"To begin with," the younger M. Raindal objected ... "it is not more than half past five.... The apéritif lasts normally until half past seven.... I have therefore, mademoiselle, two good solid hours, if you please.... Now, you want to know why I am here. Hah, nephew, this rouses your curiosity! Well, I came to ask your father to take me to Mme. Chambannes." Thérèse bit her lips to repress a smile. "Yes," Uncle Cyprien continued, rubbing his close-cropped hair. "It was an idea that occurred to me ... a matter of curiosity!..." "And I was telling your uncle," M. Raindal put in rapidly, and without looking at Thérèse, "that I was quite ready to take him there, whenever he wished...." "Why not to-morrow, Thursday?" Uncle Cyprien inquired. M. Raindal hid under a short laugh a sigh that came to his lips. "Hm! Hm! To-morrow, that is rather sudden.... I must have time to inform Mme. Chambannes.... Especially since her husband left last night on a journey." "Ah! on a journey!... Where to?..." Cyprien asked. "To Bosnia, I believe." "Bosnia!... Ah, really, to Bosnia!" the younger Raindal repeated, in order to memorize this particularity or to discover therein a piece of probable evidence. He said resolutely: "Well, write at once to Mme. Chambannes.... Two lines, two simple lines.... I shall drop your letter in the box when I go.... She will have it the first thing to-morrow morning ... and if she does not want me...." "Oh! very well!" M. Raindal said coldly, as he took up his pen. But he added, before writing a word: "Nevertheless, I give you fair warning.... You may perhaps meet at Mme. Chambannes' house some people who are not to your taste...." "Who may they be?" "I don't know for certain.... Let me see, there may be the abbé Touronde, a friend of the family...." This revelation caused Uncle Cyprien to forget himself. What! Madame Rhâm-Bâhan had an abbé, a curé, a black-robed one! Ah! that was really pretty good! What morals! What a century! What a muddle! And Uncle Cyprien laughed outright. He only calmed down when Thérèse gave him a severe look to remind him of his promises. "I am laughing," he declared, "I am laughing, because ... you understand...." He gave up the explanation. "I laughed without malice.... You may rest assured that if I meet the abbé Tour... Tour what?--well, never mind!--I shall make myself agreeable ... most agreeable.... Go on, write, my dear fellow!" Thérèse was exhausted. A mad impulse to laugh was overcoming her. Under the pretext of going to look for a pamphlet, she went to her room and ran to her armchair, bursting out in guffaws. "Poor father!... What a woeful face! And my uncle wants to join the band now!... Ah! life is really funny!"