order to have time to dress, and was walking along Rue de Londres
when he saw before him a form which resembled Mme. de Marelle's. He
felt his cheeks glow and his heart throb. He crossed the street in
order to see the lady's face; he was mistaken, and breathed more
freely. He had often wondered what he should do if he met Clotilde
face to face. Should he bow to her or pretend not to see her? "I
should not see her," thought he.

When Duroy entered his rooms he thought: "I must change my
apartments; these will not do any longer." He felt both nervous and
gay, and said aloud to himself: "I must write to my father."
Occasionally he wrote home, and his letters always delighted his old
parents. As he tied his cravat at the mirror he repeated: "I must
write home to-morrow. If my father could see me this evening in the
house to which I am going, he would be surprised. Sacristi, I shall
soon give a dinner which has never been equaled!"

Then he recalled his old home, the faces of his father and mother.
He saw them seated at their homely board, eating their soup. He
remembered every wrinkle on their old faces, every movement of their
hands and heads; he even knew what they said to each other every
evening as they supped. He thought: "I will go to see them some
day." His toilette completed, he extinguished his light and
descended the stairs.

On reaching his destination, he boldly entered the antechamber,
lighted by bronze lamps, and gave his cane and his overcoat to the
two lackeys who approached him. All the salons were lighted. Mme.
Walter received in the second, the largest. She greeted Duroy with a
charming smile, and he shook hands with two men who arrived after