“We start in a few days; but I warn you that I intend to travel like an artist, sometimes on foot, sometimes in a carriage; to defy the rain and the sun when that is my pleasure.” “Monsieur is joking. I am not a dainty woman; I will do whatever you do.” “One word more: do you know my name?” “I have heard the concierge mention it once; I don’t remember it, but----” “Don’t try to remember it. I mean to assume another under which I intend to travel. I shall call myself after this, Dalbreuse, and I do not wish to be called anything else.” “That is enough, monsieur; you understand that I will call you whatever you please. So I have a profession at last. I have no further need to try to get waistcoats and breeches to make! The deuce take sewing! And then too I am very glad not to have to leave monsieur.” Pettermann’s delight pleased me. I was very glad to have someone in my service who had not known me during my married life. On the day following this agreement, Ernest entered my room, ran to me and embraced me. “Do you know that I have been near death?” I asked him. “I have just learned it from your concierge. Ungrateful man! not to send us any word! Is that the way that a man should treat his friends?” “My dear Ernest, when I was in condition to send you word, I was out of danger; then I preferred to wait until I was entirely well, in order that I might come and tell you myself.” “But what was this accident that happened to you?” I told Ernest the whole story; I did not conceal from him that I was knocked down because I had gazed too long after Eugénie. Ernest was indignant at my weakness, and he started to scold me. “My friend,” I said, “you will have no further cause for such reproaches; to prove it, I refuse from this instant to hear my wife mentioned. You will promise never to mention her name again, will you not?” “Oh! I shall not be the one to break that promise!” “Besides, I am going to leave you, for a long time perhaps. I am going to travel.” “Despite my grief at being separated from you, I can only approve this plan. Change of scene will do you good. But are you going alone?” “No, I have found a faithful companion; that man who left the room when you came in. You did not recognize him, did you? It is that poor journeyman tailor who lived in the attic room near your dear Marguerite, and who used to get into his room by breaking the window.” “Is it possible? And that man----” “Did not leave me for one minute while my life was in danger. And yet I was a mere stranger to him. He is to travel with me, he will go wherever I go.” “I am very glad to know that you will have some devoted friend with you.” “Here, my friend, take this memorandum book.” “What shall I do with it?” “It contains the portrait of the woman whom I used to call my wife. I must not keep it any longer. Later, if you choose, you may give the book to--to her son.”