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Updated: June 23, 2025
Don Luis darted away, crossed a little hall, and rushed out on to the Avenue des Ternes. "Well, here's a pretty race!" cried Mazeroux, joining him. Don Luis stood scanning the avenue. A motor bus was starting on the little square hard by, the Place Saint-Ferdinand. "She's inside it," he declared. "This time, I shan't let her go." He hailed a taxi.
Drifting in the current, I reached the Bastile, crossed the Pont d'Austerlitz, gained the Boulevard de l'Hôpital and continued walking to the Invalides, to the Avenues Jena and Wagram, and from the Place des Ternes, all along the exterior rampart. And as I walked, my entangled thoughts gradually disengaged themselves into clearness and precision.
And, resolutely: "68 Rue Saint-Ferdinand, at the Ternes," he said, as he sprang into his carriage.
It seemed to her, in her generous selfishness, that it was for her the wind blew in the trees, or the fine, gray rain wet the horizon of the avenues; for her, so that she might say, as she entered the little house of the Ternes, "It is windy; it is raining; the weather is pleasant;" mingling thus the ocean of things in the intimacy of her love.
Nevertheless, La Florence was carried away from a pretty little house at the Ternes, near Paris, where M. de Leon kept her, and was put in a convent. M. de Leon became furious; for some time he would neither see nor speak of his father or mother, and repulsed all idea of marriage. At last, however, no longer hoping to see his actress, he not only consented, but wished to marry.
So he said, with sudden decision, as he jumped into the carriage: "68 Rue Saint-Ferdinand, aux Ternes."
And every day was beautiful for her, since each one brought her to the arms of her beloved. While on her way that day to the little house of the Ternes she thought of her unexpected happiness, so full and so secure. She walked in the last glory of the sun already touched by winter, and said to herself: "He loves me; I believe he loves me entirely.
You know my husband is mistaken when he thinks Le Menil pleases me. And then I must go to Paris next week for two or three days." Twenty-four hours after writing her letter, Therese went from Dinard to the little house in the Ternes. She had made the trip with her husband, who wanted to see his electors whom the Socialists were working over.
It is now that I love you. Formerly I did not know." And while she gave to the coachman, haphazard, the address of a tailor, Le Menil went away. The meeting gave her much uneasiness and anxiety. Since she was forced to meet him again, she would have preferred to see him violent and brutal, as he had been at Florence. At the corner of the avenue she said to the coachman: "To the Ternes."
"Happy man; he is resting," I said to myself, remembering that he was spoken of as having made a small fortune. Finally, last autumn, I learned that he was seriously ill. I hurried to see him. He still lived at the Enclos des Ternes; but on this sombre day of the last of November the little house seemed cold, and looked naked among the leafless trees.
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