heavy omnibuses. Sidonie comes not. And Frantz still waits.

At that moment a hand is placed on his shoulder.

Great God!

He turns. The coarse face of M. Gardinois, surrounded by a travelling-
cap with ear-pieces, is before him.

"I am not mistaken, it is Monsieur Risler. Are you going to Marseilles
by the express? I am not going far."

He explains to Frantz that he has missed the Orleans train, and is going
to try to connect with Savigny by the Lyon line; then he talks about
Risler Aine and the factory.

"It seems that business hasn't been prospering for some time. They were
caught in the Bonnardel failure. Ah! our young men need to be careful.
At the rate they're sailing their ship, the same thing is likely to
happen to them that happened to Bonnardel. But excuse me, I believe
they're about to close the gate. Au revoir."

Frantz has hardly heard what he has been saying. His brother's ruin, the
destruction of the whole world, nothing is of any further consequence to
him. He is waiting, waiting.

But now the gate is abruptly closed like a last barrier between him and
his persistent hope. Once more the station is empty. The uproar has
been transferred to the line of the railway, and suddenly a shrill
whistle falls upon the lover's ear like an ironical farewell, then dies