d her lips painted. With a
movement of her head, she summoned a friend who was passing, a blonde
with auburn hair, likewise inclined to embonpoint, and said to her in a
whisper intended to be heard; "There is a nice fellow!"

Forestier heard it, and said to Duroy with a smile: "You are lucky, my
dear boy. My congratulations!"

The ci-devant soldier blushed and mechanically fingered the two pieces
of gold in his pocket.

The curtain fell--the orchestra played a valse--and Duroy said:

"Shall we walk around the gallery?"

"If you like."

Soon they were carried along in the current of promenaders. Duroy drank
in with delight the air, vitiated as it was by tobacco and cheap
perfume, but Forestier perspired, panted, and coughed.

"Let us go into the garden," he said. Turning to the left, they entered
a kind of covered garden in which two large fountains were playing.
Under the yews, men and women sat at tables drinking.

"Another glass of beer?" asked Forestier.

"Gladly."

They took their seats and watched the promenaders. Occasionally a woman
would stop and ask with a coarse smile: "What have you to offer, sir?"

Forestier's invariable answer was: "A glass of water from the
fountain." And the woman would mutter, "Go along," and walk away.

At last the brunette reappeared, arm-in-arm with the blonde. They made
a handsome couple. The former smiled on perceiving Duroy, and taking a
chair she calmly seated herself in front of him, and said in a clear
voice: "Waiter, two glasses."

In astonishment, Forestier exclaimed: "You are not at all bashful!"

She replied: "Your friend has bewitched me; he is such a fine fellow. I
believe he has turned my head."

Duroy said nothing.

The waiter brought the beer, which the women swallowed rapidly; then
they rose, and the brunette, nodding her head and tapping Duroy's arm
with her fan, said to him: "Thank you, my dear! However, you are not
very talkative."

As they disappeared, Forestier laughed and said: "Tell, me, old man,
did you know that you had a charm for the weaker sex? You must be
careful."

Without replying, Duroy smiled. His friend asked: "Shall you remain any
longer? I am going; I have had enough."

Georges murmured: "Yes, I will stay a little longer: it is not late."

Forestier arose: "Very well, then, good-bye until to-morrow. Do not
forget: 17 Rue Fontaine at seven thirty."

"I shall not forget. Thank you."

The friends shook hands and the journal