A wave of relief passed over the guests. It was not one old maid but three who were disappearing through that door! A feeling of frolic was in the air; they all felt a need to let out foolish remarks and to fall back into their habits. Yet they still held themselves in hand, out of the respect which notoriety inspires in the minds of uncultured people. When Mme. Chambannes returned, she found them all silent. "Well, you are not very gay here," she exclaimed, and added after a pause: "What do you think of him?" "Oh, your little friend is charming!" said Gerald, in the midst of an explosion of laughter. Pums encouraged by this success tried also to say something very funny, but Jean Bunel declared in commanding tones: "His is nothing less than one of the most remarkable minds of the day!" "_N'est-ce pas?_" Zozé murmured. "Yes," Bunel went on, moved as much by a generous impulse of solidarity as by a malicious delight in contradicting a clubman.... "Yes, without comparing him to Taine or Renan, I think that within the last few years the science of history has produced no more vigorous brain nor a purer stylist...." "Really?" Pums exclaimed, suddenly brought round to another view. As a matter of fact, the only reproach which he had for M. Raindal was that he spoke too low. Silberschmidt agreed with him. Mme. Herschstein, to whom the master had listened, affirmed that M. Raindal was one of the most interesting of men. Mme. Pums thought he had a very expressive face. Givonne was called down for voicing a criticism of Mme. Raindal's dress. Did such things count? The change was so decisive and so general that Zozé felt much pity for her little Raldo. Poor darling! What a snubbing! She walked to the fireplace where he stood, his elbows resting on the marble of the mantelpiece. When she came quite close to him she murmured in a passionate whisper the query which had kept her throat dry for the last three hours: "Do you love me?" Free from spite, the count instantly affirmed that he did. CHAPTER VIII The clock of the Collège de France sharply struck three. A little door hidden in the gray wall was opened and M. Raindal entered. He sat behind his large white table, facing his usual audience of eight who waited, pen in hands, ready to take notes. He took a few manuscript sheets from his portfolio and began simply: "We concluded, in our last lesson before the new year, the study of the oblatory paintings which have been found in the mastabas of Abu-Roash. From the same point of view we shall begin to-day the study of the mastabas of Dahshour. The paintings contained in this necropolis afford to the historian perhaps more interesting insights than those of Abu-Roash. We find there particulars concerning the private and industrial life of the Egyptians, which may well be considered unique. I, therefore, call your particular attention to this lecture and those that will follow...." M. Raindal paused and consulted his notes: