IX

She murmured: “Alexander, Alexander,” two or three times, listening to the sonorous roll of the syllables, and then wrote on a blank sheet of paper:

“Monsieur and Madame Alexander Du Roy de Cantel have the honor to inform you of the marriage of Monsieur George Du Roy de Cantel, their son, to Madame Madeleine Forestier.” She looked at her writing, holding it at a distance, charmed by the effect, and said: “With a little method we can manage whatever we wish.”

When he found himself once more in the street, firmly resolved to call himself in future Du Roy, and even Du Roy de Cantel, it seemed to him that he had acquired fresh importance. He walked with more swagger, his head higher, his moustache fiercer, as a gentleman should walk. He felt in himself a species of joyous desire to say to the passersby: “My name is Du Roy de Cantel.”

But scarcely had he got home than the thought of Madame de Marelle made him feel uneasy, and he wrote to her at once to ask her to make an appointment for the next day.

“It will be a tough job,” he thought. “I must look out for squalls.”

Then he made up his mind for it, with the native carelessness which caused him to slur over the disagreeable side of life, and began to write a fancy article on the fresh taxes needed in order to make the Budget balance. He set down in this the nobiliary “De” at a hundred francs a year, and titles, from baron to prince, at from five hundred to five thousand francs. And he signed it “ D. de Cantel.”

He received a telegram from his mistress next morning saying that she would call at one o’clock. He waited for her somewhat feverishly, his mind made up to bring things to a point at once, to say everything right out, and then, when the first emotion had subsided, to argue cleverly in