Without much understanding, Mme. Chambannes felt a little shiver of surprise. She imagined a multitude of monks and nuns dwelling in these buildings. They knelt down and prayed, in long black or gray rows. The dark sanctuaries softened their silhouettes and the smoke of incense twisted its curls above their heads. She had a sudden curiosity to be among them, to learn their prayers and share their ecstasies. Especially she wished to go in and see. Her driver had to knock at the window to warn her that they had reached the house. The concierge was an old woman with catarrh. She told her where M. Raindal's apartment was: at the end of the path, on the fifth floor, and the door on the right. She paused a little while before pulling the cord of the bell. She wanted to look about her. Opposite stood the wall of the next house on the other side of the path. But to her right, she saw gardens, uneven houses, a whole panorama of strange roofs, separated by streets or a purple mixture of trees. A perfume of _pot-au-feu_ escaped from the door of the Raindal family. She rang at last and was ushered into the drawing-room by Brigitte. Mme. Raindal, dressed in black silk, was chatting with two elderly ladies whose dresses showed no care for the fashions of the day. She hesitated on seeing Zozé, then recognized her and went to her. "I came to inquire about the young patient," Mme. Chambannes said, as she sat in the dark-red plush arm-chair which Mme. Raindal offered her. "Thérèse! She is quite well again.... She is working with her father.... You shall see her very shortly.... How kind of you to...." Mme. Chambannes thanked her with a smile. Mme. Boudois, one of the two visitors, the wife of a professor at the Sorbonne, exclaimed: "Poor child!... Has she been ill?" "Not much, thank Heaven!" Mme. Raindal replied. "A mere indisposition while she was dancing at the Saulvards last night...." The other lady, Mme. Lebercq, the wife of the famous mathematician, inquired: "Dizziness, was it?" "Yes, I suppose so," Mme. Raindal replied. Mme. Boudois confirmed these presumptions. There was her husband, for instance; God knew he had his sea-legs and sailed up and down the seas every summer, at Langrune, in a fisherman's boat. Well, her husband never could waltz; he felt giddy at once. On the other hand, Mme. Lebercq was no sailor but had been able to bear dancing without inconvenience when she was young. A silence followed and Mme. Chambannes began again: "The party was charming, was it not?" "Delightful!" Mme. Raindal admitted.