Fernand VandErem

THE next morning, however, he waited until the end of the lunch to try the first assault. As Brigitte served the coffee, he said:

“Children! I have an invitation to transmit to you.... If you do not like it, you are quite at liberty to decline!... But, first of all, I beg you, please listen to me to the end....”

While he spoke, with lowered head and unconsciously scratching with his nails the oil-cloth on the table, Mme. Raindal darted horrified glances at her daughter. ThÉrÈse replied to them with a reassuring mimicry of her lips and eyelids. When M. Raindal had finished, she said in a very even tone, without any suggestion either of anger or fear:

“Mme. Chambannes is very kind, father.... Nevertheless, so far as I am concerned, I find her invitation unacceptable. And I should be very much surprised if mother did not agree with me!”

“Oh, quite!” Mme. Raindal approved, with a nod.

“May I ask what your reasons are?” the master asked, in a tone which he tried to make appear unctuous.

“My reason, and I am only giving you my own,” ThÉrÈse said with a similar air, “is this, that Mme. Chambannes, be it said without offense, is no company for us.”

The master still held himself in hand:

“What do you mean?”

ThÉrÈse replied:

“It seems to me clear enough....”

M. Raindal got up and walked around the table breaking a toothpick into shreds in his hands.

“Very well! I promised you that I would leave you free.... You are free.... I do not go back on it....” Then he raised his voice and went on. “Nevertheless, sapristi! it is impossible for me to put up with your insinuations.... Mme. Chambannes is a lady for whom I profess the greatest sympathy, and I am not afraid of acknowledging it, the most lively regard. I can not allow such abominable and unfounded charges to pass unchallenged.” He mastered himself with a supreme effort and added, a little more gently:

“I beg you both, you and your mother, to speak out frankly.... What is it you have against Mme. Chambannes?”

Silence fell upon them. Brigitte, frightened in this atmosphere which she felt was heavy with the spirit of contention, had promptly dashed back to the kitchen. On both sides, they were holding their fury in leash, holding back the words of abuse which rebelled, ready to spring. “Well!” the master insisted. “I am waiting for your explanations ... for yours, ThÉrÈse, since your mother does not answer me.”

Mlle. Raindal replied seriously:

“Father, it is well understood, is it not, that we have no intention of hurting you, nor of commenting upon your friendships, that we are only speaking for your own good and for our own?...”

The master grew impatient:

“Yes, yes, go on!”

“Very well, then! I assure you that Mme. Chambannes is not a woman with whom we can have anything to do, especially not a woman whose hospitality we could possibly accept.... Do you wish me to dot my ?”

“Do so! Do be afraid....”

“We ca go and live with a woman who amuses herself with a lover almost publicly....”

M. Raindal nearly choked. He drew in a deep breath:

“A lover,” he exclaimed, “Who?... And who told you.”

“Nobody! My own eyes told me. I had but to look and see.... Moreover, it seemed to me that her friends were all of the same caliber.... I could not, at any price, associate with such women!”

“Your eyes!” M. Raindal said, following his own idea. “And, according to your eyes, what is the name of the young man in question?”

ThÉrÈse replied: “I have said enough.... I shall not add a single word....”

The master threw a glance of defiance and hatred at his daughter and then shrugged his shoulders, saying:

“I am sorry for you.... Your unworthy calumnies have not even the excuse of good faith, of being the result of an error.... You are the victim of personal spite.... You resent Mme. Chambannes’ beauty and her charm.... You are an envious girl and a fool!”

“My dear!” begged Mme. Raindal.

“Leave him alone, mother!” ThÉrÈse said, her fingers trembling on the edge of her plate. “Father does not know what he is saying any more.... All I wish is that he were as clear-sighted as other people, that he could perceive the abyss of ridicule towards which he is rushing, and dragging us with him, too.”

M. Raindal, exasperated, struck the table with his fist, and called his wife to witness:

“Do you hear how she dares to treat me?... She has lost her reason.... She is mad....”

