His eyes burned, for he had wept again in the train, careless of all pride, unable to resist his pain. Zozé had fallen in with his wishes by not accompanying him to the station. The parting had been public, before Aunt Panhias, the Marquis de Meuze, Gerald and Chambannes all gathered together. The master had purposely come down late in order to shorten the cruel instant. Vain calculation! He had had to wait fully five minutes on the steps, before them all, to smile, speak and answer questions.... What a martyrdom it had been! If only he had been able to kiss Zozé's hand, to kiss it with fire, with intoxication, as before ... to take a last taste of that forsaken delight!... But they were looking! It had been, instead, a cold and superficial kiss on the fingers of his little pupil, and it had seemed to him that his very lips were surprised! Well, these torments had been slight, compared to those that would soon follow! To-morrow he would be at Langrune, miles and miles away, compelled to explain his return, a prisoner of his family, exiled on a gloomy seashore! To-morrow, he would be once more Mme. Raindal's husband, Mlle. Raindal's father, _M. Raindal, of the Institute_, an austere old savant, with no one to make his life pleasant, with no clandestine friendship, no little pupil, no secret distraction, apart from his books--books to write, books to read, books to review!... "Books, books, always books!" he murmured, in a sickened tone. And a thought intrigued him; it was to stay in Paris and find some means of avoiding Langrune. The clock of the station struck seven. He paid the waiter and walked towards the boulevards. Where could he dine? He remembered the name of a restaurant, in the place de la Madeleine, the cooking of which Chambannes and the Marquis had often praised before him. He sauntered in that direction. The room was still half empty. He ordered a choice dinner, with such dishes as Zozé preferred, a bottle of _Saint-Estephe_ and a bottle of frappé Champagne which was placed before him in a silver vase. His absinthe encouraged him to these libations. Since he had drunk it, he felt livelier and less sad. He ate abundantly and applied himself to drinking. His ideas became lighter and seemed to penetrate one another. It was a pleasant confusion, and made him giggle at times. Towards the end of the dinner, he conceived the project of a drama, a myth in dialogue form, which would be entitled _Hercules_. He would show Vice, under the guise of a woman--who in the master's mind resembled Zozé exactly--entering the house of the now aged hero. And the latter would lament, would weep over his departed youth, and would implore the gods to give it back to him.... The drama developed according to this theme, in lofty axioms and lyrical plaints.