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 minutes, then he turned to the clerk and said:
"M. Walter had an appointment with me at three o'clock. At any rate,