Fanny had been a widow more than six months, when, as Cherami was approaching Monsieur Grandcourt's abode one morning, he saw Gustave come out. He uttered a joyful exclamation, and hastened to throw his arms about the young traveller, crying:

"Tandem! denique! here he is at last! this is good luck, indeed! Damnation! you've been away a long while, but we will hope that it's the last time."

"Good-day, my dear Arthur!" said Gustave, as they shook hands. "Were you coming to see my uncle?"

"Your uncle! Sapristi! he's a dear creature, is your uncle; let's talk about something else. Why, I have been here a hundred times; I wanted to get your address, so that I could write to you or come after you; but it was impossible to obtain the slightest information from your uncle. When did you return?"

"Last night, at nine o'clock. But why were you so anxious to know where I was? What had you to tell me that was so important?"

"Hasn't your uncle told you anything?"

"We had a talk this morning, on business; that's all."

"Ah! the old fox! there's no danger that he would tell you what interested you most."

"Then do you tell me, quickly, Cherami."

"Your former passion, that little woman you loved so dearly——"

"Fanny! Great God! is she dead?"

"No, no! she's not dead; she's in bewitching health, she's just as pretty as ever, and more than that—she's a widow."

"A widow! Great heaven! can it be possible?"

"It's more than possible, it's so. Her husband speculated in stocks, and ruined himself; then, crac! a pistol-shot—you understand."

"Oh! what a calamity! Why, it's perfectly ghastly; how long ago was it?"

"Almost immediately after you went away."

"Poor Fanny! she expected to find her happiness in that marriage; how she must have grieved! how bitterly she must have wept!"

"My dear Gustave, you don't know that young woman at all. She has very great strength of character; she received the news of her husband's death with a stoical courage worthy of the Spartan women who sent their sons to war, bidding them to return as victors or not at all."

"How do you know that, Cherami?"

"Pardieu! because it was I to whom her husband confided his last wishes and the mission of informing his wife of his death."

"To you! you who fought a duel with him?"

"Precisely! that duel made us the best friends in the world. I will tell you all about it in detail another time. Let it suffice for the present, that the young widow, who is already thoroughly consoled, does not cease to talk about you, to ask about you, and to inquire whether you will return soon."

"Is that true? you are not deceiving me? Fanny thinks of me?"

"It is as I have the honor to tell you, and, between ourselves, I believe that she never really loved her husband—which explains why she wasted so little regret on him."

"All that you tell me surprises me so that I can't collect my thoughts. Fanny widowed! Fanny free!"

"Yes, widowed, and more than six months passed already! By the way,—and this is the first question I should have asked you,—do you still love her?"

"Do I still love her! Ah! my dear Arthur, can you doubt it?"

"It seems to me that you have had plenty of time and a perfect right to forget her. I seem to recall that that was your hope when you went away."

"That may be; but I have not been able to do it. I tried to distract my thoughts, to fall in love with other women. One day, I fancied that I was; but the illusion soon vanished; and then, the last time I met Fanny, she was so sweet with me that the memory of that occasion was not well calculated to destroy my love."

"Then you love her? you are sure of it?"

"Nonsense, my dear fellow! why do you ask me that?"

"Oh! because I had thought of something else; and if you were no longer in love with the widow—— But, as you are still daft over her, why, that's at an end; and I believe that things will go on now to suit you."

"I am going to see Adolphine, Fanny's sister, to-day."

"Why shouldn't you go to see Fanny herself? I should say that that would be the shortest way. I can give you her address."

"Oh! you can't mean that, my friend! that I should go to that young widow's house at once—I, who have not been to see her since her marriage! It wouldn't be proper. She must give me permission first."

"But, as she urged you to call on her when she was a married woman, it seems to me that she can afford to receive you now that she's a widow."

"To be sure, but not right away; I must see her first, at her father's. She must go there often, now?"

"I should rather see you go to the little widow's than to her father's."

"Why so?"

"Why, indeed! That's the sequel of the idea I spoke about just now. However, do as you think best; the main point is that you have come in time, and that you should stay in Paris; because I am horribly bored while you are away. On my word, I seem to miss something."

"Dear Arthur! I am really touched by the interest you take in everything that concerns me.—And yourself, my friend—are you happy, are you doing well in business?"

"I can't do badly, because I do no business at all. I am content—because I am a philosopher! I am happy—when I have my cue; but I haven't had it for some time."

"I'll bet that you have no money."

"You would win very often if you made that bet."

"And you didn't say a word about it! Am I no longer your friend?"

