ng　for　her　but　death。　To　die　as　soon　as　possible；　to　escape　shame　by　a　complete　disappearance；　to　unravel　in　this　way　an　inextricable　situation。　But　where　to　die！　How？　There　are　so　many　ways　of　departure！　And　she　called　them　all　up　mentally　while　she　walked。　Life　flowed　around　her；　its　luxury　at　this　time　of　the　year　in　full　flower；　round　the　Madeleine　and　its　market；　in　a　space　marked　off　by　the　perfume　of　carnations　and　roses。　On　the　wide　footpath　were　well…dressed　women　whose　skirts　mingled　their　rustle　with　the　trembling　of　the　young　leaves；　there　was　some　of　the　pleasure　here　of　a　meeting　in　a　drawing…room；　an　air　of　acquaintance　among　the　passers…by；　of　smiles　and　discreet　greetings　in　passing。　And　all　at　once　Mme。　Jenkins；　anxious　lest　her　features　might　betray　her；　fearing　what　might　be　thought　if　any　one　saw　her　rushing　on　so　blindly；　slackened　her　pace　to　the　aimless　gait　of　an　afternoon　walk；　stopping　here　and　there。　The　light　materials　of　the　dresses　spoke　of　summer；　of　the　country；　a　thin　skirt　for　the　sandy　paths　of　the　parks；　gauze…trimmed　hats　for　the　seaside；　fans；　sunshades。　Her　fixed　eyes　fastened　on　these　trifles　without　seeing　them；　but　in　a　vague　and　pale　reflection　in　the　clear　windows　she　saw　her　image；　lying　motionless　on　the　bed　of　some　hotel；　the　leaden　sleep　of　a　poison　in　her　head；　or；　down　there；　beyond　the　walls；　among　the　slime　of　some　sunken　boat。　Which　of　the　two　was　better？
  She　hesitated；　considered；　compared；　then；　her　decision　made；　started　off　with　the　resolved　air　of　a　woman　tearing　herself　regretfully　from　the　temptations　of　the　window。　As　she　moved　away；　the　Marquis　de　Monpavon；　proud　and　well…dressed；　a　flower　in　his　coat；　saluted　her　at　a　distance　with　that　sweep　of　the　hat　so　dear　to　women's　vanity；　the　well…bred　brow；　with　the　hat　lifted　high　above　the　erect　head。　She　answered　him　with　her　pretty　Parisian's　greeting；　expressed　in　an　imperceptible　inclination　of　the　body　and　a　smile；　and　seeing　this　exchange　of　politeness　in　the　midst　of　the　spring　gaiety；　one　would　never　think　that　the　same　sinister　idea　was　guiding　the　two；　meeting　by　chance　on　the　road　they　were　traversing　in　opposite　directions；　but　to　the　same　end。
  The　prediction　of　Mora's　valet　had　come　true　for　the　marquis：　〃We　may　die　or　lose　power；　then　there　will　be　a　reckoning；　and　it　will　be　terrible。〃　It　was　terrible。　The　former　receiver…general　had　obtained　with　difficulty　a　delay　of　a　fortnight　to　make　up　his　deficiencies；　taking　the　last　chance　that　Jansoulet；　with　his　election　confirmed；　and　with　full　control　over　his　millions　again；　would　come　to　the　rescue　once　more。　The　decision　of　the　Assembly　had　just　taken　from　him　this　last　hope。　As　soon　as　he　knew　it；　he　returned　to　the　club　calmly；　and　went　up　to　his　room；　where　Francis　was　waiting　impatiently　for　him　with　an　important　paper　just　arrived。　It　was　a　notification　to　the　Sieur　Louis…Marie…Agenor　de　Monpavon　to　appear　the　next　day　in　the　office　of　the　Juge　d'Instruction。　Was　it　addressed　to　the　censor　of　the　Territorial　Bank　or　to　the　former　receiver…general？　In　any　case；　the　bold　formula　of　a　judicial　assignation　in　the　first　instance；　instead　of　a　private　invitation；　spoke　sufficiently　of　the　gravity　of　the　situation　and　the　firm　resolution　of　Justice。
