At last Lacaze decided to go himself. He rose, sought for his hat, chucked her under the chin and left the room. Madeleine thrust the letter into her dress and thanked God. Then the door opened and her husband put in his head. “I quite forgot,” he said, smiling. “What does young Jean have to say?” His wife took the letter from her bosom and gave it into his hand. He read it deliberately. At length— “Poor René,” he said gaily. “So I put a spoke in his wheel. Dear, dear. We must try to make up for it. I seem to remember him faintly—a calf with curly fair hair. ‘66 rue Castetnau.’ Good.” He handed the letter back. “We’ll call there next Sunday morning. The better the day, sweeting, the better the deed. ‘Lonely.’ Poor clod, what a shame! But for Lacaze, the steeple-jack, he might have been watching your pink little hands ladle cream into pots, while he counted the takings and gave out the change. Certainly we must make up for it—so far as we can. . . .” He sighed and went out. As he closed the door, his eyes lighted. He walked down the passage thoughtfully, licking his lips. . . . Madeleine sat staring at the disordered cloth. Long ago Misery had repaired to her eyes. Now Despair had come also. She was really frightened. Lacaze was perfectly right. But for him, she would have married René. Ever since her disastrous wedding she had tried not to think about the past—the old days. As for what might have been, this she had shut most rigidly out of her thoughts. As if to mock her pains, here was Fate flaunting it under her very nose. . . . Again, God knows she was patient—to a fault. But her husband’s derision of René had set her cheeks flaming. That it had made her heart warm towards her old swain, she did not realize. _That it had been intended so to do_, only another Lacaze could have guessed. The man was evil. Finally, Madeleine knew in her heart that she had always loved René, and never Lacaze . . . that she had loved René very much . . . that at the present moment she loved him more than ever. All things considered, then, that Silvia was thoroughly frightened is not surprising. There were breakers ahead. * * * * * Lacaze knew that he could trust his wife. He knew that she was loyal, incorruptible, holy. Trading upon this holiness, he fairly thrust the lovers into each other’s arms. Before his dominant will the two poor wretches were helpless. . . . The climax came one beautiful July evening. Dudoy had been bidden to call for Madeleine and take her to the Café de la Forêt Noire. There the two were to wait till the steeple-jack joined them.