When I left the Tuileries I remembered the fact that I had not eaten since morning. I went to a café and dined after a fashion. I returned home late; and as I entered the hall the servant who took my hat, said: "A lady called an hour ago to see monsieur." "A lady to see me?" "Yes, monsieur. I told her that you had gone to Etiolles, to the Pavilion of Saluce, and she ordered her coachman to drive there." I remember, now, that when I started to see Franzius and Eloise off at the station I had said to the servant that I might go to Saluce, and if I did not return I would be there. "What was she like?" "Madame was quite young, tall, dark, and--very beautiful." "Good God!" I said. "_Why_ did I not return an hour sooner! Quick! Send me Joubert!" CHAPTER XXXIX NIGHT Joubert found me in the dining-room. "Joubert," I shouted, "the swiftest horses--quick!--and a carriage to take me to Etiolles! You will drive me." Joubert glanced at me and left the room like a flash. I walked up and down. She had been here an hour ago--here an hour ago--and I had been walking the streets unconscious of the fact! The war which had threatened to destroy my last hope had brought her, perhaps, to my door, and I had been dining at a café! I had come slowly home through the streets, and she was here waiting for me! Was she leaving France? Was Etiolles but a stage on the journey? And if she found that I was not there, what would she do? Would she return, or--go on? I sprang to the bell and rang it violently. "The horses! The horses!" I cried. "God in heaven! are they never coming?" "The horses are at the door, monsieur." I rushed out, seized my hat, which the man handed me; he opened the door, and there stood a closed carriage; two powerful greys were harnessed to it, and Joubert was on the box. "Joubert," I said, "drive as you never have driven before. My life is in your hands!" Then we started. And now, as if called up by nightmare, the crowd in the streets, which I had forgotten, impeded our progress. The Rue St. Honoré was like a fair. As, sitting in the carriage, that was compelled to go at a walking pace, I looked out of the window at the senseless illuminations, the brutal or foolish faces, I could have welcomed at once a German army that would have swept a clear path for me. We passed the gates of Paris without hindrance, and then down a long street lined with houses. It was after ten o'clock now, but these houses, in which dwelt poor folk, were ablaze from basement to garret. The good news of the war had spread itself here; the great national rejoicing had found an echo even in this street, where men slept sound as a rule, as men sleep who have passed the day labouring in a factory. The horses had now settled into a swinging trot. Half a dozen times I lowered the window to urge Joubert, but I refrained. There was still twenty miles before us. If one of our horses broke down, it was highly improbable that we could get another.