“Am I mad!” ThÉrÈse exclaimed.

She ran out to her room and returned almost immediately, throwing three newspapers on the table.

“If I am mad, I am not the only one.... Read this! I take it that they are not all mad, those who write for these sheets....”

Her trembling hands pointed to certain paragraphs on the open pages which had been marked with a pencil.

With a gesture of contempt, M. Raindal snatched at the nearest of the three, and read:

“Who said that women were no longer interested in history? Surely not our old friend La Crois-Chammerilles, who told me yesterday the following anecdote:

“‘For the last six months, one of our prettiest exotics has been taken up with ancient history. And every week, one of our most noted savants comes to her house to give her lessons.

“‘As to the period of history of which he teaches her, and as to the name of the illustrious professor, seek them in the neighborhood of the Institute and remember also one of the greatest literary successes of last autumn.

“‘Ancient history—old story!’”

M. Raindal gave one push and the other two newspapers fell to the floor.

“Do you dare to soil me with such infamy?”

He stamped with his heels on the papers:

“There, tha what I think of your filthy rags!... Pshaw! To think that my daughter, my own daughter, collects this filth, and in my own home constitutes herself the auxiliary of my enemies!”

He fell back on his chair. ThÉrÈse rushed to him:

“Father, father!” she implored, kneeling down beside him, “forgive me.... You have misunderstood me.... I failed in showing you proper regard, I was not careful enough ... but you know that I love you, that I am quite incapable of wishing to cause you any pain.”

M. Raindal looked at her with a softened glance. She insisted:

“Kiss me ... forgive me my quickness of temper.... I swear to you....”

Gently he forced her to her feet and set her on his knees as if she were a little child:

“All is forgotten.... I forgive you.... There, do cry, i over.... It is of no importance.”

Her voice checked by sobs, she went on:

“I swear to you, father ... it was for your own good....”

“What good?” said M. Raindal, and his arms relaxed their embrace. ThÉrÈse replied diffidently:

“The good of your reputation, of your name.... You do not realize, father. You are blinded by your friendship.... But you are on the way to compromise both....”

M. Raindal jumped roughly to his feet and replied sarcastically:

“So, I compromise you.... I am bringing dishonor upon you?... Upon your name? It is quite true.... Tha it, for the last thirty-five years, I have practically worked for nothing else but that.... Ha! Ha!... It is pure truth!”

He grew very excited and began again to walk around the table.

“Yes, you are very much to be pitied for having so compromising, as you say, a husband and father!... A man who has piled up turpitude upon turpitude, whose life is but one mass of madness and debauchery.... A man....”

ThÉrÈse interrupted him:

“There, you are getting angry again, father.... You are jeering at us.... You misinterpret my words intentionally.... What I said, and I maintain my position, was that you could not but hurt yourself by preserving this intimacy with Mme. Chambannes.... I told you so because it was my duty, and because the time had come ... and nothing will prevent me from saying it again....”

M. Raindal stopped and crossed his arms over his chest. His glance challenged in turn his wife and ThÉrÈse.

“Well, now,” said he, “what is it you want?... I should think it was time to explain yourselves!... You wish me not to go to Les Frettes?”

“That, to begin with!” Mlle. Raindal replied firmly.

“To begin with!... The words are pleasant sounding in themselves, but I am willing to oblige you!... Let the ‘to begin with’ pass.... And then, after that?...”

“Then,” the young girl said, “we would like you, without breaking with Mme. Chambannes, to decrease the number of those regular calls, those fixed dinners of yours, because, rightly or wrongly, people are talking and gossiping about it....”

“And where is it that they talk, if you please?”

“Everywhere!... At the college, at the Institute, among your colleagues, and even in the newspapers....”

The master smiled bitterly.

“Ah, you are well informed!... It is probably M. Boerzell who....”

