"What are they called?"

"You know one, M. Gaston R."

"Ah, yes, I know him. And the other?"

"M. Armand Duval; and you don't know him."

"No, but bring them along. Anything is better than the count. I
expect you. Come at once."

Marguerite closed her window and Prudence hers. Marguerite, who
had remembered my face for a moment, did not remember my name. I
would rather have been remembered to my disadvantage than thus
forgotten.

"I knew," said Gaston, "that she would be delighted to see us."

"Delighted isn't the word," replied Prudence, as she put on her
hat and shawl. "She will see you in order to get rid of the
count. Try to be more agreeable than he is, or (I know
Marguerite) she will put it all down to me."

We followed Prudence downstairs. I trembled; it seemed to me that
this visit was to have a great influence on my life. I was still
more agitated than on the evening when I was introduced in the
box at the Opera Comique. As we reached the door that you know,
my heart beat so violently that I was hardly able to think.

We heard the sound of a piano. Prudence rang. The piano was