ne: "Will you
allow me to kiss you, Mademoiselle?"

The child looked up at him in surprise.

"Answer, my dear," said Madame de Marelle, laughingly.

"Yes, sir, this time; but it will not do always."

Duroy, sitting down, lifted Laurine onto his knees and brushed the fine
curly hair above her forehead with his lips.

Her mother was surprised. "What! she has not run away; it is astounding.
Usually she will only let ladies kiss her. You are irresistible,
Monsieur Duroy."

He blushed without answering, and gently jogged the little girl on his
knee.

Madame Forestier drew near, and exclaimed, with astonishment: "What,
Laurine tamed! What a miracle!"

Jacques Rival also came up, cigar in mouth, and Duroy rose to take
leave, afraid of spoiling, by some unlucky remark, the work done, his
task of conquest begun.

He bowed, softly pressed the little outstretched hands of the women, and
then heartily shook those of the men. He noted that the hand of Jacques
Rival, warm and dry, answered cordially to his grip; that of Norbert de
Varenne, damp and cold, slipped through his fingers; that of Daddy
Walter, cold and flabby, was without expression or energy; and that of
Forestier was plump and moist. His friend said to him in a low tone,
"To-morrow, at three o'clock; do not forget."

"Oh! no; don't be afraid of that."

When he found himself once more on the stairs he felt a longing to run
down them, so great was his joy, and he darted forward, going down two
steps at a time, but suddenly he caught sight in a large mirror on the
second-floor landing of a gentleman in a hurry, who was advancing
briskly to meet him, and he stopped short, ashamed, as if he had been
caught tripping. Then he looked at himself in the glass for some time,
astonished at being really such a handsome fellow, smiled complacently,
and taking leave of his reflection, bowed low to it as one bows to a
personage of importance.

III

When George Duroy found himself in the street he hesitated as to what he
should do. He wanted to run, to dream, to walk about thinking of the
future as he breathed the soft night air, but the thought of the series
of articles asked for by Daddy Walter haunted him, and he decided to go
home at once and set to work.

He walked along quickly, reached the outer boulevards, and followed
their line as far as the Rue Boursault, where he dwelt. The house, six
stories high, was inhabited by a score of small households,
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