How could she be revenged on him, how reply to his pitiless selfishness? Ah! Zozé was at last beginning to find out that there is no equality in love. Otherwise, would she not have punished the recent treachery of Gerald with an immediate betrayal? That was continuing now; would she not reply with some barbarous plan, say, to choose for her holiday some place where one or the other of the men who were in love with her happened to be going? There was Dieppe, for instance, where Givonne was going, Bagneres, where Pums was to take a cure, or Dinard, where Burzig, as an authentic Englishman, had taken a little villa. None of these reprisals satisfied her. She soon convinced herself that Gerald would not be disturbed by any of these. What, therefore, was the use of her going to those fashionable resorts which, owing to their similarity, would forever carry her dreams back to Deauville? Would it not be much better for her to go and hide at Les Frettes, to seek slumber for her mind and forgetfulness in that peaceful spot, to plunge herself into the emptiness of country life till her wicked Raldo came back? She chose this solution in the first days of July. Gerald promised that he would join her there at the beginning of September, which was the time set for Chambannes' return from Bosnia. Zozé was to leave on the 20th with her Aunt and Uncle Panhias. Moreover, she would not be left altogether alone, since the abbé Touronde was in the neighborhood and the Herschsteins and Silberschmidts also. "And, after all," Gerald remarked, "a month is only four weeks.... And four weeks are very quickly over." Mme. Chambannes agreed. His nonchalance brought a grimace of contempt and a tremor to her lips, but her pride made her attempt to smile. Then came the following Thursday when, without saying anything about Gerald, she informed M. Raindal of her preparations. "Ah!" he stammered, blinking, his eyes so full of sorrow and so imploring that Zozé felt at once moved by it.... "Ah! you are going to Les Frettes?... Oh, very well ...!" "What about you, dear master?" said she. "What will you do with your summer?" "I?" He tried to remember, but his mind would not work. At last it came back to him, and he replied: "I?... We?... We are going to Langrune, as we do every year.... How long are you going to stay at Les Frettes?" "Oh, a month, two months perhaps, maybe three.... It all depends on George's business." "Three months!" repeated M. Raindal, whose mind had been struck by the cruelest of the three figures given. And he added with sincerity: "It pains me very much, my dear friend!" At the same time he had seized Mme. Chambannes' hand and greedily pressed his lips upon it. She sighed with pity. Poor père Raindal! How heavy his heart must be!