room
below us, howled till two o'clock in the morning. The next day we were
told that the dog's master had gone away with the key in his pocket, had
been arrested on the way, tried at three, and executed at four.

The time had come for us to part. Solange's duties at the school began at
nine o'clock in the morning. Her school was in the vicinity of the Botanic
Gardens. I hesitated long to let her go; she, too, was loath to part from
me. But it must be. Solange was prone to be an object of unpleasant
inquiries.

I called a conveyance and Accompanied her as far as the Rue des
Fosses-Saint-Bernard, where I got out and left her to pursue her way
alone. All the way we lay mutely wrapped in each other's arms, mingling
tears with our kisses.

After leaving the carriage, I stood as if rooted to the ground. I heard
Solange call me, but I dared not go to her, because her face, moist with
tears, and her hysterical manner were calculated to attract attention.

Utterly wretched, I returned home, passing the entire day in writing to
Solange. In the evening I sent her an entire volume of love-pledges.

My letter had hardly gone to the post when I received one from her.

She had been sharply reprimanded for coming late; had been subjected to a
severe cross-examination, and threatened with forfeiture of her next
holiday. But she vowed to join me even at the cost of her place. I thought
I should go mad at the prospect of being parted from her a whole week. I
was more depressed because a letter which had arrived from her father
appeared to have been tampered with.

I passed a wretched night and a still more miserable day.

The next day the weather was appalling. Nature seemed to be dissolving in
a cold, ceaseless rain--a rain like that which announces the approach of
winter. All the way to the laboratory my ears were tortured with the
criers announcing the names of the condemned, a large number of men,
women, and children. The bloody harvest was over-rich. I should not lack
subjects for my investigations that day.

The day ended early. At four o'clock I arrived at Clamart; it was almost
night.

The view of the cemetery, with its large, new-made graves; the sparse,
leafless trees that swayed in the wind, was desolate, almost appalling.

A large, open pit yawned before me. It was to receive to-day's harvest
from the Place de la Revolution. An exceedingly large number of victims
was expected, for the pit was deeper than usual.