under the impression that he was there outside on the footpath.

Next morning, yielding to an incapacity to resist the temptation which
clung to him, he again sent a messenger to Madame Arnoux's house.

Whether the true explanation happened to be that the fellow did not
deliver his message, or that she had too many things to say to explain
herself in a word or two, the same answer was brought back. This
insolence was too great! A feeling of angry pride took possession of
him. He swore in his own mind that he would never again cherish even a
desire; and, like a group of leaves carried away by a hurricane, his
love disappeared. He experienced a sense of relief, a feeling of stoical
joy, then a need of violent action; and he walked on at random through
the streets.

Men from the faubourgs were marching past armed with guns and old
swords, some of them wearing red caps, and all singing the
"Marseillaise" or the "Girondins." Here and there a National Guard was
hurrying to join his mayoral department. Drums could be heard rolling in
the distance. A conflict was going on at Porte Saint-Martin. There was
something lively and warlike in the air. Frederick kept walking on
without stopping. The excitement of the great city made him gay.

On the Frascati hill he got a glimpse of the Marechale's windows: a wild
idea occurred to him, a reaction of youthfulness. He crossed the
boulevard.

The yard-gate was just being closed; and Delphine, who was in the act of
writing on it with a piece of charcoal, "Arms given," said to him in an
eager tone:

"Ah! Madame is in a nice state! She dismissed a groom who insulted her
this morning. She thinks there's going to be pillage everywhere. She is
frightened to death! and the more so as Monsieur has gone!"

"What Monsieur?"

"The Prince!"

Frederick entered the boudoir. The Marechale appeared in her petticoat,
and her hair hanging down her back in disorder.

"Ah! thanks! You are going to save me! 'tis the second time! You are one
of those who never count the cost!"

"A thousand pardons!" said Frederick, catching her round the waist with
both hands.

"How now? What are you doing?" stammered the Marechale, at the same
time, surprised and cheered up by his manner.

He replied:

"I am the fashion! I'm reformed!"

She let herself fall back on the divan, and continued laughing under his
kisses.

They spent the afternoon looking out through the window at the people in
the street. The