“He and everyone else, father.... He and all the allusions, the wicked words with which people delight in wounding us, among our relations, our acquaintances, when we pay or are being paid visits....”

M. Raindal retorted with a broadside of noisy sarcasm:

“Evidently the danger is more serious than I thought. One must not neglect the warnings of so many kind earnest people. One must be cautious and put the brake on.... From now on, I place myself in your hands.... You yourselves will regulate the days and the hours of my visits in the rue de Prony.... If necessary, Brigitte can take me there and bring me back. I am so weak, so inexperienced, so childish!”

He went on in that tone for several minutes. By a phenomenon of auto-suggestion, the whole of his late-come virility was in a state of excitement and increasing revolt against this control, the details and the episodes of which he was himself creating. Every point raised was like a new sting that goaded him further, and poured into his veins a quick, warm poison which over-heated his sufferings with its own energy. He saw himself deprived in future, and forever, of Mme. Chambannes, forever interned far away from her, a prey to the worst torments of separation and perhaps of jealousy. For, supposing that ThÉrÈse had spoken the truth!... A sudden anguish whipped his heart. His imaginary regrets almost reached a paroxysm. He changed his tone suddenly, and in a voice that was hurried and hollow, and which sounded the revolt, he said:

“Enough of this jest!... It is quite enough.... Oh! I know, for a long while I have had some idea of all the wicked thoughts and shameful suspicions which you were piling up against me!... Your plots, your sneers, your confabulations, and even your silence, which was more insidious than all the rest—none of those things has escaped me!... If, a minute ago, when you opened your souls to me, I showed some surprise, it was due less to the unexpectedness of it than to disgust.... Really, I did not believe that I could find so much mud and villainy in them.... Pshaw! Let it be so!... I know neither what your inspiration is, nor what your idea is based on, and I do wish to know.... But what I do wish and what I insist upon henceforth is that I shall be master in my home and free outside of it. What I want and insist upon is an end to your hypocritical grimaces, your aggressive silence, and all those sly maneuvers that are only an imitation of docility and shock me more than your insults of a little while ago.... Finally, I want confidence, esteem, and the respect to which I am entitled by my age, by a continuous life of steady work, and I may even say to have no false modesty, by my rank and my own worth.... If I cannot obtain these, we shall give up our life in common, since it would be unbearable for all of us to continue it.... This is clear, is it not?... I shall not come back to this point.... And to begin, this very day, I have the honor to inform you that, with or without you, I shall go and spend a month at Les Frettes.... You may consult with each other, make up your minds.... You have ample time, for Mme. Chambannes is not going for ten days.... However, until then, not a word on the subject, not a remark.... I will tolerate none. Yes, or no. I will not put up with more.”

He walked towards his study, adding, as he placed his hand on the door-knob:

“I do conceal from myself how regrettable such a situation is. You have no one else to blame for it but your two selves, and your secret hostility towards me.... Everything has an ending, even patience.... And for the last six months, you have strangely overtaxed mine!”

He disappeared. Then, as if he wished to barricade himself against any attempt at conciliation, his key turned twice in the key-hole. M. Raindal had locked himself up.

“Well, my poor child!” Mme. Raindal whispered, her eyes shining with tears.

Either because she was afraid of being heard or because she instinctively imitated the hollow voice of her father, ThÉrÈse replied quietly:

“What can I say, mother!... It is lamentable.... I did think that the evil had gone so far.... Our intervention has come too late!”

“I know it, dear,” the old lady sighed.

ThÉrÈse remained silent, leaning on the table, in an attitude of angry reverie.

“What is to become of us?” Mme. Raindal went on, in a kind tone. “If we shut our eyes, that wicked woman will take him away from us. If we cross him, he will leave us. And we are alone, absolutely alone, without anyone to advise us and defend us....”

“Possibly not!” the young girl replied, looking up.

“Have you anyone in mind?”

