ire, which
will be far more amusing than going to a restaurant."

She put on her cloak quickly.

"Set the table while I make my purchases."

"I have my article to finish that will be sent for at eight o'clock. Just
think, I have three tonics to recommend, four preparations of iron, a
dye, two capillary lotions, an opiate, and I don't know how many soaps
and powders. What a business!"

"Very well, then, do not trouble yourself about the table; we will set it
together when you have finished, and that will be much more amusing."

"You take everything in good part."

"Is it better to look on the dark side? I shall soon return."

She went to the door.

"Do not be extravagant," he said.

"There is no danger," she replied, striking her pocket.

Then, returning to him, she embraced him passionately.

"Work!"

And she ran out.

They had loved each other for two years. At the time they met, Saniel was
giving a course of lectures on anatomy at a young ladies' school just
outside of Paris, and every time he went out there he saw a young woman
whom he could not help noticing. She came and went on the same trains
that he did, and gave lessons in a rival school. As she frequently
carried under her arm a large cartoon, and sometimes a plaster cast, he
concluded that she gave lessons in drawing. At first he paid no attention
to her. What was she to him? He had more important things in his head
than women. But little by little, and because she was reserved and
discreet, he was struck by the vivacity and gayety of her expression. He
really enjoyed looking at this pretty and pleasing young woman. However,
his looks said nothing; if their eyes smiled when they met, that was all;
they did not make each other's acquaintance. When they left the train
they did not notice each other; if he took the left side of the street,
she took the other, and vice versa. This state of things lasted several
months without a word having been exchanged between them; in due time
they learned each other's names and professions. She was a professor of
drawing, as he supposed, the daughter of an artist who had been dead
several years, and was called Mademoiselle Phillis Cormier. He was a
physician for whom a brilliant future was prophesied, a man of power, who
would some day be famous; and, very naturally, their attitude remained
the same. There was no particular reason why it should change. But
accident made a reason. One summer day, at the hour wh