But, whether because he was still too weak to work, or because he preferred not to encounter the man who had nearly killed him, Paul did not return to his former stand. The cold was sharp, the snow fell in large flakes, and the people on the streets and the boulevard walked quickly and did not often stop. Sans-Cravate was in his place, seated on his _crochets_; on his head was a broad-brimmed woollen hat, which protected him from the snow; but, despite the severity of the weather, his neck was bare, as on the warmest day in summer. "I say, well-named!" cried Jean Ficelle, as he drew near, blowing on his fingers; "do you propose to stay here just to let the snow fall on your nose? This is no weather for customers to take the trouble to come after us. Let's go and get under cover in a wine shop." "No, I'm done with wine shops," replied Sans-Cravate, shortly. "Oho! so it's all up with you, is it? You're not a man at all; you've forgotten how to laugh or drink or play cards. Good-day! you're lost to society." Jean Ficelle walked away. Sans-Cravate had not been alone on the corner three minutes, when, in spite of the bad weather, a young woman in a coquettish little cap and silk apron, and struggling with a large umbrella to shelter her from the snow, walked up to the messenger and said to him: "Are you Monsieur Sans-Cravate?" "Yes, mamzelle." "My mistress would like to speak to you right away." "Your mistress! Oh! I guess I know you; aren't you with a lady who lives in Rue Neuve-Vivienne?" "Yes, with Madame Baldimer." "That's the name." "Will you come?" "Right away, mamzelle." Sans-Cravate followed the lady's-maid, and as he walked along he remembered that he had often carried letters for Albert to the lady in question; he presumed that she had been the mistress of his sister's seducer, and he wondered what she could have to say to him. The thought disturbed and worried him, and he had a feeling of something like terror as he entered the house, which he recognized perfectly. Mademoiselle Rosa showed the messenger into her mistress's apartment, instead of leaving him, as usual, in the anteroom; in the small salon, she pointed to a chair and said: "Sit down and wait; madame will come directly." When the maid had left him, Sans-Cravate looked about in surprise; he was exceedingly curious to know what this lady, who made him wait in a salon, could possibly have to say to him. Soon a door opened, and Madame Baldimer appeared. She was handsomely dressed, as always, but her face was paler than usual, and her mind seemed to be absorbed by unpleasant thoughts. Having made sure that all the doors were closed, she walked toward Sans-Cravate, and, motioning to him to remain seated, took a chair and placed it in front of him. The messenger was confounded; he hardly dared to raise his eyes to the beautiful woman's face, but waited for her to explain herself. She speedily broke the silence. "You are Sans-Cravate?" "Yes, madame."