"Lives just opposite him, in a small house where there's no concierge, on the second floor front. Grandmaison saw her first at her window; it's a broad street, but he has an excellent glass that he had made to watch the ballets at the Opéra. It's a little telescope; it brings everything right under your eyes, and you can imagine how pleasant it is, while a dancer is making a pirouette, to fasten it on----" "Well, go on: this young woman?" "As I was saying, he assured himself with his glass that she was young, pretty, well built, and not faded. Oh! his glass is invaluable for that!" "But the lover?" "The lover doesn't live with her. He goes very often to see her; but he doesn't sit at the window, naturally; so that Grandmaison has only caught a glimpse of him, for she is careful to leave the window as soon as the young man arrives." "Well?" "Well, everything is going as smoothly as possible. Grandmaison took the little one to a closed box at the Opéra night before last, the lover being in the country." At that point, I could no longer control myself, and, entirely unconscious of what I was doing, I struck the table between my neighbor and myself such a violent blow that the cup of chocolate bounded up into his face as he leaned over the table to speak to me. The bulk of the liquid deluged Raymond's waistcoat and shirt frill. He jumped back, startled by the gesture that had escaped me. Ashamed of having allowed my trouble, my wrath, my frenzy, to appear, I tried to recover myself; I composed my features and apologized. Raymond, uncertain whether he could safely approach me, asked for a glass of water to clean his face. "Pardon! a thousand pardons! my dear Raymond, I don't know what caught me then.--You were saying that, the day before yesterday----" "You gave me a terrible fright. Are you subject to nervous spasms?" "No, no! it was mere absent-mindedness.--You were saying----" "The devil! you ought to look after that. Thanks to you, I have got to go home to change my waistcoat and shirt." "Oh! that's nothing.--So, the night before last he took the young woman to a closed box at the Opéra, eh?" "Yes, yes.--Is there any more on my face?" "None at all; you look splendid. Go on." This compliment restored Raymond's good humor; he tucked his frill out of sight and resumed the conversation. "Yes, they were there, in a box----" "So, it's all over, is it?" "Oh, no! not yet. The beauty hangs back, you understand, and Grandmaison isn't the man to push matters so fast--with his bad leg, he needs all the conveniences. Oh! if it had been one of us two, that would have been the end; we are sad rascals, you know!" "But since then?"