why, after all, should he worry his brain? What did it matter whether
she had told him the truth or a lie? In the morning she would go off;
there would be an end to it all, and they would never see each other
again. Thus Claude lay cogitating, and it was only towards daybreak,
when the stars began to pale, that he fell asleep. As for the girl
behind the screen, in spite of the crushing fatigue of her journey,
she continued tossing about uneasily, oppressed by the heaviness of
the atmosphere beneath the hot zinc-work of the roof; and doubtless,
too, she was rendered nervous by the strangeness of her surroundings.

In the morning, when Claude awoke, his eyes kept blinking. It was very
late, and the sunshine streamed through the large window. One of his
theories was, that young landscape painters should take studios
despised by the academical figure painters--studios which the sun
flooded with living beams. Nevertheless he felt dazzled, and fell back
again on his couch. Why the devil had he been sleeping there? His
eyes, still heavy with sleep, wandered mechanically round the studio,
when, all at once, beside the screen he noticed a heap of petticoats.
Then he at once remembered the girl. He began to listen, and heard a
sound of long-drawn, regular breathing, like that of a child
comfortably asleep. Ah! so she was still slumbering, and so calmly,
that it would be a pity to disturb her. He felt dazed and somewhat
annoyed at the adventure, however, for it would spoil his morning's
work. He got angry at his own good nature; it would be better to shake
her, so that she might go at once. Nevertheless he put on his trousers
and slippers softly, and walked about on tiptoes.

The cuckoo clock struck nine, and Claude made a gesture of annoyance.
Nothing had stirred; the regular breathing continued. The best thing
to do, he thought, would be to set to work on his large picture; he