He started up with a sudden determination to go and call on Mme. Rosemilly. But he promptly sat down again. He did not like that woman. Why not? She had too much vulgar and sordid common sense; besides, did she not seem to prefer Jean? Without confessing it to himself too bluntly, this preference had a great deal to do with his low opinion of the widow's intellect; for, though he loved his brother, he could not help thinking him somewhat mediocre and believing himself the superior. However, he was not going to sit there till nightfall; and as he had done on the previous evening, he anxiously asked himself: "What am I going to do?" At this moment he felt in his soul the need of a melting mood, of being embraced and comforted. Comforted--for what? He could not have put it into words; but he was in one of those hours of weakness and exhaustion when a woman's presence, a woman's kiss, the touch of a hand, the rustle of a petticoat, a soft look out of black or blue eyes, seem the one thing needful, there and then, to our heart. And the memory flashed upon him of a little barmaid at a beer-house, whom he had walked home with one evening, and seen again from time to time. So once more he rose, to go and drink a bock with the girl. What should he say to her? What would she say to him? Nothing, probably. But what did that matter? He would hold her hand for a few seconds. She seemed to have a fancy for him. Why, then, did he not go to see her oftener? He found her dozing on a chair in the beer-shop, which was almost deserted. Three men were drinking and smoking with their elbows on the oak tables; the book-keeper in her desk was reading a novel, while the master, in his shirt-sleeves, lay sound asleep on a bench. As soon as she saw him the girl rose eagerly, and coming to meet him, said: "Good-day, monsieur--how are you?" "Pretty well; and you?" "I--oh, very well. How scarce you make yourself." "Yes. I have very little time to myself. I am a doctor, you know." "Indeed! You never told me. If I had known that--I was out of sorts last week and I would have sent for you. What will you take?" "A bock. And you?" "I will have a bock too since you are game to treat me." She had addressed him with the familiar _tu_, and continued to use it, as if the offer of a drink had tacitly conveyed permission. Then, sitting down opposite each other, they talked for a while. Every now and then she took his hand with the light familiarity of girls whose kisses are for sale, and looking at him with inviting eyes, she said: "Why don't you come here oftener? I like you very much, sweetheart." He was already disgusted with her; he saw how stupid she was, and common, smacking of low life. A woman, he told himself, should appear to us in a dream, or such a glory as may poetize her vulgarity. Next she asked him: "You went by the other morning with a handsome fair man, wearing a big beard. Is he your brother?" "Yes, he is my brother." "Awfully good-looking."