"I do not think so, Monsieur Fabien." "Yes, yes, you will; and you will see that it is my uncle who is in the wrong." "I have not often known him in the wrong." "That has nothing to do with it. My marriage is fully decided upon, and all I want is to get my uncle's consent to it. Do you understand? I want to make friends with him." Madeleine shook her head again. "You won't succeed." "My dear Madeleine!" "No, Monsieur Fabien, you won't succeed." "He must be very much changed, then!" "So much that you could hardly believe it; so much that I can hardly keep myself from changing too. He, who had such a good appetite, now has nothing but fads. It's no good my cooking him dainties, or buying him early vegetables; he never notices them, but looks out of the window as I come in at the door with a surprise for him. In the evening he often forgets to go out in the garden, and sits at table, his elbows on his rumpled napkin, his head between his hands, and what he thinks of he keeps to himself. If I try to talk of you--and I have tried, Monsieur Fabien--he gets up in a rage, and forbids me to open my mouth on the subject. The house is not cheerful, Monsieur Fabien. Every one notices how he has changed; Monsieur Lorinet and his lady never enter the doors; Monsieur Hublette and Monsieur Horlet come and play dummy, looking all the time as if they had come for a funeral, thinking it will please the master. Even the clients say that the master treats them like dogs, and that he ought to sell his practice." "Then it isn't sold?" "Not yet, but I think it will be before long." "Listen to me, Madeleine; you have always been good and devoted to me; I am sure you still are fond of me; do me one last service. You must manage to put me up here without my uncle knowing it." "Without his knowing it, Monsieur Fabien!" "Yes, say in the library; he never goes in there. From there I can study him, and watch him, without his seeing me, since he is so irritable and so easily upset, and as soon as you see an opportunity I shall make use of it. A sign from you, and down I come." "Really, Monsieur Fabien--" "It must be done, Madeleine; I must manage to speak to him before ten o'clock to-morrow morning, for my bride is coming." "The Parisienne? She coming here!" "Yes, with her father, by the train which gets in at six minutes past nine to-morrow." "Good God! is it possible?" "To see you, Madeleine; to see my uncle, to make my peace with him. Isn't it kind of her?" "Kind? Monsieur Fabien! I tremble to think of what will happen. All the same, I shall be glad to have a sight of your young lady, of course."