lunch.'

The painter made a gesture of despair, and the other, seeing him so
gloomy, at once understood matters.

'You don't get on either, eh? Well, let's go out. A sharp walk will
take a little of the rust off us. Shall we go?'

As he was passing the kitchen, however, an old woman stopped him. It
was his charwoman, who, as a rule, came only for two hours in the
morning and two hours in the evening. On Thursdays, however, she
remained the whole afternoon in order to look after the dinner.

'Then it's decided, monsieur?' she asked. 'It's to be a piece of skate
and a leg of mutton, with potatoes.'

'Yes, if you like.'

'For how many am I to lay the cloth?'

'Oh! as for that, one never knows. Lay for five, at any rate; we'll
see afterwards. Dinner at seven, eh? we'll try to be home by then.'

When they were on the landing, Sandoz, leaving Claude to wait for him,
stole into his mother's room. When he came out again, in the same
discreet affectionate manner, they both went downstairs in silence.
Outside, having sniffed to right and left, as if to see which way the
wind blew, they ended by going up the street, reached the Place de
l'Observatoire, and turned down the Boulevard du Montparnasse. This
was their ordinary promenade; they reached the spot instinctively,