The house stirred at last, but I had still to wait till noon before I could see Madame Catinot. I spent the interval in an aimless walk through the town. At another time the things I saw must have filled me with wonder; at another time the hoary, gloomy ring of the Arènes, rising in tiers of frowning arches, high above the squalid roofs that leaned against it--and choked within by a Ghetto of the like, huddled where prefects once sat, and the Emperor's colours flew victorious round the circle--must have won my admiration by its vastness; the Maison Carrée by its fair proportions; the streets by the teeming crowds that filled them, and stood about the cabarets, and read the placards on the walls. But I had only thought for Louis, and my love, and the lagging minutes. At the first stroke of twelve I knocked at Madame Catinot's door; the last saw me in her presence. It needed but a look at her face, and my heart sank; the thanks I was preparing to utter died on my lips as I gazed at her. She on her part was agitated. For a moment we were both silent. At last, "I see that you have bad news for me, Madame," I said, striving to smile, and bear myself bravely. "The worst, I fear," she said pitifully, smoothing her skirt. "For I have none, Monsieur." "Yet I have heard it said that no news is good news?" I said, wondering. Her lip trembled, but she did not look at me. "Come, Madame," I persisted, though I was sick at heart. "Surely you are going to tell me more than that? At least you can tell me where I can see Madame St. Alais." "No, Monsieur, I cannot tell you," she said in a low voice. "Nor why M. Louis has so suddenly become hostile to me?" "No, Monsieur, nor that. And I beg--as you are a gentleman," she continued hurriedly, "that you will spare me questions! I thought that I could help you, and I asked you to see me to-day. I find that I can only give you pain." "And that is all, Madame?" "That is all," she said, with a gesture that told more than her words. I looked round the silent room, I walked half way to the door. And then I turned back. I could not go. "No!" I cried vehemently, "I will not go so! What is it you have learned, that has closed your lips, Madame? What are they plotting against her--that you fear to tell me? Speak, Madame! You did not bring me here to hear this! That I know." But she only looked at me, her face full of reproach. "Monsieur," she said, "I meant kindly. Is this my reward?" And that was too much for me. I turned without a word, and went out--of the room and the house.