  In　view　of　such　an　extremity；　foreseen　and　expected　for　long；　he　had　made　his　plans。　A　Monpavon　in　the　criminal　courts！a　Monpavon；　librarian　in　a　convict　prison！　Never！　He　put　all　his　affairs　in　order；　tore　up　his　papers；　emptied　his　pockets　carefully；　and　took　something　from　his　toilet…table；　so　calmly　and　naturally；　that　when　he　said　to　Francis；　as　he　was　going　out；　〃Am　going　to　the　bathsThat　dirty　ChamberFilthy　dust〃the　servant　took　him　at　his　word。　And　the　marquis　was　not　lying。　His　exciting　post　up　there　in　the　dust　of　the　tribune　had　tired　him　as　much　as　two　nights　in　the　train；　and　his　decision　to　die　associated　itself　with　his　desire　to　take　a　bath；　the　old　Sybarite　thought　of　going　to　sleep　in　the　bath；　like　what's　his　name；　and　other　famous　personages　of　antiquity。　And　in　justice；　it　must　be　said　that　not　one　of　these　Stoics　went　to　his　death　more　quietly　than　he。
  With　a　white　camellia　in　his　buttonhole；　above　his　rosette　of　the　Legion　of　Honour；　he　was　going　up　the　Boulevard　des　Capucines　with　a　light　step；　when　the　sight　of　Mme。　Jenkins　troubled　his　serenity　for　a　moment。　She　had　a　youthful　air；　a　light　in　her　eyes；　something　so　piquant　that　he　stopped　to　look　at　her。　Tall　and　beautiful；　with　her　long　dress　of　black　gauze；　her　shoulders　wrapped　in　a　lace　mantle；　her　hat　trimmed　with　a　garland　of　autumn　leaves；　she　disappeared　in　the　midst　of　other　elegant　women　in　the　balmy　atmosphere；　and　the　thought　that　his　eyes　were　going　to　close　forever　on　this　delightful　sight；　whose　pleasures　he　knew　so　well；　saddened　Monpavon　a　little；　and　took　the　spring　from　his　step。　But　a　few　paces　farther　on；　a　meeting　of　another　kind　gave　him　back　all　his　courage。
  Some　one；　threadbare；　shamefaced；　dazzled　by　the　light；　was　coming　down　the　Boulevard。　It　was　old　Marestang；　former　senator；　former　minister；　so　deeply　compromised　in　the　affairs　of　the　〃Malta　Biscuits；〃　that；　in　spite　of　his　age；　his　services；　and　the　great　scandal　of　such　a　proceeding；　he　had　been　condemned　to　two　years　of　prison；　struck　off　the　roll　of　the　Legion　of　Honour；　of　which　he　had　been　one　of　the　dignitaries。　The　affair　was　long　ago；　the　poor　wretch　had　just　been　let　out　of　prison　before　his　sentence　had　expired；　lost；　ruined；　not　having　even　the　means　to　gild　his　trouble；　for　he　had　had　to　pay　what　he　owed。　Standing　on　the　curb；　he　was　waiting　with　bent　head　till　the　crowds　of　carriages　should　allow　him　to　pass；　embarrassed　by　this　stoppage　at　the　fullest　spot　of　the　boulevards　between　the　passers…by　and　the　sea　of　open　carriages　filled　with　familiar　figures。　Monpavon　walking　near　him；　caught　his　timid；　uneasy　look；　imploring　a　recognition　and　hiding　from　it　at　the　same　time。　The　idea　that　one　day　he　could　humiliate　himself　thus；　gave　him　a　shudder　of　revolt。　〃Oh！　that　is　not　possible！〃　And　straightening　himself　up　and　throwing　out　his　chest；　he　kept　on　his　way；　firmer　and　more　resolute　than　before。
