Jules was surprised by her vivacity; he knew that she was greatly worried about her sister, yet in the midst of her agitation she could joke. If he had known her less he would have supposed that she was a woman of little feeling. She presently flounced out of the room, putting on her gloves and smiling. "Madeleine and Blanche have become great friends," she said. "I'm afraid I shall be jealous of her. When I come back there won't be any place for me." Then she took her daughter by both hands and Jules saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes. "Good-bye, dear," she said, kissing the girl on both cheeks. "You must write to me every day, and I'll write to you. In a week, at least, I shall be back. I have a presentiment that Sophie will improve as soon as I get there." Mademoiselle Blanche clung tightly to her mother, and kissed her again and again. "There, there! Now, my child--there!" With a parting embrace, Madame Perrault tore herself away, crying as she passed out of the door, "Good-bye, Madeleine. Take care of the little one! And remember Monsieur Jules is coming back to dinner. I'm going to invite him." This was the first time she had ever called Jules by his first name, and on hearing it he felt a thrill of joy. She hurried before him down the steep stairs, wiping her eyes. When they entered the cab, she had controlled herself again, and was smiling as usual. The cab rattled so noisily over the pavement that during most of the ride to the station they kept silent. They arrived there half an hour ahead of time, and this they spent in walking up and down the platform. "You must be very kind to my Blanche while I'm away," said Madame Perrault. "She will be very lonely. She hasn't been separated from me before since her father died." Jules assured her that he would be a second mother to her. He would take her and Madeleine to the _Cirque_ every night, and in the morning on his way to the office he would call to ask if he could do her any service. "She'll be spoiled when you come back," he concluded with a smile. For a moment they walked without speaking. The station was so cold that their breaths made vapour in the air. Yet Jules felt warm enough; his whole being seemed to glow. "There's something I want to tell you." She made a sign with her head that she was listening. "I'm in love with Mademoiselle Blanche," he said, impressively, finding a delicious relief in speaking the words. She smiled roguishly into his face. "Is that all?" They looked into each other's eyes, and read there a mutual understanding. "Then you've known all along?" "Of course, from the very first, from the first night you came into the dressing-room, and pretended to be a reporter." "Ah, I thought you had forgiven that." "So I have--that is, there was nothing to forgive. You didn't deceive me." "Do you mean that you knew at the time I wasn't a reporter? And Blanche--she knew too?"