ERCHMAN-CHATRIAN (_Contes fantastiques_).

As soon as Marcel had recognized Suzanne, he did not take time to reflect,
and say to himself:

"What is it you are going to do, idiot?" He ran downstairs, stumbling like
a drunken man, and gently opened the door. What did he intend? He did not
know. Was he going to call these women? He did not know. He opened his
door, that was all, and his thought went no further.

The same morning at church, he had seen Suzanne, and said to himself, "I
will not look at her." He did not look at her. He kept his eyes lowered
when he turned towards the nave, but he could have said how many times
Suzanne lifted hers, if she were joyous or sad, and if she had a red ribbon
or a blue ribbon at her neck.

Oh! the eternal contradiction of mankind. He had not wanted to look at her
by day, and here he is throwing himself in her path in the middle of the
night.

The steps approached and his heart beat with violence; he was so agitated
that, at the moment when the two women passed before his door to reach the
lane which led to the bottom of the hill, he could hardly articulate in a
hesitating voice:

"Mademoiselle Durand."

They uttered a cry.