He was surprised, and answered: "I think—I think—her very charming."
"Is it not so?"
"Yes, certainly."
He longed to add: "But not so much as yourself," but dared not.
She resumed: "And if you only knew how funny, original, and intelligent she is. She is a Bohemian—a true Bohemian. That is why her husband scarcely cares for her. He only sees her defects, and does not appreciate her good qualities."
Duroy felt stupefied at learning that Madame de Marelle was married, and yet it was only natural that she should be.
He said: "Oh, she is married, then! And what is her husband?"
Madame Forestier gently shrugged her shoulders, and raised her eyebrows, with a gesture of incomprehensible meaning.
"Oh! he is an inspector on the Northern Railway. He spends eight days out of the month in Paris. What his wife calls 'obligatory service,' or 'weekly duty,' or 'holy week.' When you know her better you will see how nice and bright she is. Go and call on her one of these days."
Duroy no longer thought of leaving. It seemed to him that he was going to stop for ever; that he was at home.