“Yes, Uncle Cyprien.... I do see anyone else who can scare father.... I am going there now, at once.... I shall work him up, rouse him to white heat.... And, I should be very disappointed if, with such heavy artillery, we could not overcome the resistance of father!”

The comparison made Mme. Raindal smile in spite of her tears:

“If you hope to succeed with him, go there now, dear! Alas! we have no time to waste!”

ThÉrÈse bent over her and kissed her:

“Do cry, dear mother!... Courage!... I have an idea that we have not lost yet!...”

“May God hear you, my poor dearest!” murmured Mme. Raindal, rolling her eyes with a prayerful expression towards the ceiling.

Her Uncle Cyprie door was ajar when ThÉrÈse reached the sixth floor. She knocked, asking at the same time: “May I come in?”

“Come in, come in!”

From the passage an odor of kerosene was already perceptible. Uncle Cyprien sat on a stool, a towel across his knees, cleaning his tricycle, which stood wheels up and saddle down, like an overturned carriage.

“I you, nephew!” he said, speaking through a corner of his mouth, the other being obstructed by an enormous cigar.... “Take a chair.... Yol excuse me, wo you? When I clean my machine, I get all mixed up if I stop in the middle of it.... Have you found a chair? Very good.... Well, I must say, I did expect you!... Nothing unpleasant, I hope?... Your father is not ill, is he?...”

ThÉrÈse replied:

“Ill? That would be so serious in comparison!”

“Sapristi!” Uncle Cyprien exclaimed, opening his eyes wide. “You frighten me! Worse than being ill, what is it? Good God, what can it be?...”

“ going to tell you, Uncle, but I need all your devotion and all your attention....”

“They are yours, nephew!... I am listening while I work ... or I work while I listen.... For you, my ears, and my eyes for my machine!... But, be quick, because you frighten me with your solemn face.”

While his niece spoke, accordingly, M. Raindal, the younger never once looked up from his work. He rubbed and polished and oiled; his hands ran among the oil-cans, black rags, greasy bits of flannel, screwdrivers, and wrenches; at first sight, one might have thought him a sheep-shearer practising his art upon a tricycle.

“Unfortunate!” he merely murmured at intervals, his head still bent down. “Very unfortunate!... Most unfortunate!...”

Nevertheless, he was making up his mind very coolly, under the cover of his busy appearance. Although his losses were small, they had, during the previous week, reached the total of his profits. The liquidation of the last eight days showed no profit, and this was almost a loss for a speculator who was, like himself, accustomed to profits. Moreover, other mining stocks had undergone violent fluctuations. The market showed signs of a need for caution, if not for alarm. Business slowed down and the fall had affected several stocks which had until then risen daily. This consideration gave food for thought to Uncle Cyprien. Was it really a favorable time to take sides against his brother, to urge openly the necessity of a break with Mme. Chambannes? Did he not risk, if he took such a decided attitude, alienating the powerful sympathies which he enjoyed with the opposite camp—that is to say, the Chambannes and the whole band behind them, the Pums, the de Meuzes, and the Talloires, in short all his friends of the Bourse, and all his advisers? The point deserved to be settled only after proper consideration.

“It was then,” ThÉrÈse concluded, “that the idea came to me to seek your help.... No one but you can save us, because you are the only one who has sufficient authority over father to pull him away from the dangerous path in which he goes deeper every day.”

“Unfortunate! Most unfortunate!” M. Raindal, the younger, repeated.

There was a pause. Uncle Cyprien was busy dropping oil from a little can into one of the oil-holes.

“You are saying anything, uncle!” ThÉrÈse went on, disconcerted by his reserve.... “Why do you speak?... You share our opinion, do you?... Surely this scandal must cease.... We must tear father away from those people!”

