“My glasses. Give me my glasses, I tell you!”
He felt a commotion within himself as he recognized on the blue paper the writing of Mme. Chambannes. He opened the express letter and read:
Sunday evening.
My dear master:
I am back at last. I am anxious to see you again. Why not take advantage of the fact that the tradesmen and my friends will still be leaving me alone to make our great visit to the Louvre to-morrow morning? Unless I hear from you, therefore, let it be to-morrow morning at nine-thirty in the place du Carrousel, in front of the pavilion de Sully. How pleasant it will be to meet again!
Your little pupil,
Z. Chambannes.
Instinctively M. Raindal consulted the clock which marked nine lock and he rushed to the door.
“Brigitte!” he shouted in the passage.... “Brigitte, my frock coat.... The new one.... My patent leather shoes.... My hat.... Hurry up, my good girl.”
“What is the matter, father?” said Thérèse, who had come out at the disturbance.