“I ought to warn you, sir, that my husband is absent, and that I am not acquainted with his business.”

Without any astonishment, his hand in his papers, the man answered:  “I know that M.  Jenkins is absent, madame”—­he emphasized more particularly the two words “M.  Jenkins”—­“especially as I come on his behalf.”

She looked at him frightened.  “On his behalf?”

“Alas! yes, madame.  The doctor’s situation, as you are no doubt aware, is one, for the moment, of very great embarrassment.  Unfortunate dealings on the Stock Exchange, the failure of a great financial enterprise in which his money is invested, the OEuvre de Bethleem which weighs heavily on him, all these reverses coming at once have forced him to a grave resolution.  He is selling his mansion, his horses, everything that he possesses, and has given me a power of attorney for that purpose.”

He had at last found what he was looking for—­one of those stamped folded papers, interlined and riddled with references, where the impassible law makes itself responsible for so many lies.  Mme. Jenkins was going to say:  “But I was here.  I would have carried out all his wishes, all his orders—­” when she suddenly understood by the coolness of her visitor, his easy, almost insolent attitude, that she was included in this clearing up, in the getting rid of the costly mansion and useless riches, and that her departure would be the signal for the sale.

She rose suddenly.  The man, still seated, went on:  “What I have still to say, madame”—­oh, she knew it, she could have dictated to him, what he had still to say—­“is so painful, so delicate.  M. Jenkins is leaving Paris for a long time, and in the fear of exposing you to the hazards and adventures of the new life he is undertaking, of taking you away from a son you cherish, and in whose interest perhaps you had better——­”

She heard no more, saw no more, and while he was spinning out his gossamer phrases, given over to despair, she heard the song over and over in her mind, as the last image seen pursues a drowning man: 

     Le temps nous enleve
     Notre enchantement.

All at once her pride returned.  “Let us put a stop to this, sir.  All your turns and phrases are only an additional insult.  The fact is that I am driven out—­turned into the street like a servant.”

“Oh, madame, madame!  The situation is cruel enough, don’t let us make it worse by hard words.  In the evolution of his modus vivendi M. Jenkins has to separate from you, but he does so with the greatest pain to himself; and the proposals which I am charged to make are a proof of his sentiments for you.  First, as to furniture and clothes, I am authorized to let you take—­”

“That will do,” said she.  She flew to the bell.  “I am going out.  Quick—­my hat, my mantle, anything, never mind what.  I am in a hurry.”

And while they went to fetch her what she wanted she said: