Time passed. Raindal looked through the steam, at the soft silhouettes of the passers-by, unable to make up his mind to bid her good-night. Suddenly he started, as if a shooting pain had passed through him. "What is it, dear master?" Zozé asked in a solicitous tone. "Nothing, nothing, my dear lady!" Oh! almost nothing--he had merely recognized at the end of the street certain swaggering shoulders, a certain martial gait, merely Uncle Cyprien who was walking straight to the carriage, flourishing his thick reddish cornel stick. M. Raindal envied for a minute the distant shelter of the late Rhanofirnotpou. Why was he not in the deepest part of the _hypogee_, in the dark serdab, in the cement-sealed partition, instead of finding himself in a cage that seemed suddenly all windows, with a young and pretty woman who harassed him with her prayers! "Don't you really want to, dear master?... Nothing like set dates.... I promise you.... You could fix the hours, the days...." "I am trying to find, I am trying!" he replied mechanically, while attentively watching the rapid march of the enemy. Uncle Cyprien was coming nearer; his features became more distinct; he reached the carriage. As he passed, he gave the turn-out a contemptuous and yet mistrustful glance and walked up the alley. Unconsciously M. Raindal heaved a sigh of relief. He put his hand out to Mme. Chambannes. "Good-by, dear madame.... I shall think about it; I'll let you know." Zozé pouted with disappointment. "And I was in hopes you would give me your answer now!" M. Raindal passed a hand over his eyes, to sweep a painful vision away--that of his brother who might be coming down again, meeting him as he came out of the carriage and thereby acquiring a pretext for interminable sarcasm.... The savant murmured hurriedly: "Very well then, madame, very well.... I shall come this week...." "How kind of you.... How about Thursday? Next Thursday at 5...." "Yes, Thursday at 5 o'clock." "You don't know how sweet you are." She grasped his hand and looked at him with an expression of radiant gratefulness. But M. Raindal's fingers were slipping out. "Oh! excuse me!" she exclaimed.... "You are in a hurry.... Till Thursday, then, 5 o'clock!... I am counting on you, dear master...." M. Raindal closed her door and saluted awkwardly. The carriage started. A "Good-night! Good-by!" caused him to turn round again. He saw Zozé's little white glove making a parting friendly signal from the window of her coupé. * * * * *