“Fuff! nephew,” said Uncle Cyprien, as he rose, folded his stool and put his tricycle on its wheels again.... “You asked my advice, did you, my sincere and friendly advice?... I shall give it to you with brutal frankness.... My own advice is that this affair is exceedingly delicate.... Of course, your fathe behavior seems to me unfortunate, and even deplorable; I would give anything to have him change.... But between that and going to a man of his age, a man of your fathe standing, and saying to him: ‘My friend, I forbid you to go to Mme. So-and-so any more ... and henceforth you shall not go ... ‘—between this and that, there is a difference!”

“And so you refuse to reason with him, to have a serious talk with him!” Mlle. Raindal said, pushing back her hair.

“I do refuse,” the ex-official corrected her. “I am merely explaining the difficulties, almost the impossibility of the mission which you wish me to undertake.... Moreover, your father is not so easy to get on with; he is quite likely to send me about my business and to tell me that his affairs are no concern of mine.... And after that, there would be nothing left for me to do but to pack my things and break with him!”

He seized the handle-bar of his tricycle and led the machine around the room to watch the result of his cleaning operations. Then he added:

“To resume, you understand me, do you?... I do refuse.... I only lay the problem before you.... Do you think in your soul and conscience that I stand any chance of success?... If so, this is just the time to put my hat on and go to him.... Otherwise, it would be better for me not to expose myself to an unnecessary rebuke just for the sake of doing it.... Think it over!”

“It is all thought over, uncle!” ThÉrÈse replied, suppressing a contemptuous smile.... “I am beginning to agree with you.... It is more seemly that you should not figure in this unpleasant affair....”

M. Raindal threw a suspicious glance at his niece.

“Oh-ho! mademoiselle, we are peeved, it seems, ... I am still at your disposal.... But, take my advice, do get excited, ... consider this question calmly.... And l bet you anything you like against a box of cigars that, before two days are past, you will be admitting that your wicked old uncle was right!”

He took her in his arms and kissed her forehead.

“Besides, who said that this infatuation would last?... Your father lost his temper because you opposed him, and the Raindals have a perfect horror of being contradicted.... We are like milk soup!... It falls down as soon as it is removed from the fire.... If you were to come to me this evening and tell me that everything is settled and that your father is going to Langrune with you, why! I would not be so very much surprised!...”

They reached the hall. ThÉrÈse gave his hand a slight touch.

“Oh, what a cotton-hand!” M. Raindal protested. “Will you please shake hands better than that!”

ThÉrÈse obeyed him.

“All right!” he approved. “Tha better! Au revoir, nephew ... and no spite, either, please.”

ThÉrÈse went down holding herself on the banisters. Her legs almost gave way under her. Her ideas were confused in an overwhelming impression of defeat and powerlessness.

When she reached the outside door, she stopped, hesitating. She did not try even to define her sensation of isolation, nor to elucidate the gross defection of her uncle. She felt stupefied, paralyzed, and forever vanquished.

She walked slowly towards the rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs. The passers-by looked at her, surprised by her disordered appearance, staring eyes, and expression of hidden sorrow. Love-trouble?... With those yellow cotton gloves, that faded alpaca dress, and that straw hat bought at a bargain-counter—and moreover, not pretty herself! No! Rather a discharged governess....

Without taking any notice of their glances, without even seeing them, she walked close to the walls, as if she needed a support in case she were to lose consciousness. Suddenly she came to the rue Vavin, and a vision, a ma name brought her to a sharp stop: Boerzell. Why, yes! There was the supreme resource, the supreme protector against the threatening catastrophe, against the ruin which threatened to strike her home very shortly!

A ray of hope enlivened her face, worn out by anguish. She hastened. Five minutes later she was in the rue de Rennes in front of Pierre Boerzel door.

Hearing the bell, he came to the door himself. He was in his shirtsleeves, and without a collar, because of the heat; his plump white neck showing freely above his shirt.

He gave a surprised exclamation on recognizing ThÉrÈse, and quickly smoothed his hair down:

“You, mademoiselle!... I hope there is nothing wrong?”

ThÉrÈse smiled with difficulty.

