'Above all,' said Larcher, 'take no revenge. Revenge in love is like drinking alcohol after burning punch. We become attached to women as much by the harm we do them as by that which they do us. Imitate me, not as I used to be, but as I am now, eating, drinking, and caring as much for Colette as Colette cares for me. Absence and silence--these are the sword and buckler in this battle. Colette writes to me, and I don't answer. She comes to the Rue de Varenne. No admission. Where am I? What am I doing? She cannot get to know. That makes them madder than all the rest. Here's a suggestion: To-morrow morning you start for Italy, or England, or Holland, whichever you prefer. Meanwhile Suzanne thinks you are piously meditating upon all the lies she has told you, but in reality you are comfortably seated in your compartment watching the telegraph poles scud past and saying to yourself, "We are on even terms now, my angel." Then in three, four, or five days' time the angel begins to get uneasy. She sends a servant with a note to the Rue Coëtlogon. The servant comes back:--"Monsieur Vincy is travelling!" "Travelling?" The days roll on and Monsieur Vincy does not return, neither does he write--he is happy elsewhere. How I should like to be there to see the Baron's face when she vents her fury upon him. For these equitable creatures invariably make the one who stays behind pay for the one who has gone. But what's the matter with you?' 'Nothing,' said René, though Claude's mention of Desforges had caused him a fresh fit of pain. 'I think you are right, and I shall leave Paris to-morrow without seeing her.' It was on that understanding that the two friends separated. Claude had insisted on escorting René back to the Rue Coëtlogon, and, as he shook hands with him at the gate, said, 'I will send Ferdinand to-morrow morning to inquire what time you start. The sooner the better, and without seeing her, mind--remember that!' 'You need not be afraid,' replied René. 'Poor fellow!' muttered Claude, as he returned along the Rue d'Assas. Instead of going towards his own home he walked slowly in the direction of the cab rank by the old Couvent des Carmes, turning round once or twice to see whether his companion had really disappeared. Then he stopped for a few minutes and seemed to hesitate. His eyes fell upon the clock near the cab rank, and he saw that it was a quarter-past ten. 'The piece began at half-past eight,' he said to himself, 'and she's just had time to change. I should be an ass to miss such a chance. _Cocher!_' he cried, waking up the man whose horse seemed to have most speed in him, 'Rue de Rivoli, corner of Jeanne d'Arc's statue, and drive quickly.'