to the province of Oran, a visit to
Saida, and an adventure with a pretty Spanish maid employed in a
factory.

When the article was concluded, he could find no words of thanks; he
was happy to be near her, grateful for and delighted with their growing
intimacy. It seemed to him that everything about him was a part of her,
even to the books upon the shelves. The chairs, the furniture, the
air--all were permeated with that delightful fragrance peculiar to her.

She asked bluntly: "What do you think of my friend Mme. de Marelle?"

"I think her very fascinating," he said; and he would have liked to
add: "But not as much so as you." He had not the courage to do so.

She continued: "If you only knew how comical, original, and intelligent
she is! She is a true Bohemian. It is for that reason that her husband
no longer loves her. He only sees her defects and none of her good
qualities."

Duroy was surprised to hear that Mme. de Marelle was married.

"What," he asked, "is she married? What does her husband do?"

Mme. Forestier shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, he is superintendent of a
railroad. He is in Paris a week out of each month. His wife calls it
'Holy Week.' or 'The week of duty.' When you get better acquainted with
her, you will see how witty she is! Come here and see her some day."

As she spoke, the door opened noiselessly, and a gentleman entered
unannounced. He halted on seeing a man. For a moment Mme. Forestier
seemed confused; then she said in a natural voice, though her cheeks
were tinged with a blush:

"Come in, my dear sir; allow me to present to you an old comrade of
Charles, M. Georges Duroy, a future journalist." Then in a different
tone, she said: "Our best and dearest friend, Count de Vaudrec."

The two men bowed, gazed into one another's eyes, and then Duroy took
his leave. Neither tried to detain him.

On reaching the street he felt sad and uncomfortable. Count de
Vaudrec's face was constantly before him. It seemed to him that the man
was displeased at finding him tete-a-tete with Mme. Forestier, though
why he should be, he could not divine.

To while away the time until three o'clock, he lunched at Duval's, and
then lounged along the boulevard. When the clock chimed the hour of his
appointment, he climbed the stairs leading to the office of "La Vie
Francaise."

Duroy asked: "Is M. Walter in?"

"M. Walter is engaged," was the reply. "Will you please take a seat?"

Duroy waited twenty minute