“Funny dinner,” murmured Maxence, “for a woman who was spreading herself just now in a ten-thousand-franc carriage.”

From that moment she became the sole and only object of his thoughts.  A passion, which he no longer attempted to resist, was penetrating like a subtle poison to the innermost depths of his being.  He thought himself happy, when, after watching for hours, he caught a glimpse of this singular creature, who, after that extraordinary expedition, seemed to have resumed her usual mode of life.  Mme. Fortin was dumfounded.

“She has been too exacting,” she said to Maxence, “and the thing has fallen through.”

He made no answer.  He felt a perfect horror for the honorable landlady’s insinuations; and yet he never ceased to repeat to himself that he must be a great simpleton to have faith for a moment in that young lady’s virtue.  What would he not have given to be able to question her?  But he dared not.  Often he would gather up his courage, and wait for her on the stairs; but, as soon as she fixed upon him her great black eye, all the phrases he had prepared took flight from his brain, his tongue clove to his mouth, and he could barely succeed in stammering out a timid,

“Good-morning, mademoiselle.”

He felt so angry with himself, that he was almost on the point of leaving the Hotel des Folies, when one evening: 

“Well,” said Mme. Fortin to him, “all is made up again, it seems.  The beautiful carriage called again to-day.”

Maxence could have beaten her.

“What good would it do you,” he replied, “if Lucienne were to turn out badly?”

“It’s always a pleasure,” she grumbled, “to have one more woman to torment the men.  Those are the girls, you see, who avenge us poor honest women!”

The sequel seemed at first to justify her worst previsions.  Three times during that week, Mlle. Lucienne rode out in grand style; but as she always returned, and always resumed her eternal black woolen dress,

“I can’t make head or tail of it,” thought Maxence.  “But never mind, I’ll clear the matter up yet.”

He applied, and obtained leave of absence; and from the very next day he took up a position behind the window of the adjoining cafe.  On the first day he lost his time; but on the second day, at about three o’clock, the famous equipage made its appearance; and, a few moments later, Mlle. Lucienne took a seat in it.  Her toilet was richer, and more showy still, than the first time.  Maxence jumped into a cab.

“You see that carriage,” he said to the coachman, “Wherever it goes, you must follow it.  I give ten francs extra pay.”

“All right!” replied the driver, whipping up his horses.

And much need he had, too, of whipping them; for the carriage that carried off Mlle. Lucienne started at full trot down the Boulevards, to the Madeleine, then along the Rue Royale, and through the Place de la Concorde, to the Avenue des Champs-Elysees, where the horses were brought down to a walk.  It was the end of September, and one of those lovely autumnal days which are a last smile of the blue sky and the last caress of the sun.