through the throng, some one seized his arm, and a fresh, youthful
voice whispered in his ear: "Ah, here you are at last, naughty Bel-Ami!
Why do we never see you any more?"

It was Suzanne Walter, with her azure eyes and wealth of golden hair.
He was delighted to see her, and apologized as they shook hands.

"I have been so busy for two months that I have been nowhere."

She replied gravely: "That is too bad. You have grieved us deeply, for
mamma and I adore you. As for myself, I cannot do without you. If you
are not here, I am bored to death. You see I tell you so frankly, that
you will not remain away like that any more. Give me your arm; I will
show you 'Christ Walking on the Water' myself; it is at the very end,
behind the conservatory. Papa put it back there so that everyone would
be obliged to go through the rooms. It is astonishing how proud papa is
of this house."

As they walked through the rooms, all turned to look at that handsome
man and that bewitching girl. A well-known painter said: "There is a
fine couple." Georges thought: "If my position had been made, I would
have married her. Why did I never think of it? How could I have taken
the other one? What folly! One always acts too hastily--one never
reflects sufficiently." And longing, bitter longing possessed him,
corrupting all his pleasure, rendering life odious.

Suzanne said: "You must come often, Bel-Ami; we can do anything we like
now papa is rich."

He replied: "Oh, you will soon marry--some prince, perhaps, and we
shall never meet any more."

She cried frankly: "Oh, oh, I shall not! I shall choose some one I love
very dearly. I am rich enough for two."

He smiled ironically and said: "I give you six months. By that time you
will be Madame la Marquise, Madame la Duchesse, or Madame la Princesse,
and you will look down upon me, Mademoiselle."

She pretended to be angry, patted his arm with her fan, and vowed that
she would marry according to the dictates of her heart.

He replied: "We shall see; you are too wealthy."

"You, too, have inherited some money."

"Barely twenty thousand livres a year. It is a mere pittance nowadays."

"But your wife has the same."

"Yes, we have a million together; forty thousand a year. We cannot even
keep a carriage on that."

They had, in the meantime, reached the last drawing-room, and before
them lay the conservatory with its rare shrubs and plants. To their
left, under a dome of palms, was a marble