Madeleine's look of distress deepened.
"Let me take that away," she said. "I'll get another cup."
When she brought the cup and poured some of the hot coffee into it, Jules drained it, and pushed his chair away from the table.
"But you have eaten nothing, Monsieur Jules!"
"I'm not hungry this morning."
"And you didn't eat anything last night," the old woman repeated, following him with her eyes. "Are you sick?"
"No, no!" Jules replied, impatiently. "I don't feel like eating, that's all. Give me my hat and coat, Madeleine; I shall be late if I don't hurry."
"Monsieur Jules doesn't look well," said Madeleine timidly, as she helped him on with his coat.
"Oh, don't worry about me." At the door Jules turned. "I shall be out late again to-night, Madeleine. You needn't leave the light burning."
The wool-house of Ballou, Mercier & Co., where Jules worked, was only ten minutes' walk from the rue de Lisbonne. On his way there, Jules resolved to say nothing to the twins about Mademoiselle Blanche. Of course, Leroux would ask him about the evening, and he would say simply that he had been rather bored. He wanted to keep Mademoiselle Blanche to himself. He even hoped that her performance would not be noised abroad, that she would not become one of those women whom all Paris went to see and every one talked glibly about. But she must be well-known already; it was evidently her performance that had crowded the Circus.