and at last they
got back to Bezons. Monsieur Dufour, who had sobered up, was waiting
for them very impatiently, while the youth with the yellow hair was
having a mouthful of something to eat before leaving the inn. The
carriage was in the yard, with the horse in, and the grandmother, who
had already got in, was frightened at the thought of being overtaken by
night, before they got back to Paris, the outskirts not being safe.

The young men shook hands with them, and the Dufour family drove off.

"Good-bye, until we meet again!" the oarsmen cried, and the answers
they got were a sigh and a tear.

* * * * *

Two months later, as Henri was going along the Rue des Martyrs, he saw
"Dufour, Ironmonger," over a door. So he went in, and saw the stout
lady sitting at the counter. They recognized each other immediately,
and after an interchange of polite greetings, he inquired after them
all.

"And how is Mademoiselle Henriette?" he inquired, specially.

"Very well, thank you; she is married."

"Ah!" Mastering his feelings, he added: "To whom was she married?"

"To that young man who went with us, you know; he has joined us in
business."

"I remember him, perfectly."

He was going out, feeling unhappy, though scarcely knowing why, when
Madame called him back.

"And how is your friend?" she asked, rather shyly.

"He is very well, thank you."

"Please give him our compliments, and beg him to come and call when he
is in the neighborhood." She then added: "Tell him it will give me
great pleasure."

"I will be sure to do so. Adieu!"

"I will not say that; come again, very soon."

* * * * *

The next year, one very hot Sunday, all the details of that memorable
adventure suddenly came back to him so clearly that he revisited the
"private room" in the wood, and was overwhelmed with astonishment when
he went in. She was sitting on the grass, looking very sad, while by
her side, again in his shirt-sleeves, the young man with the yellow
hair was sleeping soundly, like some brute.

She grew so pale when she saw Henri, that at first he thought she was
going to faint; then, however, they began to talk quite naturally. But
when he told her that he was very fond of that spot, and went there
very often on Sundays, she looked into his eyes for a long time. "I,
too, often think of it," she replied.

"Come, my dear," her husband said, with a yawn; "I think it is time for