At the Franco-African Bank the situation was quite different. Lewis found it difficult to retrieve his position there. He had left the house in great disorder. That he might run it without any control, like a proud master, he had been careful, during his years of management, never to keep anyone else informed of what was going on, to depute nothing, to classify no papers, carrying through deals without leaving any trace of them in writing, taking the files that interested him home and not bringing them back; as soon as he left, the bold undertakings which he only kept going by his enthusiasm or his daring, began to totter. People did not hesitate to discredit him. His strokes of luck became errors, his impetuosity sheer madness. When he came back the spirit of the management had changed. A whole hierarchy of unenterprising managers and timid patriarchs had got back the upper hand and took a mean outlook on things, treating them administratively without provision for the future, feebly and apathetically. Lewis wandered amongst them like a wild beast amongst a herd of cattle. He had to employ all his recovered violence to reimpose himself on them. Work came back like a true friend: Irene put the finishing touches to his prosperity. Lewis reasserted himself and they were convinced that they would soon be as perfectly united in their work as they were in their love. Different interests, earlier rising, hurried meals, these would all make the hours spent together more precious. Their pleasures would become escapades; their petty worries would gradually disappear. Profit taking interrupted their tender glances, urgent clearances distracted them from the ardour which united them. The striving after perfection which wrecks even the most wonderful love would be diverted into other channels. All the marvels of business existence, its dangers, the hazards of new financial ventures, the unsettled state of foreign exchanges, the pathos of liquidations and carrying over, must establish a greater sense of quiet, abundance, and permanence between them than the most intimate and temperate life ever could accomplish. But it was not so. These two beings who had such abundant and such natural reasons for loving one another, saw their happiness fade day by day. Lewis was both the cause and the first victim of this, for he had nothing like Irene's strength of character. It often happened that one of them opened letters meant for the other. Irene apologised on reading the first line. But Lewis could not resist reading on to the end, even after seeing that it was an Apostolatos letter. Irene worked without any help, transacting business in her mind whilst dressing herself; Lewis could not do without a secretary, and the head of Martial reappeared against the daily background. Like a good many business men, Lewis knew no arithmetic, and was lost like a child in the rule of three. Irene made fun of him: