As Ernest lounged along the rue Royale hoping for a glimpse into the house, Modeste caught sight of him, and thereupon declared herself too ill to go to vespers.

Poor Ernest thus had his trouble for his pains.

He dared not wander about Ingouville; moreover, he made it a point of honor to obey orders, and he therefore went back to Paris, previously writing a letter which Francoise Cochet duly delivered on the morrow with the Havre postmark.
It was the custom of Monsieur and Madame Latournelle to dine at the Chalet every Sunday when they brought back Modeste after vespers.

So, as soon as the invalid felt a little better, they started for Ingouville, accompanied by Butscha.

Once at home, the happy Modeste forgot her pretended illness and her disguise, and dressed herself charmingly, humming as she came down to dinner,-- "Nought is sleeping--Heart! awaking, Lift thine incense to the skies." Butscha shuddered slightly when he caught sight of her, so changed did she seem to him.