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This is just as pleasant as being your wife." It was dark in the apartments in the Rue de Constantinople, when Georges du Roy and Clotilde de Marelle, having met at the door, entered them. Without giving him time to raise the shades, the latter said: "So you are going to marry Suzanne Walter?" He replied in the affirmative, adding gently: "Did you not know it?"
After listening to Laroche-Mathieu's eloquence for some time with jealousy in his heart, Du Roy sauntered slowly toward the office to commence his work, for he had nothing to do until four o'clock, at which hour he was to meet Mme. de Marelle at Rue de Constantinople. They met there regularly twice a week, Mondays and Wednesdays.
She was keenly anxious to play the good fairy simply, unostentatiously, to these exhausted men who had come to Mogar out of the jaws of Death, to see their weary faces shine under the influence of repose and good cheer. But the tower looked desolate. The camp was gayer, cosier. Suddenly she resolved to invite them all to dine in the camp that night. Marelle returned with Batouch.
Duroy was seized with an eager desire to embrace the child, as if part of that embrace would revert to the mother. He asked in a gallant, yet paternal tone: "Will you permit me to kiss you, Mademoiselle?" The child raised her eyes with an air of surprise. Mme. de Marelle said with a smile: "Reply." "I will allow you to-day, Monsieur, but not all the time."
Then as the cabman started up his horse, she cried: "Adieu, Bel-Ami!" and the old coupe rumbled off. For three weeks Duroy received Mme. de Marelle every two or three days, sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the evening. As he was awaiting her one afternoon, a noise on the staircase drew him to his door. A child screamed. A man's angry voice cried: "What is the brat howling about?"
He worked steadily, spent little, tried to save some money that he might not be without a sou at the time of his marriage, and became as miserly as he had once been prodigal. Summer glided by; then autumn, and no one suspected the tie existing between Duroy and Mme. Forestier, for they seldom met in public. One evening Madeleine said to him: "You have not yet told Mme. de Marelle our plans?"
It seemed to him that everything about him was a part of her, even to the books upon the shelves. The chairs, the furniture, the air all were permeated with that delightful fragrance peculiar to her. She asked bluntly: "What do you think of my friend Mme. de Marelle?" "I think her very fascinating," he said; and he would have liked to add: "But not as much so as you."
But might one ask, what is M. de Marelle's opinion?" She shrugged her shoulders disdainfully and said: "M. de Marelle has no opinion on that subject." The conversation grew slow. Mme. de Marelle seemed to offer provocation by her remarks, while Mme. Forestier's charming reserve, the modesty in her voice, in her smile, all seemed to extenuate the bold sallies which issued from her lips.
From the office he proceeded to his home, and hearing the sound of ladies' voices in the drawing-room, he asked the servant: "Who is here?" "Mme. Walter and Mme. de Marelle," was the reply. His heart pulsated violently as he opened the door. Clotilde was seated by the fireplace; it seemed to Georges that she turned pale on perceiving him. Having greeted Mme.
"And I want him to bring me a big brand from the fire over there." She saw wonder dawning in the eyes fixed upon her, and smiled. "I want to signal to my husband," she said, "and this is the highest point. He will see it best if I stand here." "Go, Marelle, ask for Batouch, and be sure you bring the brand from the fire." The man saluted and rode off with alacrity.