“No, M. Boerzell!... A service, a piece of advice I have come to seek from you.”

“Will you allow me, mademoiselle?... Let me show you in....”

As soon as they were in the front room, which was his study—a tiny little room, where books and pamphlets covered the table, the chairs, and the divan—he apologized for the exiguity of the place: “You see!... I am very much limited as to space here ... and there are even more books in my room.... I shall have to move one of these days!”

Hastily he cleared the divan and said:

“Please sit down, mademoiselle.... What is it?”

At the same time he hurried to his room. He came back very shortly, having fixed his collar and tie and donned a coat.

“There!... I am at your service.... What can I do for you, mademoiselle?...”

With a thousand reticences, ThÉrÈse took up her narrative. Boerzell followed her attentively, nodding his concern at intervals. But the selfish welcome which her uncle had given her roused him to an expression of indignation:

“That is too much!... Really, it is disgusting!”

“Yet, it is the case!” ThÉrÈse said. “You knew some of our anxieties already before this mornin scene. Now you know everything!... I came to you as a trusted friend.... I have absolute faith in your discretion, your judgment, and your affection.... Answer me straightforwardly.... What would you do in our place?”

Boerzell lifted his arms in a gesture of despair:

“Ah! mademoiselle!... You will tell me that I am choosing a very bad moment to reproach you ... yet you must agree that, had you been more indulgent and merciful, we should not find ourselves in such a distressing position to-day!...”

“How is that?” ThÉrÈse asked.

“Well! I kept my promise, I kept it religiously.... I never spoke of marriage to you.... Many chances offered themselves to me for doing so.... I took advantage of none of them.... I was counting on your own heart to release me some day from my oath.... The more I came into your intimacy, and the more my hopes were strengthened.... Well! I deplore my patience.... I am sorry for my faithfulness.... If I had overcome them, I may presume that we would be married by now ... and once I were your husband, I could take a part in your family dissensions, I could discuss matters with M. Raindal; I might have persuaded him, caused him to change.... But to-day, as things are, what can I do? Nothing ... nothing, even less than nothing!... At my first words, M. Raindal would show me the door. Ah! mademoiselle, here you have a case, alas! a very painful one, where this marriage which you scorned so much might have proved of use to you!”

He walked up and down the room, knocking against the table and the chairs, which he put back in place each time.

ThÉrÈse murmured:

“Outside this marriage, do you see any other solution?”

“No, mademoiselle!” Boerzell replied feverishly.... “I am neither related nor allied to you.... I have no hold on your father.” He sighed deeply: “And to think that I would throw myself into the fire for your sake! I would sacrifice everything for you, anything that you might ask me to—and see now to what I am reduced!... To sending you away as if you were a beggar, a stranger come to beg from me!... I have not even the consolation of giving you my advice left.... Your father is the master.... You have nothing to do but to bow, and to let him go if he so wishes.”

ThÉrÈse was worn out; her head leaning against the back of the divan, she began to cry in her handkerchief.

“And now you are crying!” pursued Boerzell. “And I am compelled to let you cry.... If I only dared to come close to you and to take your hands in mine without your permission, I would at once become hateful to you.... A friend, yes, but a friend with whom one keeps on distance, and whom one would treat as the very opposite of a gentleman if he made the slightest show of love!”

“No, M. Boerzell!...” ThÉrÈse stammered between two sobs. “You are exaggerating.... It is true that I have been hard to you.... But I like you very much ... very much more than I did.”

He paused to look at her. She eyed him with sympathy in her gray eyes, which were full of tears. With an unconscious movement of tenderness, she stretched out her hand to him. He fell back a step, he was so surprised; then he seized ThÉrÈs hand and, without kneeling down, without any such demonstration usually made by a lover who has just been accepted, he said in a halting voice which betrayed the intensity of his emotion:

“What! mademoiselle!... Am I mistaken? Do I understand the meaning of your words? You might be willing, you are consenting?”

