doors; and in the
depths of his selfish nature D'Argenton sincerely regretted his
companion, and became seriously unhappy. Then he decided to take a
journey, but that did him no good, to judge from the melancholy tone of
his letters to his friends.

One idea tormented him, that the woman whom he so regretted was happy
away from him, and in the society of her son. Moronval said, "Write a
poem about it," and D'Argenton went to work. Unfortunately, instead of
being calmed by this composition, he was more excited than ever, and
the separation became more and more intolerable. As soon as the Review
appeared, Hirsch and Labassandre were bidden to carry a copy at once to
the Rue des Panoyeaux.

This done, D'Argenton decided that it was time to make a grand _coup_.
He dressed with great care, took a fiacre, and presented himself at
Charlotte's door at an hour that he knew Jack must be away. D'Argenton
was very pale, and the beating of his heart choked him. One of the
greatest mysteries in human nature is that such persons have a heart,
and that that heart is capable of beating. It was not love that moved
him, but he saw a certain romance in the affair, the carriage stationed
at the corner as for an elopement, and above all the hope of gratifying
his hatred of Jack. He pictured to himself the disappointment of the
youth on his return to find that the bird had flown. He meant to appear
suddenly before Charlotte, to throw himself at her feet, and, giving her
no time to think, to carry her away with him at once. She must be very
much changed since he last saw her if she could resist him. He entered
her room without knocking, saying in a low voice, "It is I."

There was no Charlotte; but instead, Jack stood before him. Jack, on
account of the occurrence of his mother's birthday, had a holiday, and
was at work with his books. Ida was asleep on her bed in the alcove. The
two men looked at each other in silence. This time the poet had not the
advantage. In the first place, he was not at home; next, how could
he treat as an inferior this tall, proud-looking fellow, in whose
intelligent face appeared, as if still more to exasperate the lover,
something of his mother's beauty.

"Why do you come here?" asked Jack.

The other stammered and colored. "I was told that your mother was here."

"So she is; but I am with her, and you shall not see her."

This was said rapidly and in a low voice; then Jack took D'Argenton by
the shoulder an