"There isn't any; at least, I don't know any. I've come straight from the Pyrenees. Mme. Davarande read me one of your letters; but she is far from thinking her so ill."
"Have you no news of Barousse?"
"Oh, yes! I met him on the way to the station. I wanted to bring him with me, but you know what Barousse is; nothing in the world would induce him to leave Paris for a week. He must take his morning walk along the quays. The idea of missing an engraving with its full margin——"
"And the Bourjots?" asked M. Mauperin with an effort.
"They say that Mlle. Bourjot will never marry."
"Poor child, she loved him."
"As to the mother, it is the saddest thing—it appears it's an awful ending—there are rumours of strange things—madness, in fact. There's some talk of sending her to a private asylum."
LXII
"Renée," said M. Mauperin, on entering his daughter's room the following day, "there is some one downstairs who wants to see you."