the matter.” Then, after a short silence, turning right round towards George, he added: “But write us a little fancy series of articles on Algeria at once. Relate your experiences, and mix up the colonization question with them as you did just now. They are facts, genuine facts, and I am sure they will greatly please our readers. But be quick. I must have the first article tomorrow or the day after, while the subject is being discussed in the Chamber, in order to catch the public.”
Madame Walter added, with that serious grace which characterized everything she did, and which lent an air of favor to her words: “And you have a charming title, ‘Recollections of a Chasseur d’Afrique.’ Is it not so, Monsieur Norbert?”
The old poet, who had worn renown late in life, feared and hated newcomers. He replied dryly: “Yes, excellent, provided that the keynote be followed, for that is the great difficulty; the exact note, what in music is called the pitch.”
Madame Forestier cast on Duroy a smiling and protective glance, the glance of a connoisseur, which seemed to