Yes, he was undoubtedly lowering himself, but he could not help thinking of it, and he asked himself with terror if this thought which had entered into his mind had not come to stop, if he did not carry in his heart the seed of fearful torment.  He knew himself; he was a man to think over his doubts, as formerly he would ruminate over his commercial operations, for days and nights, endlessly weighing the pros and the cons.

He was already becoming excited; he was walking fast and losing his calmness.  A thought cannot be downed.  It is intangible, cannot be caught, cannot be killed.

Suddenly a plan occurred to him; it was bold, so bold that at first he doubted whether he would carry it out.

Each time that he met Tancret, his friend would ask for news of Madame Bondel, and Bondel would answer:  “She is still a little angry.”  Nothing more.  Good Lord!  What a fool he had been!  Perhaps!

Well, he would take the train to Paris, go to Tancret, and bring him back with him that very evening, assuring him that his wife’s mysterious anger had disappeared.  But how would Madame Bondel act?  What a scene there would be!  What anger! what scandal!  What of it?—­that would be revenge!  When she should come face to face with him, unexpectedly, he certainly ought to be able to read the truth in their expressions.

He immediately went to the station, bought his ticket, got into the car, and as soon as he felt him self being carried away by the train, he felt a fear, a kind of dizziness, at what he was going to do.  In order not to weaken, back down, and return alone, he tried not to think of the matter any longer, to bring his mind to bear on other affairs, to do what he had decided to do with a blind resolution; and he began to hum tunes from operettas and music halls until he reached Paris.

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.”