and break through the roof to spend abroad into
the sky. Their vibrating sound filled the church, causing body and
spirit to thrill. Then all at once they grew calmer, and delicate notes
floated through the air, little graceful, twittering notes, fluttering
like birds; and suddenly again this coquettish music waxed once more, in
turn becoming terrible in its strength and fullness, as if a grain of
sand had transformed itself into a world. Then human voices rose, and
were wafted over the bowed heads--Vauri and Landeck, of the Opera, were
singing. The incense shed abroad a delicate odor, and the Divine
Sacrifice was accomplished on the altar, to consecrate the triumph of
the Baron George Du Roy!

Pretty-boy, on his knees beside Susan, had bowed his head. He felt at
that moment almost a believer, almost religious; full of gratitude
towards the divinity who had thus favored him, who treated him with such
consideration. And without exactly knowing to whom he was addressing
himself, he thanked him for his success.

When the ceremony was concluded he rose up, and giving his wife his arm,
he passed into the vestry. Then began the interminable defiling past of
the visitors. George, with wild joy, believed himself a king whom a
nation had come to acclaim. He shook hands, stammered unmeaning remarks,
bowed, and replied: "You are very good to say so."

All at once he caught sight of Madame de Marelle, and the recollection
of all the kisses that he had given her, and that she had returned; the
recollection of all their caresses, of her pretty ways, of the sound of
her voice, of the taste of her lips, caused the desire to have her once
more for his own to shoot through his veins. She was so pretty and
elegant, with her boyish air and bright eyes. George thought to himself:
"What a charming mistress, all the same."

She drew near, somewhat timid, somewhat uneasy, and held out her hand.
He took it in his, and retained it. Then he felt the discreet appeal of
a woman's fingers, the soft pressure that forgives and takes possession
again. And for his own part, he squeezed it, that little hand, as though
to say: "I still love you; I am yours."

Their eyes met, smiling, bright, full of love. She murmured in her
pleasant voice: "I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you again soon,
sir."

He replied, gayly: "Soon, madame."

She passed on. Other people were pushing forward. The crowd flowed by
like a stream. At length it grew thinner.