‘Come, let me get in,’ said Claude; ‘I can stand this no longer.’

Both were getting drenched.  By the flickering light of the gas lamp at the corner of the Rue de la Femme-sans-Tete the young man could see the water dripping from the girl’s dress, which was clinging to her skin, in the deluge that swept against the door.  He was seized with compassion.  Had he not once picked up a cur on such a stormy night as this?  Yet he felt angry with himself for softening.  He never had anything to do with women; he treated them all as if ignorant of their existence, with a painful timidity which he disguised under a mask of bravado.  And that girl must really think him a downright fool, to bamboozle him with that story of adventure—­only fit for a farce.  Nevertheless, he ended by saying, ’That’s enough.  You had better come in out of the wet.  You can sleep in my rooms.’

But at this the girl became even more frightened, and threw up her arms.

’In your rooms?  Oh! good heavens.  No, no; it’s impossible.  I beseech you, monsieur, take me to Passy.  Let me beg of you.’

But Claude became angry.  Why did she make all this fuss, when he was willing to give her shelter?  He had already rung the bell twice.  At last the door opened and he pushed the girl before him.

‘No, no, monsieur; I tell you, no—­’

But another flash dazzled her, and when the thunder growled she bounded inside, scarce knowing what she was about.  The heavy door had closed upon them, she was standing under a large archway in complete darkness.

‘It’s I, Madame Joseph,’ cried Claude to the doorkeeper.  Then he added, in a whisper, ’Give me your hand, we have to cross the courtyard.’

The girl did as she was told; she no longer resisted; she was overwhelmed, worn out.  Once more they encountered the diluvian rain, as they ran side by side as hard as they could across the yard.  It was a baronial courtyard, huge, and surrounded with stone arcades, indistinct amidst the gloom.  However, they came to a narrow passage without a door, and he let go her hand.  She could hear him trying to strike some matches, and swearing.  They were all damp.  It was necessary for them to grope their way upstairs.

‘Take hold of the banisters, and be careful,’ said Claude; ’the steps are very high.’

The staircase, a very narrow one, a former servants’ staircase, was divided into three lofty flights, which she climbed, stumbling, with unskilful, weary limbs.  Then he warned her that they had to turn down a long passage.  She kept behind him, touching the walls on both sides with her outstretched hands, as she advanced along that endless passage which bent and came back to the front of the building on the quay.  Then there were still other stairs right under the roof —­creaking, shaky wooden stairs, which had no banister, and suggested the unplaned rungs of a miller’s ladder.  The landing at the top was so small that the girl knocked against the young man, as he fumbled in his pocket for his key.  At last, however, he opened the door.