in the Bonnardel failure. Ah! our young men need to be careful. At
the rate they're sailing their ship, the same thing is likely to happen
to them that happened to Bonnardel. But excuse me, I believe they're
about to close the gate. Au revoir."

Frantz has hardly heard what he has been saying. His brother's ruin, the
destruction of the whole world, nothing is of any further consequence to
him. He is waiting, waiting.

But now the gate is abruptly closed like a last barrier between him and
his persistent hope. Once more the station is empty. The uproar has been
transferred to the line of the railway, and suddenly a shrill whistle
falls upon the lover's ear like an ironical farewell, then dies away in
the darkness.

The ten o'clock train has gone!

He tries to be calm and to reason. Evidently she missed the train from
Asmeres; but, knowing that he is waiting for her, she will come, no
matter how late it may be. He will wait longer. The waiting-room was made
for that.

The unhappy man sits down on a bench. The prospect of a long vigil brings
to his mind a well-known room in which at that hour the lamp burns low on
a table laden with humming-birds and insects, but that vision passes
swiftly through his mind in the chaos of confused thoughts to which the
delirium of suspense gives birth.

And while he thus lost himself in thought, the hours passed. The roofs of
the buildings of Mazas, buried in darkness, were already beginning to
stand out distinctly against the brightening sky. What was he to do? He
must go to Asnieres at once and try to find out what had happened. He
wished he were there already.

Having made up his mind, he descended the steps of the station at a rapid
pace, passing soldiers with their knapsacks on their backs, and poor
people who rise early coming to take the morning train, the train of
poverty and want.

In front of one of the stations he saw a crowd collected, rag-pickers and
countrywomen. Doubtless some drama of the night about to reach its
denouement before the Commissioner of Police. Ah! if Frantz had known
what that drama was! but he could have no suspicion, and he glanced at
the crowd indifferently from a distance.

When he reached Asnieres, after a walk of two or three hours, it was like
an awakening. The sun, rising in all its glory, set field and river on
fire. The bridge, the houses, the quay, all stood forth with that
matutinal sharpness of outline which gives the impression of a