 Chapter 16 of Béla Miche or the History of a Scoundrel This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Giesen. Béla Miche or the History of a Scoundrel by Guy de Moupasson. Translator unknown. Chapter 16 Divorce During the remainder of the winter, the Duois often visited the Walters. Georges too frequently dined there alone, Madeleine pleading fatigue and preferring to remain at home. He had chosen Friday as his day, and Madame Walter never invited anyone else on that evening. It belonged to Béla Miche. Often in a dark corner or behind a tree in the conservatory, Madame Walter embraced the young man and whispered in his ear, I love you, I love you, I love you desperately. But he always repulsed her coldly, saying, If you persist in that, I will not come again. Toward the end of March, people talked of the marriage of the two sisters. Rose was to marry Dame Rumor, said, Count de la Tour Yvelin, and Suzanne the Marquis de Cazul. The subject of Suzanne's possible marriage had not been broached again between her and Georges, until, one morning, the latter having been brought home by Monsieur Walter to lunch, he whispered to Suzanne, Come, let us give the fish some bread. They proceeded to the conservatory, in which was the marble basin containing the fish. As church and Suzanne leaned over its edge, they saw their reflections in the water and smiled at them. Suddenly he said in a low voice, It is not right of you to keep secrets from me, Suzanne. She asked, What secrets, Béla Miche? Do you remember what you promised me here, the Night of the Fet? No. To consult me every time you received a proposal. Well? Well you have received one. From whom? You know very well. No, I swear I do not. Yes, you do. It is from that fob of a Marquis de Cazul. He is not a fob. That may be, but he is stupid. He is no match for you who are so pretty, so fresh, so bright. She asked with a smile, What have you against him? I, nothing. Yes, you have. He is not all that you say he is. He is a fool and an intrigue. She glanced at him. What ails you? He spoke as if tearing a secret from the depths of his heart. I am, I am jealous of him. She was astonished. You? Yes, I. Why? Because I love you and you know it. Then she said severely, You are mad, Béla Miche. He replied, I know that I am. Should I confess it, I am married man to you a young girl. I am worse than mad. I am culpable, wretched. I have no possible hope, and that thought almost destroys my reason. When I hear that you are going to be married, I feel murder in my heart. You must forgive me, Suzanne. He paused. The young girl murmured half sadly, half gaily. It is a pity that you are married, but what can you do? It cannot be helped. He turned towards her abruptly and said, If I were free, would you marry me? She replied, Yes, Béla Miche, I would marry you because I love you better than any of the others. He rose and stammering said, Thanks, thanks, do not I implore you say yes to anyone. Wait a while, promise me. Somewhat confused, and without comprehending what he asked, she whispered, I promise. Durois threw a large piece of bread into the water and fled, without saying adieu, as if he were beside himself. Suzanne, in surprise, returned to the salon. When Durois arrived home, he asked Madeline, who was writing letters, Shall you dine at the Walters Friday? I am going. She hesitated, No, I am not well. I prefer to remain here. As you like, no one will force you. Then he took up his hat and went out. For some time he had watched and followed her, knowing all her actions. The time he had awaited had come at length. On Friday he dressed early, in order, as he said, to make several calls before going to Monsieur Walters. At about six o'clock, after having kissed his wife, he went in search of a cab. He said to the cabman, You can stop at number seventeen, rue Fontaine, and remain there until I order you to go on. Then you can take me to the restaurant du Coque-Faison, rue Lafayette. The cab rolled slowly on. Durois lowered the shades. When in front of his house, he kept watch of it. After waiting ten minutes, he saw Madeline come out and go toward the boulevards. When she was out of earshot, he put his head out of the window and cried, Go on! The cab proceeded on its way and stopped at the Coque-Faison. Georges entered the dining-room and et slowly, looking at his watch from time to time. At seven thirty he left and drove to rue La Roche-Foucault. He mounted to the third story of a house in that street and asked the maid who opened the door, Is Monsieur Guybert de L'Homme at home? Yes, sir. He was shown into the drawing-room, and