He spoke so loudly that everybody heard and turned towards him. The long wait had become unbearable to all. The hands of the clock pointed to eight. Again Madame Dulaurens tried to hide her anxiety. “Clément,” she said, “is very careful. But these cars are dangerous at night. One can so easily run into something in the dark.” “Where did he go?” asked the women. “That is just what is worrying me. He left for La Chênaie at five o’clock. It would hardly take him ten minutes, it is only two miles. And he hasn’t come back.” Anxious as ever for peace, M. Dulaurens assured them that nothing had ever happened to Clément. “Not to Clément,” Marthenay sarcastically put in. “He is a young devil! He is always running over something,--hens and dogs, and the other day it was an old woman.” “We paid her,” said Madame Dulaurens indignantly. “And paid her very well indeed.” “She is limping about on your money.” M. de Lavernay gallantly, and without any suspicion of irony, explained to his hostess that there were unfortunate creatures who were in the habit of throwing themselves in front of motor cars, so as to make money out of the owners. All except Mademoiselle de Songeon, who hated progress, were in favor of this fashionable sport and were busy defending it when Clément entered, looking very jolly and with a red face, his fur coat covered with frost which shone in the light. Madame Dulaurens rushed up to him and scolded him well instead of satisfying her desire to kiss him. Since her daughter’s marriage she had insisted on playing a much larger part in her son’s life. He made no attempt to excuse himself, but laughed, melting like an icicle all the time. “Oh, well, we got stuck at Cognin. Such a bad business!” M. d’Amberlard tossed his head furiously. “A nice business indeed,” he said. “Dinner kept waiting! He is talking very coolly about it, the young scoundrel.” He was still raging inwardly when Madame Dulaurens took his arm to go in to dinner. Clément made as though to offer his to Mademoiselle de Songeon, who stared at him scornfully and ordered him to go and dry himself. “You are quite right, Mademoiselle de Songeon,” he replied philosophically. “But you aren’t _very_ kind! I shall go and dry myself and change too.” He disappeared, returning in his dinner-jacket as they were serving the filet of beef with mushrooms. With all the coolness of the rising generation, he asked loudly for soup and fish and made no attempt to make up for his delay. As the courses succeeded one another harmoniously, the guests’ pleasure grew and the conversation became general. Clément, having satisfied his appetite, was burning to take part in it and attract the attention of the table. He watched his opportunity and called across the room: “I have some great news for you.” “What is it?” they cried on all sides. “I heard it at Cognin. I had it from my chauffeur, who heard it from the schoolmaster.”