She decided that to-day she would go down to the drawing-room.  He would not fail—­were it only for politeness—­to go in there; and then, she thought, by seeing him nearer, talking with him, knowing him better, his influence over her would vanish.  Doubtless he would return, and so she watched for him, ready to go down as soon as she saw him approaching.  She waited with feverish shudderings, anxiously believing that this first tete-a-tete in her husband’s absence would be decisive.  Time passed; it was more than two hours since he had gone out with Sauvresy, and he had not reappeared.  Where could he be?

At this moment, Hector was awaiting Jenny at the Corbeil station.  The train arrived, and Jenny soon appeared.  Her grief, joy, emotion had not made her forget her toilet, and never had she been so rollickingly elegant and pretty.  She wore a green dress with a train, a velvet mantle, and the jauntiest little hat in the world.  As soon as she saw Hector standing near the door, she uttered a cry, pushed the people aside, and rushed into his arms, laughing and crying at the same time.  She spoke quite loud, with wild gestures, so that everyone could hear what she said.

“You didn’t kill yourself, after all,” said she.  “Oh, how I have suffered; but what happiness I feel to-day!”

Tremorel struggled with her as he could, trying to calm her enthusiastic exclamations, softly repelling her, charmed and irritated at once, and exasperated at all these eyes rudely fixed on him.  For none of the passengers had gone out.  They were all there, staring and gazing.  Hector and Jenny were surrounded by a circle of curious folks.

“Come along,” said Hector, his patience exhausted.  He drew her out of the door, hoping to escape this prying curiosity; but he did not succeed.  They were persistently followed.  Some of the Corbeil people who were on the top of the omnibus begged the conductor to walk his horses, that this singular couple might not be lost to view, and the horses did not get into a trot until they had disappeared in the hotel.

Sauvresy’s foresight in recommending the place of meeting had thus been disconcerted by Jenny’s sensational arrival.  Questions were asked; the hostess was adroitly interrogated, and it was soon known that this person, who waited for eccentric young ladies at the Corbeil station, was an intimate friend of the owner of Valfeuillu.  Neither Hector nor Jenny doubted that they formed the general topic of conversation.  They breakfasted gayly in the best room at the Belle Image, during which Tremorel recounted a very pretty story about his restoration to life, in which he played a part, the heroism of which was well calculated to redouble the little lady’s admiration.  Then Jenny in her turn unfolded her plans for the future, which were, to do her justice, most reasonable.  She had resolved more than ever to remain faithful to Hector now that he was ruined, to give up her elegant rooms, sell her furniture,