after waiting some time, a tall man with a military bearing and grey hair entered. He was the police-commissioner. Durois bowed, then said, As I suspected my wife is with her lover in furnished apartments they have rented on Rue des Martirs. The magistrate bowed. I am at your service, sir. Very well, I have a cab below. And with three other officers they proceeded to the house in which Durois expected to surprise his wife. One officer remained at the door to watch the exit. On the second floor they halted. Durois rang the bell and they waited. In two or three minutes Georges rang again several times in succession. They heard a light-step approach and a woman's voice evidently disguised asked, Who is there? The police officer replied, Open in the name of the law. The voice repeated, Who are you? I am the police-commissioner. Open or I will force the door. The voice continued, What do you want? Durois interrupted. It is I, it is useless to try to escape us. The footsteps receded and then returned. Georges said, If you do not open we will force the door. Receiving no reply he shook the door so violently that the old lock gave way and the young man almost fell over Madeline, who was standing in the anti-chamber in her petticoat, her hair loosened, her feet bare and a candle in her hand. He exclaimed, It is she we have caught them, and he rushed into the room. The commissioner turned to Madeline, who had followed them through the rooms in one of which were the remnants of a supper and looking into her eyes said, You are Madame Claire Madeline Durois, lawful wife of Monsieur Prosper Georges Durois, here present. She replied, Yes, sir. What are you doing here? He made no reply. The officer repeated his question. Still she did not reply. He waited several moments and then said, If you do not confess Madame, I shall be forced to inquire into the matter. They could see a man's form concealed beneath the covers of the bed. The officer advanced softly and uncovered the livid face of Monsieur Larange Mathieu. The officer again asked, Who are you? As the man did not reply, he continued, I am the police commissioner and I call upon you to tell me your name. If you do not answer, I shall be forced to arrest you. Rise, I will interrogate you when you are dressed. In the meantime Madeline had regained her composure and seeing that all was lost she was determined to put a brave face upon the matter. Her eyes sparkled with the audacity of Bravado and taking a piece of paper she lighted the ten candles in the candelabra as if for a reception. That done she leaned against the mantelpiece, took a cigarette out of a case and began to smoke, seeming not to see her husband. In the meantime the man in the bed had dressed himself and advanced. The officer turned to him. Now, sir, will you tell me who you are? He made no reply. I see I shall have to arrest you. Then the man cried, Do not touch me, I am inviolable. You are rushed towards him exclaiming, I can have you arrested if I want to. Then he added, This man's name is La Roche Mathieu, Minister of Foreign Affairs. The officer retreated and stammered. Sir, will you tell me who you are? For once that miserable fellow has not lied. I am indeed La Roche Mathieu, Minister. And pointing to Georges' breast he added That scoundrel wears upon his coat the cross of honour which I gave him. Duois turned pale. With a rapid gesture he tore the decoration from his buttonhole and throwing it in the fire exclaimed, That is what a decoration is worth which is given by a scoundrel of your order. The commissioner stepped between them as they stood face to face saying, Gentlemen, you forget yourselves and your dignity. Madlène smoked on calmly, a smile hovering about her lips. The officer continued, Sir, I have surprised you alone with Madame Duois under suspicious circumstances. What have you to say? Nothing. Do your duty. The commissioner turned to Madlène. You confess, Madame, that this gentleman is your lover. She replied boldly, I do not deny it. That is sufficient. The magistrate made several notes. When he had finished writing, the minister who stood ready coat upon arm, hat in hand, asked, Do you need me any longer, sir? Can I go? Duois addressed him with an insolent smile. Why should you go? We have finished. We will leave you alone together. Then, taking the officer's arm, he said, Let us go, sir. We have nothing more to do in this place. An hour later, Jacques Duois entered the office of La Vie Française. Monsieur Walter was there. He raised his head and asked, What are you here? Why are you not dining at my house? Where have you come