paced along the deserted quays in the dense
nocturnal darkness. A slight moist wind was blowing, and the swollen
Seine rolled on in inky waves. As soon as eleven o'clock chimed, he
walked up the slopes of the Trocadero, and began to prowl round the
house, the huge square pile of which seemed but a deepening of the
gloom. Lights could still be seen streaming through the dining-room
windows of Helene's lodging. Walking round, he noted that the kitchen
was also brilliantly lighted up. And at this sight he stopped short in
astonishment, which slowly developed into uneasiness. Shadows
traversed the blinds; there seemed to be considerable bustle and stir
up there. Perhaps Monsieur Rambaud had stayed to dine? But the worthy
man never left later than ten o'clock. He, Henri, dared not go up; for
what would he say should Rosalie open the door? At last, as it was
nearing midnight, mad with impatience and throwing prudence to the
winds, he rang the bell, and walked swiftly past the porter's room
without giving his name. At the top of the stairs Rosalie received
him.

"It's you, sir! Come in. I will go and announce you. Madame must be
expecting you."

She gave no sign of surprise on seeing him at this hour. As he entered
the dining-room without uttering a word, she resumed distractedly:
"Oh! mademoiselle is very ill, sir. What a night! My legs are sinking
under me!" Thereupon she left the room, and the doctor mechanically
took a seat. He was oblivious of the fact that he was a medical man.
Pacing along the quay he had conjured up a vision of a very different
reception. And now he was there, as though he were paying a visit,
waiting with his hat on his knees. A grievous coughing in the next
room alone broke upon the intense silence.

At last Rosalie made her appearance once more, and hurrying across the
dining-room with a basin in her hand, merely remarked: "Madame says
you are not to go in."

He sat on, powerless to depart. Was their meeting to be postponed till
another day, then? He was dazed, as though such a thing had seemed to
him impossible. Then the thought came to him that poor Jeanne had very
bad health; children only brought on sorrow and vexation. The door,
however, opened once more, and Doctor Bodin entered, with a thousand
apologies falling from his lips. For some time he chattered away: he
had been sent for, but he would always be exceedingly pleased to enter
into consultation with his renowned fellow-practitioner