CHAPTER XV
wherein we see young maurice bewailing the loss of his guardian angel, even in his mistress's arms, and wherein we hear the abbé patouille reject as vain and illusory all notions of a new rebellion of the angels
FORTNIGHT had elapsed since the angel's apparition in the flat. For the first time Gilberte arrived before Maurice at the rendezvous. Maurice was gloomy, Gilberte sulky. So far as they were concerned Nature had resumed her drab monotony. They eyed each other languidly, and kept glancing towards the angle between the wardrobe with the mirror and the window, where recently the pale shade of Arcade had taken shape, and where now the blue cretonne of the hangings was the only thing visible. Without giving him a name (it was unnecessary) Madame des Aubels asked:
"You have not seen him since?"
Slowly, sadly, Maurice turned his head from right to left, and from left to right.
"You look as if you missed him," continued Madame des Aubels. "But come, confess that he gave you a terrible fright, and that you were shocked at his unconventionally."
"Certainly he was unconventional," said Maurice without any resentment.