"My glasses. Give me my glasses, I tell you!" He felt a commotion within himself as he recognized on the blue paper the writing of Mme. Chambannes. He opened the express letter and read: Sunday evening. MY DEAR MASTER: I am back at last. I am anxious to see you again. Why not take advantage of the fact that the tradesmen and my friends will still be leaving me alone to make our great visit to the Louvre to-morrow morning? Unless I hear from you, therefore, let it be to-morrow morning at nine-thirty in the place du Carrousel, in front of the pavilion de Sully. How pleasantit will be to meet again! Your little pupil, Z. CHAMBANNES. Instinctively M. Raindal consulted the clock which marked nine o'clock and he rushed to the door. "Brigitte!" he shouted in the passage.... "Brigitte, my frock coat.... The new one.... My patent leather shoes.... My hat.... Hurry up, my good girl." "What is the matter, father?" said Thérèse, who had come out at the disturbance. M. Raindal regretted having shouted so loudly; he was now compelled to tell the truth. "Oh! it's Mme. Chambannes!" he replied, scratching his neck under his beard. "She has made an appointment for 9.30 for me to take her to the Louvre.... I have no time to waste, as you can see." He noticed a smile on the girl's face and asked: "What are you laughing at?" "I am not laughing!" Thérèse replied, having recovered her composure. M. Raindal was upset. "Yes, you are laughing! You can't deny it.... Go on; speak.... What were you laughing at?" "Do you really want to know, father?... Very well! It is because to-day is Monday, and the museum is closed...." "I had forgotten.... Yet it is true enough!... But I cannot keep her waiting...." It suddenly dawned upon him that he was being suspected of telling an untruth. He held out the special delivery and said, "You can look for yourself! The day and the hour are set down.... 'To-morrow morning at 9.30.'" Haughtily, Thérèse brushed the paper aside. "Oh, it is quite unnecessary, father!" "Yes, yes! I want you to look at it...." She threw a swift glance at the paper and handed it back to M. Raindal: "You are right!... Hurry up!..." "All right! I am much obliged to you!" he grumbled. He recollected himself only when he reached the pavilion de Sully. Ten o'clock was just striking at the big clock above the pink columns of the door. M. Raindal sighed with relief. He was on time and that made him forget his anger at Thérèse.