Louise did like all those who have lost a beloved object--she haunted all the spots which she had often visited and admired with him. When we revisit the places where we have been happy, it seems that we must be happy again; our memory recalls all the circumstances of our previous visits, and the most trivial and futile things become of inestimable value when they have some connection with the one we love. By dint of identifying ourselves with our memories, we fancy that we are still living in that bitterly-regretted past--our heart dilates with a thrill of joy. But alas! how brief its duration! The present returns with its overwhelming truth; we look about--we are alone, all alone--we find in the depths of our hearts naught save a ghastly void, and no unalloyed joy in the days to come. One morning Nicole was working, Jacquinot sleeping, and Louise in the garden, where she was thinking of Chérubin as usual, when a gentleman entered the rustic dwelling. “O _agrestis_ and _rusticus_ abode!” he cried; “I salute thee, but I do not regret thee. My tastes do not agree with Virgil’s, I prefer the city to the country.” Nicole uttered a joyful exclamation at sight of Monsieur Gérondif, and she made haste to call Louise, saying: “Come quick, my child, here’s the schoolmaster come back; no doubt Chérubin will soon be here too.” It was in fact the tutor, who wore a hat so shiny that it looked as if it were varnished, with his hair carefully oiled beneath it; his gloves were glazed and his handkerchief drenched with Portugal water, but his nose was redder than ever. Louise rushed into the house. Never had Monsieur Gérondif’s presence caused her such pleasure; she longed, yet feared to speak to him, but at last she gave him her hand and said in a hesitating tone: “Ah! what happiness, monsieur! You are going to tell us about _him_.” Monsieur Gérondif, for his part, was speechless with admiration at sight of the girl, for it was eight months since he had left Gagny, and in that period a tremendous change had taken place in Louise, altogether to her advantage. She was no longer a child, a little maid; she was a tall, well-built, charming girl, who had every qualification to attract, and to whom anybody would have given credit for seventeen years and a swarm of suitors. “It is most extraordinary!” cried the tutor; “it is sorcery surely! What a gratifying change!” “You find Louise grown, don’t you, monsieur?” “Grown at least twelve centimetres, and her figure much more solid, more palpable!” “But Chérubin, monsieur, tell us about Chérubin! Never mind me. Is he coming, monsieur? Shall we see him soon? Does he think about us? Does he speak of us sometimes?” “Is he very fat and healthy, and happy, the dear _fieu_? And when shall we have a chance to embrace him? Why don’t he come to Gagny?”