told you that--"

Rival interrupted him with: "Madame Walter, here, who thinks the
nickname a very nice one."

Madame Walter blushed, saying: "Yes, I will admit that, if I knew you
better, I would do like little Laurine and call you Pretty-boy, too. The
name suits you very well."

Du Roy laughed, as he replied: "But I beg of you, madame, to do so."

She had lowered her eyes, and remarked: "No. We are not sufficiently
intimate."

He murmured: "Will you allow me the hope that we shall be more so?"

"Well, we will see then," said she.

He drew on one side to let her precede him at the beginning of the
narrow stairs lit by a gas jet. The abrupt transition from daylight to
this yellow gleam had something depressing about it. A cellar-like odor
rose up this winding staircase, a smell of damp heat and of moldy walls
wiped down for the occasion, and also whiffs of incense recalling sacred
offices and feminine emanations of vervain, orris root, and violets. A
loud murmur of voices and the quivering thrill of an agitated crowd
could also be heard down this hole.

The entire cellar was lit up by wreaths of gas jets and Chinese lanterns
hidden in the foliage, masking the walls of stone. Nothing could be seen
but green boughs. The ceiling was ornamented with ferns, the ground
hidden by flowers and leaves. This was thought charming, and a
delightful triumph of imagination. In the small cellar, at the end, was
a platform for the fencers, between two rows of chairs for the judges.
In the remaining space the front seats, ranged by tens to the right and
to the left, would accommodate about two hundred people. Four hundred
had been invited.

In front of the platform young fellows in fencing costume, with long
limbs, erect figures, and moustaches curled up at the ends, were already
showing themselves off to the spectators. People were pointing them out
as notabilities of the art, professionals, and amateurs. Around them
were chatting old and young gentlemen in frock coats, who bore a family
resemblance to the fencers in fighting array. They were also seeking to
be seen, recognized, and spoken of, being masters of the sword out of
uniform, experts on foil play. Almost all the seats were occupied by
ladies, who kept up a loud rustling of garments and a continuous murmur
of voices. They were fanning themselves as though at a theater, for it
was already as hot as an oven in this leafy grotto. A joker kept crying
from time to time: