“Vaugirard!”

Then she asked: 

“Where are we?”

He answered gruffly: 

“We’re at Vaugirard, of course!  I have been yelling it for the last half hour!”

“Is it far from the Boulevard?” she said.

“Which boulevard?”

“The Boulevard des Italiens.”

“We passed that a long time ago!”

“Would you mind telling my husband?”

“Your husband!  Where is he?”

“On the top of the bus.”

“On the top!  There hasn’t been anybody there for a long time.”

She started, terrified.

“What?  That’s impossible!  He got on with me.  Look well!  He must be there.”

The conductor was becoming uncivil: 

“Come on, little one, you’ve talked enough!  You can find ten men for every one that you lose.  Now run along.  You’ll find another one somewhere.”

Tears were coming to her eyes.  She insisted: 

“But, monsieur, you are mistaken; I assure you that you must be mistaken.  He had a big portfolio under his arm.”

The man began to laugh: 

“A big portfolio!  Oh, yes!  He got off at the Madeleine.  He got rid of you, all right!  Ha! ha! ha!”

The stage had stopped.  She got out and, in spite of herself, she looked up instinctively to the roof of the bus.  It was absolutely deserted.

Then she began to cry, and, without thinking that anybody was listening or watching her, she said out loud: 

“What is going to become of me?”

An inspector approached: 

“What’s the matter?”

The conductor answered, in a bantering tone of voice: 

“It’s a lady who got left by her husband during the trip.”

The other continued: 

“Oh! that’s nothing.  You go about your business.”

Then he turned on his heels and walked away.

She began to walk straight ahead, too bewildered, too crazed even to understand what had happened to her.  Where was she to go?  What could she do?  What could have happened to him?  How could he have made such a mistake?  How could he have been so forgetful?

She had two francs in her pocket.  To whom could she go?  Suddenly she remembered her cousin Barral, one of the assistants in the offices of the Ministry of the Navy.

She had just enough to pay for a cab.  She drove to his house.  He met her just as he was leaving for his office.  He was carrying a large portfolio under his arm, just like Lebrument.

She jumped out of the carriage.

“Henry!” she cried.

He stopped, astonished: 

“Jeanne!  Here—­all alone!  What are you doing?  Where have you come from?”

Her eyes full of tears, she stammered: 

“My husband has just got lost!”

“Lost!  Where?”

“On an omnibus.”

“On an omnibus?”

Weeping, she told him her whole adventure.