Three months had passed, and I had not tried to see Madame Sordeville again. However, her image had not faded from my heart; on the contrary, she was constantly in my thoughts, and I imagined her as amiable and fascinating as on the first day that I saw her. So that I was not cured of my passion for that lady, although I had sufficient self-control not to call upon her again. To my mind, it was perfectly natural to love a person who did not love me; that is something that happens every day; but I did not understand how any man could consent to act as laughing stock to a coquette. One must needs try to retain a certain amount of dignity; to forget one's dignity is not the way to win love. When, burning with desire to see Armantine, I was on the point of forgetting my resolutions and running to throw myself at her feet, I remembered how she had left me abruptly, to attend to her tea, without a word in reply to what I had said to her. I had not once met Madame Dauberny, and I regretted more deeply every day the loss of that strange creature's friendship. It was so novel to be _thou'd_ by a woman whose lover I had never been. At least, it was a change, a departure from common custom. And then, she had given me her confidence so unreservedly! Why had I sacrificed all that by a moment's forgetfulness? But, after all, I considered that Frédérique had treated me very harshly. She might well have scolded me, have made me understand my mistake, without breaking off all relations with me on the spot. The idea of being so angry about a kiss! It was a most extraordinary thing, for that is one of the offences which the sex readily forgives. And then, there were so many extenuating circumstances! The supper, the champagne, the hour! And that hair of hers, which she arranged in a different way every minute! It was the end of February, and the cold was still very sharp, when, on one of those keen, bracing mornings that invite one to walk, I happened to remember Mignonne Landernoy. Poor girl! How could I have forgotten her so long, and all for a coquette who certainly did not give a thought to me! I determined to repair my neglect at once. I enveloped myself in a heavy coat, put a comforter around my neck, and started for Rue Ménilmontant. As I walked along, I recalled Mignonne's plight when I saw her in November; I thought of all that must have happened since then, and I was conscious of nothing but an eager desire to have news of the young woman. I quickened my pace, and at last found myself in front of the concierge's door. She was surrounded by cats, as on the occasion of my first visit. At sight of a man enveloped in a heavy coat with the collar turned up, and with his face almost entirely hidden by a comforter, Madame Potrelle sat up in her chair and took one of the cats in her right hand as if to hurl it at my head.