'Fetch me here at six o'clock to go and dine in the Bois. _Mon Dieu!_' she added, 'if I hadn't these two appointments with the milliner and the dressmaker, I would go with you. But I must see them.' 'Do you still want to go and dine in the Bois?' said Claude. 'Don't be unkind,' she replied, giving him a kiss; 'it is such fine weather, and I do so want to dine out in the open.' With these words closed a scene which described the actress to a nicety, with her sudden transitions from sincerest grief to a most passionate love of pleasure. Larcher kissed her in return, though despising himself in a vague kind of way for being so indulgent to her least whims even now after hearing of a catastrophe that touched him so closely. Rushing out of the room, he flew down the stairs four at a time, jumped into a cab, and at the end of fifteen minutes found himself before the gate in the Rue Coëtlogon through which he had passed but a few months since. All that had struck him so forcibly then suddenly came back to him now--the frowning sky, the pale moon sailing amid the swift-scudding clouds, and the strange presentiment that had chilled his heart. Now the bright May sunshine filled the heavens with light, and the narrow strip of garden in front of the house was decked with green. The air of spring that hung over the peaceful abode was an excellent presentment of what René's life had long been, and what it would have remained if he had never met Suzanne. Who had been the indirect author of that meeting? In vain did Claude try to shake off his remorse by saying, 'Could I foresee this catastrophe?' He had foreseen it. Nothing but evil could result from the poet's sudden transplantation to a world of luxury in which both his vanity and sensuality had been drawn to the surface. The worst had come to pass--by a terrible run of ill luck, it is true. But who had provoked that ill luck? The answer to that question was a cruel one for a true friend, and it was with a heavy heart that Claude walked up to the house in which formerly there had dwelt naught but simplicity, honest labour, and a pure and noble love. How many deadly stings had entered it since then, and what an infinity of grief! This came home to him once more on seeing the maid's agitated face and on hearing the sobs which burst from her as she opened the door and recognised the visitor. Wiping her eyes with the corner of her blue apron, she let loose a flow of words thickly sprinkled with her own _patois._ '_Ah! l'la faut-i! Mon bon monsieur!_ To try and kill himself like that--a child I've known as tender and as gentle as a girl! _Jésus, Marie, Joseph!_ Come in, Monsieur Claude, you will find Madame Fresneau and Mademoiselle Rosalie in the _salle-à-manger._ Monsieur l'Abbé Taconet is with _him!_