These grave thoughts saddened him. He deplored being so old; he regretted that he had not known his dear friend Mme. Chambannes sooner. Again, not to mention the forthcoming departure which would separate him from the young woman, how many hours near her had Fate in store for him?... Under a rush of bitterness, he would sit down to write to Thérèse, to attempt a new project. August was drawing to an end. M. Raindal, from words Mme. Chambannes let fall, was inclined to conclude that a prolongation of his visit would please his hostess. In the course of many chats, she had seemed to indicate that the arrival of the two ladies in September would not be unwelcome to her. What did these latter say to that? Would they join the master, instead of returning to Paris, during those "days of intense heat" which threatened to persist? M. Raindal did not intend to force their hands. Nevertheless, he was of the opinion that their ill-humor had lasted too long, and it did not seem right that they should a second time refuse such cordial advances. He went to bed revived by the hope one acquires through the mere voicing of one's desires. And, the next day, when he saw Zozé again, all smiling and fresh in a light morning gown, like a nymph of dawn, the last vapors of his melancholy fled away. "Where are you going, dear master?" she cried merrily from her window. He looked up and made friendly signals to her with his hand. "I am going to the stables to take some sugar to Notpou.... After that I shall go to the post-office to mail a letter to my family!" "Hurry up, dear master! I shall be ready in half an hour." He looked back, five steps away, placing his hands above his eyes. She was still smiling, leaning on the balcony. The wide sleeves of her gown had slipped apart and showed the white flesh of her arm, folded on the balustrade. "If only those women agree to come!" thought M. Raindal, as he walked towards the stables. One morning, as he returned from mailing the fourth letter to them in one week--three having been left unanswered--he caught up with the village postman on whose route the château was. "A letter for you, monsieur!" the man said as he saluted. The master slowed down. It was a letter from Langrune. The Raindal ladies admitted that he was right in his remarks concerning the heat. Consequently, they would delay their departure and not return to Paris until about September 15th. Of Les Frettes, of Mme. Chambannes, not a word was said. "Fools!" the master murmured with disappointment. But his satisfaction was stronger. After all, this gave him the desired postponement, the right to remain at Les Frettes. Who knew but that the two women, had they been coming, would have made him uncomfortable with their humiliating surveillance! As to their coldness, their hidden enmity, he would see them on his return, and subdue them, cost what it might! He walked so fast that he met the postman coming out of the door of the château.