"My dear Gustave, you overwhelm me;—but I owe you something now, and——"

"What does that matter? Do friends keep accounts with one another? Isn't he who can oblige the other the happier?"

"Damme! if all my friends of the old days had been of your way of thinking!"

Gustave produced his wallet, took out a banknote, and thrust it into Cherami's hand, saying:

"Here, my good friend, take this; and when it's all gone, tell me so. Now, adieu! I must leave you and go to Monsieur Gerbault's; I dine with my uncle to-day; but if you will dine with me to-morrow, be in front of the Passage de l'OpÉra at six o'clock."

"If I will! Par la sambleu! why, it will be a regular fÊte for me."

"In that case, adieu, until to-morrow!"

When Gustave was a long distance away, Cherami continued to look after him, saying to himself:

"There goes the pearl of friends; I don't know the pearls upon which Mesdemoiselles Laurette and Lucie are employed, but a real friend is worth far more than all the treasures of Golconda, and is much rarer too. I was on the point of mentioning a certain idea that I have got into my head relative to little Adolphine, the pretty widow's sister; but I thought, on reflection, that I should do better to say nothing about it. What good would it do to tell him that I think poor Adolphine's in love with him, when he still loves Fanny? It would make him unhappy, and that's all; he wouldn't dare to go to Papa Gerbault's to talk about his dear Fanny. I certainly did well to hold my tongue. Let's see what he slipped into my hand. Generous Gustave! he is quite capable of loaning me five hundred francs more."

Cherami unfolded the banknote which he held in his hand, and was thunderstruck when he saw that it was for a thousand francs.

Having satisfied himself that he was not mistaken, Cherami stuffed the note into his cigar-case, muttering:

"A thousand francs! he gave me a thousand francs, and said: 'When that's gone, let me know!' Sacrebleu! this unexpected wealth bewilders me. That young man's behavior touches me; it makes me blush for my own. Come, Arthur, my good friend, do you propose to continue your dissipation, your foolish courses? And because you have fallen in with a whole-souled fellow who gave you money without counting it, are you going to work, as usual, to waste that money as you wasted your fortune? I say no! par la sambleu! I will not do it; I propose to show myself worthy to be Gustave's friend. From this day forth, I turn over a new leaf, I become a reasonable man, I put water in my wine; and, for a beginning, I will go and dine for thirty-two sous."

While Cherami was forming these excellent resolutions, Gustave betook himself, without loss of time, to Monsieur Gerbault's house.

Adolphine was alone, trying, by dint of practising diligently on the piano, to forget for a moment the secret pain which was gnawing at her heart. Fanny's sister had changed perceptibly in the last few months; a genuine passion does not leave one unscathed; at nineteen years of age, such a passion occupies one's every moment, obtrudes itself upon one's every thought. The girl's features bore traces of her suffering; her face had grown thin and pale, and constantly wore an expression of sadness, which she strove, but in vain, to hide beneath a smile in the presence of others; and her sister's company was not likely to afford her any distraction, because she talked almost incessantly of the man whom Adolphine would have been glad to forget.

Madeleine, who had recognized Gustave, did not deem it necessary to announce him, but allowed him to enter her mistress's apartment, where he could hear her playing the piano. He went forward softly and stood behind Adolphine, and several moments passed before she happened to glance at the mirror over the piano and saw him standing there. A cry escaped her; she whispered Gustave's name, then a ghastly pallor spread over her face, and she looked down at the floor.

"Mon Dieu! my dear Adolphine! what's the matter?" cried the young man, in dismay; "shall I call somebody?"

But Adolphine motioned to him not to go, and shook hands with him, saying in an uncertain voice:

"It's nothing—the surprise—the excitement; I was so unprepared to see you! But it's all gone.—So you are at home again, Monsieur Gustave?"

"Yes, my good little sister. So you didn't expect me, eh? You had forgotten all about me?"

"Oh! I don't say that; on the contrary, it seemed to me that you were staying away a long while this time."

"I have been away nearly seven months; and during that time, I understand that—many things have happened here."

"Ah! you know?"

"Yes, I know that your sister is a widow."

"Who has told you that, so soon?"

"Cherami; you know, the man who was with me the day of——"

"Oh, yes! I know him; it was he, too, who came to tell us the fatal news of poor Auguste's death; for, I don't know how it happens, but your Monsieur Cherami succeeds in having his finger in everything; everybody takes him for a confidant.—When did you return?"

"Only last evening."

