he had recognized the rejuvenated voice of that woman!
How slight a thing it takes to move a man's heart, a man who is growing
old, with whom remembrance turns into regret!

As in former days, the need of seeing her again came to him, entering
body and mind, like a fever; and he began to think after the fashion of
a young lover, exalting her in his heart, and feeling himself exalted in
his desire for her; then he decided, although he had seen her only that
morning, to go and ask for a cup of tea that same evening.

The hours seemed long to him, and as he set out for the Boulevard
Malesherbes he was seized with a fear of not finding her, which would
force him still to pass the evening alone, as he had passed so many
others.

To his query: "Is the Countess at home?" the servant's answer, "Yes,
Monsieur," filled him with joy.

He said, with a radiant air: "It is I again!" as he appeared at the
threshold of the smaller drawing-room where the two ladies were working,
under the pink shade of a double lamp of English metal, on a high and
slender standard.

"What, is it you? How fortunate!" exclaimed the Countess.

"Well, yes. I feel very lonely, so I came."

"How nice of you!"

"You are expecting someone?"

"No--perhaps--I never know."

He had seated himself and now looked scornfully at the gray
knitting-work that mother and daughter were swiftly making from heavy
wool, working at it with long needles.

"What is that?" he asked.

"Coverlets."

"For the poor?"

"Yes, of course."

"It is very ugly."

"It is very warm."

"Possibly, but it is very ugly, especially in a Louis Fifteenth
apartment, where everything else charms the eye. If not for your poor,
you really ought to make your charities more elegant, for the sake of
your friends."

"Oh, heavens, these men!" said the Countess, with a shrug of her
shoulders. "Why, everyone is making this kind of coverlets just now."

"I know that; I know it only too well! Once cannot make an evening call
now without seeing that frightful gray stuff dragged over the prettiest
gowns and the most elegant furniture. Bad taste seems to be the fashion
this spring."

To judge whether he spoke the truth, the Countess spread out her
knitting on a silk-covered chair beside her; then she assented
indifferently:

"Yes, you are right--it is ugly."

Then she resumed her work. Upon the two bent heads fell a stream
of light; a rosy radiance from the lamp illumined their hair