The two miles which separate “Le Maupas” from Chambéry were at length covered. Trélaz set the ladies down at the station and drove his conveyance over to a corner of the Square, away from the hotel omnibuses, the cabs, and the carriages. But the rows of horses envied his mare her well-filled bag of hay which he put before her. Paule, looking at the clock, noticed with surprise that it was only ten minutes past seven. Her mother saw her face. “I told you that we should be late.” The girl smiled: “Late because we shall have to wait only twenty minutes?” They reached the waiting-room, but as soon as Madame Guibert had opened the door she drew back. Paule gently urged her forward. The room was full of people in evening dress. They were the aristocracy of Chambéry waiting for the theatre-train to Aix-les-Bains. Among them were the Dulaurens family. Disconcerted, Madame Guibert turned as if to go out, whispering to Paule, “Let us go to the third class waiting-room. It will be pleasanter there.” “Why?” asked the girl. At that moment a good-looking young man detached himself from a group of women and came towards them. They recognised Lieutenant Jean Berlier, a friend of Marcel. He bowed to them with a courtesy which expressed his deep sympathy. “You have come to meet the Captain, haven’t you, Madame? I know you don’t like travelling.” “Oh, no, I don’t.” “How pleased he will be to see you; he will soon be here!” “In the past,” said the old lady to the young man, whom she had known as a boy, “his father used to meet him. You will understand.” “Yes, I know,” said Jean Berlier, and in order not to dwell on so painful a subject in a public place he added: “I shall be able to shake Marcel by the hand before I start.” “You will come and see him at our house, won’t you? Are you going away?” “For one night. We are going to Aix. It is the first night of ‘La Vie de Bohème.’ But theatres don’t interest you.” Sincere as ever, Madame Guibert replied: “I never went to one in my life. To tell you frankly, I do not regret it.” Although she spoke in low tones, there were two girls in light dresses who could hear her, and one of them, a bold-looking brunette, burst out laughing. But perhaps their fun was at the expense of a lieutenant of dragoons, who was speaking to them. Paule looked at her contemptuously from head to foot, her dark eyes flashing like a swift lightning streak. “Why are you standing?” Jean went on. The old lady chose a seat beside a vacant armchair in a dark corner, as the humble and timid are wont to do. “No, take the armchair, Mother,” said Paule rather brusquely. She had just exchanged bows--stiff on her part, cordial on the other’s--with the other of the two young girls, who instead of laughing had blushed. After a few more words the young man left and rejoined his party. Paule looked after him and heard him say to Madame Dulaurens: “Yes, that is Madame Guibert. She is waiting for her son, who is returning from Madagascar.”