Madeline does not hear, but her companion explains that two chambers will be wanted--one for the young lady, one for himself. The waiter bows and withdraws. An elderly chambermaid soon appears, and shows Madeline up to a great bedroom, grim and lonely as an empty barn, with one little chilly bed in the corner. There are no curtains to the window, and the moonlight is creeping in with a ghastly gleam. Left alone, Madeline resigns herself to remorse and despair, and sobs as if her heart would break. An hour passes thus. Then the chambermaid appears with the intimation that Monsieur is waiting dinner, and is impatient. After a moment’s hesitation Madeline descends. They are alone in the _salle à manger_, and the first course is served, when there enters a muscular young man in a shooting coat, a shirt very loose about the collar, and a loose necktie. ‘Englishman’ is written in every lineament of his brown, sun-tanned countenance. In the manner of many of his nation, he scowls at his fellow-guests, and then, without a word, falls upon the soup. Dish after dish goes from Madeline untasted. She breaks a little bread, that is all, and drinks a little Bordeaux and water. Her face is white as death, and all the tremendousness of the situation is full upon her. Monsieur Belleisle, for his part, feeds ravenously, and drinks more than one bottle of light wine. He is agitated, but preserves his composure. In his heart he curses the unwelcome third party present; he burns for a _tête-à-tête_. Third party proceeds leisurely with his dinner, only addressing the waiter in monosyllables. He is a man of thirty, of splendid physique and perfect health. He seems to see and hear nothing, but all the time his eyes and ears are wide open. He starts when the young lady--whom he has been watching quietly--speaks in the English tongue. ‘The chambermaid says there is a train from this place to Rouen. It leaves at daybreak, Monsieur Belleisle.’ ‘We will talk of that to-morrow,’ murmurs the Frenchman, with his mouth full. ‘That will be too late. I will leave by the first train, and get a cab from Rouen to Millefleurs. I will explain all--they may punish me as they please--I do not care.’ ‘_Diable_, and what will then become of me?’ ‘I don’t know--I suppose you will lose your situation, but you will soon get another.’ Monsieur sinks his voice and whispers-- ‘Another _wife_, mignonne? Ah non! If you abandon me I shall blow out my brains;’ then, still in a low voice, inaudible to the other person in the room, he continues, ‘But you are mad, my Madeline, to think of going back. Hélas, it is too late; you _must_ marry me now, or do you know what they will say? They will say that your character is gone, that you are _méchante_, and then no one will marry you to be put to shame. Yes, it is too late. You should have thought of this before to-morrow. You must become Madame my wife, or you will not be able to face the world.’