I hope without knowing what or why, or when, and hope alone is comforting.
9 P.M.
This afternoon, at two o'clock, I met Lampron in the Boulevard St.
Michel.

He was walking fast with a portfolio under his arm.

I went up to him.

He looked annoyed, and hardly seemed pleased when I offered to accompany him.

I grew red and angry.
"Oh, very well," I said; "good-by, then, since you don't care to be seen with me." He pondered a moment.
"Oh, come along if you like; I am going to my framemaker's." "A picture ?" "Something of the kind." "And that's all the mystery! Yesterday it was a sketch I mustn't look at; to-day it's a picture.