“I will allow you to-day, Monsieur, but not all the time.” Seating himself, Duroy took Laurine upon his knee, and kissed her lips and her fine wavy hair. Her mother was surprised: “Well, that is strange! Ordinarily she only allows ladies to caress her. You are irresistible, Monsieur!” Duroy colored, but did not reply. When Mme. Forestier joined them, a cry of astonishment escaped her: “Well, Laurine has become sociable; what a miracle!” The young man rose to take his leave, fearing he might spoil his conquest by some awkward word. He bowed to the ladies, clasped and gently pressed their hands, and then shook hands with the men. He observed that Jacques Rival’s was dry and warm and responded cordially to his pressure; Norbert de Varenne’s was moist and cold and slipped through his fingers; Walter’s was cold and soft, without life, expressionless; Forestier’s fat and warm. His friend whispered to him: “To-morrow at three o’clock; do not forget.” “Never fear!” When he reached the staircase, he felt like running down, his joy was so great; he went down two steps at a time, but suddenly on the second floor, in the large mirror, he saw a gentleman hurrying on, and he slackened his pace, as much ashamed as if he had been surprised in a crime. He surveyed himself some time with a complacent smile; then taking leave of his image, he bowed low, ceremoniously, as if saluting some grand personage.
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