l at once, in the delight of their kisses, Aline became sad. Her
eyes filled with tears. She said to him: "Felicia is there. You will
love me no longer." And he laughed, "Felicia here? What an idea!" "Yes,
yes; she is there." Trembling she pointed to the next room, from
which came angry barks, and the voice of Felicia: "Here, Kadour! Here,
Kadour!" the low, concentrated, furious voice of some one who is hiding
and suddenly discovered.

Wide awake, the lover, disenchanted, found himself in his empty room,
before an empty table, his dream, fled through the window to the great
hillside. But he heard very distinctly in the next room the bark of a
dog, and hurried knocks on the door.

"Open the door! It is I--it is Jenkins."

Paul sat up on his divan, stupefied. Jenkins here? How was that? To whom
was he speaking? What voice was going to answer him? No one answered. A
light step went to the door, and the lock creaked nervously.

"Here you are at last," said the Irishman, entering.

And truly if he had not taken care to announce himself, Paul would
never have taken this brutal, violent, hoarse voice heard through the
partition for the doctor's with his sugary manners.

"At last I have found you after a week of searching, of mad rushing from
Genoa to Nice, from Nice to Genoa. I knew that you had not gone, because
the yacht was in the harbour, and I was going to inspect all the inns on
the coast, when I remembered Brehat. I have just come from him. It was
he who told me you were here."

But to whom was he speaking? Who was so singularly obstinate? At last a
beautiful, sad voice, which Paul well knew, made the hot afternoon air
vibrate.

"Well, yes, Jenkins, here I am. What is the matter?"

Through the wall Paul could see the disdainful mouth, turned down with
disgust.

"I have come to prevent you from going--from doing this foolish thing."

"What foolish thing? I have some work at Tunis. I must go there."

"But you don't think, my dear child, that--"

"Oh, enough of your fatherly airs, Jenkins. We know what lies underneath
it. Speak to me as you did just now. I prefer the bull-dog to the
spaniel. I fear it less."

"Well, I tell you that you must be mad to go over there alone, young and
beautiful as you are."

"And am I not always alone? Would you like me to take Constance, at her
age?"

"Or me?"

"You!" She pronounced the word with an ironical laugh. "And what about
Paris? And your patients--deprive societ