Mme. Boudois and Mme. Lebercq asked for details, and received them. But at the turning point of a sentence, the conversation was directed toward another subject. Mme. Boudois spoke of the forthcoming festivities of Advent. She advised Mme. Raindal to attend some of the Benedictions of the Host at Saint-Jacques-du-Haut-Pas, where the Noël _O_ would be sung with rare brilliancy. Mme. Raindal rather preferred those of Saint-Étienne-du-Mont. The discussion grew quite heated. Mme. Lebercq, who was not devout, remained silent. Mme. Chambannes, ill at ease at this talk of things that were mysteries to her, examined the pattern of the red and black carpet around which the arm-chairs were disposed. She took advantage of a pause for breath and asked: "Would it be indiscreet to disturb the master and your daughter?... I would be so glad to say how do you do to them!" "Of course not! Quite the contrary.... They will be delighted." She knocked at a side door. "What is it?" the voice of M. Raindal grunted. "A visitor!" She made way for the younger woman. Thérèse lifted her head at the sound and rose from the table at the same time as her father. "It is Mme. Chambannes who comes to inquire after you, dear," Mme. Raindal explained. Thérèse, whose lips were already pursed with vexation, attempted a smile. "Oh, you are too kind, dear Madame.... It was not worth it...." M. Raindal joined his grateful protestations to those of his daughter. Mme. Raindal excused herself and returned to her visitors. As on the previous day, at the ball, when he had been introduced to Zozé, the master stood still, embarrassed. At length he said: "Won't you sit down, please?" She took a chair and said: "How gay your study is!... How light!" "Oh, we don't lack daylight here!" M. Raindal replied. "The room has quite a good light." Mme. Chambannes continued: "You were working?... I interrupted you...." "With the most agreeable of possible surprises," M. Raindal answered, with a wave of his hand. The conversation dragged on. Thérèse wore a persistent frown, said little and was absorbed in drawing lines on a sheet of paper. Mme. Chambannes' visit roused her indignation. Why had that woman come? What more did she want? What right had she to disturb them with her prattling, her childish queries and her very presence which brought back the memories of the previous evening, the shame of that accursed party? "Your windows look out on gardens, do they not?" Mme. Chambannes asked. "Upon gardens and our whole Paris! We have a marvelous view from here!" he replied.