  M。　de　Monpavon　walks　to　his　death！　He　goes　there　by　the　long　line　of　the　boulevards；　all　on　fire　in　the　direction　of　the　Madeleine；　where　he　treads　the　elastic　asphalt　once　more　as　a　lounger；　nose　in　the　air；　hands　crossed　behind。　He　has　time；　there　is　no　hurry；　he　is　master　of　the　rendezvous。　At　each　instant　he　smiles　before　him；　waves　a　greeting　from　the　ends　of　his　fingers　or　makes　the　more　formal　bow　we　have　just　seen。　Everything　revives　him；　charms　him；　the　noise　of　the　watering…　carts；　the　awnings　of　the　/cafes/；　pulled　down　to　the　middle　of　the　foot…paths。　The　approach　of　death　gives　him　the　feelings　of　a　convalescent　accessible　to　all　the　delicacy；　the　hidden　poesy　of　an　exquisite　hour　of　summer　in　the　midst　of　Parisian　lifeof　an　exquisite　hourhis　last；　and　which　he　will　prolong　till　night。　No　doubt　it　is　for　that　reason　that　he　passes　the　sumptuous　establishment　where　he　ordinarily　takes　his　bath。　He　does　not　stop　either　at　the　Chinese　Baths。　He　is　too　well　known　here。　All　Paris　would　know　of　it　the　same　evening。　There　would　be　a　scandal　of　bad　taste；　much　coarse　rumour　about　his　death　in　the　clubs　and　drawing…rooms。　And　the　old　sensualist；　the　well…bred　man；　wishes　to　spare　himself　this　shame；　to　plunge　and　be　swallowed　up　in　the　vague　anonymity　of　suicide；　like　those　soldiers　who；　after　great　battles；　neither　wounded；　dead；　or　living；　are　simply　put　down　as　〃missing。〃　That　is　why　he　has　nothing　on　him　which　can　be　recognised；　or　furnish　a　hint　to　the　inquiries　of　the　police；　why　he　seeks　in　this　immense　Paris　the　distant　quarter　where　will　open　for　him　the　terrible　but　oblivious　confusion　of　the　pauper's　grave。　Already；　since　Monpavon　has　been　walking；　the　aspect　of　the　boulevard　has　changed。　The　crowd　has　become　more　compact；　more　active；　and　preoccupied；　the　houses　smaller；　marked　with　signs　of　commerce。　When　the　gates　of　Saint…Denis　and　Saint…Martin　are　passed；　with　their　overflow　from　the　faubourgs；　the　provincial　physiognomy　of　the　town　accentuates　itself。　The　old　beau　no　longer　knows　any　one；　and　can　congratulate　himself　on　being　unknown。
  The　shopkeepers　looking　curiously　after　him；　with　his　fine　linen；　his　well…cut　coat；　and　good　figure；　take　him　for　some　famous　actor　strolling　on　the　boulevardwitness　of　his　first　triumphsbefore　the　play　begins。　The　wind　freshens；　the　twilight　softens　the　distances；　and　while　the　long　road　behind　him　still　glitters；　it　grows　darker　now　at　every　steplike　the　past；　with　its　retrospections　to　him　who　looks　back　and　regrets。　It　seems　to　Monpavon　that　he　is　walking　into　blackness。　He　shivers　a　little；　but　does　not　falter；　and　continues　to　walk　with　erect　head　and　chest　thrown　out。
  M。　de　Monpavon　walks　to　his　death！　Now　he　is　entering　the　complicated　labyrinth　of　noisy　streets；　where　the　clatter　of　the　omnibus　mingles　with　the　thousand　humming　trades　of　the　working　city；　where　the　heat　of　the　factory　chimneys　loses　itself　in　the　fever　of　a　whole　people　struggling　against　hunger。　The　air　trembles；　the　gutters　steam；　the　houses　shake　at　the　passing　of　the　wagons；　of　the　heavy　drays　rumbling　round