“You will tell him that I have gone out.” She returned at half-past nine. Madame Cormier had finished dressing. “At last you have come,” she said. But at sight of her daughter’s face she saw that something had happened. “My God! What is the matter?” she asked, trembling. “Something serious--very serious, but unfortunately it is irreparable. We must leave here, never to return.” “Your husband--” “You must never speak to me of him. This the only thing I ask of you.” “Alas! I understand. It is what I foresaw, what I said would happen. You cannot bear the contempt that he shows us on account of your brother.” “We must hereafter be strangers to each other, and this is why we leave this house.” “My God! At my age, to drag my bones--” “I have engaged a lodging at the Ternes; a wagon will come to take the furniture that belongs to us, what we brought here, only that. We will tell the concierge that we are going to the country. As for Josephine, you need not fear indiscreet questions, for I have given her a day off.” “But the money?” “I have two hundred francs from the sale of my last picture; that is enough for the present. Before they are gone I shall have painted and sold another; do not worry, we shall have all we need.” All this was said in a hard but resolute tone. A ring of the bell interrupted them. It was the express wagon. “See that they do not take what does not belong to us,” Phillis said. “While they fill their wagon I will write in the parlor.” At the end of an hour the wagon was ready. Madame Cormier entered the parlor to tell her daughter. “I have finished,” Phillis said. Having placed her letter in an envelope, she laid it in full view on Saniel’s desk. “Now let us go,” she said. And as her mother sighed, while walking with difficulty “Lean on me, dear mamma, you know I am strong.” CHAPTER XLIV. AFTER LONG YEARS Saniel did not return until quite late in the afternoon. When he opened the door with his key he was surprised at not seeing his wife run to him and kiss him. “She is painting,” he said to himself, “she did not hear me.” He passed into the parlor, convinced that he would find her at her easel; but he did not see her, and the easel was not in its usual place, there nor anywhere else. He knocked at the door of Madame Cormier’s room; there was no reply; he knocked louder a second time, and after waiting a moment he entered. The room was empty; there was no bed, no furniture, no one. Stupefied, he looked around him, then returning to the vestibule he called: “Phillis! Phillis!” There was no reply. He ran to the kitchen, no one was there; he went into his office, no one there. But as he looked about him, he saw Phillis’s letter on his desk, and his heart leaped; he grasped it eagerly, and opened it with a trembling hand. It was as follows: