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her； to remove her pain。 He leaned over； lifted her up and laid her on
her bed； and while she kept on moaning he began to take off her clothes；
her jacket； her skirt and her petticoat。 She bit her fists to keep from
crying out。 Then he did as he was accustomed to doing for cows； ewes；
and mares： he assisted in delivering her and found in his hands a large
infant who was moaning。
He wiped it off and wrapped it up in a towel that was drying in front of
the fire； and laid it on a bundle of clothes ready for ironing that was
on the table。 Then he went back to the mother。
He took her up and placed her on the floor again； then he changed the
bedclothes and put her back into bed。 She faltered：
〃Thank you； Benoist； you have a noble heart。〃 And then she wept a little
as if she felt regretful。
He did not love her any longer； not the least bit。 It was all over。
Why？ How？ He could not have said。 What had happened had cured him
better than ten years of absence。
She asked； exhausted and trembling：
〃What is it？〃
He replied calmly：
〃It is a very fine girl。〃
Then they were silent again。 At the end of a few moments； the mother； in
a weak voice； said：
〃Show her to me； Benoist。〃
He took up the little one and was showing it to her as if he were holding
the consecrated wafer； when the door opened； and Isidore Vallin appeared。
He did not understand at first； then all at once he guessed。
Benoist； in consternation； stammered out：
〃I was passing； I was just passing by when f heard her crying out； and I
camethere is your child； Vallin！〃
Then the husband； his eyes full of tears； stepped forward； took the
little mite of humanity that he held out to him； kissed it； unable to
speak from emotion for a few seconds； then placing the child on the bed；
he held out both hands to Benoist； saying：
〃Your hand upon it； Benoist。 From now on we understand each other。 If
you are willing； we will be a pair of friends； a pair of friends！〃 And
Benoist replied： 〃Indeed I will； certainly； indeed I will。〃
ALL OVER
Compte de Lormerin had just finished dressing。 He cast a parting glance
at the large mirror which occupied an entire panel in his dressing…room
and smiled。
He was really a fine…looking man still； although quite gray。 Tall；
slight； elegant； with no sign of a paunch； with a small mustache of
doubtful shade； which might be called fair； he had a walk； a nobility； a
〃chic；〃 in short； that indescribable something which establishes a
greater difference between two men than would millions of money。 He
murmured：
〃Lormerin is still alive！〃
And he went into the drawing…room where his correspondence awaited him。
On his table； where everything had its place； the work table of the
gentleman who never works； there were a dozen letters lying beside three
newspapers of different opinions。 With a single touch he spread out all
these letters； like a gambler giving the choice of a card； and he scanned
the handwriting； a thing he did each morning before opening the
envelopes。
It was for him a moment of delightful expectancy； of inquiry and vague
anxiety。 What did these sealed mysterious letters bring him？ What did
they contain of pleasure； of happiness； or of grief？ He surveyed them
with a rapid sweep of the eye； recognizing the writing； selecting them；
making two or three lots； according to what he expected from them。 Here；
friends； there； persons to whom he was indifferent； further on；
strangers。 The last kind always gave him a little uneasiness。 What did
they want from him？ What hand had traced those curious characters full
of thoughts； promises； or threats？
This day one letter in particular caught his eye。 It was simple；
nevertheless； without seeming to reveal anything； but he looked at it
uneasily； with a sort of chill at his heart。 He thought： 〃From whom can
it be？ I certainly know this writing； and yet I can't identify it。〃
He raised it to a level with his face； holding it delicately between two
fingers； striving to read through the envelope； without making up his
mind to open it。
Then he smelled it； and snatched up from the table a little magnifying
glass which he used in studying all the niceties of handwriting。 He
suddenly felt unnerved。 〃Whom is it from？ This hand is familiar to me；
very familiar。 I must have often read its tracings； yes； very often。
But this must have been a long； long time ago。 Whom the deuce can it be
from？ Pooh！ it's only somebody asking for money。〃
And he tore open the letter。 Then he read：
MY DEAR FRIEND： You have； without doubt； forgotten me； for it is now
twenty…five years since we saw each other。 I was young； I am old。
When I bade you farewell； I left Paris in order to follow into the
provinces my husband； my old husband； whom you used to call 〃my
hospital。〃 Do you remember him？ He died five years ago； and now I
am returning to Paris to get my daughter married； for I have a
daughter； a beautiful girl of eighteen； whom you have never seen。
I informed you of her birth； but you certainly did not pay much
attention to so trifling an event。
You are still the handsome Lormerin； so I have been told。 Well； if
you still recollect little Lise； whom you used to call Lison； come
and dine with her this evening； with the elderly Baronne de Vance
your ever faithful friend； who； with some emotion； although happy；
reaches out to you a devoted hand； which you must c1asp； but no
longer kiss； my poor Jaquelet。
LISE DE VANCE。
Lormerin's heart began to throb。 He remained sunk in his armchair with
the letter on his knees； staring straight before him； overcome by a
poignant emotion that made the tears mount up to his eyes！
If he had ever loved a woman in his life it was this one； little Lise；
Lise de Vance； whom he called 〃Ashflower；〃 on account of the strange
color of her hair and the pale gray of her eyes。 Oh！ what a dainty；
pretty； charming creature she was； this frail baronne； the wife of that
gouty； pimply baron； who had abruptly carried her off to the provinces；
shut her up； kept her in seclusion through jealousy； jealousy of the
handsome Lormerin。
Yes； he had loved her； and he believed that he too； had been truly loved。
She familiarly gave him； the name of Jaquelet； and would pronounce that
word in a delicious fashion。
A thousand forgotten memories came back to him； far； off and sweet and
melancholy now。 One evening she had called on him on her way home from a
ball； and they went for a stroll in the Bois de Boulogne； she in evening
dress； he in his dressing…jacket。 It was springtime； the weather was
beautiful。 The fragrance from her bodice embalmed the warm air…the odor
of her bodice； and perhaps； too； the fragrance of her skin。 What a
divine night！ When they reached the lake； as the moon's rays fell across
the branches into the water； she began to weep。 A little surprised； he
asked her why。
〃I don't know。 The moon and the water have affected me。 Every time I
see poetic things I have a tightening at the heart； and I h