"Oh, yes; I should like that!"
He was as happy as a king, and sought what else they could do. "Suppose
we go and ask Madame de Marelle to spend the evening with us. Her
husband is at home, I hear, and I shall be delighted to see him."
They went there. George, who slightly dreaded the first meeting with his
mistress, was not ill-pleased that his wife was present to prevent
anything like an explanation. But Clotilde did not seem to remember
anything against him, and even obliged her husband to accept the
invitation.
The dinner was lovely, and the evening pleasant. George and Madeleine
got home late. The gas was out, and to light them upstairs, the
journalist struck a wax match from time to time. On reaching the
first-floor landing the flame, suddenly starting forth as he struck,
caused their two lit-up faces to show in the glass standing out against
the darkness of the staircase. They resembled phantoms, appearing and
ready to vanish into the night.