wing near its close. The three actors
left the table and betook themselves to the brewery on the Rue Blondel.
Frantz remained with the two women.

As he sat beside her, gentle and affectionate in manner, Desiree was
suddenly conscious of a great outflow of gratitude to Sidonie. She said
to herself that, after all, it was to her generosity that she owed this
semblance of happiness, and that thought gave her courage to defend her
former friend.

"You see, Monsieur Frantz, you mustn't believe all my father told you
about your sister-in-law. Dear papa! he always exaggerates a little. For
my own part, I am very sure that Sidonie is incapable of all the evil
she is accused of. I am sure that her heart has remained the same; and
that she is still fond of her friends, although she does neglect them a
little. Such is life, you know. Friends drift apart without meaning to.
Isn't that true, Monsieur Frantz?"

Oh! how pretty she was in his eyes, while she talked in that strain. He
never had taken so much notice of the refined features, the aristocratic
pallor of her complexion; and when he left her that evening, deeply
touched by the warmth she had displayed in defending Sidonie, by all the
charming feminine excuses she put forward for her friend's silence
and neglect, Frantz Risler reflected, with a feeling of selfish and
ingenuous pleasure, that the child had loved him once, and that perhaps
she loved him still, and kept for him in the bottom of her heart that
warm, sheltered spot to which we turn as to the sanctuary when life has
wounded us.

All night long in his old room, lulled by the imaginary movement of the
vessel, by the murmur of the waves and the howling of the wind which
follow long sea voyages, he dreamed of his youthful days, of little
Chebe and Desiree Delobelle, of their games, their labors, and of the
Ecole Centrale, whose great, gloomy buildings were sleeping near at
hand, in the dark streets of the Marais.

And when daylight came, and the sun shining in at his bare window vexed
his eyes and brought him back to a realization of the duty that lay
before him and to the anxieties of the day, he dreamed that it was time
to go to the School, and that his brother, before going down to the
factory, opened the door and called to him:

"Come, lazybones! Come!"

That dear, loving voice, too natural, too real for a dream, made him
open his eyes without more ado.

Risler was standing by his bed, watching his awaken