eat his stock panegyrics three or four times over, and
when he stopped she seemed so disappointed that he was forced to take up
the strain again immediately. He found it trying, for he was no
connoisseur, but he had the pleasure of kissing her plump curved
shoulders all golden in the light, and of catching glimpses of her
pretty face in the mirror over the toilet-table.

"You were delicious."

"Really?... you think so?"

"Adorable ... div----"

Suddenly he gave a loud cry. His eyes had seen in the mirror a face
appear at the back of the dressing-room. He turned swiftly round, flung
his arms about Arcade, and drew him into the corridor.

"What manners!" exclaimed Bouchotte, gasping.

But, pushing his way through a troop of performing dogs, and a family of
American acrobats, young d'Esparvieu dragged his angel towards the exit.

He hurried him forth into the cool darkness of the boulevard, delirious
with joy and wondering whether it was all too good to be true.

"Here you are!" he cried; "here you are! I have been looking for you a
long time, Arcade,--or Mirar if you like,--and I have found you at last.
Arcade, you have taken my guardian angel from me. Give him back to me.
Arcade, do you love me still?"

Arcade replied that in accomplishing the super-angelic task he had set
himself he had been forced to crush under foot friendship, pity, love,
and all those feelings which tend to soften the soul; but that, on the
other hand, his new state, by exposing him to suffering and privation,
disposed him to love Humanity, and that he felt a certain mechanical
friendship for his poor Maurice.

"Well, then," exclaimed Maurice, "if only you love me, come back to me,
stay with me. I cannot do without you. While I had you with me I was not
aware of your presence. But no sooner did you depart than I felt a
horrible blank. Without you I am like a body without a soul. Do you know
that in the little flat in the rue de Rome, with Gilberte by my side, I
feel lonely, I miss you sorely, and long to see you and to hear you as I
did that day when you made me so angry. Confess I was right, and that
your behaviour on that occasion was not that of a gentleman. That you,
you of so high an origin, so noble a mind, could commit such an
indiscretion is extraordinary, when one comes to think about it. Madame
des Aubels has not yet forgiven you. She blames you for having
frightened her by appearing at such an inconvenient moment, and for
bein