all have peace,
anyway."

He looked about him. Without knowing how he had got there he found
himself in the Jardin des Plantes. He oriented himself, remembered that
there was a cafe on the side facing the quay, and went to find it.

He tried to control himself and write a letter at once ardent and firm,
but the pen shook in his fingers. He wrote at a gallop, confessed that
he regretted not having consented, at the outset, to the meeting she
proposed, and, attempting to check himself, declared, "We must see each
other. Think of the harm we are doing ourselves, teasing each other at a
distance. Think of the remedy we have at hand, my poor darling, I
implore you."

He must indicate a place of meeting. He hesitated. "Let me think," he
said to himself. "I don't want her to alight at my place. Too dangerous.
Then the best thing to do would be to offer her a glass of port and a
biscuit and conduct her to Lavenue's, which is a hotel as well as a
cafe. I will reserve a room. That will be less disgusting than an
assignation house. Very well, then, let us put in place of the rue de la
Chaise the waiting-room of the Gare Montparnasse. Sometimes it is quite
empty. Well, that's done." He gummed the envelope and felt a kind of
relief. "Ah! I was forgetting. Garcon! The Bottin de Paris."

He searched for the name Maubel, thinking that by some chance it might
be her own. Of course it was hardly probable, but she seemed so
imprudent that with her anything was to be expected. He might very
easily have met a Mme. Maubel and forgotten her. He found a Maube and a
Maubec, but no Maubel. "Of course, that proves nothing," he said,
closing the directory. He went out and threw his letter into the box.
"The joker in this is the husband. But hell, I am not likely to take his
wife away from him very long."

He had an idea of going home, but he realized that he would do no work,
that alone he would relapse into daydream. "If I went up to Des
Hermies's place. Yes, today was his consultation day, it's an idea."

He quickened his pace, came to the rue Madame, and rang at an entresol.
The housekeeper opened the door.

"Ah, Monsieur Durtal, he is out, but he will be in soon. Will you wait?"

"But you are sure he is coming back?"

"Why, yes. He ought to be here now," she said, stirring the fire.

As soon as she had retired Durtal sat down, then, becoming bored, he
went over and began browsing among the books which covered the wall as
in his own