What a disillusion! What a contrast to the realities! Who could have imagined this narrow hall with dirty gray walls, those two imitation bronze busts--Plato and Epictetus--perching like Chinese pottery upon two pedestals of imitation stone, this coarse white wood bench that resembled a kitchen table, and rush-bottom chairs piled up on one side near the washed-out Plato as in an old furniture storeroom. Zozé felt almost the same imperceptible melancholy which the spectacle of misery inspires in worthy people. She sought distraction in a successive inspection of the backs and of the necks of the eight students. Two were already bald. Three showed between the shoulders the shining line which the hard back of the omnibus pressed into the cloth. The coat of another was faded. Towards the end of the table, to the left was one with a brown mane--oh, what a wolf's head!--he surely did not squander his money at the hairdresser's!... She was full of pity for these brave young men. She wished she could give them advice about their clothes, and if necessary help them with her purse. A scraping of chairs brought her back from her charitable dreams. The lecture was finished. M. Raindal had disappeared. But where? Through the wall, no doubt. And not even a sign of applause! Zozé was dumfounded. She stood up, cramped from having sat so long, and followed the students who were passing out. Some made way for her. None of them stared at her. And those who walked ahead did not turn round to look. She found them discreet and well-bred but somewhat shy. She paced the huge vestibule, sounding her heels on the tiles for the sake of hearing the echo. Ten minutes passed; she was freezing with cold. She was going to ask Pageot when M. Raindal came forth from the shadows, his portfolio under his arm. He repressed an angry gesture and assumed a smile as he advanced towards her. "What! you here, dear madame!" he exclaimed hypocritically. "Did you not recognize me? I heard your lecture.... I did not understand everything, but it was very interesting!" M. Raindal sought an excuse in his poor eyesight and asked more anxiously: "Well, my dear lady, what can I do for you? What is it you wish? To what fortunate hazard do I owe your presence here?" Fortunate hazard! No, not at all fortunate. Yet, she could not reply: "Gerald has once more played me one of his tricks and put me and my caresses off for two hours.... That is why, having nothing to do, and out of sheer boredom, I came here to see what one of your lectures was like, and perhaps, also, to arrange a little dinner party!" What she said was this, accompanied by a child-like smile: "No hazard at all, dear master!... I wanted to hear you, that is all.... When it was over, I waited for you, so as to shake your hand...." "You are too kind, a thousand times ... really!..." M. Raindal murmured distractedly.