She consented at length. “Yes, tomorrow; at five o’clock.”
He gave a long sigh of joy, and they then chatted almost quietly with an air of intimacy, as though they had known one another twenty years. The sound of the door bell made them start, and with a bound they separated to a distance. She murmured: “It must be Laurine.”
The child made her appearance, stopped short in amazement, and then ran to Duroy, clapping her hands with pleasure at seeing him, and exclaiming: “Ah! pretty boy.”
Madame de Marelle began to laugh. “What! Pretty boy! Laurine has baptized you. It’s a nice little nickname for you, and I will call you Pretty-boy, too.”
He had taken the little girl on his knee, and he had to play with her at all the games he had taught her. He rose to take his leave at twenty minutes to three to go to the office of the paper, and on the staircase, through the half-closed door, he still whispered: “Tomorrow, at five.”
She answered “Yes,”