"Monsieur," wailed Leonie, "you have been deceived!" And, between her
sobs, she confessed the circumstances, which he heard with the greatest
difficulty, owing to the chattering of his teeth.

The rain was descending in cataracts when monsieur Rigaud got outside,
but though the trams and the trains had both stopped running, and cabs
were as dear as radium, his fury was so tempestuous that nothing could
deter him from reaching the poet's real abode. His attack on the front
door warned Tricotrin and Pitou what had happened, and they raised
themselves, blanched, from their pillows, to receive his curses. It was
impossible to reason with him, and he launched the most frightful
denunciation at his nephew for an hour, when the abatement of the
downpour permitted him to depart. More, at noon, who should arrive but
Leonie in tears! She had been dismissed from her employment, and came
to beg the poet to intercede for her.

"What calamities!" groaned Tricotrin. "How fruitless are man's noblest
endeavours without the favouring breeze! I shall drown myself at eight
o'clock. However, I will readily plead for you first, if your mistress
will receive me."

By the maid's advice he presented himself late in the day, and when he
had cooled his heels in the salon for some time, a lady entered, who
was of such ravishing appearance that his head swam.

"Monsieur Tricotrin?" she inquired haughtily. "I have heard your name
from your uncle, monsieur. Are you here to visit my servant?"

"Mademoiselle," he faltered, "I am here to throw myself on your mercy.