from? Jacques replied with emphasis. I have just found out something about the minister of foreign affairs. What? I found him alone with my wife in higher departments. The commissioner of police was my witness. The minister is ruined. Are you not jesting? No, I am not. I shall even write an article on it. What is your object? To overthrow that wretch, that public malefactor. Jacques placed his hat upon a chair and added, Woe to those whom I find in my path. I never pardon. The manager stammered, But your wife. I shall apply for a divorce at once. A divorce? Yes, I am master of the situation. I shall be free. I have a stated income. I shall offer myself as a candidate in October, in my native district, where I am known. I could not win any respect where I to be hampered with a wife whose honour was sullied. She took me for a simpleton. But since I have known her game, I have watched her, and now I shall get on, for I shall be free. Jacques rose. I will write the item. It must be handled prudently. The old man hesitated, then said, Do so. It serves those right who are caught in such scrapes. End of chapter 16 Recording by Martin Giesen in Hazelmeer Surrey Chapter 17 of Bellamy, or The History of a Scoundrel This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Giesen Bellamy, or The History of a Scoundrel by Guy de Moupasson Translator Unknown Chapter 17 The Final Plot Three months had elapsed. George Durois's divorce had been obtained. His wife had resumed the name of Forestier. As the Walters were going to Trouville on the 15th of July, they decided to spend a day in the country before starting. The day chosen was Thursday, and they set out at nine o'clock in the morning in a large six-seated carriage drawn by four horses. They were going to lunch at Saint-Germain. Bellamy had requested that he might be the only young man in the party, for he could not bear the presence of the Marquis de Cazole. At the last moment, however, it was decided that Court de la Tour Yvelin should go, for he and Rose had been betrothed a month. The day was delightful. George, who was very pale, gazed at Suzanne as they sat in the carriage, and their eyes met. Madame Walter was contented and happy. The luncheon was a long and merry one. Before leaving for Paris, Durois proposed a walk on the terrace. They stopped on the way to admire the view. As they passed on, George and Suzanne lingered behind. The former whispered softly, Suzanne, I love you madly. She whispered in return, I love you too, Bellamy. He continued, If I cannot have you for my wife, I shall leave the country. She replied, Ask papa, perhaps he will consent. He answered impatiently. No, I repeat that it is useless. The door of the house would be closed against me. I would lose my position on the journal, and we would not even meet. Those are the consequences a formal proposal would produce. They have promised you to the maquis de Cazale. They hope you will finally say yes, and they are waiting. What can we do? Have you the courage to brave your father and mother for my sake? Yes, truly, yes. Well, there is only one way. It must come from you and not from me. You are an indulged child. They let you say anything, and are not surprised at any audacity on your part. Listen then. This evening, on returning home, go to your mother first, and tell her that you want to marry me. She will be very much agitated and very angry. Suzanne interrupted him. Oh, Mama would be glad. He replied quickly. No, no, you do not know her. She will be more vexed than your father. But you must insist. You must not yield. You must repeat that you will marry me and me alone. Will you do so? I will. And on leaving your mother, repeat the same thing to your father very decidedly. Well, and then? And then matters will reach a climax. If you are determined to be my wife, my dear, dear little Suzanne, I will elope with you. She clapped her hands as all the charming adventures in the romances she had read occurred to her and cried. Oh, what bliss! When will you elope with me? He whispered very low. Tonight. Where shall we go? That is my secret. Think well of what you are doing. Remember that after that flight, you must become my wife. It is the only means, but it is dangerous, very dangerous for you. I have decided. Where shall I meet you? Meet me about midnight in the Place de la Concorde. I will be there. He clasped her hand. Oh, how I love you! How brave and good you are! Then you do not want to marry Marquis de Cassol. Oh, no! Madame Walter, turning her head, called out. Come, little one, what are you and Bella me doing? They rejoined the others and returned