As he spoke he pointed to a hired cabriolet which was just passing them. Julien, pale and downcast, with contracted brow and preoccupied, determined air, was in the vehicle, and passed close to them without seeing them. He had received Julie's note; he had forced himself to rise, and, as he wished to ask Marcel some questions before keeping the appointment, he was driving in season to Paris. "If he is the one you want to speak to," said Marcel, "let us turn back; I will wager that he is going to see me!" "He is not the one I want to speak to," rejoined Monsieur Antoine, satirically, "since he is dying." "Did you think he looked well?" demanded Marcel. The uncle relapsed into his sullen silence. They went on toward Sèvres. Did he himself know what he was going to do there? Let us confess the truth--he had absolutely no idea. He was conscious that his mind was in great confusion, and his meditation was simply a sort of painful uneasiness concerning the discomfort he felt. "With all this," he thought, "I shall be the sickest of the three if I don't look out. Anger is an excellent thing; it keeps one alive, it helps out old age, and it is all up with an old man who allows himself to be led by the nose; but we shouldn't take too big a dose of it at once, and it would be well for me to cool off a little." Thereupon, with a strength of will which would have made him a remarkable man if he had had better instincts or better guidance, he determined to take a nap, and slept quietly until the carriage entered the streets of Sèvres. Marcel was strongly tempted to order the coachman to return to Paris without his uncle's knowledge; but would the man have obeyed? Moreover, as Julien was out of the way, would it not be well to find out how Monsieur Antoine proposed to act with regard to Madame Thierry? He stood greatly in awe of her. Would he dare to tell her to her face that he proposed to take back his gifts? Sleep restored Monsieur Antoine to himself--that is to say to his chronic state of deliberate aversion, jealous self-love, and brooding resentment. They found Madame Thierry in front of a fine portrait of her husband, at which she was gazing earnestly as if seeking in the cheering serenity of that refined face the confidence in the future which had always sustained that fascinating man's happy temperament. Marcel had just time to hurry into the room first and say to her hastily: "Monsieur Antoine is at my heels; he is in a rage. You can save everything by much patience and firmness." "_Mon Dieu!_ what shall I say to him?" "That you give back what he has given you, but that you thank him for it. Julie adores Julien. Everything depends on uncle. Here he is!" "Will you leave me alone with him?" "Yes, he insists upon it; but I will be close at hand, ready to interfere if necessary."