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“Leave me out of all your lunatic shenanigans. I’m sad, you know very well.”

“All the more reason, for heaven’s sake! She’ll cheer you up, she’s a good sort.… Oh! But you know her, the austere goddess that the people of Paris are going to crown with laurel and parade about on a chariot covered in gold leaf! It is … guess!”

“How do you expect me to guess?”

“Artemisia.”4

“Artemisia?” said Maurice, trying to put a face to the name, without any such face popping into his head.

“Yes. A tall brunette I met last year … at the Opera ball. You came and had supper with us and got her drunk.”

“Ah, yes! That’s right,” replied Maurice. “I remember now. So she’s it?”

“She’s got the best chance. I presented her at the competition: all the Thermopylae club promised me their votes. The general election’s in three days. Today is the preview feast; we’ll be spilling a bit of champagne. Maybe the day after tomorrow we’ll be spilling blood! But whatever gets spilled, Artemisia will be goddess or the devil take me! So on your feet. We’ll get her to try on her tunic for us.”

“Thanks, but I don’t think so. I’ve always hated that kind of thing.”

“Dressing up goddesses? Christ, you’re hard to please! All right, then, if it will amuse you, I’ll put her tunic on for her and you can take it off.”

“Lorin, I’m sick; not only do I not have an ounce of gaiety left in me, but the gaiety of other people makes me even sicker.”

“Now you’re beginning to scare me, Maurice. You’ve given up the fight, you’ve lost your sense of humor; you’re not involved in some conspiracy by any chance, are you?”

“Me! Good God!”

“You mean: Good Goddess of Reason!”

“Leave me, Lorin; I can’t, I won’t go out. I’m in bed and I’m going to stay there.”

Lorin scratched his ear.

“All right!” he said. “I see what it is.”

“What do you see?”

“I see you’re waiting for the Goddess of Reason.”

“Hell’s bells!” cried Maurice. “Witty friends are such a pain in the neck. Get lost or I’ll heap curses upon you, you and your goddess.…”

“Heap away.…”

Maurice raised his hand to deliver a curse when he was interrupted by his officieux, who entered at that moment holding a letter for the citizen, his brother.

“Citizen Agesilaus,” said Lorin, “you come at a bad time; your master was about to enjoy a moment of glory.”

Maurice dropped his hand and reached out nonchalantly for the letter. But at the mere touch he shuddered; avidly bringing it closer to his eyes, he devoured the writing and the seal with a glance and, going pale all the while as though he were about to be sick, he broke the seal.

“Aha!” murmured Lorin. “Our curiosity’s finally been aroused, it would seem.”

Maurice was no longer listening. He was reading with all his soul Geneviève’s few lines. After reading them once, he read them again, twice, thrice, four times, then he wiped his forehead and dropped his hands, gazing at Lorin like a man in a daze.

“Cripes!” said Lorin. “Now there’s a letter that must bear interesting tidings!”

Maurice reread the letter for the fifth time and a new shade of scarlet colored his face. His dry eyes became moist and his chest rose in a profound sigh. Then, suddenly forgetting all about his illness and the weakness that had ensued, he leapt out of bed.

“My clothes!” he shouted to the stupefied officieux. “My clothes, my dear Agesilaus! Ah! My poor Lorin, my good Lorin! I was waiting for it every day but in all honesty I didn’t expect it. This, white pants, a shirt with a ruffle, and I’ll need my hair done and a shave right away!”

The officieux hastened to execute Maurice’s orders and managed to do his hair and shave him at once in a remarkable sleight of hand.

“Oh! To think I’m going to see her again! I’m going to see her again!” cried the young man. “Lorin, in all honesty, I have never known what happiness was till this moment.”

“My poor Maurice,” said Lorin, “I think you’re in need of that visit I advised.”

“Oh, my dear friend,” cried Maurice, “forgive me, but I’ve honestly lost my reason.”

“Well then,