As soon as he found himself walking along the streets that led to Tancret’s, he felt like stopping, He paused in front of several shops, noticed the prices of certain objects, was interested in new things, felt like taking a glass of beer, which was not his usual custom; and as he approached his friend’s dwelling he ardently hoped not meet him.  But Tancret was at home, alone, reading.  He jumped up in surprise, crying:  “Ah!  Bondel! what luck!”

Bondel, embarrassed, answered:  “Yes, my dear fellow, I happened to be in Paris, and I thought I’d drop in and shake hands with you.”

“That’s very nice, very nice!  The more so that for some time you have not favored me with your presence very often.”

“Well, you see—­even against one’s will, one is often influenced by surrounding conditions, and as my wife seemed to bear you some ill-will”

“Jove! ’seemed’—­she did better than that, since she showed me the door.”

“What was the reason?  I never heard it.”

“Oh! nothing at all—­a bit of foolishness—­a discussion in which we did not both agree.”

“But what was the subject of this discussion?”

“A lady of my acquaintance, whom you may perhaps know by name, Madame Boutin.”

“Ah! really.  Well, I think that my wife has forgotten her grudge, for this very morning she spoke to me of you in very pleasant terms.”

Tancret started and seemed so dumfounded that for a few minutes he could find nothing to say.  Then he asked:  “She spoke of me—­in pleasant terms?”

“Yes.”

“You are sure?”

“Of course I am.  I am not dreaming.”

“And then?”

“And then—­as I was coming to Paris I thought that I would please you by coming to tell you the good news.”

“Why, yes—­why, yes—­”

Bondel appeared to hesitate; then, after a short pause, he added:  “I even had an idea.”

“What is it?”

“To take you back home with me to dinner.”

Tancret, who was naturally prudent, seemed a little worried by this proposition, and he asked:  “Oh! really—­is it possible?  Are we not exposing ourselves to—­to—­a scene?”

“No, no, indeed!”

“Because, you know, Madame Bendel bears malice for a long time.”

“Yes, but I can assure you that she no longer bears you any ill—­will.  I am even convinced that it will be a great pleasure for her to see you thus, unexpectedly.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really!”

“Well, then! let us go along.  I am delighted.  You see, this misunderstanding was very unpleasant for me.”

They set out together toward the Saint-Lazare station, arm in arm.  They made the trip in silence.  Both seemed absorbed in deep meditation.  Seated in the car, one opposite the other, they looked at each other without speaking, each observing that the other was pale.

Then they left the train and once more linked arms as if to unite against some common danger.  After a walk of a few minutes they stopped, a little out of breath, before Bondel’s house.  Bondel ushered his friend into the parlor, called the servant, and asked:  “Is madame at home?”