he had
managed to escape by throwing herself back, and she now fled from behind
one chair to another. He felt that pursuit was ridiculous, and he fell
into a chair, his face hidden by his hands, feigning convulsive sobs.
Then he got up, exclaimed "Farewell, farewell," and rushed away.

He quietly took his stick in the hall and gained the street, saying to
himself: "By Jove, I believe it is all right there." And he went into a
telegraph office to send a wire to Clotilde, making an appointment for
the next day.

On returning home at his usual time, he said to his wife: "Well, have
you secured all the people for your dinner?"

She answered: "Yes, there is only Madame Walter, who is not quite sure
whether she will be free to come. She hesitated and talked about I don't
know what--an engagement, her conscience. In short, she seemed very
strange. No matter, I hope she will come all the same."

He shrugged his shoulders, saying: "Oh, yes, she'll come."

He was not certain, however, and remained anxious until the day of the
dinner. That very morning Madeleine received a note from her: "I have
managed to get free from my engagements with great difficulty, and shall
be with you this evening. But my husband cannot accompany me."

Du Roy thought: "I did very well indeed not to go back. She has calmed
down. Attention."

He, however, awaited her appearance with some slight uneasiness. She
came, very calm, rather cool, and slightly haughty. He became humble,
discreet, and submissive. Madame Laroche-Mathieu and Madame Rissolin
accompanied their husbands. The Viscountess de Percemur talked society.
Madame de Marelle looked charming in a strangely fanciful toilet, a
species of Spanish costume in black and yellow, which set off her neat
figure, her bosom, her rounded arms, and her bird-like head.

Du Roy had Madame Walter on his right hand, and during dinner only spoke
to her on serious topics, and with an exaggerated respect. From time to
time he glanced at Clotilde. "She is really prettier and fresher looking
than ever," he thought. Then his eyes returned to his wife, whom he
found not bad-looking either, although he retained towards her a hidden,
tenacious, and evil anger.

But Madame Walter excited him by the difficulty of victory and by that
novelty always desired by man. She wanted to return home early. "I will
escort you," said he.

She refused, but he persisted, saying: "Why will not you permit me? You
will wound me ke