r form, and see your beautiful eyes."

She listened tremblingly to the musical language of love, and made
answer: "No, it is impossible. Be silent!"

He spoke very low; he whispered in her ear, comprehending that it was
necessary to win that simple woman gradually, to persuade her to
appoint a meeting where she willed at first, and later on where he
willed.

"Listen: I must see you! I will wait at your door like a beggar. If you
do not come down, I will come to you, but I shall see you to-morrow."

She repeated: "No, do not come. I shall not receive you. Think of my
daughters!"

"Then tell me where I can meet you--in the street--it matters not
where--at any hour you wish--provided that I can see you. I will greet
you; I will say, I love you; and then go away."

She hesitated, almost distracted. As the coupe stopped at the door, she
whispered hastily: "I will be at La Trinite to-morrow, at half past
three."

After alighting, she said to her coachman: "Take M. du Roy home."

When he returned, his wife asked: "Where have you been?"

He replied in a low voice: "I have been to send an important telegram."

Mme. de Marelle approached him: "You must take me home, Bel-Ami; you
know that I only dine so far from home on that condition." Turning to
Madeleine, she asked: "You are not jealous?"

Mme. du Roy replied slowly: "No, not at all."

The guests departed. Clotilde, enveloped in laces, whispered to
Madeleine at the door: "Your dinner was perfect. In a short while you
will have the best political salon in Paris."

When she was alone with Georges, she said: "Oh, my darling Bel-Ami, I
love you more dearly every day."

The cab rolled on, and Georges' thoughts were with Mme. Walter.

CHAPTER XII.

A MEETING AND THE RESULT

The July sun shone upon the Place de la Trinite, which was almost
deserted. Du Roy drew out his watch. It was only three o'clock: he was
half an hour too early. He laughed as he thought of the place of
meeting. He entered the sacred edifice of La Trinite; the coolness
within was refreshing. Here and there an old woman kneeled at prayer,
her face in her hands. Du Roy looked at his watch again. It was not yet
a quarter past three. He took a seat, regretting that he could not
smoke. At the end of the church near the choir; he could hear the
measured tread of a corpulent man whom he had noticed when he entered.
Suddenly the rustle of a gown made him start. It was she. He arose and
advanc