"No, it's in your character--it's no good blaming you. It's only the mothers who worry. Ah, if you were only like I am; if at every instant you were thinking of what might happen to a young man. I know Henri is sensible; but a young man's fancy is so quickly caught. It might be some worthless creature--some bad lot--one never knows--such things happen every day. I should go mad! What do you say to sounding Mme. Rosieres? Shall we?" There was no reply, and Mme. Mauperin was obliged to resign herself to silence. She turned over and over, but could not sleep until daylight appeared. VI "Ah, what's that mean? Where in the world are you going?" asked M. Mauperin in the morning as Mme. Mauperin stood at the glass putting on a black lace cape. "Where am I going?" said Mme. Mauperin, fastening the cape to her shoulder with one of the two pins she was holding in her mouth. "Is my cape too low down? Just look." "No." "Pull it a little." "How fine you are!" said M. Mauperin, stepping back and examining his wife's dress. She was wearing a black dress of the most elegant style, in excellent taste though somewhat severe looking. "I am going to Paris." "Oh! you are going to Paris? What are you going to do in Paris?" "Oh, dear, how you do worry always with your questions: 'Where are you going? What are you going to do?' You really want to know, do you?" "Well, I was only asking you----" "My dear, I am going to confession," said Mme. Mauperin, looking down. M. Mauperin was speechless. His wife in the early days of her married life had gone regularly on Sundays to church. Later she had accompanied her daughters to their catechism class, and these were all the religious duties he had ever known her to accomplish. For the last ten years it seemed to him that she had been as indifferent as he was about such things--naturally and frankly indifferent. When the first moment of stupefaction had passed, he opened his mouth to speak, looked at her, said nothing, and, turning suddenly on his heels, went out of the room humming a kind of air to which music and words were about all that were missing. * * * * * On arriving at a handsome, cheerful-looking house in the Rue de la Madeleine, Mme. Mauperin went upstairs to the fourth story and rang at a door where there was no attempt at any style. It was opened promptly. "M. l'Abbe Blampoix?" "Yes, madame," answered a servant-man in black livery.