“Why did you go and relate that?” he murmured at last, in a voice full of grief. “It's very bad.” “I?” replied Liénard; “but I only told it to one or two persons, enjoining secrecy. One never knows how these things get about!” When Deloche made up his mind to drink a glass of water the whole table burst out laughing again. They had finished and were lolling back on their chairs waiting for the bell recalling them to work. They had not asked for many extras at the great central counter, the more so as the firm treated them to coffee that day. The cups were steaming, perspiring faces shone under the light vapours, floating like the blue clouds from cigarettes. At the windows the blinds hung motionless, without the slightest flapping. One of them, drawn up, admitted a ray of sunshine which traversed the room and gilded the ceiling. The uproar of the voices beat on the walls with such force that the bell was at first only heard by those at the tables near the door. They got up, and the confusion of the departure filled the corridors for a long time. Deloche, however, remained behind to escape the malicious remarks that were still being made. Baugé even went out before him, and Baugé was, as a rule, the last to leave, going a circuitous way so as to meet Pauline as she went to the ladies' dining-room; a manouvre arranged between them--the only chance of seeing each other for a minute during business hours. But this time, just as they were indulging in a loving kiss in a corner of the passage they were surprised by Denise, who was also going up to lunch. She was walking slowly on account of her foot. “Oh! my dear,” stammered Pauline, very red, “don't say anything, will you?” Baugé, with his big limbs and giant proportions, was trembling like a little boy. He murmured, “They'd very soon pitch us out. Though our marriage may be announced, they don't allow any kissing, the animals!” Denise, greatly agitated, affected not to have seen them; and Baugé disappeared just as Deloche, who was going the longest way round, appeared in his turn. He tried to apologise, stammering out phrases that Denise did not at first catch. Then, as he blamed Pauline for having spoken before Liénard, and she stood there looking very embarrassed, Denise at last understood the whispered phrases she had heard around her all the morning. It was the story of the letter that was circulating. She was again seized by the shudder with which this letter had agitated her; she felt herself disrobed by all these men. “But I didn't know,” repeated Pauline. “Besides, there's nothing bad in the letter. Let them gossip; they're jealous, of course!” “My dear,” said Denise at last, with her prudent air, “I don't blame you in any way! You've spoken nothing but the truth. I _have_ received a letter, and it is my duty to answer it.”