was following the hearse of his father-in-law, who had committed
suicide, leaving behind him a load of debt. The philosopher's
expression grew proud and fierce. The first thirteen years of his
marriage had been devoted to paying off this debt: then came the death
of the sister of M. de Gossec, leaving her niece eight hundred
thousand francs, five hundred thousand of which had served to pay the
debt. For the last four years the family had been living in this
comfortable apartment on the Boulevard Raspail, very happy and without
material worries: but how cruel those first thirteen years had been
for this young woman! He gazed at the pastel for a long time, his eyes
filling with tears. "Oh, my dear, dear wife!"

In the carriage on the way to the Conservatoire the conversation was
very animated. The dramatic author was listening with great interest
while the young girl explained her theories on art and life. "What a
strange little being," he thought, and his penetrating glance tried in
vain to discover what weakness was most likely to attack this little
creature who seemed so perfect.

The carriage stopped at the Conservatoire. Jean Perliez was waiting at
the foot of the stairs. At sight of them his face lighted up. "I was
afraid that you had forgotten me in the joy of your success."

The girl looked at him in amazement. "How could I forget when I had
given my word?"

"You know Victorien Sardou?"

"Only to-day," said Esperance laughing; "yesterday we did not know
him."