Gustave returned to his office sadly out of temper. He was surprised that for a headache Fanny should refuse to see him; he said to himself that, if he were ill, the presence of his loved one could not fail to do him good and cure him at once. Then, in spite of himself, he recalled Fanny's conduct at her father's, her evident pleasure in conversing with Monsieur de la BÉriniÈre, while she barely listened to what he, Gustave, said to her. All this distressed and worried him. He could not be jealous of the count, who was sixty years old, but he was displeased with Fanny; and while he sought excuses for her, saying to himself that a young woman was not debarred from being a little coquettish, from liking to cut a figure in society, he feared, nevertheless, that she was not capable of loving as he loved.

We often hear of presentiments; but, in most cases, these presentiments are simply the assembling of our memories so as to form a new light, which enlightens our minds, destroys our illusions, undeceives our hearts. With the aid of this new light, we foresee the treachery that lies in wait for us, and we say: "I had a presentiment of it."

Gustave returned to Fanny's that evening; it was natural enough that he should be anxious to know whether the headache had disappeared. The servant informed him that madame had gone out.

"Gone out!" cried Gustave; "she is better, then?"

"Dame! yes, monsieur; it's evident that madame has got rid of her sick headache."

"Where has she gone?"

"I don't know, monsieur."

"And she left no message for me, if I came?"

"Not a word."

"Has she gone to her father's?"

"I said that I didn't know."

"Very well; I will come again. Ask her to wait for me, when she returns."

The young man hurried to Monsieur Gerbault's. He found Adolphine alone. She read at once on his face that he was suffering, and asked him as she took his hand:

"What has happened, my friend? Something is the matter."

"Why—— Have you seen your sister to-day?"

"No."

"You have not?"

"No, she hasn't been here. Why do you ask?"

"Because I haven't seen her to-day, either. This morning, I called on her; I was told that she had a headache and was asleep. But this evening I called again, and she had gone out."

"Well, she has probably gone to see some of her friends. She has retained some acquaintances from the time when her husband was living, and she goes to see them sometimes. I can see nothing disturbing in that."

"But, after a whole day without seeing each other, to go out in the evening without saying where she's going—without leaving a word for me!"

"Fanny is so thoughtless; she probably forgot."

"Dear Adolphine! you try to excuse your sister, but I am sure that you blame her, at the bottom of your heart. Don't you remember how unkind she was to me last night?"

"Why, I didn't notice——"

"Yes, yes, you did notice that she left us to go and talk with that Monsieur de la BÉriniÈre. Who is that man? wherever did she know him?"

"He was a friend of her husband, and in that way became acquainted with father."

"Is he rich?"

"He has forty thousand francs a year."

"Married?"

"No, he's an old bachelor; he asked father once for my hand."

"And you refused him?"

"Yes."

"You thought him too old, didn't you?"

"That wasn't the reason; but I refused him."

"Do you know, Adolphine, I have no idea what is going on in Fanny's head, but all this isn't natural. At the point we have reached,—we are to be married in six weeks, and we are both free,—two people don't pass a whole day without exchanging a glance, or a grasp of the hand. I tell you, there's something wrong. Could she deceive me again? Oh! no, that isn't possible; it would be too ghastly! too shameless!—No, I blush for having had such a thought. I have no doubt that she is at home and waiting for me. Au revoir, little sister!"

"Gustave, if anything should happen, you would tell me at once, wouldn't you?"

But Gustave did not hear; he was already at the foot of the stairs, and he hurried away to Fanny's house. She had not returned; he remembered the apartment he had asked her to inspect, and, although it was hardly customary to look at apartments in the evening, he said to himself: "Perhaps she has gone there." And in a few moments he was in Rue Fontaine. He inquired of the concierge who had the keys to the apartment, and was told that no lady had come that day to look at it.

One more hope dashed to the ground: as Fanny had gone out, why had she not gone to inspect the apartment of which he had spoken so highly the night before, telling her that they must make haste lest it should be rented to others? Gustave said all this to himself as he returned to Madame MonlÉard's abode. She had not returned; but it was only nine o'clock; she must return sooner or later, and Gustave was determined not to go to bed until he had seen her and spoken to her, even if he had to pass half the night on sentry-go before her door. But a woman, unattended, was unlikely to stay out late; she could not have gone to a ball; ladies did not go alone to the theatre; so she must be at some small party; someone would probably escort her home, but he would find out who her escort was.

How many ideas pass through the mind of a jealous, worried lover in a few seconds! The imagination moves so fast that it does not know where to stop, or on what to decide. Every moment that passed without bringing Fanny added to Gustave's anxiety, his suffering, his suspicions. At last, about half-past ten, a cab stopped in front of the house. Gustave ran forward and was at the door before the cabman had alighted from his box. Fanny was in the cab, alone. When she recognized Gustave in the man who opened the door for her, she laughed heartily and cried:

"Ah! you open carriage-doors now, do you? Ha! ha! I congratulate you on your new trade."

This outburst of merriment seemed untimely, to say the least, to Gustave, who rejoined:

"I have no choice but to wait for cabs to arrive, as I fail to find you at home; as you go out without even leaving a line for me so that I may know where you are."

