rance were closed, and Georges kneeled beside his bride in the
choir. The new bishop of Tangiers, cross in hand, miter on head,
entered from the sacristy, to unite them in the name of the Almighty.
He asked the usual questions, rings were exchanged, words pronounced
which bound them forever, and then he delivered an address to the newly
married couple.

The sound of stifled sobs caused several to turn their heads. Mme.
Walter was weeping, her face buried in her hands. She had been obliged
to yield; but since the day on which she had told Du Roy: "You are the
vilest man I know; never speak to me again, for I will not answer you,"
she had suffered intolerable anguish. She hated Suzanne bitterly; her
hatred was caused by unnatural jealousy. The bishop was marrying a
daughter to her mother's lover, before her and two thousand persons,
and she could say nothing; she could not stop him. She could not cry:
"He is mine, that man is my lover. That union you are blessing is
infamous."

Several ladies, touched by her apparent grief, murmured: "How affected
that poor mother is!"

The bishop said: "You are among the favored ones of the earth. You,
sir, who are raised above others by your talent--you who write,
instruct, counsel, guide the people, have a grand mission to fulfill--a
fine example to set."

Du Roy listened to him proudly. A prelate of the Roman Church spoke
thus to him. A number of illustrious people had come thither on his
account. It seemed to him that an invisible power was impelling him on.
He would become one of the masters of the country--he, the son of the
poor peasants of Canteleu. He had given his parents five thousand
francs of Count de Vaudrec's fortune and he intended sending them fifty
thousand more; then they could buy a small estate and live happily.

The bishop had finished his harangue, a priest ascended the altar, and
the organ pealed forth. Suddenly the vibrating tones melted into
delicate, melodious ones, like the songs of birds; then again they
swelled into deep, full tones and human voices chanted over their bowed
heads. Vauri and Landeck of the Opera were singing.

Bel-Ami, kneeling beside Suzanne, bowed his head. At that moment he
felt almost pious, for he was filled with gratitude for the blessings
showered upon him. Without knowing just whom he was addressing, he
offered up thanks for his success. When the ceremony was over, he rose,
and, giving his arm to his wife, they passed into the