At the hotel door he kissed her hand and left her.

VIII.

For an hour he walked aimlessly, often baring his hair to the cold sea-wind.  Then he went back to the Place St. Amand and from under the shrine at the corner watched her lighted window.  Then he went home, and until long past midnight sat without moving.  Mademoiselle seemed to be near him.  He recalled every event of the day.  The pleasant sunlight in the woods; the merry nonsense of the lunch at St. Pierre; the homeward walk; the distant heaving waters.  The blood surged like fire through his veins; he bowed down his face and groaned aloud.

Day by day he had maintained a secret battle with himself.  The very philosophy which had frightened and saddened Mademoiselle was evidence of the bitter struggle, though she did not know this.  If he had someone to love, she had said mentally, he would not be so stern.  She deceived herself.  It was because he wrestled with a passion that threatened to overwhelm his reason that he wore so often the mask of sternness.

Early in the morning he left Rocheville for Rouen.  Madame, when she found his bed undisturbed, said to her husband that Monsieur must have had bad news.

* * * * *

Mademoiselle woke from a fitful sleep with her head aching.  She waited anxiously, but Raoul did not come.  It was past midday when M. Lorman, with a grim smile, showed to her a note he had received.

“It is necessary for me to go to Rouen,” it ran, “and I shall probably remain there for a few days.  I beg of you to excuse me, and to convey my compliments and good wishes to Mademoiselle Elise when she departs for Paris.”

As Mademoiselle read she grew cold and shuddered.

M. Lorman eyed the untouched food on the table and smiled slily.

“You have won,” he said.  “I am your debtor.  What is to be the forfeit?”

“I am not well to-day,” she answered peevishly.  “Don’t be stupid, please.  What was it that you came to see me about?”

He looked embarrassed, and replied hastily: 

“Nothing—­I was passing, and called in on my way to meet Augustin.  I dare not stay.  He will be waiting for me.  I am sorry you are ill.  You must rest.  Good-bye.”

In the street he took out his snuff-box and excitedly inhaled two large pinches.

“Parbleu!” he muttered; “it has surprised me.  I didn’t think it possible.”

Mademoiselle went to her bedroom and locked the door, as if to shut all the world out from her.  Then she cast herself down and sobbed as if her heart would break.  “Why did he not come to me?” she moaned.  “Why did he not let me know?—­I cannot live without him.”

At Rouen, Raoul engaged a room at the Hotel de Bordeaux.  Then he started off to visit M. Gerome Perrin, but turned aside and went into the country instead.  The peasants saluted him as they passed, but he did not reply.  At times he talked half aloud and laughed bitterly.