“Prout! as if I would ever have thought of such a thing! I didn’t even see them! All of a sudden I felt someone tap me lightly on the shoulder; I turned; it was the uncle. He was all out of breath; his niece was some distance behind. He said to me first of all: ‘You walk terribly fast, my friend! Ouf! you made me run.’--I answered: ‘Bless my soul, monsieur, I didn’t know that you were following me.’--Just then his niece joined us. She seems to be as inquisitive as ever, the young woman; you remember, don’t you, monsieur, that she asked me a lot of questions at Mont-d’Or?” “Well, what did she ask you to-day?” “First of all, how monsieur was; then as I had a package under my arm, she said: ‘Where are you going with that?’--‘To Saint-Mandé, mademoiselle.’--‘Does Monsieur Dalbreuse live at Saint-Mandé?’--‘Yes, mademoiselle.’--‘And is that bundle for him?’--‘Yes, mademoiselle.’--At that she began to laugh, with a queer expression, and I noticed that the head of a jack-in-the-box was sticking out of the bundle. The uncle asked me: ‘Is Monsieur Dalbreuse running a marionette theatre?’--‘No, monsieur; there are some books in the bundle for my master, but the toys are for the children.’--‘What! has he children with him?’ cried the young woman.--‘Prout!’ I said to myself at that; ‘there seems to be no end to these questions.’--So I took off my hat and saluted them, and told them that I was in a hurry.” “Is that all, Pettermann?” “Yes, monsieur.” So Caroline had not forgotten me, although we had not parted on very good terms. But that was no reason why we should cease to think of each other; so many people part on most excellent terms and forget each other at once! That reminder of Mademoiselle Derbin caused me a pleasant emotion; she had such a strange temperament, a way of thinking that was not like other people’s; and in spite of that, she had all the charm of affability of her sex. If Pettermann had still been there, I would have asked him whether Mademoiselle Derbin had changed, whether she seemed as bright and cheerful as formerly. I would have asked him--I don’t know what else. But he had gone. He had done well too. What occasion was there for me to think of Caroline? I had determined thenceforth not to love anybody except my children. It was a pity, however, for love is such a pleasant occupation! It was three days after Pettermann had told me of that meeting. I was walking in Vincennes forest with my children. Eugène had become less timid with me; he smiled at me and kissed me, although he was not yet so unreserved as his sister, who made me do whatever she wished. I held a hand of each of them. I was listening to the chatter of Henriette and her brother’s lisping replies, when my daughter mentioned her mother, and my brow darkened. “Papa, why doesn’t mamma come back?” “She is ever so far away, my child. It may be that you won’t see her for a very long time.” “But I don’t like that. Why don’t we go to fetch her?”