eplied: "So much the better for
him. His fortune is made."

Rival asked: "Do you know what has become of his wife?"

The poet smiled. "Yes and no--she lives a very retired life, I have
been told, in the Montmartre quarter. But--there is a but--for some
time I have read political articles in 'La Plume,' which resemble those
of Forestier and Du Roy. They are supposed to be written by a Jean Le
Dol, a young, intelligent, handsome man--something like our friend
Georges--who has become acquainted with Mme. Forestier. From that I
have concluded that she likes beginners and that they like her. She is,
moreover, rich; Vaudrec and Laroche-Mathieu were not attentive to her
for nothing."

Rival asked: "Tell me, is it true that Mme. Walter and Du Roy do not
speak?"

"Yes. She did not wish to give him her daughter's hand. But he
threatened the old man with shocking revelations. Walter remembered
Laroche-Mathieu's fate and yielded at once; but his wife, obstinate
like all women, vowed that she would never address a word to her
son-in-law. It is comical to see them together! She looks like the
statue of vengeance, and he is very uncomfortable, although he tries to
appear at his ease."

Suddenly the beadle struck the floor three times with his staff. All
the people turned to see what was coming, and the young bride appeared
in the doorway leaning upon her father's arm. She looked like a
beautiful doll, crowned with a wreath of orange blossoms. She advanced
with bowed head. The ladies smiled and murmured as she passed them. The
men whispered:

"Exquisite, adorable!"

M. Walter walked by her side with exaggerated dignity. Behind them came
four maids of honor dressed in pink and forming a charming court for so
dainty a queen.

Mme. Walter followed on the arm of Count de Latour-Ivelin's aged
father. She did not walk; she dragged herself along, ready to faint at
every step. She had aged and grown thinner.

Next came Georges du Roy with an old lady, a stranger. He held his head
proudly erect and wore upon his coat, like a drop of blood, the red
ribbon of the Legion of Honor.

He was followed by the relatives: Rose, who had been married six weeks,
with a senator; Count de Latour-Ivelin with Viscountess de Percemur.
Following them was a motley procession of associates and friends of Du
Roy, country cousins of Mme. Walter's, and guests invited by her
husband.

The tones of the organ filled the church; the large doors at the
ent