d not wait to be told twice; darted
out on the staircase as if she had wings, and only stopped on the way to
bite Monsieur Boniface, whom she met coming home from his office;
crossed the road, and disappeared in Bathilde's house. D'Harmental
remained at the window for a minute, fearing that Mirza would take his
note to Buvat instead of Bathilde, but she was too intelligent for that,
and he soon saw her appear in Bathilde's room. Consequently, in order
not to frighten poor Bathilde too much, he shut his window, hoping that
by this concession he should obtain some sign, which would indicate to
him that he was pardoned.

But it did not turn out so. D'Harmental waited in vain all the evening,
and a great part of the night. At eleven o'clock, the light scarcely
seen through the double curtains, still hermetically closed, went out
altogether, and D'Harmental was obliged to renounce the hope of seeing
Bathilde till the next day.

The next day brought the same rigor; it was a settled plan of defense,
which, with a man less in love than D'Harmental, would simply have
indicated fear of defeat; but the chevalier, with a simplicity worthy of
the age of gold, saw nothing but a coldness, in the eternity of which he
began to believe, and it is true that it had lasted four and twenty
hours.

D'Harmental passed the morning in turning in his mind a thousand
projects, each more absurd than the preceding one. The only one which
had common sense was to cross the street, mount boldly to Bathilde's
room, and tell her everything. It came to his mind like all the rest;
and as it was the only reasonable one, D'Harmental did well to stop at
it. However, it would be a great boldness to present himself thus before
Bathilde, without being authorized by the least sign, and without having
any pretext to give. Such a course of conduct could but wound Bathilde,
who was only too much irritated already; it was better to wait then, and
D'Harmental waited. At two o'clock Brigaud returned, and found
D'Harmental in a very savage state of mind. The abbe threw a glance
toward the window, still hermetically closed, and divined everything. He
took a chair, and sat down opposite D'Harmental, twisting his thumbs
round one another, as he saw the chevalier doing.

"My dear pupil," said he, after an instant's silence, "either I am a bad
physiognomist, or I read on your face that something profoundly sad has
happened to you."

"And you read right, my dear abbe,"