“You know my corner,” he had said. “Take it and sip your syrup until I arrive. I shall not be long, but Notre Dame is ailing. She has a crack, poor lady, in one of her horns. To be frank, it is an awkward business. I hope I shan’t slip. If I did—well, you two would take care of each other, would you not?” He pinched his wife’s ear. “Still, we will hope and pray my poor life may be spared.” At a quarter to seven, therefore, honest curly-haired René strode down the Rue de Tocqueville, to fold sweet sorrow in his arms. Madame Lacaze was ready, and the two left at once. On their way through the bustling streets they spoke very little. Matter-of-fact conversation was difficult enough to come by. They kept what reserve they had for the table without the window at the Café de la Forêt Noire. This appeared soon enough. René saw Madeleine settled, and called for drink. Then they began to talk—artificially. Madeleine laboured hard and met with success. After a little, Dudoy began to dance to her piping. . . . Then a laughing-eyed rogue of a child came and snapped the poor pipe in two. What happened exactly was this. The tot had escaped from its parents three tables away. Liking the look of the lovers, it came to them straight, showed them its sixpenny watch, made them both free of its lips and, finally, desired them to draw a castle forthwith. Lack of a pencil and paper made it impossible to comply. Madeleine pointed this out gently enough. Pharaoh-like, the child waved aside the objection, demanding a castle tearfully. The two sought to distract him for all they were worth. . . . Here the parents suspended a bubbling colloquy to look for their offspring. Madeleine and René were rescued in the nick of time. . . . The radiant father and mother were full of apologies. “I pray you, forgive us. We were talking, and for a moment, we forgot. It is at this age that they must be watched all the time. _When you have a fine fat boy, you will understand._” Hats were raised, smiles and bows were exchanged, and the incident closed. Madeleine and René Dudoy sat ready to burst into tears. At length— “_Mon Dieu!_” said René hoarsely. “_Mon Dieu_, it is not to be borne! I am a man, am I not? With blood in my veins? I am not a stock or a stone. I have a heart, Madeleine, a broken heart—that cries and cries and cries. All the time we are making our small talk my heart is crying. All the time——” “René, René,” wailed Madeleine, “why do you come? Why did you come to-day? Why yesterday? Why the day before that?” “He makes me!” cried René. “You know it. I have no choice. Besides, the hours he offers me are of pure gold. I cannot throw them away. That evening I did not come, I nearly died. I sat and drank absinthe and wept till they asked me to go. The proprietor was very kind. He understood perfectly. But it was bad for the house.”