When it struck half past ten, I said to myself that it was time to go. I lived at that time in the Rue de Provence; I followed the Rue du Mont-Blanc, crossed the Boulevard, went up the Rue Louis-le-Grand, the Rue de Port-Mahon, and the Rue d’Antin. I looked up at Marguerite’s windows. There was a light. I rang. I asked the porter if Mlle. Gautier was at home. He replied that she never came in before eleven or a quarter past eleven. I looked at my watch. I intended to come quite slowly, and I had come in five minutes from the Rue de Provence to the Rue d’Antin. I walked to and fro in the street; there are no shops, and at that hour it is quite deserted. In half an hour’s time Marguerite arrived. She looked around her as she got down from her coupé, as if she were looking for some one. The carriage drove off; the stables were not at the house. Just as Marguerite was going to ring, I went up to her and said, “Good-evening.” “Ah, it is you,” she said, in a tone that by no means reassured me as to her pleasure in seeing me. “Did you not promise me that I might come and see you to-day?” “Quite right. I had forgotten.” This word upset all the reflections I had had during the day. Nevertheless, I was beginning to get used to her ways, and I did not leave her, as I should certainly have done once. We entered. Nanine had already opened the door. “Has Prudence come?” said Marguerite. “No, madame.” “Say that she is to be admitted as soon as she comes. But first put out the lamp in the drawing-room, and if anyone comes, say that I have not come back and shall not be coming back.” She was like a woman who is preoccupied with something, and perhaps annoyed by an unwelcome guest. I did not know what to do or say. Marguerite went toward her bedroom; I remained where I was. “Come,” she said. She took off her hat and her velvet cloak and threw them on the bed, then let herself drop into a great armchair beside the fire, which she kept till the very beginning of summer, and said to me as she fingered her watch-chain: “Well, what news have you got for me?” “None, except that I ought not to have come to-night.” “Why?” “Because you seem vexed, and no doubt I am boring you.” “You are not boring me; only I am not well; I have been suffering all day. I could not sleep, and I have a frightful headache.” “Shall I go away and let you go to bed?” “Oh, you can stay. If I want to go to bed I don’t mind your being here.” At that moment there was a ring. “Who is coming now?” she said, with an impatient movement. A few minutes after there was another ring. “Isn’t there anyone to go to the door? I shall have to go.” She got up and said to me, “Wait here.” She went through the rooms, and I heard her open the outer door. I listened. The person whom she had admitted did not come farther than the dining-room. At the first word I recognised the voice of the young Comte de N. “How are you this evening?” he said. “Not well,” replied Marguerite drily.