Monsieur Dorlange paid his visit early.  I was alone.  Monsieur de l’Estorade was dining with the Minister of the Interior, and the children were in bed.  The conversation interrupted by Madame de la Bastie could now be renewed, as I was about to ask him to continue the history, of which he had only told me the last words, when our old Lucas brought me a letter.  It was from my Armand, to let me know that he had been ill since morning, and was then in the infirmary.

“Order the carriage,” I said to Lucas, in a state of agitation you can easily conceive.

“But, madame,” replied Lucas, “monsieur has ordered the carriage to fetch him at half-past nine o’clock, and Tony has already started.”

“Then send for a cab.”

“I don’t know that I can find one,” said our old servant, who is a man of difficulties; “it is beginning to rain.”

Without noticing that remark and without thinking of Monsieur Dorlange, I went hastily to my room to put on my bonnet and shawl.  That done, I returned to the salon, where my visitor still remained.

“You must excuse me, monsieur,” I said to him, “for leaving you so abruptly.  I must hasten to the Henri IV.  College.  I could not possibly pass a night in the dreadful anxiety my son’s letter has caused me; he tells me he has been ill since morning in the infirmary.”

“But,” replied Monsieur Dorlange, “surely you are not going alone in a hired carriage to that lonely quarter?”

“Lucas will go with me.”

At that moment Lucas returned; his prediction was realized; there was not a coach on the stand; it was raining in torrents.  Time was passing; already it was almost too late to enter the school, where masters and pupils go to bed at nine o’clock.

“Put on thick shoes,” I said to Lucas, “and come with me on foot.”

Instantly I saw his face lengthen.  He is no longer young and loves his ease; moreover, he complains every winter of rheumatism.  He made various objections,—­that it was very late; that we should “revolutionize” the school; I should take cold; Monsieur Armand could not be very ill if he wrote himself; in short, it was clear that my plan of campaign did not suit my old retainer.

Monsieur Dorlange very obligingly offered to go himself in my place and bring me word about Armand; but that did not suit me at all; I felt that I must see for myself.  Having thanked him, I said to Lucas in a tone of authority:—­

“Get ready at once, for one thing is true in your remarks:  it is getting late.”

Seeing himself driven into a corner, Lucas raised the standard of revolt.

“It is not possible that madame should go out in such weather; and I don’t want monsieur to scold me for giving in to such a singular idea.”

“Then you do not intend to obey me?”

“Madame knows very well that for anything reasonable I would do what she told me if I had to go through fire to obey her.”