Auguste shook him by the hand; but he did not seem to feel relieved, the pain in his head had become so unbearable. At length they left the private room. Down in the street, the driver was still at lunch, inside the cab; and, completely intoxicated, he had to shake the crumbs out, digging Trublot fraternally in the stomach. Only the horse, which had had nothing at all, refused to walk, with a despairing wag of the head. They pushed him, and he ended by going down the Rue de Tournon, as though he were rolling along. Four o’clock had struck, when the animal at length stopped in the Rue de Choiseul. Auguste had had the cab seven hours. Trublot, who remained inside, engaged it for himself, and declared that he would wait there for Bachelard, whom he wished to invite to dinner.
“Well! you have been a time,” said Théophile to his brother, as he hastened to meet him. “I thought you were dead.”
And directly the gentlemen had entered the warehouse, he related how the day had passed. He had been watching the house ever since nine o’clock. But nothing particular had occurred. At two o’clock, Valérie had gone to the Tuileries gardens with their son Camille. Then, toward half past three, he had seen Octave go out. And that was all. Nothing moved, not even at the Josserands’. Saturnin, who had been seeking his sister under the furniture, having gone up to ask for her, Madame Josserand had shut the door in his face, doubtless to get rid of him, saying that Berthe was not there. Since then, the madman had been prowling about with clenched teeth.
“Very well,” said Bachelard, “we’ll wait for the gentleman. We shall see him come in from here.”
Auguste, whose head was in a whirl, was making great efforts to keep on his legs. Then Duveyrier advised him to go to bed. There was no other cure for headache.
“Go up now, we no longer require you. We will inform you of the result. My dear fellow, you know you should avoid all emotions.”
And the husband went up to lie down.
At five o’clock, the two others were still waiting for Octave. The latter, without any definite object, simply desirous of having some fresh air and of forgetting the events of the night, had at first passed before “The Ladies’ Paradise,” where he had stopped to wish Madame Hédouin good-day, as she stood in the doorway, dressed in deep mourning; and as he informed her of his having left the Vabres’, she had quietly asked him why he did not return to her.
Opposite to him, Valérie was taking leave of a bearded gentleman, at the door of a low lodging-house in the darkest corner. She blushed and hastened away, pushing open the padded door of the church; then, seeing that the young man was following her and smiling, she preferred to await him under the porch, where they conversed together very cordially.
“You run away from me,” said he. “Are you, then, angry with me?”