his attention to the other letters. They were not of
importance.

The whole day, he kept thinking of this phantom. What was she like
now? How funny it was to meet in this way after twenty-five years!
Would he alone recognize her?

He made his toilet with feminine coquetry, put on a white waistcoat,
which suited him better with the coat, sent for the hairdresser to
give him a finishing touch with the curling-iron, for he had preserved
his hair, and started very early in order to show his eagerness to see
her.

The first thing he saw on entering a pretty drawing-room freshly
furnished, was his own portrait, an old faded photograph, dating from
the days of his good-fortune, hanging on the wall in an antique silk
frame.

He sat down and waited. A door opened behind him. He rose up abruptly,
and, turning round, beheld an old woman with white hair who extended
both hands towards him.

He seized them, kissed them one after the other with long, long
kisses, then, lifting up his head, he gazed at the woman he had loved.

Yes, it was an old lady, an old lady whom he did not recognize, and
who, while she smiled, seemed ready to weep.

He could not abstain from murmuring:

"It is you, Lise?"

She replied:

"Yes, it is I; it is I, indeed. You would not have known me, isn't
that so? I have had so much sorrow--so much sorrow. Sorrow has
consumed my life. Look at me now--or rather don't look at me! But how
handsome you have kept--and young! If I had by chance met you in the
street, I would have cried, 'Jaquelet!' Now sit down and let us, first
of all, have a chat. And then I'll show you my daughter, my grown-up
daughter. You'll see how she resembles me--or rather how I resemble
her--no, it is not quite that: she is just like the 'me' of former
days--you shall see! But I wanted to be alone with you first. I feared
that there would be some emotion on my side, at the first moment. Now
it is all over; it is past. Pray be seated, my friend."

He sat down beside her, holding her hand; but he did not know what to
say; he did not know this woman--it seemed to him that he had never
seen her before. What had he come to do in this house? Of what could
he speak? Of the long-ago? What was there in common between him and
her? He could no longer recall anything to mind in the presence of
this grandmotherly face. He could no longer recall to mind all the
nice, tender things so sweet, so bitter, that had assailed his heart,
some time si