by way of Chateau. When the carriage arrived at the door of the mansion, Madame Walter pressed Georges to dine with them, but he refused and returned home to look over his papers and destroy any compromising letters. Then he repaired in a cab with feverish haste to the Place of Meeting. He waited there some time, and thinking his lady-love had played him false, he was about to drive off, when a gentle voice whispered at the door of his cab. Are you there, Bella me? Is it you, Suzanne? Yes. Ah, get in! She entered the cab, and he bade the cabman drive on. He asked, well, how did it all pass off? She murmured faintly. Oh, it was terrible, with Mama especially. Your Mama, what did she say? Tell me. Oh, it was frightful. I entered her room and made the little speech I had prepared. She turned pale and cried, Never! I wept, I protested that I would marry only you. She was like a madwoman. She vowed I should be sent to a convent. I never saw her like that, never. Papa, hearing her agitated words, entered. He was not as angry as she was, but he said you were not a suitable match for me. As they had vexed me, I talked louder than they, and Papa, with a dramatic air, bade me leave the room. That decided me to fly with you. And here I am. Where shall we go? He replied, encircling her waist with his arm. It is too late to take the train. This cab will take us to Sèvre, where we can spend the night, and to-morrow we will leave for L'Arrache-Guillon. It is a pretty village on the banks of the Seine, between Mont and Bunnière. The cab rolled on. Charles took the young girl's hand and kissed it respectfully. He did not know what to say to her, being unaccustomed to platonic affection. Suddenly he perceived that she was weeping. He asked in a fright, What ails you, my dear little one? She replied tearfully. I was thinking that poor Mama could not sleep if she had found out that I was gone. Her mother, indeed, was not asleep. When Suzanne left the room, Madame Walter turned to her husband and asked in despair, What does that mean? It means that that intrigue has influenced her. It is he who has made her refuse casol. You have flattered and cajoled him too. It was bel-a-mi here, bel-a-mi there, from morning until night. Now you are paid for it. I? Yes, you. You are as much infatuated with him as Madeline, Suzanne, and the rest of them. Do you think that I did not see that you could not exist for two days without him? She rose tragically. I will not allow you to speak to me thus. You forget that I was not brought up like you in a shop. With an oath he left the room, banging the door behind him. When he was gone, she thought over all that had taken place. Suzanne was in love with bel-a-mi, and bel-a-mi wanted to marry Suzanne. No, it was not true. She was mistaken. He would not be capable of such an action. He knew nothing of Suzanne's escapade. They would take Suzanne away for six months, and that would end it. She rose, saying, I cannot rest in this uncertainty. I shall lose my reason. I will arouse Suzanne and question her. She proceeded to her daughter's room. She entered. It was empty. The bed had not been slept in. A horrible suspicion possessed her, and she flew to her husband. He was in bed reading. She gasped, Have you seen Suzanne? No, why? She is gone. She is not in her room. With one bound he was out of bed. He rushed to his daughter's room, not finding her there. He sank into a chair. His wife had followed him. Well, she asked. He had not the strength to reply. He was no longer angry. He groaned. He has her. We all lost. Lost? How? Why, he must marry her now. She cried wildly. Marry her? Never! Are you mad? He replied sadly. It will do no good to yell. He has disgraced her. The best thing to be done is to give her to him, and at once, too, then no one will know of this escapade. She repeated in great agitation, Never! He shall never have Suzanne! Overcome, Walter murmured. But he has her. And he will keep her as long as we do not yield. Therefore, to avoid a scandal, we must do so at once. But his wife replied, No! No! I will never consent. Impatiently he returned. It is a matter of necessity. Ah, the scoundrel! How he has deceived us! But he is shrewd at any rate. She might have done better as far as position, but not intelligence and future is concerned. He is a promising young man. He will be a deputy or a minister some day. Madame Walter, however, repeated wildly, I will never let him marry Suzanne. Do you hear? Never! In his turn he became incensed, and like a practical man defended Bellamyche. Be silent. I tell you he must marry her. And who knows? Perhaps we