Seated at the back of the drawing-room, facing the window, M. Raindal was reading the paper near a lamp. Mme. Chambannes and Gerald were chatting in the left-hand corner, on a little cretonne divan. Aunt Panhias passed the coffee cups, grumbling the while against her husband who had insisted on staying until after dessert. Had anyone ever heard of such absurd stubbornness! When one had to meet somebody, was it not the least one could do to give up his dessert? And she pestered Zozé to find out about the hour of the trains, calculate the delays due to transfers and decide whether Uncle Panhias would arrive on time. M. de Meuze came in again and interrupted her complaints. "Please excuse me, ladies," he said. "The journey has tired me out.... I am going to put my old body to bed!" He went towards M. Raindal to shake hands with him. "Hush!" he whispered, turning back to the young people. "Science is asleep.... Peace to his rest!... Good night, dear madame!" Zozé gave him a friendly nod. "Oh, that's nothing!" Aunt Panhias declared, in a hushed voice. "Our good M. Raindal is caught with that almost every night!" She went out with the Marquis, having a score of orders to give for the comfort of the new guests, for Chambannes' return, and for the dispatching of the carriage. "Alone at last!" Gerald murmured softly, in a tone of banter. "Not so loud, my darling!" implored Zozé, as she pressed his hand. "Why?... He is asleep!" Zozé, without releasing the hand of her Raldo, frowned as she examined M. Raindal. Then she rose and pulled the young man after her. "Come! Let us go on the terrace.... I shall feel safer." Then she sighed: "Oh! my own Raldo! What a bore that he stayed!... And you know.... We have him here for another fortnight!" "Yes, you told me! Well! If he is in our way, we'll lead him a chase, the old kangaroo!... It can't be very hard to do that." They were leaning on the white stone balustrade. With extreme caution, M. Raindal opened his eyes. From where he was, he had only a side view of Mme. Chambannes, her vase-like pale blue dress, her fine profile turned to the right.... That was so, no doubt, because she was speaking to Gerald whom he guessed was very close to her, elbow to elbow, as he himself had leaned over, up above, in the lighted room, on the day of his arrival! He held his breath back in order to try to hear them. He could distinguish nothing but a gentle melody of confused voices, a cascade of softened syllables, whose meaning was broken by the invisible partitions of the air. At times, the young woman's profile shook or plunged into the darkness. The conversation was cut short by a dead stop. M. Raindal, his hands stuck to his armchair, contemplated with a feeling of distress the pale dress, the headless trunk of his little pupil. Why did she bend so? For what mystery did she incline her whispering, laughing lips?