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Forestier had occupied, her husband was seated writing, while Mme. Forestier stood by the mantelpiece and dictated to him, a cigarette between her lips. Duroy paused upon the threshold and murmured: "I beg your pardon, I am interrupting you." His friend growled angrily: "What do you want again? Make haste; we are busy." Georges stammered: "It is nothing."

But three years of life in Paris had made another man of him; now he was stout and serious, and his hair was gray on his temples although he could not number more than twenty-seven years. Forestier asked: "Where are you going?" Duroy replied: "Nowhere in particular." "Very well, will you accompany me to the 'Vie Francaise' where I have some proofs to correct; and afterward take a drink with me?"

Buy yourself what you need and pay an installment on it. And come and dine with us at half past seven, at 17 Rue Fontaine." In confusion Duroy picked up the money and stammered: "You are very kind I am much obliged be sure I shall not forget." Forestier interrupted him: "That's all right, take another glass of beer. Waiter, two more glasses!"

Duroy continued: "At home it is still wintry. It snows, hails, rains, and is so dark that they have to light the lamps at three o'clock in the afternoon." Forestier asked: "Is there anything new at the office?" "Nothing. They have taken little Lacrin of the 'Voltaire' to fill your place, but he is incapable. It is time you came back."

Forestier in affright woke Duroy and asked him to fetch the doctor. He returned almost immediately with Dr. Gavant who prescribed for the sick man. When the journalist asked him his opinion, he said: "It is the final stage. He will be dead to-morrow morning. Prepare that poor, young wife and send for a priest. I can do nothing more. However, I am entirely at your disposal" Duroy went to Mme.

"As you will." "Now, let us go upstairs," said she; he followed her. She opened a door on the first floor, and Duroy saw a form near a window, seated in an easy-chair, and wrapped in coverlets. He divined that it was his friend, though he scarcely recognized him. Forestier raised his hand slowly and with difficulty, saying: "You are here; you have come to see me die. I am much obliged."

At the other end of the table sat a short, pale man, very stout and bald. Forestier asked him, when his letter was completed, "Saint-Potin, at what time shall you interview those people?" "At four o'clock." "Take Duroy, who is here, with you and initiate him into the business." "Very well." Then turning to his friend, Forestier added: "Have you brought the other paper on Algeria?

For, in truth, the day of M. Destournelle appeared, just now, to be very effectually over. It had been reasonable enough to urge her natural fears in journeying through a war-distracted land although guarded by Charles, most discreet and resourceful of English men-servants, and Zélie Forestier, most capable of French lady's-maids as excuse for Paul Destournelle joining her at a wayside station a short distance out of Paris and accompanying her south. A la guerre comme

When he mentioned Forestier, he said: "As for him, he was fortunate in marrying his wife." Duroy asked: "What about his wife?" Saint-Potin rubbed his hands. "Oh, she is beloved by an old fellow named Vaudrec he dotes upon her." Duroy felt as if he would like to box Saint-Potin's ears. To change the subject he said: "It seems to me that it is late, and we have two noble lords to call upon!"

Seating himself, Duroy took Laurine upon his knee, and kissed her lips and her fine wavy hair. Her mother was surprised: "Well, that is strange! Ordinarily she only allows ladies to caress her. You are irresistible, Monsieur!" Duroy colored, but did not reply. When Mme. Forestier joined them, a cry of astonishment escaped her: "Well, Laurine has become sociable; what a miracle!"