Maxence watched the carriage disappear in the distance, like a child who sees the bird fly upon which he hoped to lay hands.
“Gone,” he muttered, “gone!”
But, when he turned around, he found himself face to face with the Fortins, man and wife; who were laughing a sinister laugh.
“What did I tell you?” exclaimed Mme. Fortin. “There she is, started at last. Get up, horse! She’ll do well, the child.”
The magnificent equipage and elegant dress had already produced quite an effect among the neighbors. The customers sitting in front of the Café were laughing among themselves. The confectioner and his wife were casting indignant glances at the proprietors of the Hotel des Folies.
“You see, M. Favoral,” replied Mme. Fortin, “such a girl as that was not made for our neighborhood. You must make up your mind to it; you won’t see much more of her on the Boulevard du Temple.”
Without saying a word, Maxence ran to his room, the hot tears streaming from his eyes. He felt ashamed of himself; for, after all, what was this girl to him?
“She is gone!” he repeated to himself. “Well, good-by, let her go!”
But, despite all his efforts at philosophy, he felt an immense sadness invading his heart: ill-defined regrets and spasms of anger agitated him. He was thinking what a fool he had been to believe in the grand airs of the young lady, and that, if he had had dresses and horses to give her, she might not have received him so harshly. At last he made up his mind to think no more of her,—one of those fine resolutions which are always taken, and never kept; and in the evening he left his room to go and dine in the Rue St. Gilles.
But, as was often his custom, he stopped at the Café next door, and called for a drink. He was mixing his absinthe when he saw the carriage that had carried off Mlle. Lucienne in the morning returning at a rapid gait, and stopping short in front of the hotel. Mlle. Lucienne got out slowly, crossed the sidewalk, and entered the narrow corridor. Almost immediately, the carriage turned around, and drove off.