“Has your mother come in?” “No, not yet.” Absurd! she would be coming in so late that he would have no time to speak to her before dinner. What could he invent to explain Bernard’s absence? He really couldn’t tell the truth--let the children into the secret of their mother’s temporary lapse. Ah! all had been forgotten, forgiven, made up. The birth of their last son had cemented their reconciliation. And now, suddenly this avenging spectre had re-risen from the past--this corpse had been washed up again by the tide. Good! Another interruption! As the study door noiselessly opens, he slips the letter into the inside pocket of his coat; the portière is gently raised--Caloub! “Oh, Papa, please tell me what this Latin sentence means. I can’t make head or tail of it....” “I’ve already told you not to come in here without knocking. You mustn’t disturb me like this for anything and everything. You are getting too much into the habit of relying on other people instead of making an effort yourself. Yesterday it was your geometry problem, and now to-day it’s ... by whom is your sentence?” Caloub holds out his copy-book. “He didn’t tell us; but just look at it; _you’ll_ know all right. He dictated it to us. But perhaps I took it down wrong. You might at any rate tell me if it’s correct?” Monsieur Profitendieu took the copy-book, but he was in too much pain. He gently pushed the child away. “Later on. It’s just dinner time. Has Charles come in?” “He went down to his consulting room.” (The barrister receives his clients in a room on the ground floor.) “Go and tell him I want to speak to him. Quick!” A ring at the door bell! Madame Profitendieu at last! She apologizes for being late. She had a great many visits to pay. She is sorry to see her husband so poorly. What can be done for him? He certainly looks very unwell. He won’t be able to eat anything. They must sit down without him, but after dinner, will she come to his study with the children?--Bernard?--Oh, yes; his friend ... you know--the one he is reading mathematics with--came and took him out to dinner. Profitendieu felt better. He had at first been afraid he would be too ill to speak. And yet it was necessary to give an explanation of Bernard’s disappearance. He knew now what he must say--however painful it might be. He felt firm and determined. His only fear was that his wife might interrupt him by crying--that she might exclaim--that she might faint.... An hour later she comes into the room with the three children. He makes her sit down beside him, close against his arm-chair. “Try to control yourself,” he whispers, but in a tone of command; “and don’t speak a word. We will talk together afterwards.” And all the time he is speaking, he holds one of her hands in both his.