shall not regret it. With men of his stamp one never knows what may come about. You saw how he downed La Roche Mathieu in three articles, and that with a dignity which was very difficult to maintain in his position as husband. So we shall see. Madame Walter felt a desire to cry aloud and tear her hair. But she only repeated angrily. He shall not have her. Walter Rose took up his lamp and said, You are silly, like all women. You only act on impulse. You do not know how to accommodate yourself to circumstances. You are stupid. I tell you he shall marry her. It is essential. And he left the room. Madame Walter remained alone with her suffering, her despair, if only a priest were at hand. She would cast herself at his feet and confess all her errors and her agony. He would prevent the marriage. Where could she find a priest? Where should she turn? Before her eyes floated like a vision, the calm face of Christ walking on the water, as she had seen it in the painting. He seemed to say to her, Come unto me. Kneel at my feet. I will comfort and instruct you as to what to do. She took the lamp and sought the conservatory. She opened the door, leading into the room which held the enormous canvas, and fell upon her knees before it. At first she prayed fervently, but as she raised her eyes and saw the resemblance to Bellamy, she murmured, Jesus! Jesus! Jesus! While her thoughts were with her daughter and her lover, she uttered a wild cry as she pictured them together, alone, and fell into a swoon. When day broke, they found Madame Walter lying unconscious before the painting. She was so ill after that that her life was almost despaired of. Monsieur Walter explained his daughter's absence to the servants by saying to them that she had been sent to a convent for a short time. Then he replied to a long letter from Durois, giving his consent to the marriage with his daughter. Bellamy had posted that epistle when he left Paris, having prepared it the night of his departure. In it he said in respectful terms that he had loved the young girl a long time, that there had never been any understanding between them, but that as she came to him to say, I will be your wife, he felt authorised in keeping her, in hiding her, in fact, until he had obtained a reply from her parents, whose wishes were to him of more value than those of his betrothed. Charles and Suzanne spent a week at La Rochequillon. Never had the young girl enjoyed herself so thoroughly. As she passed for his sister, they lived in a chaste and free intimacy, a kind of living companionship. He thought it wiser to treat her with respect, and when he said to her, we will return to Paris tomorrow. Your father has bestowed your hand upon me. She whispered naively. Already! This is just as pleasant as being your wife. End of chapter 17 Recording by Martin Giesen in Hazelmere Surrey. Chapter 18 of Bellamyche or the History of a Scoundrel This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Giesen. Bellamyche or the History of a Scoundrel by Guy de Moupasson. Translator unknown. Chapter 18. Attainement It was dark in the apartments in the rue de Constantinople when Georges du Roi and Clotilde de Marl, having met at the door, entered them. Without giving him time to raise the shades, the latter said, so you are going to marry Suzanne Walter. He replied in the affirmative, adding gently, did you not know it? She answered angrily. So you are going to marry Suzanne Walter. For three months you have deceived me. Everyone knew of it but me. My husband told me. Since you left your wife, you have been preparing for that stroke and you made use of me in the interim. What a rascal you are! He asked, how do you make that out? I had a wife who deceived me. I surprised her, obtained a divorce and am now going to marry another. What is more simple than that? She murmured, what a villain! He said with dignity, I beg of you to be more careful as to what you say. She rebelled at such words from him. What! Would you like me to handle you with gloves? You have conducted yourself like a rascal ever since I have known you and now you do not want me to speak of it. You deceive everyone. You gather pleasure and money everywhere and you want me to treat you as an honest man. He rose, his lips twitched. Be silent or I will make you leave these rooms. She cried, leave here. You will make me, you. You forget that it is I who have paid for these apartments from the very first and you threaten to put me out of them. Be silent, good for nothing. Do you think I do not know how you stole a portion of Potrax Bequest from Madlen? Do you think I do not know