be
remembered to you," and he reassured himself.

She would invariably answer: "When you see that gentleman you can tell
him that I can very well dispense with his remembrances." With what an
irritated, angry look she would say these words! How well one could feel
that she did not and would not forgive--and he had suspected her even
for a second? Such foolishness!

But why did she grow so angry? She never had given the exact reason for
this quarrel. She still bore him that grudge! Was it?--But no--no--and
Bondel declared that he was lowering himself by even thinking of such
things.

Yes, he was undoubtedly lowering himself, but he could not help thinking
of it, and he asked himself with terror if this thought which had
entered into his mind had not come to stop, if he did not carry in his
heart the seed of fearful torment. He knew himself; he was a man to
think over his doubts, as formerly he would ruminate over his commercial
operations, for days and nights, endlessly weighing the pros and the
cons.

He was already becoming excited; he was walking fast and losing his
calmness. A thought cannot be downed. It is intangible, cannot be
caught, cannot be killed.

Suddenly a plan occurred to him; it was bold, so bold that at first he
doubted whether he would carry it out.

Each time that he met Tancret, his friend would ask for news of Madame
Bondel, and Bondel would answer: "She is still a little angry." Nothing
more. Good Lord! What a fool he had been! Perhaps!

Well, he would take the train to Paris, go to Tancret, and bring him
back with him that very evening, assuring him that his wife's mysterious
anger had disappeared. But how would Madame Bondel act? What a scene
there would be! What anger! what scandal! What of it?--that would be
revenge! When she should come face to face with him, unexpectedly, he
certainly ought to be able to read the truth in their expressions.

He immediately went to the station, bought his ticket, got into the car,
and as soon as he felt him self being carried away by the train, he felt
a fear, a kind of dizziness, at what he was going to do. In order not to
weaken, back down, and return alone, he tried not to think of the matter
any longer, to bring his mind to bear on other affairs, to do what he
had decided to do with a blind resolution; and he began to hum tunes
from operettas and music halls until he reached Paris.

As soon as he found himself walking along the streets that led