rprise, when the following week, on a fine
afternoon, he saw Mlle. Lucienne leave her room, no longer clad in
her eternal black dress, but wearing a brilliant and extremely rich
toilet. With a beating heart he followed her.

In front of the Hotel des Folies stood a handsome carriage and
horses.

As soon as Mlle. Lucienne appeared, a footman opened respectfully
the carriage-door. She went in; and the horses started at a full
trot.

Maxence watched the carriage disappear in the distance, like a
child who sees the bird fly upon which he hoped to lay hands.

"Gone," he muttered, "gone!"

But, when he turned around, he found himself face to face with the
Fortins, man and wife; who were laughing a sinister laugh.

"What did I tell you?" exclaimed Mme. Fortin. "There she is,
started at last. Get up, horse! She'll do well, the child."

The magnificent equipage and elegant dress had already produced
quite an effect among the neighbors. The customers sitting in front
of the cafe were laughing among themselves. The confectioner and
his wife were casting indignant glances at the proprietors of the
Hotel des Folies.

"You see, M. Favoral," replied Mme. Fortin, "such a girl as that
was not made for our neighborhood. You must make up your mind to
it; you won't see much more of her on the Boulevard du Temple."

Without saying a word, Maxence ran to his room, the hot tears
streaming from his eyes. He felt ashamed of himself; for, after
all, what was this girl to him?

"She is gone!" he repeated to himself. "Well, good-by, let her go!"

But, despite all his efforts at philosophy, he felt an immense
sadness invading his heart: ill-defined regrets and spasms of anger
agitated him. He was thinking what a fool he had been to believe
in the grand airs of the young lady, and that, if he had had dresses
and horses to give her, she might not have received him so harshly.
At last he made up his mind to think no more of her,--one of those
fine resolutions which are always taken, and never kept; and in the
evening he left his room to go and dine in the Rue St. Gilles.

But, as was often his custom, he stopped at the cafe next door, and
called for a drink. He was mixing his absinthe when he saw the
carriage that had carried off Mlle. Lucienne in the morning returning
at a rapid gait, and stopping short in front of the hotel. Mlle.
Lucienne got out slowly, crossed the sidewalk, and entered the
narrow corridor. Almost imm