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They embraced each other, then the child offered her forehead with the assurance of an adult, saying: "Good evening, cousin." Mme. Forestier kissed her, and then made the introductions: "M. Georges Duroy, an old friend of Charles. Mme. de Marelle, my friend, a relative in fact." She added: "Here, you know, we do not stand on ceremony." Duroy bowed.
Du Roy replied: "In exchange for that service I shall take your wife, or rather offer her my arm. Husband and wife should always be separated." M. de Marelle bowed. "Very well. If I lose you we can meet here again in an hour." The two young people disappeared in the crowd, followed by the husband.
They seemed to say: "We are having a meeting in public, for we do not care for the world's opinion." Mme. de Marelle admired Karl Marcovitch's painting, and they turned to repair to the other rooms. They were separated from M. de Marelle. He asked: "Is Laurine still vexed with me?" "Yes. She refuses to see you and goes away when you are mentioned." He did not reply.
Duroy replied: "Only a few months." His embarrassment wearing off, he began to consider the situation very amusing. He gazed at M. de Marelle, serious and dignified, and felt a desire to laugh aloud. At that moment Mme. de Marelle entered and approached Duroy, who in the presence of her husband dared not kiss her hand. Laurine entered next, and offered her brow to Georges.
Rose, and Mme. de Marelle. The proximity of the latter embarrassed him somewhat, although she appeared at ease and conversed with her usual spirit. Gradually, however, his assurance returned, and before the meal was over, he knew that their relations would be renewed. Wishing, too, to be polite to his employer's daughter, he addressed her from time to time.
A woman's voice replied: "Nicolas has been tripped up on the landing-place by the journalist's sweetheart." Duroy retreated, for he heard the rustling of skirts. Soon there was a knock at his door, which he opened, and Mme. de Marelle rushed in, crying: "Did you hear?" Georges feigned ignorance of the matter. "No; what?" "How they insulted me?" "Who?" "Those miserable people below."
Mme. de Marelle, who was chatting with her hostess, called him: "So, sir," she said bluntly, "you are going to try journalism?" That question led to a renewal of the interrupted conversation with Mme. Walter. In her turn Mme. de Marelle related anecdotes, and becoming familiar, laid her hand upon Duroy's arm.
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