I want this chair to put my wool on. I'm sure Monsieur Passart won't deprive me of it.'