sed. The young girl was still smiling
at him, and he had a question on the tip of his tongue: 'When shall I
see you again?' But he felt ashamed to ask it, and after waiting a while
she withdrew her hand.

'Good-bye, monsieur.'

'Good-bye, mademoiselle.'

Christine, without another glance, was already descending the steep
ladder-like stairway whose steps creaked, when Claude turned abruptly
into his studio, closing the door with a bang, and shouting to himself:
'Ah, those confounded women!'

He was furious--furious with himself, furious with everyone. Kicking
about the furniture, he continued to ease his feelings in a loud voice.
Was not he right in never allowing them to cross his threshold? They
only turned a fellow's head. What proof had he after all that yonder
chit with the innocent look, who had just gone, had not fooled him most
abominably? And he had been silly enough to believe in her cock-and-bull
stories! All his suspicions revived. No one would ever make him swallow
that fairy tale of the general's widow, the railway accident, and
especially the cabman. Did such things ever happen in real life?
Besides, that mouth of hers told a strange tale, and her looks had
been very singular just as she was going. Ah! if he could only have
understood why she had told him all those lies; but no, they were
profitless, inexplicable. It was art for art's sake. How she must be
laughing at him by this time.

He roughly folded up the screen and sent it flying into a corner. She
had no doubt left all in disorder. And when he found that everything was
in its proper place--basin, towel, and soap--he flew into a rage because
she had not made the bed. With a great deal of fuss he began to make it
himself, lifting the mattress in his arms, banging the pillow about with
his fists, and feeling oppressed by the pure scent of youth that rose
from everything. Then he had a good wash to cool himself, and in the
damp towel he found the same virgin fragrance, which seemed to spread
through the studio. Swearing the while, he drank his chocolate from
the saucepan, so excited, so eager to set to work, as to swallow large
mouthfuls of bread without taking breath.

'Why, it's enough to kill one here,' he suddenly exclaimed. 'It must be
this confounded heat that's making me ill.'

After all, the sun had shifted, and it was far less hot. But he opened
a small window on a level with the roof, and inhaled, with an air of
profound relief, the