about to go, he seized her, clasped her close in both arms, and pressing
his lips to her forehead, he seemed to drink in, to inhale from her all
the love she had for him.

Then he departed quickly, without turning toward her again.

When she was alone she let herself sink, sobbing, upon a chair. She
would have remained there till night if Annette had not suddenly
appeared in search of her. In order to gain time to dry her red eyelids,
the Countess answered: "I have a little note to write, my child. Go
up-stairs, and I will join you in a few seconds."

She was compelled to occupy herself with the great affair of the
trousseau until evening.

The Duchess and her nephew dined with the Guilleroys, as a family party.
They had just seated themselves at table, and were speaking of the opera
of the night before, when the butler appeared, carrying three enormous
bouquets.

Madame de Mortemain was surprised.

"Good gracious! What is that?"

"Oh, how lovely they are!" exclaimed Annette; "who can have sent them?"

"Olivier Bertin, no doubt," replied her mother.

She had been thinking of him since his departure. He had seemed so
gloomy, so tragic, she understood so clearly his hopeless sorrow, she
felt so keenly the counter-stroke of that grief, she loved him so
much, so entirely, so tenderly, that her heart was weighed down by sad
presentiments.

In the three bouquets were found three of the painter's cards. He had
written on them in pencil, respectively, the names of the Countess, the
Duchess, and Annette.

"Is he ill, your friend Bertin?" the Duchess inquired. "I thought he
looked rather bad last night."

"Yes, I am a little anxious about him, although he does not complain,"
Madame de Guilleroy answered.

"Oh, he is growing old, like all the rest of us," her husband
interposed. "He is growing old quite fast, indeed. I believe, however,
that bachelors usually go to pieces suddenly. Their breaking-up comes
more abruptly than ours. He really is very much changed."

"Ah, yes!" sighed the Countess.

Farandal suddenly stopped his whispering to Annette to say: "The
_Figaro_ has a very disagreeable article about him this morning."

Any attack, any criticism or allusion unfavorable to her friend's talent
always threw the Countess into a passion.

"Oh," said she, "men of Bertin's importance need not mind such
rudeness."

Guilleroy was astonished.

"What!" he exclaimed, "a disagreeable article about Olivier! But I h