and have some. And screen the lamp; leave me by myself, and let me close
my eyes. It will do me good."

Pierre had to content him. Still, he left the dining-room door open; and,
weak for want of food, though he had not hitherto noticed it, he ate
standing, with his ears on the alert, listening lest his brother should
complain or call him. And the silence seemed to have become yet more
complete, the little house sank, as it were, into annihilation, instinct
with all the melancholy charm of the past.

At about half-past eight, when Sophie returned from her errand to
Montmartre, Guillaume heard her step, light though it was. And he at once
became restless and wanted to know what news she brought. It was Pierre,
however, who enlightened him. "Don't be anxious. Sophie was received by
an old lady who, after reading your note, merely answered, 'Very well.'
She did not even ask Sophie a question, but remained quite composed
without sign of curiosity."

Guillaume, realising that this fine serenity perplexed his brother,
thereupon replied with similar calmness: "Oh! it was only necessary that
grandmother should be warned. She knows well enough that if I don't
return home it is because I can't."

However, from that moment it was impossible for the injured man to rest.
Although the lamp was hidden away in a corner, he constantly opened his
eyes, glanced round him, and seemed to listen, as if for sounds from the
direction of Paris. And it at last became necessary for the priest to
summon the servant and ask her if she had noticed anything strange on her
way to or from Montmartre. She seemed surprised by the question, and
answered that she had noticed nothing. Besides, the cab had followed the