I took the key of the flat in the Rue d’Antin, and after saying good-bye to Nanine, who came with me as far as the gate, I set out. At first I began to run, but the earth was muddy with rain, and I fatigued myself doubly. At the end of half an hour I was obliged to stop, and I was drenched with sweat. I recovered my breath and went on. The night was so dark that at every step I feared to dash myself against one of the trees on the roadside, which rose up sharply before me like great phantoms rushing upon me. I overtook one or two wagons, which I soon left behind. A carriage was going at full gallop toward Bougival. As it passed me the hope came to me that Marguerite was in it. I stopped and cried out, “Marguerite! Marguerite!” But no one answered and the carriage continued its course. I watched it fade away in the distance, and then started on my way again. I took two hours to reach the Barrière de l’Étoile. The sight of Paris restored my strength, and I ran the whole length of the alley I had so often walked. That night no one was passing; it was like going through the midst of a dead city. The dawn began to break. When I reached the Rue d’Antin the great city stirred a little before quite awakening. Five o’clock struck at the church of Saint Roch at the moment when I entered Marguerite’s house. I called out my name to the porter, who had had from me enough twenty-franc pieces to know that I had the right to call on Mlle. Gautier at five in the morning. I passed without difficulty. I might have asked if Marguerite was at home, but he might have said “No,” and I preferred to remain in doubt two minutes longer, for, as long as I doubted, there was still hope. I listened at the door, trying to discover a sound, a movement. Nothing. The silence of the country seemed to be continued here. I opened the door and entered. All the curtains were hermetically closed. I drew those of the dining-room and went toward the bed-room and pushed open the door. I sprang at the curtain cord and drew it violently. The curtain opened, a faint light made its way in. I rushed to the bed. It was empty. I opened the doors one after another. I visited every room. No one. It was enough to drive one mad. I went into the dressing-room, opened the window, and called Prudence several times. Mme. Duvernoy’s window remained closed. I went downstairs to the porter and asked him if Mlle. Gautier had come home during the day. “Yes,” answered the man; “with Mme. Duvernoy.” “She left no word for me?” “No.” “Do you know what they did afterward?” “They went away in a carriage.” “What sort of a carriage?” “A private carriage.” What could it all mean? I rang at the next door. “Where are you going, sir?” asked the porter, when he had opened to me. “To Mme. Duvernoy’s.” “She has not come back.” “You are sure?” “Yes, sir; here’s a letter even, which was brought for her last night and which I have not yet given her.”