the light silk.

She went on talking, scattering in each phrase that ready wit of which
she had acquired the habit just as a workman acquires the knack needed
to accomplish a task reputed difficult, and at which other folk are
astonished. He listened, thinking: "All this is worth remembering. A man
could write charming articles of Paris gossip by getting her to chat
over the events of the day."

Some one tapped softly, very softly, at the door by which she had
entered, and she called out: "You can come in, pet."

Her little girl made her appearance, walked straight up to Duroy, and
held out her hand to him. The astonished mother murmured: "But this is a
complete conquest. I no longer recognize her."

The young fellow, having kissed the child, made her sit down beside him,
and with a serious manner asked her pleasant questions as to what she
had been doing since they last met. She replied, in her little
flute-like voice, with her grave and grown-up air.

The clock struck three, and the journalist arose.

"Come often," said Madame de Marelle, "and we will chat as we have done
to-day; it will always give me pleasure. But how is it one no longer
sees you at the Forestiers?" He replied: "Oh! for no reason. I have been
very busy. I hope to meet you there again one of these days."

He went out, his heart full of hope, though without knowing why.

He did not speak to Forestier of this visit. But he retained the
recollection of it the following days, and more than the recollection--a
sensation of the unreal yet persistent presence of this woman. It seemed
to him that he had carried away something of her, the reflection of her
form in his eyes, and the smack of her moral self in his heart. He
remained under the haunted influence of her image, as it happens
sometimes when we have passed pleasant hours with some one.

He paid a second visit a few days later.

The maid ushered him into the drawing-room, and Laurine at once
appeared. She held out no longer her hand, but her forehead, and said:
"Mamma has told me to request you to wait for her. She will be a
quarter-of-an-hour, because she is not dressed yet. I will keep you
company."

Duroy, who was amused by the ceremonious manners of the little girl,
replied: "Certainly, Mademoiselle. I shall be delighted to pass a
quarter-of-an-hour with you, but I warn you that for my part I am not at
all serious, and that I play all day long, so I suggest a game at
touch."

The