He replied: “Count upon me, Madame.”
When the door closed upon Mme. Walter, Mme. de Marelle, in her turn, rose.
“Au revoir, Bel-Ami.”
This time she pressed his hand and he was moved by that silent avowal. “I will go to see her to-morrow,” thought he.
Left alone with his wife, she laughed, and looking into his eyes said: “Mme. Walter has taken a fancy to you!”
He replied incredulously: “Nonsense!”
“But I know it. She spoke of you to me with great enthusiasm. She said she would like to find two husbands like you for her daughters. Fortunately she is not susceptible herself.”
He did not understand her and repeated: “Susceptible herself?”
She replied in a tone of conviction: “Oh, Mme. Walter is irreproachable. Her husband you know as well as I. But she is different. Still she has suffered a great deal in having married a Jew, though she has been true to him; she is a virtuous woman.”
Du Roy was surprised: “I thought her a Jewess.”
“She a Jewess! No, indeed! She is the prime mover in all the charitable movements at the Madeleine. She was even married by a priest. I am not sure but that M. Walter went through the form of baptism.”
Georges murmured: “And — she — likes — me —”
“Yes. If you were not married I should advise you to ask for the hand of — Suzanne — would you not prefer her to Rose?”
He replied as he twisted his mustache: “Eh! the mother is not so bad!”
Madeleine replied: “I am not afraid of her. At her age one does not begin to make conquests — one should commence sooner.”
Georges thought: “If I might have had Suzanne, ah!” Then he shrugged his shoulders: “Bah, it is absurd; her father would not have consented.”
He determined to treat Mme. Walter very considerately in order to retain her regard. All that evening he was haunted by recollections of his love for Clotilde; he recalled their escapades, her kindness. He repeated to himself: “She is indeed nice. Yes, I shall call upon her to-morrow.”
When he had lunched the following morning he repaired to Rue Verneuil. The same maid opened the door, and with the familiarity of an old servant she asked: “Is Monsieur well?”
He replied: “Yes, my child,” and entered the drawing-room in which some one was practising scales. It was Laurine. He expected she would fall upon his neck. She, however, rose ceremoniously, bowed coldly, and left the room with dignity; her manner was so much like that of an outraged woman that he was amazed. Her mother entered. He kissed her hand.
“How much I have thought of you,” said he.
“And I of you,” she replied.
They seated themselves and smiled as they gazed into one another’s eyes.
“My dear little Clo, I love you.”
“And I love you.”
“Still — still — you did not miss me.”
“Yes and no. I was grieved, but when I heard your reason, I said to myself: ‘Bah, he will return to me some day.’”
“I dared not come. I did not know how I should be received. I dared not, but I longed to come. Now, tell me what ails Laurine; she scarcely bade me good morning and left the room with an angry air.”
“I do not know, but one cannot mention you to her since your marriage; I really believe she is jealous.”
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