He replied at once like a man who understands the matter in question: “No, that will not do at all. It is too simple, too common, too well-known. I had thought of taking the name of my native place, as a literary pseudonym at first, then of adding it to my own by degrees, and then, later on, of even cutting my name in two, as you suggest.”
“Your native place is Canteleu?” she queried.
“Yes.”
She hesitated, saying: “No, I do not like the termination. Come, cannot we modify this word Canteleu a little?”
She had taken up a pen from the table, and was scribbling names and studying their physiognomy. All at once she exclaimed: “There, there it is!” and held out to him a paper, on which read—“Madame Duroy de Cantel.”
He reflected a few moments, and then said gravely: “Yes, that does very well.”
She was delighted, and kept repeating “Duroy de Cantel, Duroy de Cantel, Madame Duroy de Cantel. It is capital, capital.” She went on with an air of conviction: “And you will see how easy it is to get everyone to accept it. But one must know how to seize the opportunity, for it will be too late afterwards. You must from tomorrow sign your descriptive articles D. de Cantel, and your ‘Echoes’ simply Duroy. It is done every day in the press, and no one will be astonished to see you take a pseudonym. At the moment of our marriage we can modify it yet a little more, and tell our friends that you had given up the ‘Du’ out of modesty on account of your position, or even say nothing about it. What is your father’s Christian name?”
“Alexander.”