"It was very nice of you to think of coming here. Father is out, but he will be at home soon."

"Good! for I shall be very glad to talk with him. I trust that he won't think it improper for me to come here now, as he did before?"

Adolphine could not restrain a nervous gesture as she replied:

"Ah! so you want to come to see us again? Yes—I understand—you are no longer afraid to meet Fanny."

"Do you think that I ought to avoid her presence still? tell me, dear Adolphine!"

"I? Oh! I don't think anything about it. Why should you suppose that I think that? I can't read your heart, you see, and I have no idea whether it still entertains the same sentiments as before."

"Ah! I can safely tell you, who have always treated me like a brother; indeed, why should I make a mystery of it, anyway? Yes, I love Fanny as dearly as ever, her image has not ceased for a single day to be present in my thoughts. My love, although hopeless, has never changed. Judge, then, whether I can cease to love her, now that I am once more at liberty to anticipate happiness in the future!"

Adolphine passed her hand across her brow and made an effort to retain her self-possession, as she replied:

"Ah! it's a fine thing to love like that, with a constancy which time and absence have failed to shake! It's a fine thing; and a woman could not love you too well to recompense a passion as true and pure as yours!"

"Now, that we are alone, tell me, dear Adolphine, do you think that Fanny will receive me kindly? Do you think that my constancy will touch her? that her heart will be moved by it? Ambition and the wish to cut a figure in the world caused her to prefer Monsieur MonlÉard to me. I can readily forgive her, young as she was, for listening to vanity rather than love—for I fancy that she never had much love for her husband."

"Oh, no! I don't think that she had, either."

"In that case, his death cannot have caused her a very deep grief?"

"She regretted his fortune, that's all."

"What are her means now?"

"Twenty-five hundred francs a year. My father asked her to come to live with us, but she preferred to have a home of her own."

"Twenty-five hundred francs! That's very little for one who has kept her carriage."

"It's quite enough for one whose happiness doesn't depend on money."

"You think so, Adolphine, because you haven't your sister's tastes; but all women aren't like you. Fanny loves society; she's a bit of a coquette, perhaps—that's a very pardonable fault. Thank heaven! I am so placed now that I can gratify the tastes of the woman whom I marry. I earn ten thousand francs a year; she will not be able to have horses in her stable and carriages in her carriage-house, but she will not be obliged to walk when she doesn't want to.—You don't answer me, Adolphine—do you think Fanny will consent to be my wife?"

"Oh! now that you earn ten thousand francs a year, she will smile on your suit, no doubt."

Gustave sighed, as he rejoined in a lower tone:

"Then, if I couldn't offer her that, she would refuse me again? That's what you mean to imply, isn't it?"

"No, no! Mon Dieu! Monsieur Gustave, I didn't mean to hurt you; I did wrong to say that. Fanny must love you—why shouldn't she love you? It would be awfully ungrateful of her not to—when you have given her abundant proof of so much love and constancy—and have forgiven her for the sorrow she caused you. Certainly she loves you; you will be happy with her; but—you see—I can't bear to talk about it all the time—because it worries me—it makes me uneasy—for you. Mon Dieu! I am all confused."

Gustave scrutinized the girl more closely, then exclaimed:

"Why, I hadn't noticed before! How you have changed; how thin you are! Have you been ill, my little sister?"

"Ah! you notice it now, do you? Why, no, I am not ill; nothing's the matter with me; I don't know why I should change."

"Are you in pain?"

Adolphine raised her lovely eyes, as if appealing to heaven, as she replied:

"No, I have no pain."

"I can't have you sick! I insist upon your recovering your fine, healthy color of the old days; and now that I have returned, I will look after your health."

"Thanks! thanks! you will come to see us often, then?"

"I hope to do so; and your sister—does she come here often?"

"Thursdays, because we receive then; occasionally on other days."

Monsieur Gerbault's arrival put an end to this conversation. He greeted Gustave cordially, and the young man made no secret of the pleasure it would give him to come frequently to the house; he did not mention Fanny, preferring not to begin to talk of his renewed hopes at their very first meeting; but he adroitly found a way to make known his financial position, which would enable him, if he married, to offer an attractive prospect to the woman who should bear his name.

Now that his oldest daughter was a widow, Monsieur Gerbault saw no impropriety in Gustave's meeting her; and he was the first to urge the young man to come to his house at his pleasure, as before. Gustave was enchanted; he pressed Monsieur Gerbault's hand, then Adolphine's, and took his leave without noticing that the latter's depression had become more marked than ever.