int at each forward movement. It could be felt that her feet stuck to
the flagstones, that her legs refused to advance, and that her heart was
beating within her breast like an animal bounding to escape. She had
grown thin. Her white hair made her face appear still more blanched and
her cheeks hollower. She looked straight before her in order not to see
any one--in order not to recall, perhaps, that which was torturing her.

Then George Du Roy appeared with an old lady unknown. He, too, kept his
head up without turning aside his eyes, fixed and stern under his
slightly bent brows. His moustache seemed to bristle on his lip. He was
set down as a very good-looking fellow. He had a proud bearing, a good
figure, and a straight leg. He wore his clothes well, the little red
ribbon of the Legion of Honor showing like a drop of blood on his dress
coat.

Then came the relations, Rose with the Senator Rissolin. She had been
married six weeks. The Count de Latour-Yvelin accompanied by the
Viscountess de Percemur. Finally, there was a strange procession of the
friends and allies of Du Roy, whom he introduced to his new family;
people known in the Parisian world, who became at once the intimates,
and, if need be, the distant cousins of rich parvenus; gentlemen ruined,
blemished; married, in some cases, which is worse. There were Monsieur
de Belvigne, the Marquis de Banjolin, the Count and Countess de Ravenel,
Prince Kravalow, the Chevalier, Valreali; then some guests of Walter's,
the Prince de Guerche, the Duke and the Duchess de Ferracine, the
beautiful Marchioness des Dunes. Some of Madame Walter's relatives
preserved a well-to-do, countrified appearance amidst the throng.

The organ was still playing, pouring forth through the immense building
the sonorous and rhythmic accents of its glittering throats, which cry
aloud unto heaven the joy or grief of mankind. The great doors were
closed, and all at once it became as gloomy as if the sun had just been
turned out.

Now, George was kneeling beside his wife in the choir, before the lit-up
altar. The new Bishop of Tangiers, crozier in hand and miter on head,
made his appearance from the vestry to join them together in the Eternal
name. He put the customary questions, exchanged the rings, uttered the
words that bind like chains, and addressed the newly-wedded couple a
Christian allocution. He was a tall, stout man, one of those handsome
prelates to whom a rounded belly lends dignity