For a great while Cartaret remained as a man stunned. It was only very slowly that there came to him the full realization of his loss, and then it came with all the agony with which a return to life is said to come to one narrowly saved from death by drowning. Blindly his brain bashed itself against the mysterious wall of Vitoria's flight. Why had she gone? Where had she gone? Why had she left no word? A thousand times that day these unanswerable questions whirled through his dizzy consciousness. Had he offended her? He had explained his one offense, and she had given no sign of having taken any other hurt. Was she indeed a revolutionist from some strange country, summoned away, without a moment's warning, by the inner council of her party? Revolutionist conspirators did not go to art-classes and do not walk only under the chaperonage of an ancient duenna. Was she, then, that claimant to power that he had once imagined her, now gone to seize her rights? Things of that sort did not, Cartaret knew, occur in these prosy days. Then why had she gone, and where, and why had she left no word for him? Again these dreary questions began their circle. Less than twenty-four hours ago, he had thought that money would resolve all his troubles. Money! Fervently he wished himself poor again--poor again, as yesterday, with Her across the landing in the Room Opposite. Somehow, he did not forget his friends and the dinner he had promised them. He went to the Deux Colombes and ordered the dinner. "Say to them, Pasbeaucoup," he gave instructions, "that I am indisposed and shall not be able to dine with them. Say that we shall all dine together some other night--very soon I hope. Say that I am sorry." He was bitter now against all the world. "What will they care, as long as they have the dinner?" he reflected. Pasbeaucoup cared. He expressed great concern for monsieur's health. "That," thought Cartaret, "is because I'm rich. A month or two ago and they wouldn't trust me: they'd have let me starve." He went back to his desolate room and to his dreary questioning. He was there, with his head in his hands, when Seraphin found him. Seraphin's suit was still new, and it was evident that he had dressed carefully his twin wisps of whisker in honor of Cartaret's celebration. The Frenchman's face was grave. "Why aren't you dining?" sneered Cartaret. Seraphin passed by the sneer. "They told me that you were ill," he said, simply. "And you came to see if it was true?" "I came to see if I could be of any assistance." ("Ah," ran Cartaret's unjust thoughts, "it's very evident you're rich now, Charlie!") "Nobody else came with you," he said. Seraphin hesitated. He twirled his soft hat in his hands. "They thought--all but Houdon, who still persists that you have been rich always--they thought that, now that you were rich, you might prefer other society." "_You_ didn't think it?" "I did not."