scussed, Duroy walked gaily down
Boulevard Malesherbes.

The following week he was appointed editor of the "Echoes," and invited
to dine at Mme. Walter's. The "Echoes" were, M. Walter said, the very
pith of the paper. Everything and everybody should be remembered, all
countries, all professions, Paris and the provinces, the army, the
arts, the clergy, the schools, the rulers, and the courtiers. The man
at the head of that department should be wide awake, always on his
guard, quick to judge of what was best to be said and best to be
omitted, to divine what would please the public and to present it well.
Duroy was just the man for the place.

He was enjoying the fact of his promotion, when he received an engraved
card which read:

"M. and Mme. Walter request the pleasure of M. Georges Duroy's
company at dinner on Thursday, January 20."

He was so delighted that he kissed the invitation as if it had been a
love-letter.

Then he sought the cashier to settle the important question of his
salary. At first twelve hundred francs were allowed Duroy, who intended
to save a large share of the money. He was busy two days getting
settled in his new position, in a large room, one end of which he
occupied, and the other end of which was allotted to Boisrenard, who
worked with him.

The day of the dinner-party he left the office in good season, in order
to have time to dress, and was walking along Rue de Londres when he saw
before him a form which resembled Mme. de Marelle's. He felt his cheeks
glow and his heart throb. He crossed the street in order to see the
lady's face; he was mistaken, and breathed more freely. He had often
wondered what he should do if he met Clotilde face to face. Should he
bow to her or pretend not to see her? "I should not see her," thought
he.

When Duroy entered his rooms he thought: "I must change my apartments;
these will not do any longer." He felt both nervous and gay, and said
aloud to himself: "I must write to my father." Occasionally he wrote
home, and his letters always delighted his old parents. As he tied his
cravat at the mirror he repeated: "I must write home to-morrow. If my
father could see me this evening in the house to which I am going, he
would be surprised. Sacristi, I shall soon give a dinner which has
never been equaled!"

Then he recalled his old home, the faces of his father and mother. He
saw them seated at their homely board, eating their soup. He remembered
ever