“Let us hasten,” said Louise, after a glance at the dial.  “Escort me as far at the Odeon omnibus.  I am a little late.”

As he walked by her side he looked at her.  Alas!  Poor Louise was not pretty, in spite of her large eyes, so loving but not coquettish.  She wore a close, ugly hat, a mantle drawn tightly about her shoulders, colored gloves, and heavy walking-shoes.  Yes, she was a perfect picture of a “two francs an hour” music-teacher.  What a good, brave girl!  With what an overflowing heart she had spoken of her family!  It was to earn tobacco for her father and a new frock for her pretty sister that she left thus, so early in the misty morning, and rode in public conveyances, or tramped through the streets of Paris in the mud.  The sight of her, more than what she said, gave the weak and melancholy Amedee courage and desire for manly resolutions.

“My dear Louise,” said he, with emotion, “I am very fortunate to have such a friend as you, and for so many years!  Do you remember when we used to have our hunts after the bearskin cap when we were children?”

They had just left the garden and found themselves behind the Odeon.  Two tired-out omnibus horses, of a yellowish-white, and showing their ribs, were rubbing their noses against each other like a caress; then the horse on the left raised his head and placed it in a friendly way upon the other’s mane.  Louise pointed to the two animals and said to Amedee, smilingly: 

“Their fate is hard, is it not?  No matter! they are good friends, and that is enough to help them endure it.”

Then, shaking hands with Amedee, she climbed lightly up into the carriage.

All that day at the office Amedee was uneasy about his father, and about four o’clock, a little before the time for his departure, he went to M. Violette’s office.  There they told him that his father had just left, saying that he would dine at Grand Montrouge with an old friend; and Amedee, a trifle reassured, decided to rejoin his friend Maurice at the Foyot restaurant.

CHAPTER VIII

BUTTERFLIES AND GRASSHOPPERS

Amedee was the first to arrive at the rendezvous.  He had hardly pronounced Maurice Roger’s name when a voice like a cannon bellowed out, “Now then! the yellow parlor!” and he was conducted into a room where a dazzling table was laid by a young man, with a Yankee goatee and whiskers, and the agility of a prestidigitateur.  This frisky person relieved Amedee at once of his hat and coat, and left him alone in the room, radiant with lighted candles.

Evidently it was to be a banquet.  Piled up in the centre of the table was a large dish of crayfish, and at each plate—­there were five—­were groups of large and small glasses.

Maurice came in almost immediately, accompanied by his other guests, three young men dressed in the latest fashion, whom Amedee did not at first recognize as his former comrades, who once wore wrinkled stockings and seedy coats, and wore out with him the seats of their trousers on the benches of the Lycee Henri IV.