“Heat is good for rheumatism, but rain is not,” I said; then, turning to Monsieur Dorlange, I added:  “As you were so kind as to offer to do this errand alone, may I ask you to give me your arm and come with me?”

“I am like Lucas,” he said, “I do not think this excursion absolutely necessary; but as I am not afraid of being scolded by Monsieur de l’Estorade, I shall have the honor to accompany you.”

We started.  The weather was frightful; we had hardly gone fifty steps before we were soaked in spite of Lucas’s huge umbrella, with which Monsieur Dorlange sheltered me at his own expense.  Luckily a coach happened to pass; Monsieur Dorlange hailed the driver; it was empty.  Of course I could not tell my companion that he was not to get in; such distrust was extremely unbecoming and not for me to show.  But you know, my dear friend, that showers of rain have helped lovers from the days of Dido down.  However, Monsieur Dorlange said nothing:  he saw my anxiety and he had the good taste not to attempt conversation, breaking the silence only from time to time with casual remarks.  When we reached the school, after getting out of the carriage to give me his hand he saw for himself that he must not enter the house and he therefore got back into the carriage to await my return.

Well, I found Monsieur Armand had hoaxed me.  His illness reduced itself to a headache, which departed soon after he had written me.  The doctor, for the sake of ordering something, had told him to take an infusion of linden-leaves, telling him that the next day he could go back to his studies.  I had taken a club to kill a flea, and committed all sorts of enormities to get there at an hour when the entire establishment were going to bed, only to find my young gentleman perfectly well and playing chess with one of the nurses.

On leaving the school I found the rain had ceased and the moon was shining brightly.  My heart was full; the reaction from my great anxiety had set in and I felt a need of breathing the fresh air.  I therefore proposed to Monsieur Dorlange to dismiss the coach and return on foot.

Here was an opportunity for him to make me that long-delayed explanation; but Monsieur Dorlange seemed so little inclined to take advantage of it that, using Monsieur Armand’s freak as a text, he read me a lecture on the danger of spoiling children:  a subject which was not at all agreeable to me, as he must have perceived from the rather stiff manner with which I listened to him.  Come, thought I, I must and will get to the bottom of this history; it is like the tale of Sancho’s herdsman, which had the faculty of never getting told.  So, cutting short my companion’s theories of education, I said distinctly:—­

“This is a very good time, I think, to continue the confidence you were about to make to me.  Here we are sure of no interruption.”

“I am afraid I shall prove a poor story-teller,” replied Monsieur Dorlange.  “I have spent all my fire this very day in telling that tale to Marie-Gaston.”