coming."

"He is already come," said Froment.

When they separated, with a deep mutual feeling, but in silence,--for
they feared to break the religious charm which held them,--each found
himself alone in the dark street, but in each was the memory of a
vision which they could hardly understand. The curtain had fallen; but
they could never forget that they had seen it rise.

A few days after, Clerambault, who had been again summoned before the
magistrate, came home splashed with mud from head to foot. His hat
which he held in his hand, was a mere rag, and his hair was soaking.
The woman, who opened the door, exclaimed at the sight of him, but he
signed to her to keep still, and went into his room. Rosine was away,
so the husband and wife were alone in the flat, where they only met at
meals, saying as little to each other as possible. However, hearing
the exclamation of the servant, Madame Clerambault feared some new
misfortune and went to look for her husband. She too cried out when
she saw him:

"Good Lord! what have you been doing now?"

"I slipped and fell," said he, trying to wipe off the traces of the
accident.

"You fell?--turn round. What a state you are in!... One can't have a
moment's peace when you are around.... You never look where you are
going. There is mud up to your eyelids ... all over your face!"

"Yes, I must have struck myself there...."

"What unlucky people we are!... you 'think' that you struck your
cheek?... you tripped and fell?..." And looking him in the face, she
cried:

"It isn't true!...

"I did fall, I assure you...."

"No, I know it is not true ... tell me,... someone struck you ...?"
He did not answer. "They struck you, the brutes. My poor husband, to
think that anyone should strike you!... And you so good, who never did
harm to anyone in your life! How can people be so wicked?" and she
burst into tears as she threw her arms around him.

"My dear girl," said he, much touched. "It is not worth all these
tears. See, you are getting all muddy, you ought not to touch me."

"That does not matter," said she. "I have more spots than that on my
conscience. Forgive me!"

"Forgive you for what? Why do you say such things?"

"Because I have been wicked to you myself; I haven't understood
you--(I don't think I ever shall)--but I do know that whatever you do,
you only mean what is right. I ought to have stood up for you and I
have not done it. I was angry with your foolishness