voice of a
girl trying a love-song.

'Ah! how they amused me, the idiots!' exclaimed Claude, in a last burst.
'Do you know, I wouldn't take a hundred thousand francs for my day's
pleasure!'

Then he relapsed into silence, thoroughly exhausted. Nobody had any
saliva left; silence reigned; they all shivered in the icy gust that
swept by. And they separated in a sort of bewilderment, shaking hands
in a tired fashion. Dubuche was going to dine out; Fagerolles had an
appointment; in vain did Jory, Mahoudeau, and Gagniere try to drag
Claude to Foucart's, a twenty-five sous' restaurant; Sandoz was already
taking him away on his arm, feeling anxious at seeing him so excited.

'Come along, I promised my mother to be back for dinner. You'll take a
bit with us. It will be nice; we'll finish the day together.'

They both went down the quay, past the Tuileries, walking side by side
in fraternal fashion. But at the Pont des Saints-Peres the painter
stopped short.

'What, are you going to leave me?' exclaimed Sandoz.

'Why, I thought you were going to dine with me?'

'No, thanks; I've too bad a headache--I'm going home to bed.'

And he obstinately clung to this excuse.

'All right, old man,' said Sandoz at last, with a smile. 'One doesn't
see much of you nowadays. You live in mystery. Go on, old boy, I don't
want to be in your way.'

Claude restrained a gesture of impatience; and, letting his friend cross
the bridge, he went his way along the quays by himself. He walked on
with his arms hanging beside him, with his face turned towards the
ground, seeing nothing, but taking long strides like a somnambulist who
is guided by instinct. On the Quai de Bourbon, in front of his door, he
looked up, full of surprise on seeing a cab waiting at the edge of the
foot pavement, and barring his way. And it was with the same automatical
step that he entered the doorkeeper's room to take his key.

'I have given it to that lady,' called Madame Joseph from the back of
the room. 'She is upstairs.'

'What lady?' he asked in bewilderment.

'That young person. Come, you know very well, the one who always comes.'

He had not the remotest idea whom she meant. Still, in his utter
confusion of mind, he decided to go upstairs. The key was in the door,
which he slowly opened and closed again.

For a moment Claude stood stock still. Darkness had invaded the studio;
a violet dimness, a melancholy gloom fell from the large window,
enveloping ever