He rose obediently.  He made no question as to her destination.  He had come to drown himself in the sordidness of Paris and, behold, his heart was beating with a human quickness it had not known since the moment he held Blake’s first letter unopened in his hand; his throat was dry, his eyes were smarting with the old, half-forgotten smart of unshed tears.

He followed her with a strange docility as she passed out of the unsavory Cerises-jumelles into the close, ill-smelling street.  In complete silence they walked through what seemed a nightmare world of unpleasant sights, unpleasant sounds, until across his dazed thoughts the familiar sense of Paris—­the sense of the pleasure-chase—­swept from the Boulevard de Clichy.

Lize paused; he saw her fully in the brave illumination—­the large black hat, the close-clad figure, the pallid face—­and as he looked, she smiled unexpectedly and, putting out her hand, patted him on the shoulder.

“Good-bye, mon enfant!  Go home!  Youth comes but once; and this Blake—­he is a good boy!”

Before he could answer, before he could return smile or touch, she was gone—­absorbed into the maze of lights, and he was alone, to turn which way he would.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

The fifth floor was dim and silent, the door of M. Cartel’s appartement was closed; but Max, mounting the stairs two steps at a time, was not daunted by silence or lack of light.  Max was once again a prey to impulse, and under the familiar tyranny, his blood burned—­raced in his veins, sang in his cars.

Without an instant’s pause, he knocked on M. Cartel’s door, and when his knock was answered by Jacqueline—­fair and cool-looking, oven in the great heat—­words rushed from him as they had been wont to rush when life was a gay affair.

“You are alone, Jacqueline?”

Jacqueline nodded quickly, comprehending a crisis.

“Ah, I thank God!” He caught both her hands; he gave a little laugh that ended in a sob; he passed into the appartement, drawing her with him.

“Oh, la, la!” she cried, hiding her emotion in flippancy, “you take my breath away.”

Max laughed again.  “You see I’ve lost my own!”

She gave a scornful, familiar toss of the head.  “Do not be foolish!  What has happened?”

“I have made a discovery, Jacqueline.  Youth comes but once!”

“Indeed!  You need not have left the rue Mueller to learn that.”

“It comes but once, and while it is with me I am going to look it in the face.”  His words tumbled forth, pell-mell, and as he spoke he pulled her forcibly into the living-room.

“Jacqueline, I am serious.  I have been down in hell; I must see heaven, or my faith is lost.”

Jacqueline stood very still, making no effort to loose the hot clasp of his hands, but all at once her gaze concentrated piercingly.