M. Raindal put off confiding the tale of this meeting to Thérèse from day to day, until Thursday arrived; it was as if he dreaded to bear her criticism. Phew! he knew well enough the objections she would make: his position among European savants, his academic standing, the ridiculous situation he risked finding himself in when engaged in so vague a task of popular instruction. He was even less anxious to hear the not unfair remarks of his daughter since the idea of going again to Mme. Chambannes was not repugnant to him, although he did not go so far as to admit it to himself. Once out of the hallowed atmosphere of the Collège, and saved from his brother Cyprien, he had begun to reproach himself for having so sharply rebuked his attractive admirer. Poor child! Should he not, on the contrary, find it touching, the case of this futile young person who was seized with a sudden passion for knowledge? Did it not afford him matter for observation, a subject most highly fascinating for a man of thought? Why, here was a chance for a thorough study of a personality! His mind recalled the picturesque attitude of her profile--a little suppliant--the tiny hand on his knee: "Don't you want to come, dear-r master-r!" To be sure, he wanted to go! Certainly, he was going! If for no other reason, he would go for sheer selfishness, out of a savant's curiosity. And Mlle. Thérèse--he thought, almost snappishly--well, it would be quite soon enough if he informed her after the lessons had begun! Thus came the Thursday morning, and M. Raindal had not betrayed the mystery of his appointment. He felt, therefore, somewhat ill at ease when Thérèse entered the study about 9. How unfortunate! Precisely at that hour he was busy packing books for Mme. Chambannes! However, he did not lose countenance, but exclaimed gaily: "Hello! here you are, dear!" She submitted to his kiss, then touched two of the large volumes he had piled up on the table. "What is it, father?... Maspero.... Ebers!... Are you beginning to lend books?..." "No!" M. Raindal declared, stiffening against his uneasiness. "These are books I am going to send to Mme. Chambannes." "To Mme. Chambannes!" Thérèse replied, dumfounded. "Well, yes...." He then related all the episodes of the previous Monday, with the exception, however, of the decisive appearance of Uncle Cyprien. Thérèse listened quietly. When he had finished, she looked up. Her thin lips met in sarcastic contraction. Anger was gathering under her heavy frown. She asked him: "Are you going?" "Well, since I promised her!... I shall go two or three Thursdays.... The most elementary courtesy requires it.... Later, I shall see whether I should continue or not." "Very good, father!" she replied, disguising with difficulty the trembling she felt in her voice. "Just as you say.... You may be sure I would not presume to give you my advice...." "But if I were to ask you for it?" M. Raindal said pluckily. She burst out.