He complimented her on her fine appearance. He spoke to Miss Bell a few
courteous and precise words.

Therese listened anxiously, her mouth half open in the painful effort
to say insignificant things in reply. He asked her whether she had had a
good season at Joinville. He would have liked to go in the hunting time,
but could not. He had gone to the Mediterranean, then he had hunted at
Semanville.

"Oh, Monsieur Le Menil," said Miss Bell, "you have wandered on the blue
sea. Have you seen sirens?"

No, he had not seen sirens, but for three days a dolphin had swum in the
yacht's wake.

Miss Bell asked him if that dolphin liked music.

He thought not.

"Dolphins," he said, "are very ordinary fish that sailors call
sea-geese, because they have goose-shaped heads."

But Miss Bell would not believe that the monster which had earned the
poet Arion had a goose-shaped head.

"Monsieur Le Menil, if next year a dolphin comes to swim near your boat,
I pray you play to him on the flute the Delphic Hymn to Apollo. Do you
like the sea, Monsieur Le Menil?"

"I prefer the woods."

Self-contained, simple, he talked quietly.

"Oh, Monsieur Le Menil, I know you like woods where the hares dance in
the moonlight."

Dechartre, pale, rose and went out.

The church scene was on. Marguerite, kneeling, was wringing her hands,
and her head drooped with the weight of her long tresses. The voices of
the organ and the chorus sang the death-song.

"Oh, darling, do you know that that death-song, which is sung only in
the Catholic churches, comes from a Franciscan hermitage? It sounds
like the wind which blows in winter in the trees on the summit of the
Alverno."

Therese did not hear. Her soul had followed Dechartre through the door
of her box.

In the anteroom was a noise of overthrown chairs. It was Schmoll coming
back. He had learned that M. Martin-Belleme had recently been appointed
Minister. At once he claimed the cross of Commander of the Legion of
Honor and a larger apartment at the Institute. His apartment was small,
narrow, insufficient for his wife and his five daughters. He had been
forced to put his workshop under the roof. He made long complaints, and
consented to go only after Madame Martin had promised that she would
speak to her husband.

"Monsieur Le Menil," asked Miss Bell, "shall you go yachting next year?"

Le Menil thought not. He did not intend to keep the Rosebud. The water
was tiresome.

And calm, ene