And thereupon he began to knock about the chairs, and flung aside an old screen, behind which she noticed a washstand and a tiny iron bedstead, from which he began to remove the coverlet.

’No, no, monsieur, it isn’t worth while; I assure you that I shall stay here.’

At this, however, Claude became angry, gesticulating and shaking his fists.

‘How much more of this comedy are we to have?’ said he.  ’As I give you my bed, what have you to complain of?  You need not pay any attention to me.  I shall sleep on that couch.’

He strode towards her with a threatening look, and thereupon, beside herself with fear, thinking that he was going to strike her, she tremblingly unfastened her hat.  The water was dripping from her skirts.  He kept on growling.  Nevertheless, a sudden scruple seemed to come to him, for he ended by saying, condescendingly: 

‘Perhaps you don’t like to sleep in my sheets.  I’ll change them.’

He at once began dragging them from the bed and flinging them on to the couch at the other end of the studio.  And afterwards he took a clean pair from the wardrobe and began to make the bed with all the deftness of a bachelor accustomed to that kind of thing.  He carefully tucked in the clothes on the side near the wall, shook the pillows, and turned back a corner of the coverlet.

‘There, that’ll do; won’t it?’ said he.

And as she did not answer, but remained motionless, he pushed her behind the screen.  ‘Good heavens! what a lot of fuss,’ he thought.  And after spreading his own sheets on the couch, and hanging his clothes on an easel, he quickly went to bed himself.  When he was on the point of blowing out the candle, however, he reflected that if he did so she would have to undress in the dark, and so he waited.  At first he had not heard her stir; she had no doubt remained standing against the iron bedstead.  But at last he detected a slight rustling, a slow, faint movement, as if amidst her preparations she also were listening, frightened perchance by the candle which was still alight.  At last, after several minutes, the spring mattress creaked, and then all became still.

‘Are you comfortable, mademoiselle?’ now asked Claude, in a much more gentle voice.

‘Yes, monsieur, very comfortable,’ she replied, in a scarcely audible voice, which still quivered with emotion.

‘Very well, then.  Good-night.’

‘Good-night.’

He blew out the candle, and the silence became more intense.  In spite of his fatigue, his eyes soon opened again, and gazed upward at the large window of the studio.  The sky had become very clear again, the stars were twinkling in the sultry July night, and, despite the storm, the heat remained oppressive.  Claude was thinking about the girl —­agitated for a moment by contrary feelings, though at last contempt gained the mastery.  He indeed believed himself to be very strong-minded; he imagined a romance concocted