course he knew, though he did not tell her so--knew almost the exact
hour at which the blinds had been drawn up, the windows opened, and a
flower-pot, in a gaudy pink paper, put out on the sill.

Not many days after this, he came upon Louise herself. She was standing
talking, at a street-corner, to the shabby little Englishman, Eggis,
with whom she had walked the FOYER of the theatre. Maurice was about to
bow and pass by, but she smiled and held out her hand.

"You are back, too, then? To-day I am meeting all my friends."

She had fur about her neck, although the weather was not really cold,
and her face rose out of this setting like a flower from its cup.

This meeting, and the few cordial words she had spoken, helped him over
the days that followed. Sometimes, while he waited for the blow to
fall, his daily life grew very unimportant; things that had hitherto
interested him, now went past like shadows; he himself was a mere
automaton. But sometimes, too, and especially after he had seen Louise,
and touched her living hand, he wondered whether he were not perhaps
tormenting himself unnecessarily. Nothing more had come to light; no
one had hinted by a word at Schilsky's departure; it might yet prove to
be all a mistake.

Then, however, he received a postcard from Madeleine, saying that she
had something interesting to tell him. He went too early, and spent a
quarter of an hour pacing her room. When she entered, she threw him a
look, and, before she had finished taking off her wraps, said:

"Maurice, I have a piece of news for you. Schilsky is going away."

He nodded; his throat was dry.

"Why, you don't mean to say you knew?" she cried, and paused half-way
out of her jacket.

Maurice went to the window, and stood with his back to her. In one of
the houses opposite, at a window on the same level, a girl was
practising the violin; his eyes followed the mechanical movements of
the bow.

He cleared his throat. "Do you--Is it likely--I mean, do you think?----"

Madeleine understood him. "Yes, I do. Louise won't stay here a day
longer than he does; I'm sure of that."

But otherwise she knew no more than Maurice; and she did not offer to
detain him, when, a few minutes later, he alleged a pressing
appointment. Madeleine was annoyed, and showed it; she had come in with
the intention of being kind to him, of encouraging him, and discussing
the matter sympathetically, and it now turned out that not only had he
know