"At last!" exclaimed Sans-Cravate, crumpling the paper in his fingers; then he sprang to his feet, folded his _crochets_, and strode away toward Albert's residence. He was intensely excited, although he exerted himself to the utmost to control his emotion. He felt that his sister's future was about to be decided, and it was for her that he trembled. Under the porte cochère he stopped, uncertain whether he ought not to call first upon Monsieur Vermoncey. But he reflected that, if Albert's father were warned of his intention, he would have his son watched and would prevent him from giving him satisfaction; and the result of his reflections was that he ought now to deal with Albert alone. Sans-Cravate went rapidly up to the young man's apartment. He rang, and a new servant opened the door. "I wish to speak to Monsieur Albert," said Sans-Cravate. "Monsieur Albert is not in," replied the servant, in an almost insolent tone. "He must be, for me." "But my master returned from travelling last night. He is tired, and cannot receive anyone." "He will receive me, for I must speak to him. Go and tell him that Sans-Cravate is here, and that I won't leave the house without seeing him. He must know that we have got to have an interview, and it's better to have it now. Go, my boy. I know that there's two entrances, but I've got my eye on the courtyard; and if your master should try to skip, I'll jump through the window and land on his shoulders; that would interfere with his running." The servant stared at Sans-Cravate in amazement, but went and told his master. He returned in a very short time, beckoned to Sans-Cravate to follow him, and ushered him into Albert's bedroom. Young Vermoncey had just risen; he was dressed in a robe de chambre, and was lying back carelessly in a capacious easy-chair. His face was slightly pale when Sans-Cravate entered the room; but he seemed perfectly placid, and said, with an unembarrassed manner, and with something very like a smile: "Is it you, Sans-Cravate? I expected a call from you. Come and sit down, and let us have a talk." Surprised at this reception, which aroused the most cheering hopes in his heart, Sans-Cravate seated himself on the edge of the chair that the young man indicated, and stammered: "Yes--yes, Monsieur Albert, it's me. You certainly had good reason to think I would come; for, you see, this thing's got to be settled! And I love my sister, my poor Liline, so dearly! But I hope that you still love her, too?" Albert threw himself back in his chair and held his feet to the fire, as he replied: "Yes, my dear Sans-Cravate; your sister is fascinating--and as gentle and sweet as an angel. I loved her dearly, and I still love her. So I mean her to be happy--that is my most earnest desire."