They now returned. She cast vexed looks on the passers-by. "How stupid all these people seem," she said. Then raising her eyes to the countenance of her companion, she added: "You, too, like all the rest." M. de Belvigne bowed. Turning around she saw that the Prince and the Chevalier had disappeared. Servigny, dejected and dripping, ceased playing on the trumpet, and walked with a gloomy air at the side of the two wearied young men, who also had stopped the drum playing. She began to laugh dryly, saying: "You seem to have had enough; nevertheless, that is what you call having a good time, isn't it? You came for that; I have given you your money's worth." Then she walked on, saying nothing further; and suddenly Belvigne perceived that she was weeping. Astounded, he inquired: "What is the matter?" She murmured: "Let me alone, it does not concern you." But he insisted, like a fool: "Oh, Mademoiselle, come, what is the matter, has anyone annoyed you?" She repeated impatiently: "Will you keep still?" Then suddenly, no longer able to resist the despairing sorrow which drowned her heart, she began to sob so violently, that she could no longer walk. She covered her face with her hands, panting for breath, choked by the violence of her despair. Belvigne stood still at her side, quite bewildered, repeating: "I don't understand this at all." But Servigny brusquely came forward: "Let us go home, Mam'zelle, so that people may not see you weeping in the street. Why do you perpetrate follies like that when they only make you sad?" And taking her arm he drew her forward. But as soon as they reached the iron gate of the villa she began to run, crossed the garden, and went upstairs, and shut herself in her room. She did not appear again until the dinner hour, very pale and serious. Servigny had bought from a country storekeeper a workingman's costume, with velvet pantaloons, a flowered waistcoat and a blouse, and he adopted the local dialect. Yvette was in a hurry for them to finish, feeling her courage ebbing. As soon as the coffee was served she went to her room again. She heard the merry voices beneath her window. The Chevalier was making equivocal jokes, foreign witticisms, vulgar and clumsy. She listened, in despair. Servigny, just a bit tipsy, was imitating the common workingman, calling the Marquise "the Missus." And all of a sudden he said to Saval: "Well, Boss?" That caused a general laugh. Then Yvette decided. She first took a sheet of paper and wrote: "Bougival, Sunday, nine o'clock in the evening. "I die so that I may not become a kept woman. "YVETTE." Then in a postscript: "Adieu, my dear mother, pardon." She sealed the envelope, and addressed it to the Marquise Obardi. Then she rolled her long chair near the window, drew a little table within reach of her hand, and placed upon it the big bottle of chloroform beside a handful of wadding.