“Now he has left,” whispered Henrietta as it struck eight.

“He is on his way already,” replied the old lady.

But neither of them knew anything of the journey from Paris to Marseilles.  They were ignorant of the distances, the names of the stations, and even of the large cities through which the railroad passes.

“We must try and get a railway guide,” said the good widow.  And, quite proud of her happy thought, she went out instantly, hurried to the nearest bookstore, and soon reappeared, flourishing triumphantly a yellow pamphlet, and saying,—­

“Now we shall see it all, my dear child.”

Then, placing the guide on the tablecloth between them, they looked for the page containing the railway from Paris to Lyons and Marseilles, then the train which Papa Ravinet was to have taken; and they delighted in counting up how swiftly the “express” went, and all the stations where it stopped.

Then, when the table was cleared, instead of going industriously to work, as usually, they kept constantly looking at the clock, and, after consulting the book, said to each other,—­

“He is at Montereau now; he must be beyond Sens; he will soon be at Tonnerre.”

A childish satisfaction, no doubt, and very idle.  But who of us has not, at least once in his life, derived a wonderful pleasure, or perhaps unspeakable relief from impatience, or even grief, from following thus across space a beloved one who was going away, or coming home?  Towards midnight, however, the old lady remarked that it was getting late, and that it would be wise to go to bed.

“You think you will sleep, madam?” asked Henrietta, surprised.

“No, my child; but”—­

“Oh!  I, for my part,—­I could not sleep.  This work on which we are busy is very pressing, you say; why could we not finish it?”

“Well, let us sit up then,” said the good widow.

The poor women, reduced as they were to conjectures by Papa Ravinet’s laconic answers, nevertheless knew full well that some great event was in preparation, something unexpected, and yet decisive.  What it was, they did not know; but they understood, or rather felt, that Daniel’s return would and must totally change the aspect of affairs.  But would Daniel really come?

“If he does come,” said Henrietta, “why did they only the other day tell me, at the navy department, that he was not coming?  Then, again, why should he come home in a merchant vessel, and not on board his frigate?”

“Your letters have probably reached him at last,” explained the old lady; “and, as soon as he received them, he came home.”

Gradually, however, after having exhausted all conjectures, and after having discussed all contingencies, Henrietta became silent.  When it struck half-past three, she said once more,—­

“Ah!  M. Ravinet is at the Lyons station now.”

Then her hand became less and less active in drawing the worsted, her head oscillated from side to side, and her eyelids closed unconsciously.  Her old friend advised her to retire; and this time she did not refuse.