about Suzanne? He seized her by her shoulders and shook her. Do not speak of that, I forbid you. I know you have ruined her. He would have taken anything else but that lie exasperated him. He repeated, be silent, take care. And he shook her as he would have shaken the bow of a tree. Still she continued, you were her ruin, I know it. He rushed upon her and struck her as if she had been a man. Suddenly she ceased speaking and groaned beneath his blows. Finally he desisted, paced the room several times in order to regain his self-possession, entered the bedroom, filled the basin with cold water and bathed his head. Then he washed his hands and returned to see what Clotilde was doing. She had not moved. She lay upon the floor weeping softly. He asked harshly, will you soon have done crying? She did not reply. He stood in the centre of the room, somewhat embarrassed, somewhat ashamed as he saw the form lying before him. Suddenly he seized his hat. Good evening! You can leave the key with the janitor when you are ready. I will not await your pleasure. He left the room, closed the door, sawped the porter and said to him, Madame is resting. She will go out soon. You can tell the proprietor that I have given notice for the first of October. His marriage was fixed for the twentieth. It was to take place at the Madeleine. There had been a great deal of gossip about the entire affair and many different reports were circulated. Madame Walter had aged greatly. Her hair was grey and she sought solace in religion. In the early part of September, la vie française announced that Baron du Roi de Cantel had become its chief editor. Monsieur Walter reserving the title of manager to that announcement where subjoined the names of the staff of art and theatrical critics, political reporters and so forth. Journalists no longer sneered in speaking of la vie française. Its success had been rapid and complete. The marriage of its chief editor was what was called a Parisian event. George du Roi and the Walters having occasioned much comment for some time. The ceremony took place on a clear autumn day. At ten o'clock the curious began to assemble. At eleven o'clock detachments of officers came to disperse the crowd. Soon after the first guests arrived. They were followed by others, women in rich costumes, men grave and dignified. The church slowly began to fill. Norbert de Varen espide Jacques Rival and joined him. Well, said he, sharpers always succeed. His companion, who was not envious, replied, so much the better for him, his fortune is made. Rival asked, do you know what has become of his wife? The poet smiled, yes and no. She lives a very retired life, I have been told, in the Montmartre quarter. But, there is a but, for some time I have read political articles in La Plume, which resemble those of Forestier and Du Roi. They are supposed to be written by a Jean Le Dull, a young, intelligent, handsome man, something like our friend George, who has become acquainted with Madame Forestier. From that I have concluded that she likes beginners and that they like her. She is, moreover, rich. Vaudrec and Laroche Mathieu were not attentive to her for nothing. Rival asked, tell me, is it true that Madame Walter and Du Roi do not speak? Yes, she did not wish to give him her daughter's hand, but he threatened the old man with shocking revelations. Walter remembered Laroche Mathieu's fate and yielded at once, but his wife, obstinate, like all women, vowed that she would never address a word of her son-in-law. It is comical to see them together. She looks like the statue of vengeance, and he is very uncomfortable, although he tries to appear at his ease. Suddenly the beetle struck the floor three times with his staff. All the people turned to see what was coming, and the young bride appeared in the doorway leaning upon her father's arm. She looked like a beautiful doll, crowned with a wreath of orange blossoms. She advanced with bowed head. The ladies smiled and murmured as she passed them. The men whispered, Exquisite! Adorable! Monsieur Walter walked by her side with exaggerated dignity. Behind them came four maids of honour dressed in pink and forming a charming court for so dainty a queen. Madame Walter followed on the arm of Count de la Tour Yvelin's aged father. She did not walk. She dragged herself along, ready to faint at every step. She had aged and grown thinner. Next came Georges du Roi with an old lady, a stranger. He held his head proudly erect and wore upon his coat like a drop of blood the red ribbon of the legion of honour. He was followed by the relatives, those who had been married