ive), he rose,
politely touched his bonnet-grec, and bade me a civil good-day.

"We are friends now," thought I, "till the next time we quarrel."

We _might_ have quarrelled again that very same evening, but, wonderful
to relate, failed, for once, to make the most of our opportunity.

Contrary to all expectation, M. Paul arrived at the study-hour. Having
seen so much of him in the morning, we did not look for his presence at
night. No sooner were we seated at lessons, however, than he appeared.
I own I was glad to see him, so glad that I could not help greeting his
arrival with a smile; and when he made his way to the same seat about
which so serious a misunderstanding had formerly arisen, I took good
care not to make too much room for him; he watched with a jealous,
side-long look, to see whether I shrank away, but I did not, though the
bench was a little crowded. I was losing the early impulse to recoil
from M. Paul. Habituated to the paletot and bonnet-grec, the
neighbourhood of these garments seemed no longer uncomfortable or very
formidable. I did not now sit restrained, "asphyxiee" (as he used to
say) at his side; I stirred when I wished to stir, coughed when it was
necessary, even yawned when I was tired--did, in short, what I pleased,
blindly reliant upon his indulgence. Nor did my temerity, this evening
at least, meet the punishment it perhaps merited; he was both indulgent
and good-natured; not a cross glance shot from his eyes, not a hasty
word left his lips. Till the very close of the evening, he did not
indeed address me at all, yet I felt, somehow, that he was full of
friendliness. Silence is of different kinds, and breathes different
meanings; no words could inspire a pleasanter content than did M.
Paul's worldless presence. When the tray came in, and the bustle of
supper commenced, he just said, as he retired, that he wished me a good
night and sweet dreams; and a good night and sweet dreams I had.

CHAPTER XXX.

M. PAUL.

Yet the reader is advised not to be in any hurry with his kindly
conclusions, or to suppose, with an over-hasty charity, that from that
day M. Paul became a changed character--easy to live with, and no
longer apt to flash danger and discomfort round him.

No; he was naturally a little man of unreasonable moods. When
over-wrought, which he often was, he became acutely irritable; and,
besides, his veins were dark with a livid belladonna tincture, the
essence of jealousy.