port of Algiers, an excursion 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."