I will create a scene here at once."

He replied loftily: "Very well. I will be at the spot you mention within
ten minutes."

And they separated. But Jacques Rival almost made him behindhand. He had
taken him by the arm and was telling him a lot of things in a very
excited manner. He had no doubt come from the refreshment buffet. At
length Du Roy left him in the hands of Monsieur de Marelle, whom he had
come across, and bolted. He still had to take precautions not to be seen
by his wife or Laroche-Mathieu. He succeeded, for they seemed deeply
interested in something, and found himself in the garden. The cold air
struck him like an ice bath. He thought: "Confound it, I shall catch
cold," and tied his pocket-handkerchief round his neck. Then he slowly
went along the walk, seeing his way with difficulty after coming out of
the bright light of the reception-rooms. He could distinguish to the
right and left leafless shrubs, the branches of which were quivering.
Light filtered through their branches, coming from the windows of the
mansion. He saw something white in the middle of the path in front of
him, and Madame Walter, with bare arms and bosom, said in a quivering
voice; "Ah here you are; you want to kill me, then?"

He answered quickly: "No melodramatics, I beg of you, or I shall bolt at
once."

She had seized him round the neck, and with her lips close to his, said:
"But what have I done to you? You are behaving towards me like a wretch.
What have I done to you?"

He tried to repulse her. "You wound your hair round every one of my
buttons the last time I saw you, and it almost brought about a rupture
between my wife and myself."

She was surprised for a moment, and then, shaking her head, said: "Oh!
your wife would not mind. It was one of your mistresses who had made a
scene over it."

"I have no mistresses."

"Nonsense. But why do you no longer ever come to see me? Why do you
refuse to come to dinner, even once a week, with me? What I suffer is
fearful. I love you to that degree that I no longer have a thought that
is not for you; that I see you continually before my eyes; that I can no
longer say a word without being afraid of uttering your name. You cannot
understand that, I know. It seems to me that I am seized in some one's
clutches, tied up in a sack, I don't know what. Your remembrance, always
with me, clutches my throat, tears my chest, breaks my legs so as to no
longer leave me strength to walk. And