"All right!" he approved. "That's better! Au revoir, nephew ... and no spite, either, please." Thérèse went down holding herself on the banisters. Her legs almost gave way under her. Her ideas were confused in an overwhelming impression of defeat and powerlessness. When she reached the outside door, she stopped, hesitating. She did not try even to define her sensation of isolation, nor to elucidate the gross defection of her uncle. She felt stupefied, paralyzed, and forever vanquished. She walked slowly towards the rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs. The passers-by looked at her, surprised by her disordered appearance, staring eyes, and expression of hidden sorrow. Love-trouble?... With those yellow cotton gloves, that faded alpaca dress, and that straw hat bought at a bargain-counter--and moreover, not pretty herself! No! Rather a discharged governess.... Without taking any notice of their glances, without even seeing them, she walked close to the walls, as if she needed a support in case she were to lose consciousness. Suddenly she came to the rue Vavin, and a vision, a man's name brought her to a sharp stop: Boerzell. Why, yes! There was the supreme resource, the supreme protector against the threatening catastrophe, against the ruin which threatened to strike her home very shortly! A ray of hope enlivened her face, worn out by anguish. She hastened. Five minutes later she was in the rue de Rennes in front of Pierre Boerzell's door. Hearing the bell, he came to the door himself. He was in his shirtsleeves, and without a collar, because of the heat; his plump white neck showing freely above his shirt. He gave a surprised exclamation on recognizing Thérèse, and quickly smoothed his hair down: "You, mademoiselle!... I hope there is nothing wrong?" Thérèse smiled with difficulty. "No, M. Boerzell!... A service, a piece of advice I have come to seek from you." "Will you allow me, mademoiselle?... Let me show you in...." As soon as they were in the front room, which was his study--a tiny little room, where books and pamphlets covered the table, the chairs, and the divan--he apologized for the exiguity of the place: "You see!... I am very much limited as to space here ... and there are even more books in my room.... I shall have to move one of these days!" Hastily he cleared the divan and said: "Please sit down, mademoiselle.... What is it?" At the same time he hurried to his room. He came back very shortly, having fixed his collar and tie and donned a coat. "There!... I am at your service.... What can I do for you, mademoiselle?..." With a thousand reticences, Thérèse took up her narrative. Boerzell followed her attentively, nodding his concern at intervals. But the selfish welcome which her uncle had given her roused him to an expression of indignation: "That is too much!... Really, it is disgusting!"