He went out at five o'clock, to dine; but joy took away his appetite. When caused by love, joy sometimes produces that effect.
While he toyed aimlessly with a beefsteak, he said to himself:
"How strange women are in their whims! This one refuses to receive me at her house, and waits for me at night, in a carriage, on the Champs-Elysées! Still, she may have reasons for being afraid to receive me at home. Who knows that she isn't afraid of that Monsieur Beauregard, who used to be her lover, as he says? perhaps it isn't true; there are so many men who brag of triumphs they never obtained! It matters little to me, after all! if she shares my flame, am I not too fortunate?"
Chamoureau left the restaurant and entered a café, called for all the newspapers, did not read one, looked at his watch every instant, and finally exclaimed:
"At last, it is dark! Ah! how impatiently I have been waiting for this!"
But it was early in April, and it grew dark rather early. It was only seven o'clock. However, our widower left the café, saying to himself:
"I'll walk slowly to the Champs-Elysées; that will take up time. It's a little cold, but it's fine. Besides, I don't propose to be late; a gallant man should always arrive first at the rendezvous."
Although he walked very slowly from Boulevard Montmartre, it was not yet eight o'clock when he reached the rond-point on the Champs-Elysées. But it was absolutely dark. Our lover consulted his watch, heaved a deep sigh, and paced to and fro in front of the entrance to the Jardin d'Hiver.
He had been walking there for three-quarters of an hour, passing many carriages; but not one of them was standing at the place designated. At last, about a quarter to nine, a cab coming from the Barrière de l'Etoile stopped in front of the entrance. Chamoureau instantly drew near and walked around it; the curtains were lowered, which fact convinced him that his inamorata was inside.
He hastened toward the driver, who had remained on his box, and putting his left hand close to the lantern, opened it twice.