six weeks, with a senator, Count de la Tour Yvelin with thy countess de Perse-Mure. Following them was a motley procession of associates and friends of du Roi. Country cousins of Madame Walter and guests invited by her husband. The tones of the organ filled the church. The large doors at the entrance were closed and Georges kneeled beside his bride in the choir. The new bishop of Tangiers cross in hand, mitre on head, entered from the sacristy, to unite them in the name of the Almighty. He asked the usual questions. Rings were exchanged, words pronounced which bound them forever, and then he delivered an address to the newly married couple. The sound of stifled sobs caused several to turn their heads. Madame Walter was weeping, her face buried in her hands. She had been obliged to yield. But since the day on which she had told du Roi, you are the vilest man I know. Never speak to me again, for I will not answer you. She had suffered intolerable anguish. She hated Suzanne bitterly. Her hatred was caused by unnatural jealousy. The bishop was marrying a daughter to her mother's lover, before her and two thousand persons. And she could say nothing. She could not stop him. She could not cry. He is mine. That man is my lover. That union you are blessing is infamous. Several ladies touched by her apparent grief murmured. How affected that poor mother is! The bishop said, You are among the favoured ones of the earth. You, sir, who are raised above others by your talent. You who write, instruct, counsel, guide the people, have a grand mission to fulfil. A fine example to set. Du Roi listened to him proudly. A prelate of the Roman church spoke thus to him. A number of illustrious people had come there on his account. It seemed to him that an invisible power was impelling him on. He would become one of the masters of the country. He the son of the poor peasants of Cantelou. He had given his parents five thousand francs of Count de Vaudrec's fortune. And he intended sending them fifty thousand more. Then they could buy a small estate and live happily. The bishop had finished his harangue. A priest ascended the altar. And the organ peeled forth. Suddenly the vibrating tones melted into delicate melodious ones like the songs of birds. Then again they swelled into deep full tones and human voices chanted over their bowed heads. Vauri and Landec of the opera were singing. Bellamych kneeling beside Suzanne bowed his head. At that moment he felt almost pious for he was filled with gratitude for the blessings showered upon him. Without knowing just whom he was addressing he offered up thanks for his success. When the ceremony was over he rose and giving his arm to his wife they passed into the sacristy. A stream of people entered. Georges fancied himself a king whom the people were coming to greet. He shook hands, uttered words which signified nothing and replied to congratulations with the words you are very kind. Suddenly he saw Madame de Marrelle and the recollection of all the kisses he had given her and which she had returned of all their caresses of the sound of her voice possessed him with the mad desire to regain her. She was so pretty with her bright eyes and roguish air. She advanced somewhat timidly and offered him her hand. He took, retained and pressed it as if to say I shall love you always, I am yours. Their eyes met smiling, bright, full of love. She murmured in her soft tones, until we meet again, sir, and he gaily repeated her words. Others approached and she passed on. Finally the throng dispersed. Georges placed Suzanne's hand upon his arm to pass through the church with her. It was filled with people for all had resumed their seats in order to see them leave the sacred edifice together. He walked along slowly with a firm step, his head erect. He saw no one. He only thought of himself. When they reached the threshold he saw a crowd gathered outside come to gaze at him. Georges du Roi. The people of Paris envied him. Raising his eyes he saw beyond the Place de la Concorde the Chamber of Deputies and it seemed to him that it was only a stone's throw from the portico of the Madeleine to that of the Palais Bourbon. Leisurely they descended the steps between two rows of spectators but Georges did not see them. His thoughts had returned to the past and before his eyes, dazzled by the bright sunlight, floated the image of Madame de Marelle rearranging the curly locks upon her temples before the mirror in their apartments. End of chapter 18 Recording by Martin Giesen in Hazelmere Surrey End of Bellamy, or the history of a scoundrel by Guy de Moupasson Translator unknown