Then he shrugged his shoulders. "Bah! it is absurd. As
if her father would have ever have accepted me as a suitor."

He promised himself, though, to keep a more careful watch in the future
over Madame Walter's bearing towards him, without asking whether he
might ever derive any advantage from this. All the evening he was
haunted by the recollection of his love passages with Clotilde,
recollections at once tender and sensual. He recalled her drolleries,
her pretty ways, and their adventures together. He repeated to himself,
"She is really very charming. Yes, I will go and see her to-morrow."

As soon as he had lunched the next morning he indeed set out for the
Rue de Verneuil. The same servant opened the door, and with the
familiarity of servants of the middle-class, asked: "Are you quite well,
sir?"

"Yes, thanks, my girl," he replied, and entered the drawing-room, in
which an unskilled hand could be heard practicing scales on the piano.
It was Laurine. He thought that she would throw her arms round his neck.
But she rose gravely, bowed ceremoniously like a grown-up person, and
withdrew with dignity. She had so much the bearing of an insulted woman
that he remained in surprise. Her mother came in, and he took and kissed
her hands.

"How I have thought of you," said he.

"And I," she replied.

They sat down and smiled at one another, looking into each other's eyes
with a longing to kiss.

"My dear little Clo, I do love you."

"I love you, too."

"Then--then--you have not been so very angry with me?"

"Yes, and no. It hurt me a great deal, but I understood your reasons,
and said to myself, 'He will come back to me some fine day or other.'"

"I dared not come back. I asked myself how I should be received. I did
not dare, but I dearly wanted to. By the way, tell me what is the matter
with Laurine. She scarcely said good-morning to me, and went out looking
furious."

"I do not know. But we cannot speak of you to her since your marriage. I
really believe she is jealous."

"Nonsense."

"It is so, dear. She no longer calls you Pretty-boy, but Monsieur
Forestier."

Du Roy reddened, and then drawing close to her said:

"Kiss me."

She did so.

"Where can we meet again?" said he.

"Rue de Constantinople."

"Ah! the rooms are not let, then?"

"No, I kept them on."

"You kept them on?"

"Yes, I thought you would come back again."

A gush of joyful pride swelled his bosom. She loved him then, this
w