"Oh! mon Dieu! what a terrible crime! Am I no longer my own mistress—to go where I please without asking your leave? That would be very amusing!"

"You know very well, Fanny, that that isn't what I mean; you know that you are at liberty to do whatever you choose to do. So do not try to dodge the question. At the point we have reached, it is natural for us to tell each other what we do; for we ought to have no secrets from each other. I came here this morning, and you didn't see me on account of your headache."

"Well, monsieur, am I no longer allowed to have a headache? Pay the cabman, will you; I have come from Madame Delabert's.—Can I no longer visit my friends, I should like to know?"

"Come, come, Fanny, don't be angry; perhaps I was foolish to be anxious. But it would have been so easy for you to leave word for me! Remember that I haven't seen you at all to-day, and a whole day without seeing you seems very long now!"

"It isn't my fault if I have a sick headache. I can still feel the effects of it, so I am going to bed; I am very tired."

"Mayn't I come up with you for a moment?"

"Oh! I should think not! it wouldn't be proper, so late."

"It isn't eleven yet."

"But I tell you that I still feel the effects of my headache, and that I am going straight to bed."

"Why didn't you go to see that apartment I told you about—on Rue Fontaine, near Place Saint-Georges?"

"Why didn't I? Because I forgot all about it."

"How could you forget a thing of such importance? For, if it suits you, we must rent it at once."

"Oh! my dear friend, I am not anxious to stand here in the street any longer. What do we look like—talking like this on a doorstep?"

"Then let me come up a moment."

"No; I tell you that I am going to bed!"

"There's something wrong, Fanny. This isn't natural. You're not the same with me that you were two days ago."

"You can tell me all that to-morrow. Good-night!"

"Very well, until to-morrow, then, madame! I trust that you will be visible?"

"Mon Dieu! monsieur, I am always visible when I am not sick. But don't come too early; for I don't rise with the dawn."

Fanny knocked, and the door opened. She hurried in and closed the door on Gustave, who remained in the street, poor fellow, unable to make up his mind to leave his fair one's abode. He did not know what to believe. He asked himself if he had not done wrong to reproach Fanny; she had been to see one of her friends, and had returned alone: there was no great harm in that. And yet, he was ill at ease, he suffered; his heart told him that something was wrong, and that his love was not the same to him as before.

At last, after pacing back and forth in front of Fanny's door for nearly an hour, gazing at those of her windows which were lighted, he decided to go away when the lights went out.

"I wish to-morrow were here," he thought.

Gustave did not close his eyes that night; where is the lover who could sleep, in his position? Only a lover who is not in love. At eight o'clock, the young man went down to the office, where there were as yet no clerks; but he found his uncle, who was always at his desk early.

"The deuce!" said Monsieur Grandcourt; "you're on hand in good season! Was it love of work that woke you?"

"Yes, uncle; I have some accounts to look over."

"How pale you look, and exhausted! One would say that you had been up all night."

"I am just out of bed."

"I'll wager that you didn't sleep. Is there anything new in your love affair?"

"Why—no, uncle."

"Your dear Fanny hasn't played you some new trick?"

"Ah! uncle, at the point we have reached——"

"It wouldn't surprise me at all."

"You have a very bad opinion of her."

"When a woman has made a fool of a man once, she will make a fool of him again—she will always do it! However, it would be better before marriage than after. Come and breakfast with me."

"It's too early, uncle; I am not hungry. By the way, have you thought about Arthur?"

"Who's Arthur?"

"Arthur Cherami; a good, honest fellow who is looking for a place."

"Ah! your tall swashbuckler, who has such a scampish look—always ready to fly at you? Upon my word, you are not fortunate in your friendships! What sort of a place do you suppose anyone would give to that fellow? He doesn't inspire the slightest confidence in me. He was rich once, and he squandered his whole property: a fine recommendation!"

"I believe that you judge him too harshly. A man may have done foolish things, and have turned over a new leaf. With you, uncle, repentance counts for nothing."

"Repentance has one great defect in my eyes: it never comes till after the wrong-doing. If a man could repent before he went wrong, that is to say, stop before he fell, then I should have a much higher opinion of repentance. Well, where are you going? leaving the office already?"

Gustave could not keep still. He left the office, and ran all the way to Fanny's house; then stopped and looked at his watch. It was barely nine o'clock; impossible to call upon her so early. The young man walked up Faubourg PoissonniÈre and kept on past the barrier; little he cared where he went, so long as the time passed. Suddenly he ran into a tree, which his complete absorption in his thoughts had prevented his seeing. At that, he halted and looked about him, and was surprised to find that he was in the open country. But he felt that the air was keener and purer there, that it refreshed the mind and calmed the beating of the heart; and he sat down at the foot of the tree. He breathed more freely, he felt sensibly relieved. Ah! what a skilful physician the air is, and what marvellous cures we owe to it!

Gustave sat for a long while at the foot of the tree, which was bare of leaves; for it was late in October. He reviewed in his mind the whole of Fanny's conduct during the last two days, and wondered if his uncle were right after all. At last he rose and returned to Paris. It was nearly eleven o'clock when he reached the young widow's door. But he could wait no longer; he rang the bell violently, and the maid ushered him into her mistress's presence.