oment of our marriage we can modify it yet a little
more, and tell our friends that you had given up the 'Du' out of modesty
on account of your position, or even say nothing about it. What is your
father's Christian name?"

"Alexander."

She murmured: "Alexander, Alexander," two or three times, listening to
the sonorous roll of the syllables, and then wrote on a blank sheet of
paper:

"Monsieur and Madame Alexander Du Roy de Cantel have the honor to inform
you of the marriage of Monsieur George Du Roy de Cantel, their son, to
Madame Madeleine Forestier." She looked at her writing, holding it at a
distance, charmed by the effect, and said: "With a little method we can
manage whatever we wish."

When he found himself once more in the street, firmly resolved to call
himself in future Du Roy, and even Du Roy de Cantel, it seemed to him
that he had acquired fresh importance. He walked with more swagger, his
head higher, his moustache fiercer, as a gentleman should walk. He felt
in himself a species of joyous desire to say to the passers-by: "My name
is Du Roy de Cantel."

But scarcely had he got home than the thought of Madame de Marelle made
him feel uneasy, and he wrote to her at once to ask her to make an
appointment for the next day.

"It will be a tough job," he thought. "I must look out for squalls."

Then he made up his mind for it, with the native carelessness which
caused him to slur over the disagreeable side of life, and began to

write a fancy article on the fresh taxes needed in order to make the
Budget balance. He set down in this the nobiliary "De" at a hundred
francs a year, and titles, from baron to prince, at from five hundred to
five thousand francs. And he signed it "D. de Cantel."

He received a telegram from his mistress next morning saying that she
would call at one o'clock. He waited for her somewhat feverishly, his
mind made up to bring things to a point at once, to say everything right
out, and then, when the first emotion had subsided, to argue cleverly in
order to prove to her that he could not remain a bachelor for ever, and
that as Monsieur de Marelle insisted on living, he had been obliged to
think of another than herself as his legitimate companion. He felt
moved, though, and when he heard her ring his heart began to beat.

She threw herself into his arms, exclaiming: "Good morning, Pretty-boy."
Then, finding his embrace cold, looked at him, and said: "What is the
matter with you?"