“A secret, Monsieur Mouillard, a little secret. You will be surprised. It is settled then--next Sunday?” “Where shall I meet you?” “Hush, the office-boy is listening. That boy is too sharp; I’ll tell you some other time.” “As you please, Monsieur Jupille; I accept the invitation unconditionally.” “I am so glad you will come, Monsieur Mouillard. I only wish we could have a little storm between this and then.” He spoke the truth; his satisfaction was manifest, for I never have seen him rub the tip of his nose with the feathers of his quill pen so often as he did that afternoon, which was with him the sign of exuberant joy, all his gestures having subdued themselves long since to the limits of his desk. July 20th. I have seen Lampron once more. He bears his sorrow bravely. We spoke for a few moments of his mother. I spoke some praise of that humble soul for the good she had done me, which led him to enlarge upon her virtues. “Ah,” he said, “if you had only seen more of her! My dear fellow, if I am an honest man; if I have passed without failing through the trials of my life and my profession; if I have placed my ideal beyond worldly success; in a word, if I am worth anything in heart or brain, it is to her I owe it. We never had been parted before; this is our first separation, and it is the final one. I was not prepared for it.” Then he changed the subject brusquely: “What about your love-affair?” “Fresher than ever.” “Did it survive half an hour’s conversation?” “It grew the stronger for it.” “Does she still detest you?” I told him the story of our trip to Desio, and our conversation in the carriage, without omitting a detail. He listened in silence. At the end he said: “My dear Fabien, there must be no delay. She must hear your proposal within a week.” “Within a week! Who is to make it for me?” “Whoever you like. That’s your business. I have been making inquiries while you were away; she seems a suitable match for you. Besides, your present position is ridiculous; you are without a profession; you have quarrelled, for no reason, with your only relative; you must get out of the situation with credit, and marriage will compel you to do so.” CHAPTER XVI. A FISHING-TRIP AND AN OLD FRIEND July 21st. M. Jupille had written to tell me where I was to meet him on the Sunday, giving me the most minute directions. I might take the train to Massy, or to Bievres. However, I preferred to take the train to Sceaux and walk from there, leaving Chatenay on my left, striking across the woods of Verrieres toward the line of forts, coming out between Igny and Amblainvilliers, and finally reaching a spot where the Bievre broadens out between two wooded banks into a pool as clear as a spring and as full of fish as a nursery-pond. “Above all things, tell nobody where it is!” begged Jupille. “It is our secret; I discovered it myself.”