"Hm! Hm!... When I am gone, when I am no longer here, I hope that you will think sometimes of your dear...." He corrected himself,--"of your old master who, on his part, even from afar, will not forget you...." The solemnity of this promise completed his confusion. Hurriedly, as if stricken with a sudden indisposition, he ran into the drawing-room, then through the hall and up the stairs. Zozé ran behind him, chirping, in her softest, tenderest intonation: "Dear master!... Dear master!... And in Paris.... In Paris ... we shall meet again, shan't we?" He only replied when he was at the top of the stairs, his voice clear once more, intending to leave no doubt, afterward, in the minds of those in the house: "To be sure, dear madame.... I shall transmit your message to my daughter.... Besides, we can talk about it again at lunch, before I go." * * * * * As soon as he reached Paris, M. Raindal informed himself of the trains for Langrune. There were two: an evening one which arrived there in the night, another one in the morning which would reach Langrune in the afternoon. To inform his family of his arrival by telegram would alarm them. He chose not to leave until the next morning, and to spend the night at the nearest hotel. Slowly he walked towards the station yard, where the setting sun distilled a mist of gold. An endless procession of people passed him, on the pavement and under the arcades. It was the departure of the suburban workers who returned at night to the open fields, and of the smarter population of the villas of the Seine-et-Oise region. First came clerks marching briskly, by twos and in step, their hats on the backs of their heads because of the heat; then the bourgeois, who held carefully beyond the reach of shocks their packages of dainties tied with red strings; young women in light dresses with white gloves like those Zozé wore; well-groomed men who stood up in their open cabs, to jump out more quickly.... All of them were going towards a place of rest, perhaps towards love, to the peace of the country, the beautiful night under the trees, to the priceless happiness which M. Raindal had just deserted. The master's sadness and weariness were increased by this. He sat down on the terrace of a near-by café and ordered an absinthe.