at the slightest thing."

Thereupon Constance in her turn had to smile and promise with many
professions of friendship that she would duly execute the commission.
Then they parted. "Au revoir, till to-morrow "--"Yes, yes, till
to-morrow, au revoir."

Eighteen years had now already elapsed since Morange had lost his wife
Valerie; and nine had gone by since the death of his daughter Reine. Yet
it always seemed as if he were on the morrow of those disasters, for
he had retained his black garb, and still led a cloister-like, retired
life, giving utterance only to such words as were indispensable. On
the other hand, he had again become a good model clerk, a correct
painstaking accountant, very punctual in his habits, and rooted as it
were to the office chair in which he had taken his seat every morning
for thirty years past. The truth was that his wife and his daughter had
carried off with them all his will-power, all his ambitious thoughts,
all that he had momentarily dreamt of winning for their sakes--a large
fortune and a luxurious triumphant life. He, who was now so much alone,
who had relapsed into childish timidity and weakness, sought nothing
beyond his humble daily task, and was content to die in the shady corner
to which he was accustomed. It was suspected, however, that he led a
mysterious maniacal life, tinged with anxious jealousy, at home, in that
flat of the Boulevard de Grenelle which he had so obstinately refused
to quit. His servant had orders to admit nobody, and she herself
knew nothing. If he gave her free admittance to the dining- and
drawing-rooms, he did not allow her to set foot in his own bedroom,
formerly shared by Valerie, nor in that which Reine had occupied. He
himself alone entered these chambers, which he regarded as sanctuaries,
of which he was the sole priest. Under pretence of sweeping or dusting,
he would shut himself up in one or the other of them for hours at a
time. It was in vain that the servant tried to glance inside, in vain
that she listened at the doors when he spent his holidays at home; she
saw nothing and heard nothing. Nobody could have told what relics those
chapels contained, nor with what religious cult he honored them. Another
cause of surprise was his niggardly, avaricious life, which, as time
went on, had become more and more pronounced, in such wise that his only
expenses were his rental of sixteen hundred francs, the wages he paid
to his servant, and the few pence per