inary drawing, but
tackling the block with his graver, straight away, in presence of his
model. And infinite hopefulness had come upon him, he was dreaming of
great original works in which the whole period that he belonged to would
live anew and for ever.

Thomas now wished to return home. So they shook hands with Jahan, who, as
his day's work was over, put on his coat to take his sister back to the
Rue du Calvaire.

"Till to-morrow, Lise," said Antoine, inclining his head to kiss her.

She raised herself on tip-toes, and offered him her eyes, which he had
opened to life. "Till to-morrow, Antoine," said she.

Outside, the twilight was falling. Pierre was the first to cross the
threshold, and as he did so, he saw so extraordinary a sight that for an
instant he felt stupefied. But it was certain enough: he could plainly
distinguish his brother Guillaume emerging from the gaping doorway which
conducted to the foundations of the basilica. And he saw him hastily
climb over the palings, and then pretend to be there by pure chance, as
though he had come up from the Rue Lamarck. When he accosted his two
sons, as if he were delighted to meet them, and began to say that he had
just come from Paris, Pierre asked himself if he had been dreaming.
However, an anxious glance which his brother cast at him convinced him
that he had been right. And then he not only felt ill at ease in presence
of that man whom he had never previously known to lie, but it seemed to
him that he was at last on the track of all he had feared, the formidable
mystery that he had for some time past felt brewing around him in the
little peaceful house.

When Guillaume, his sons and his brother reached home and entered the
large workroom overlooking Paris, it was so dark that they fancied nobody
was there.

"What! nobody in?" said Guillaume.

But in a somewhat low, quiet voice Francois answered out of the gloom:
"Why, yes, I'm here."

He had remained at his table, where he had worked the whole afternoon,
and as he could no longer read, he now sat in a dreamy mood with his head
resting on his hands, his eyes wandering over Paris, where night was
gradually falling. As his examination was now near at hand, he was living
in a state of severe mental strain.

"What, you are still working there!" said his father. "Why didn't you ask
for a lamp?"

"No, I wasn't working, I was looking at Paris," Francois slowly answered.
"It's singular how the night falls ove