ediately, the carriage turned around,
and drove off.

"What does it mean?" thought Maxence, who was actually forgetting
to swallow his absinthe.

He was losing himself in absurd conjectures, when, some fifteen
minutes later, he saw the girl coming out again. Already she had
taken off her elegant clothes, and resumed her cheap black dress.
She had a basket on her arm, and was going towards the Rue Chariot.
Without further reflections, Maxence rose suddenly, and started to
follow her, being very careful that she should not see him. After
walking for five or six minutes, she entered a shop, half-eating
house, and half wine-shop, in the window of which a large sign
could be read: "Ordinary at all hours for forty centimes. Hard
boiled eggs, and salad of the season."

Maxence, having crept up as close as he could, saw Mlle. Lucienne
take a tin box out of her basket, and have what is called an
"ordinaire" poured into it; that is, half a pint of soup, a piece
of beef as large as the fist, and a few vegetables. She then had
a small bottle half-filled with wine, paid, and walked out with
that same look of grave dignity which she always wore.

"Funny dinner," murmured Maxence, "for a woman who was spreading
herself just now in a ten-thousand-franc carriage."

From that moment she became the sole and only object of his thoughts.
A passion, which he no longer attempted to resist, was penetrating
like a subtle poison to the innermost depths of his being. He
thought himself happy, when, after watching for hours, he caught a
glimpse of this singular creature, who, after that extraordinary
expedition, seemed to have resumed her usual mode of life. Mme.
Fortin was dumfounded.

"She has been too exacting," she said to Maxence, "and the thing
has fallen through."

He made no answer. He felt a perfect horror for the honorable
landlady's insinuations; and yet he never ceased to repeat to
himself that he must be a great simpleton to have faith for a
moment in that young lady's virtue. What would he not have given
to be able to question her? But he dared not. Often he would
gather up his courage, and wait for her on the stairs; but, as
soon as she fixed upon him her great black eye, all the phrases
he had prepared took flight from his brain, his tongue clove to
his mouth, and he could barely succeed in stammering out a timid,

"Good-morning, mademoiselle."

He felt so angry with himself, that he was almost on the point o