Somehow the night passed.
Towards morning, perhaps at six or seven, he fell into a heavy sleep, completely worn out by his mental sufferings. He awoke late, and, glancing at his watch, saw to his horror that it was already eleven o’clock. Cursing himself as he realized that this was the hour at which Madame de Corantin generally went out, he rang the bell. How he longed for his trusted valet, enlisted two months back. Now he had only a hotel servant to send on messages. When the man arrived he dispatched him instantly to find out whether Madame de Corantin had sent him any message, and began to dress hurriedly. The servant did not return, and in his impatience Bobby cursed him and rang again. Another servant appeared and was hurried off on the same errand. In this way twenty minutes passed; Bobby was dressed and flew downstairs. Unable to disguise his anxiety, he asked the porter if he had seen Madame de Corantin.
“Madame de Corantin left an hour ago, Monsieur.”
“Left? What do you mean?”
“Yes, Monsieur, she left—left with her luggage and her maid—everything.”
Controlling himself as best he could Bobby turned away in a state of complete dejection. He sought an out-of-the-way corner and sat down, trying to calm himself so that he could think.
“Gone away! Gone away!” He repeated the words mechanically. What did it all mean?
Somebody was approaching him; he looked up, a servant handed him a note. He tore it open breathlessly.
DEAR BOBBY, MY FRIEND,
News reached me early this morning which necessitated my immediate departure. I know, alas, that you will feel sad at not seeing me again. Believe me, so am I, but it is unavoidable. I asked for you before I left, but they told me at the hotel that you had not yet left your room. I scribble this line at the station. Forgive me, my dear friend, for all the trouble I have given you, and believe that I am very grateful. We shall meet again some day, and meanwhile keep a kindly remembrance of your friend