Mme. Chambannes was near her goal. Gerald was captivated, attracted and firmly held; he surrendered to his lady, swore fealty, faithfulness and lasting love--and made Zozé's house his own. He reigned therein, an all-powerful despot, coaxed by the husband, flattered by the visitors, servilely obeyed by Mme. Chambannes who rejoiced in, and was thankful for, the love at last acquired and conquered, the love unique forever, and more than legitimate, since it was even romantic and glorious!... Then came one evening when the young Count brought in his father. The Marquis de Meuze was charmed with his "daughter-in-law," as he nicknamed Zozé to his own soul. He came again, of his own accord, having found the place attractive, the women pretty and the cooking excellent.... Yet, what struggles, what efforts she had made before she achieved victory! Every day she still had to use her craft and stratagems in order to keep her nobleman, to keep the thieves off and take care of the competition. * * * * * Mme. Chambannes thought of these things and gave a deep sigh. She stared aimlessly at the iridescent foam that the sugar sent up to the top of her coffee cup. Suddenly the sullen voice of Anna called her back to her reflections. "Is Madame going out? May I get Madame's clothes ready?" Mme. Chambannes was stupefied. "What is the time?" she asked. "Almost two o'clock, Madame." Two! Why, she had left her room, gone to lunch, eaten and drunk and sat there all that time, not knowing what she was doing, her mind wandering far away, on the obscure paths of the past! Sleepily, she replied: "Yes, I am going out.... Give me my blue dress.... My astrakhan coat...." She went wearily to the window and lifted the curtains. A heavy white mist hung low between the houses. It seemed as if a smoke was rising from everything, from the trees in the park, at the end of her street, from the street pavement and from the asphalt on the sidewalks; even men and horses that passed by threw it out of their nostrils in thick, parallel clouds. Far, far above, the sun gave out a pale light, like a lamp in a room where men have smoked much. Such a cold, funereal day was a good day for lovemaking, was it not? Mme. Chambannes dreamt. To love Gerald, all kinds of weather seemed propitious to her, as the lower classes think all days are good for drinking. Where was her _Raldo_ now, he of the great, wide, beloved eyes? How she detested the unworthy wretch!... What were they talking about at the Mathays', in the drawing-room darkened by the fog? Naïvely, she let the curtains down again, as if she feared to see. Once more sobs came to her throat! Well, she must forgot, get some distraction, take a walk until four! Where could she go? She raked her mind for names; she thought of visits to pay, of dressmakers and modistes. Then all at once she skipped and beat her hands with a childish gesture.