In the town just near the station, they met Madame de Nezel, who had come in from The Pines by the half-past two train. On seeing her, Bijou made a little movement, and was just about to speak to her cousin, but, on second thoughts, she said nothing, and only looked up at him, with a sweet expression in her bright eyes. Jean, feeling awkward and confused, had pretended not to see Madame de Nezel, and she, instead of going on into the centre of the town, had turned down a narrow street, by some waste ground and gardens. As she got out of the carriage with Josephine at the Dubuissons' door, Bijou asked: "Where shall I find you? And at what time?" "At the hotel; I will tell them to put the horse in at six o'clock if that will suit you?" "At six o'clock!" she exclaimed, in astonishment. "Oh, well! you _must_ have plenty of things to do! Three hours and a half of shopping in Pont-sur-Loire!" Impatient and wishing above all things to escape Bijou's innocent questioning, Jean offered to start earlier, but she refused. "Oh, no! why should you? I shall be delighted to stay as long as you wish with Jeanne!" Mademoiselle Dubuisson was at home. Denyse thought she looked sad, and her eyes had dark circles round them. "What is the matter now?" she asked. "There's something wrong." "Yes, things are not quite right." "Is--your _fiance_?" "Oh, it's just the same." "Which means----" "That I think he has got--well--a little cool. But there is something else that has upset me to-day." "What is it?" "Oh, well! it is an event that really does not concern me at all; but it has made me feel wretched all the same." She avoided looking at Bijou as she continued: "You know that--Lisette Renaud?" "Yes. Well?" "Well, she is dead--this morning." "Dead!--What of?" "People think she killed herself," said Jeanne, almost in a whisper. "But how?" "By taking morphia. You know they could not go into details before me, but I understood, from what they were saying, that it was after an explanation she had had with M. de Bernes." "When?" "Yesterday after the theatre, or else this morning. Papa and M. Spiegel were talking of it at luncheon; but in a vague sort of way, so that I should not understand." "How fearfully sad!--I can quite understand that it should have upset you." "Yes; it is only natural, and all the more so as, just now, troubles from love affairs touch me very nearly--and for a good reason!" she added, with a sad little smile. "That poor little actress!" said Bijou, in a tone of regret. "As a rule, I don't care much for women who are on the stage, but this one seemed to be nice, and then, she really did sing well--it is a pity!--M. de Bernes must be wretched!"