She blushed and stammered, at a loss for words.  She was out of breath, no doubt through climbing the stairs, for her heart was beating fast.  What! was this long-debated visit out of place after all?  It had ended by seeming quite natural to her.  The worst was that, in passing along the quay, she had bought that bunch of roses with the delicate intention of thereby showing her gratitude to the young fellow, and the flowers now dreadfully embarrassed her.  How was she to give them to him?  What would he think of her?  The impropriety of the whole proceeding had only struck her as she opened the door.

But Claude, more embarrassed still, resorted to exaggerated politeness.  He had thrown aside his palette and was turning the studio upside down in order to clear a chair.

’Pray be seated, mademoiselle.  This is really a surprise.  You are too kind.’

Once seated, Christine recovered her equanimity.  He looked so droll with his wild sweeping gestures, and she felt so conscious of his shyness that she began to smile, and bravely held out the bunch of roses.

‘Look here; I wished to show you that I am not ungrateful.’

At first he said nothing, but stood staring at her, thunderstruck.  When he saw, though, that she was not making fun of him, he shook both her hands, with almost sufficient energy to dislocate them.  Then he at once put the flowers in his water-jug, repeating: 

’Ah! now you are a good fellow, you really are.  This is the first time I pay that compliment to a woman, honour bright.’

He came back to her, and, looking straight into her eyes, he asked: 

‘Then you have not altogether forgotten me?’

‘You see that I have not,’ she replied, laughing.

‘Why, then, did you wait two months before coming to see me?’

Again she blushed.  The falsehood she was about to tell revived her embarrassment for a moment.

‘But you know that I am not my own mistress,’ she said.  ’Oh, Madame Vanzade is very kind to me, only she is a great invalid, and never leaves the house.  But she grew anxious as to my health and compelled me to go out to breathe a little fresh air.’

She did not allude to the shame which she had felt during the first few days after her adventure on the Quai de Bourbon.  Finding herself in safety, beneath the old lady’s roof, the recollection of the night she had spent in Claude’s room had filled her with remorse; but she fancied at last that she had succeeded in dismissing the matter from her mind.  It was no longer anything but a bad dream, which grew more indistinct each day.  Then, how it was she could not tell, but amidst the profound quietude of her existence, the image of that young man who had befriended her had returned to her once more, becoming more and more precise, till at last it occupied her daily thoughts.  Why should she forget him?  She had nothing to reproach him with; on the contrary,