This gayety of hers, this sweetness--were they truly frank? Was not Thérèse laughing at him? M. Raindal examined her furtively; then, waxing cautious, brusquely cut short his narrative. He was more reserved the next Thursday. He barely mentioned his visit to the rue de Prony more than to transmit Zozé's compliments to the ladies; and the following Thursday, he said nothing at all. On the fourth Thursday, towards half past six, a telegram-card from M. Raindal was received in the rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs. He asked his family not to expect him, as he was detained by the gracious entreaties of Mme. Chambannes. Under his signature, Zozé had written in her large handwriting: _Approved_. To be quite frank, when M. Raindal had left home that day, he was not altogether unaware that he would not return for dinner, since he had, on his last visit, almost promised to be the guest of his pupil for the following Thursday. Nevertheless, he had done his best beforehand to consider this escapade as if it were to be an impromptu, which he had no cause to expect. It was Thérèse who opened the message. She read it, shrugged her shoulders and threw it into the fire. "What is it?" Mme. Raindal asked, coming in at that moment. Thérèse replied sarcastically. "A telegram from father who is staying over there to dinner!" Over there! At these words the two women instinctively exchanged glances. Then, at once, seeing her mother's alarmed expression, Thérèse bent down over her notes. What was the use of saying more? They had never had any possible communion of the spirit; they had never formed against M. Raindal one of those little jocular alliances of the kind that amused the master and his daughter at the expense of Mme. Raindal! Bah! she must needs perforce resign herself to a solitary enjoyment--alone as usual, alone as she was everywhere--of the humorous side of this adventure! "So, he is dining there?" the old lady repeated disconsolately. "Yes, mother; as I told you!" Thérèse replied impatiently. "And you think he will go there every Thursday?" "I don't know." In the same vexed tone, Mme. Raindal went on: "Oh! mon Dieu, mon Dieu!... I do hope these Chambannes will bring him into no danger!... Tell me, you ... don't you think you could say something to him?... "Say _what_ to him?" "Tell him ... tell him ... to take care, for instance, not to entangle himself too deeply.... Dear, you know better than I do how to speak to him.... You are ... you are better friends!" With this veiled reproach the old lady complained unwittingly of her isolation, of her life-long relegation with her God, and her fears moved the heart of Thérèse.