Mme. de Marelle laughed. "Bel-Ami! Laurine has christened you. It is
a pretty name. I shall call you Bel-Ami, too!"

He took the child upon his knee. At twenty minutes of three he rose
to go to the office; at the half-open door he whispered: "To-morrow,
five o'clock." The young woman replied: "Yes," with a smile and
disappeared.

After he had finished his journalistic work, he tried to render his
apartments more fit to receive his expected visitor. He was well
satisfied with the results of his efforts and retired, lulled to
rest by the whistling of the trains. Early the next morning he
bought a cake and a bottle of Madeira. He spread the collation on
his dressing-table which was covered with a napkin. Then he waited.
She came at a quarter past five and exclaimed as she entered: "Why,
it is nice here. But there were a great many people on the stairs."

He took her in his arms and kissed her hair. An hour and a half
later he escorted her to a cab-stand on the Rue de Rome. When she
was seated in the cab, he whispered: "Tuesday, at the same hour."

She repeated his words, and as it was night, she kissed him. Then as
the cabman started up his horse, she cried:" Adieu, Bel-Ami!" and
the old coupe rumbled off.

For three weeks Duroy received Mme. de Marelle every two or three
days, sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the evening.

As he was awaiting her one afternoon, a noise on the staircase drew