house, the ugly one, Mademoiselle
Rose and Madame de Marelle. The neighborhood of the latter made him feel
very ill at ease, although she seemed very much at her ease, and chatted
with her usual vivacity. He was troubled at first, constrained,
hesitating, like a musician who has lost the keynote. By degrees,
however, he recovered his assurance, and their eyes continually meeting
questioned one another, exchanging looks in an intimate, almost sensual,
fashion as of old. All at once he thought he felt something brush
against his foot under the table. He softly pushed forward his leg and
encountered that of his neighbor, which did not shrink from the contact.
They did not speak, each being at that moment turned towards their
neighbor. Duroy, his heart beating, pushed a little harder with his
knee. A slight pressure replied to him. Then he understood that their
loves were beginning anew. What did they say then? Not much, but their
lips quivered every time that they looked at one another.

The young fellow, however, wishing to do the amiable to his employer's
daughter, spoke to her from time to time. She replied as the mother
would have done, never hesitating as to what she should say. On the
right of Monsieur Walter the Viscomtesse de Percemur gave herself the
airs of a princess, and Duroy, amused at watching her, said in a low
voice to Madame de Marelle. "Do you know the other, the one who signs
herself 'Pink Domino'?"

"Yes, very well, the Baroness de Livar."

"Is she of the same breed?"

"No, but quite as funny. A tall, dried-up woman of sixty, false curls,
projecting teeth, ideas dating from the Restoration, and toilets of the
same epoch."

"Where did they unearth these literary phenomena?"

"The scattered waifs of the nobility are always sheltered by enriched
cits."

"No other reason?"

"None."

Then a political discussion began between the master of the house, the
two deputies, Norbert de Varenne, and Jacques Rival, and lasted till
dessert.

When they returned to the drawing-room, Duroy again approached Madame de
Marelle, and looking her in the eyes, said: "Shall I see you home
to-night?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because Monsieur Laroche Mathieu, who is my neighbor, drops me at my
door every time I dine here."

"When shall I see you?"

"Come and lunch with me to-morrow."

And they separated without saying anything more.

Duroy did not remain late, finding the evening dull. As he went
downstairs