Night fell, and he was still in this attitude. Roused from his
moodiness by the darkness, he went downstairs, met the old
admiral on the way, looked darkly at him as he bowed, and fled.

He had intended going in to see the ladies, but the sight of
Adelaide's protector froze his heart and dispelled his purpose.
For the hundredth time he wondered what interest could bring this
old prodigal, with his eighty thousand francs a year, to this
fourth story, where he lost about forty francs every evening; and
he thought he could guess what it was.

The next and following days Hippolyte threw himself into his
work, and to try to conquer his passion by the swift rush of
ideas and the ardor of composition. He half succeeded. Study
consoled him, though it could not smother the memories of so many
tender hours spent with Adelaide.

One evening, as he left his studio, he saw the door of the
ladies' rooms half open. Somebody was standing in the recess of
the window, and the position of the door and the staircase made
it impossible that the painter should pass without seeing
Adelaide. He bowed coldly, with a glance of supreme indifference;
but judging of the girl's suffering by his own, he felt an inward
shudder as he reflected on the bitterness which that look and
that coldness must produce in a loving heart. To crown the most
delightful feast which ever brought joy to two pure souls, by
eight days of disdain, of the deepest and most utter contempt!--A
frightful conclusion. And perhaps the purse had been found,
perhaps Adelaide had looked for her friend every evening.