"Whether you understand it or not," the fair Herminie would reply, "you've got to fight with that little Tobie, who isn't likely to be very formidable. Remember, monsieur, that you are to challenge him, wherever you meet him!" And Monsieur Plays would bend his head with an air of resignation; and when he was on the street, or driving, if he saw a man who resembled Tobie, he would hasten away in the opposite direction. Meanwhile, two months had passed since Sans-Cravate had found his sister, only to lose her again at once. During that time the messenger had called frequently at Monsieur Vermoncey's, to ask if he had heard from his son, and if he knew where he had taken his sister. But Albert had written only two letters to his father; they were very short, and did not mention the girl he had abducted. One was dated in Alsace, and the other in Switzerland; he simply said that he was travelling, and gave no address. As time passed, Sans-Cravate's hopes grew fainter and fainter; often, after questioning Monsieur Vermoncey, he would shake his head sadly, and mutter: "This looks bad! I tell you, monsieur, I'm very much afraid Monsieur Albert don't intend to do what's right. I don't like this keeping my sister away from me and preventing her from writing--for if he didn't forbid her to do it, I'm sure she'd have let me know where she is before this. And then, his not making any attempt to get you to forgive him for what he's done! I'm only a poor devil, without any education, but it don't seem to me that all that looks like a purpose to keep his promises." Monsieur Vermoncey strove to reassure him, saying: "You can always rely on my word!" And the messenger would return to his stand, reflecting thus: "The father's an honorable man, that's sure; he'll never go back on what he says; but what good does it do me to have the father's word, if the son don't keep his?" Since he had seen his sister, since he had conceived the hope that she would be received into the Vermoncey family, Sans-Cravate had entirely changed his ways: he no longer drank too much; he had ceased to frequent wine shops; he was neither quarrelsome nor noisy as before; lastly, he had ceased to consort with Jean Ficelle, and all that worthy's insistence was powerless to induce him to leave his place or neglect his work. Once only he had met Paul, who was then convalescent, and was crawling painfully along, on Bastringuette's arm; for it was the middle of the day, when Elina could not be with her lover. Sans-Cravate felt that he quivered all over, and that his hand trembled, when he saw his former comrade's pale, emaciated face. If Paul had been alone, it is probable that Sans-Cravate would have thrown his arms about him and begged him to forgive the injury he had done him; but the presence of Bastringuette reawakened all the pangs of jealousy in his heart, and he walked quickly away, cursing anew his former friend and his former mistress.