Léon soon put on an air of superiority before his comrades, avoided their company, and completely neglected his work.
He waited for her letters; he reread them; he wrote to her. He called her to mind with all the strength of his desires and of his memories. Instead of lessening with absence, this longing to see her again grew, so that at last on Saturday morning he escaped from his office.
When, from the summit of the hill, he saw in the valley below the church-spire with its tin flag swinging in the wind, he felt that delight mingled with triumphant vanity and egoistic tenderness that millionaires must experience when they come back to their native village.
He went rambling round her house. A light was burning in the kitchen. He watched for her shadow behind the curtains, but nothing appeared.
Mère Lefrançois, when she saw him, uttered many exclamations. She thought he “had grown and was thinner,” while Artémise, on the contrary, thought him stouter and darker.
He dined in the little room as of yore, but alone, without the tax-gatherer; for Binet, tired of waiting for the Hirondelle, had definitely put forward his meal one hour, and now he dined punctually at five, and yet he declared usually the rickety old concern “was late.”
Léon, however, made up his mind, and knocked at the doctor’s door. Madame was in her room, and did not come down for a quarter of an hour. The doctor seemed delighted to see him, but he never stirred out that evening, nor all the next day.