old
fierceness of her eyes gave way, and a friendlier light from them
rewarded the apothecary's final touch. He called for more pillows, made
a nest of them, and, as she let herself softly into it, directed his
next consideration toward his hat and the door.

It was many an hour after he had backed out into the trivial remains of
the rain-storm before he could replace with more tranquillizing images
the vision of the philosophe reclining among her pillows, in the act of
making that uneasy movement of her fingers upon the collar button of her
robe, which women make when they are uncertain about the perfection of
their dishabille, and giving her inaudible adieu with the majesty of
an empress.

CHAPTER XXIV

FROWENFELD MAKES AN ARGUMENT

On the afternoon of the same day on which Frowenfeld visited the house
of the philosophe, the weather, which had been so unfavorable to his
late plans, changed; the rain ceased, the wind drew around to the south,
and the barometer promised a clear sky. Wherefore he decided to leave
his business, when he should have made his evening weather notes, to the
care of M. Raoul Innerarity, and venture to test both Mademoiselle
Clotilde's repellent attitude and Aurora's seeming cordiality at Number
19 rue Bienville.

Why he should go was a question which the apothecary felt himself but
partially prepared to answer. What necessity called him, what good was
to be effected, what was to happen next, were points he would have liked
to be clear upon. That he should be going merely because he was invited
to come--merely for the pleasure of breathing their atmosphere--that he
should be supinely gravitating toward them--this conclusion he
positively could not allow; no, no; the love of books and the fear of
women alike protested.

True, they were a part of that book which is pronounced "the proper
study of mankind,"--indeed, that was probably the reason which he
sought: he was going to contemplate them as a frontispiece to that
unwriteable volume which he had undertaken to con. Also, there was a
charitable motive. Doctor Keene, months before, had expressed a deep
concern regarding their lack of protection and even of daily provision;
he must quietly look into that. Would some unforeseen circumstance shut
him off this evening again from this very proper use of time and
opportunity?

As he was sitting at the table in his back room, registering his sunset
observations, and wondering what woul