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By Root 1331 0

high flight of steps. Then he entered. The church was very cold, the great stove having been extinguished the previous evening, and the tall arches were filled with a fine mist, which had filtered in through the apertures of the glass windows. A shadow hung over the lower part. Not a soul was there beyond a beadle, who, in the midst of that semi-darkness, dragged his feet over the stones in the sullenness of the awaking hour. Muffat, after knocking up against a number of chairs, feeling lost, his heart fit to burst, had fallen on his knees against the railings of a little side chapel, close to a holy-water font. He had clasped his hands, trying to find a prayer in which he could pour forth his very soul, but his lips alone muttered words. His mind was elsewhere—outside, following the streets, without repose, as though beneath the lash of some implacable necessity; and he repeated: “O Lord help me! O God, do not abandon your creature, who abandons himself to your justice! O merciful Father, I adore you; will you let me perish beneath the blows of your enemies!” Nothing seemed to answer. The shadow and the cold hung about his shoulders. The noise of the beadle walking in the distance continued, and prevented him from praying. He heard nought but that irritating sound in the deserted church, which had not even then been swept, nor had the early mass been performed. Then, holding on to a chair, he raised himself, with a cracking of his knees. God had not yet arrived. Why should he go and weep on M. Venot’s breast? That man could do nothing.

And he mechanically returned to Nana’s. Outside, having slipped, he felt tears come to his eyes, not with anger against fate, but simply because he felt weak and ill. He was really too tired; he had been out too long in the rain, he felt the cold too much. It froze him to think of going back to his dismal home in the Rue Miromesnil. At Nana’s the street-door was not open, he had to wait till the concierge appeared. As he went up-stairs he smiled, already feeling the pleasant warmth of that nest, where he would at length be able to stretch himself and sleep.

When Zoé let him in, she made a gesture of amazement and uneasiness. Madame, having been seized by a violent headache, hadn’t closed her eyes all night. However, she would go and see whether she had fallen asleep or not; and she glided into the bed-room, whilst he sank down on a chair in the drawing-room. But Nana appeared almost instantly. She had jumped out of bed, scarcely taking time to put on a petticoat, and entered with bare feet, her hair hanging about her shoulders, her night dress rumpled and torn, in the disorder of a night of love.

“What! you here again!” cried she, red with passion. Under the influence of her rage, she was hastening to put him out herself; but seeing him in such a state, so utterly helpless, she was once more moved to pity. “Well! you’re in a nice mess, my poor fellow!” she resumed in a more pleasant tone of voice. “What is the matter with you? Ah! you’ve been watching them, you’ve been having a fine time of it!”

He said nothing; he looked like a stunned ox. Yet she understood that he had not been able to obtain any proof, as she added, just to bring him to himself again:

“You see, I was mistaken. Your wife is all right, on my word she is! Now, my boy, you must go home and get to bed. You are in want of sleep.”

He did not stir.

“Come, be off; I can’t keep you here. You don’t, I suppose, want to stop at this time of day?”

“Yes, let us go to sleep,” he muttered.

She repressed a violent gesture. She was fast losing patience. Was he going crazy?

“Come, be off,” said she a second time.

“No.”

Then, thoroughly exasperated, she broke out in revolt.

“But it’s disgusting! Understand me, I’ve had a great deal too much of you. Go and find your wife, who’s making a cuckold of you. Yes, she’s making a cuckold of you—it’s I who tell you so, now. There! have you got what you wanted? Will you leave me or not?”

Muffat’s eyes filled with tears. He clasped his hands.

“Let us go to sleep.”

Nana scarcely knew what