I saw her in the distance, stumbling under the heavy trappings of her horse, and she made a little gesture of adieu as she disappeared behind one of the waggons. It seemed to me as if she was already far off, and I managed to walk away. Where should I go? Associating the cruelty of my family with Nazzarena’s departure, I could not go back home. What consolation, what support would I have found there? Father had forbidden me to go out: I could judge of the reception which awaited me. I wandered up and down the streets among the people in their Sunday best, absent-mindedly bumping against one or another, who hurled at me the epithet of blockhead, or boor. I almost enjoyed it, so tempestuously did I long to change the character of my pain. Powerless to direct my steps, I automatically found myself at the Café des Navigateurs. Grandfather would understand me; grandfather was the embodiment of that security for which that dear Martinod was working. The room was crowded, and I suddenly felt comforted by the atmosphere of tobacco and anise, the stir and movement. I lost the immediate sense of my grief, I was even able to perceive distinctly that something solemn and unusual was going on. A decision of capital importance had been arrived at, and from the way they were talking it seemed to me that this was one of those historic events that by and by boys would study in school. Grandfather was the object of a thousand testimonials of honour and admiration. They were crowding around him, congratulating him, shaking hands with him, though this he resisted. And champagne was being brought--highest favour! Champagne on a day like this! I began to feel deeply moved, all the more that no one offered me any. “A goblet!” cried Martinod, that dear Martinod who certainly _was_ good to me; “a goblet for the little fellow!” And lifting high his own, with a grand gesture he proclaimed, “To the election of Father Rambert! To the victory of the Republic!” “Bravo!” exclaimed the faithful Galurin. Callus and Merinos were overflowing with happiness: no doubt they were foreseeing that era of Beauty which they had so often anticipated in my hearing. As for Casenave, he was supporting the weight of his head with both hands, his vague eyes perhaps fixed upon some vision. The barmaid was inclining the bottle over his glass: he may have seen in her one of those beautiful ladies in empire gowns who used to come down through the ceiling of his garret to give him drinks and visit him openly. “_Ziou_!” he exclaimed, sitting up. As he gazed upon the frothing beverage, and the golden stream, he was seized with a convulsive shudder. His trembling hands failed to grasp the goblet, and he hiccoughed with impotent greed.