h of the window on account of the draught,
and chose a sheltered place for himself, with a remark: "I must be
careful; I have been better for a month, and now I am queer again these
last few days. I must have caught cold on Tuesday, coming out of the
theater."

The door was opened, and, followed by a waiter, the two ladies appeared,
veiled, muffled, reserved, with that charmingly mysterious bearing they
assume in such places, where the surroundings are suspicious.

As Duroy bowed to Madame Forestier she scolded him for not having come
to see her again; then she added with a smile, in the direction of her
friend: "I know what it is; you prefer Madame de Marelle, you can find
time to visit her."

They sat down to table, and the waiter having handed the wine card to
Forestier, Madame de Marelle exclaimed: "Give these gentlemen whatever
they like, but for us iced champagne, the best, sweet champagne,
mind--nothing else." And the man having withdrawn, she added with an
excited laugh: "I am going to get tipsy this evening; we will have a
spree--a regular spree."

Forestier, who did not seem to have heard, said: "Would you mind the
window being closed? My chest has been rather queer the last few days."

"No, not at all."

He pushed too the sash left open, and returned to his place with a
reassured and tranquil countenance. His wife said nothing. Seemingly
lost in thought, and with her eyes lowered towards the table, she smiled

at the glasses with that vague smile which seemed always to promise and
never to grant.

The Ostend oysters were brought in, tiny and plump like little ears
enclosed in shells, and melting between the tongue and the palate like
salt bon-bons. Then, after the soup, was served a trout as rose-tinted
as a young girl, and the guests began to talk.

They spoke at first of a current scandal; the story of a lady of
position, surprised by one of her husband's friends supping in a private
room with a foreign prince. Forestier laughed a great deal at the
adventure; the two ladies declared that the indiscreet gossip was
nothing less than a blackguard and a coward. Duroy was of their opinion,
and loudly proclaimed that it is the duty of a man in these matters,
whether he be actor, confidant, or simple spectator, to be silent as the
grave. He added: "How full life would be of pleasant things if we could
reckon upon the absolute discretion of one another. That which often,
almost always, checks women is th