M. Theophrastus Longuet drained his glass and rose. He went to the desk, where Mlle. Bertha was counting the brass disks, and said to her: "Madame Taconet,"--Mlle. Bertha asked herself with some surprise why M. Longuet called her Madame Taconet; but the question met with no response,--"if that little Petito comes here again, tell him from me that the next time I come across him, _I'll clip his ears for him_." So saying, Theophrastus stroked the handle of his green umbrella as one strokes the hilt of a dagger, and went out without paying. There can be no reasonable doubt that Theophrastus had his _Black Feather_. The fog was still thick. He forgot all about lunching. He walked through the sulphurous mist as in a dream. He crossed the old Quartier d'Antin and what was formerly called Bishop's Town. When he saw dimly the towers of the Trinité, he muttered, "Ah, the towers of Cock Castle!" He was at St. Lazare station when he fancied that he was in "Little Poland." But little by little, as the mist cleared, his dream vanished with it. He had a more accurate idea of things. When he crossed the Seine at Pont-Royal, he had once more become honest Theophrastus, and when he set foot on the left bank of the river he had but a vague memory of what had happened on the other side. But he had that memory. In fact, when he examined himself closely, he found that he was beginning to experience three different mental states: first, that which arose from his actual existence as an honest manufacturer of rubber stamps; second, that which arose from the sudden and passing resurrection of the _Other_; third, that which arose from memory. While the resurrection of the _Other_ was, while it lasted, a terrible business, the memory was a pleasant and melancholy frame of mind, calculated to induce in a sorrowful heart a feeling of gentle sadness and philosophic pity. As he turned his steps towards Guénégaud Street, he asked himself idly why Adolphe had fixed the corner of Guénégaud and Mazarine Streets as their meeting-place. He took a round-about way to that corner, for _he could not bring himself to walk along the strip of Mazarine Street_ where it runs along the palace of the Institute, formerly the Four Nations. _He did not know the reason of this reluctance._ He went round by De la Monnaie house, and so came into Guénégaud Street. Adolphe was awaiting him, with a very gloomy face, at the corner, and slipped his arm into his. "Have you ever heard anyone speak of someone called the _Child_, Adolphe?" said Theophrastus, after they had greeted one another. "I have indeed," said Adolphe in a tone as gloomy as his face. "And I know his name, his family name." "Ah, what is it?" said Theophrastus anxiously.