and said slowly: "Ponder upon
all that, young man; think it over for days, months, and years, and you
will see life from a different standpoint. I am a lonely, old man. I
have neither father, mother, brother, sister, wife, children, nor God.
I have only poetry. Marry, my friend; you do not know what it is to
live alone at my age. It is so lonesome. I seem to have no one upon
earth. When one is old it is a comfort to have children."

When they reached Rue de Bourgogne, the poet halted before a high
house, rang the bell, pressed Duroy's hand and said: "Forget what I
have said to you, young man, and live according to your age. Adieu!"
With those words he disappeared in the dark corridor.

Duroy felt somewhat depressed on leaving Varenne, but on his way a
perfumed damsel passed by him and recalled to his mind his
reconciliation with Mme. de Marelle. How delightful was the realization
of one's hopes!

The next morning he arrived at his lady-love's door somewhat early; she
welcomed him as if there had been no rupture, and said as she kissed
him:

"You do not know how annoyed I am, my beloved; I anticipated a
delightful honeymoon and now my husband has come home for six weeks.
But I could not let so long a time go by without seeing you, especially
after our little disagreement, and this is how I have arranged matters:
Come to dinner Monday. I will introduce you to M. de Marelle, I have
already spoken of you to him."

Duroy hesitated in perplexity; he feared he might betray something by a
word, a glance. He stammered:

"No, I would rather not meet your husband."

"Why not? How absurd! Such things happen every day. I did not think you
so foolish."

"Very well, I will come to dinner Monday."

"To make it more pleasant, I will have the Forestiers, though I do not
like to receive company at home."

On Monday as he ascended Mme. de Marelle's staircase, he felt strangely
troubled; not that he disliked to take her husband's hand, drink his
wine, and eat his bread, but he dreaded something, he knew not what. He
was ushered into the salon and he waited as usual. Then the door
opened, and a tall man with a white beard, grave and precise, advanced
toward him and said courteously:

"My wife has often spoken of you, sir; I am charmed to make your
acquaintance."

Duroy tried to appear cordial and shook his host's proffered hand with
exaggerated energy. M. de Marelle put a log upon the fire and asked:

"Have you been engaged