“I do know,” sighed Mlle. Raindal, oppressed by discouragement, and withal touched by his anxiety. “Later, perhaps.... I shall see....”

“Oh, thank you!” Boerzell exclaimed, as he pressed the feverish hand of his visitor ardently. “Thank you, mademoiselle.... You will see.... You will see how much I shall try to make you happy and contented....”

He looked at her kindly, with little shivers of gratefulness running along the corners of his temples. But suddenly his face darkened and he gently let go the young lad hand:

“And yet, no.... That would be to take advantage of your present state ... of your disturbed condition. I refuse a consent which I could extort from you in the midst of your sorrow and your tears.... Our marriage can only be accomplished through your own free will, and in the complete mastery of yourself. Later, as you say ... later, when you have recovered your calm and your clear sight, if you still hold the same sentiments toward me, you know what happiness you will give me, if you accept and become my wife.... Until then, I seek nothing from you but your friendship.... We are not heroes of novels nor fools nor madmen.... Our union must not be brought about by a subterfuge, by some surprise, or by a lack of reflection that might carry us away.... I would rather renounce you forever than to know I had conquered you by such vulgar means.... In the days to come, whatever may happen, I can assure you that neither you nor I will regret our wisdom of to-day. Am I not right, mademoiselle?”

He stood in front of ThÉrÈse and sought his answer in her eyes. She endured his persistent look for a long time, then replied in melancholy accents:

“You are the very incarnation of common sense!... You are the best and most loyal of friends.... Just as you say!... Let us wait.... That, as a matter of fact, is more worthy of such old wise people as you and I.... Nevertheless, I would like to show you my gratitude. I do want to leave you now, after the words that have passed between us, without giving you some proof of my friendship....”

“That is quite easy, mademoiselle!” Boerzell replied quietly.

“In what way?”

“Allow me, whatever happens, whether M. Raindal goes there or not—to accompany you at Langrune. This vacation of yours which was to separate us was a cause of serious pain to me.... More than once, I was on the verge of asking your leave to come.... I delayed my prayer for fear of displeasing you.... I am bolder now.... Tell me, may I?”

Thereupon Mlle. Raindal stretched out her hand once more:

“What a thing to ask! M. Boerzell! I shall be delighted!...”

He felt bold enough this time for a kiss of thanksgiving. ThÉrÈse thoughtlessly complained of being thirsty. He ran out to his room and came back with a tray. In an instant he had prepared a glass of sugar and water in which he poured a few drops of rum.

“A bachelo home, a savan home!” he grumbled jestingly, as he stirred the mixture.... “No cordial ... no smelling salts ... nothing that is needed for receiving ladies!”

He corrected himself at once:

“Pshaw!... There, I am again alluding to marriage.... I had forgotten that my promise was on again....”

ThÉrÈse drank greedily, her eyes smiling at him. The clock struck three and she started.

“I was forgetting my poor mother!... Good-by.... Thank you again with all my heart!... Till next Sunday then? Perhaps we shall have good news!...”

“It is my dearest wish, mademoiselle!” Boerzell replied skeptically.

He leaned out of his window to watch her go. She walked with a virile and well-balanced step; she made her way among the passers-by holding her head somewhat haughtily as only those women do who have a consciousness of their own charm, or a pride in their thoughts. Boerzell felt instinctively that it was no longer a young girl who was walking away from him: it was rather a sort of leader, a mother by right of intellect—the true head of the Raindal family.

She turned into the next street and was no longer visible to him.... He closed the window. He felt his breast swelling in a glorious satisfaction. Their behavior, the cordial chastity of their interview seemed to him to stamp them out as people who were far from being vulgar.

“We have been very chic!” he summarized, falling back into his student dialect.

Then he sat down at his table once more, his eyes dreamy, as if he were voicing a wish:

“If she only would!” he murmured.... “What a companion for me! What a wife!... She is a man ... a man in the finest meaning of the word!”