M. Lorman eyed the untouched food on the table and smiled slily.
"You have won," he said. "I am your debtor. What is to be the forfeit?"
"I am not well to-day," she answered peevishly. "Don't be stupid, please. What was it that you came to see me about?"
He looked embarrassed, and replied hastily:
"Nothing—I was passing, and called in on my way to meet Augustin. I dare not stay. He will be waiting for me. I am sorry you are ill. You must rest. Good-bye."
In the street he took out his snuff-box and excitedly inhaled two large pinches.
"Parbleu!" he muttered; "it has surprised me. I didn't think it possible."
Mademoiselle went to her bedroom and locked the door, as if to shut all the world out from her. Then she cast herself down and sobbed as if her heart would break. "Why did he not come to me?" she moaned. "Why did he not let me know?—I cannot live without him."
At Rouen, Raoul engaged a room at the Hôtel de Bordeaux. Then he started off to visit M. Gerome Perrin, but turned aside and went into the country instead. The peasants saluted him as they passed, but he did not reply. At times he talked half aloud and laughed bitterly.
Once he paused abruptly. It occurred to him that perhaps, after all, his own vanity was misleading him. No doubt Mademoiselle had already forgotten what had happened, and was wondering what had become of him. "I must write to her," he said. And the idea that he was acting unaccountably strengthened itself in his mind, and gradually he regained the mastery of himself. Was it not stupid, he thought, to suspect that Mademoiselle had discerned his secret. He had guarded it so carefully; he had never given the least sign—until her eyes had robbed him of his self-control. But to think that she should for a moment dream that a hunchback would dare.—The idea was absurd. He began to see things clearly again.