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BEL AMIORTHE HISTORY OFA SCOUNDREL

A NOVELBYGUY DE MAUPASSANT

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER I. POVERTY

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CHAPTER II. MADAMEFORESTIER

CHAPTER III. FIRSTATTEMPTS

CHAPTER IV. DUROY LEARNSSOMETHING

CHAPTER V. THE FIRSTINTRIGUE

CHAPTER VI. A STEPUPWARD

CHAPTER VII. A DUEL WITHAN END

CHAPTER VIII. DEATH AND APROPOSAL

CHAPTER IX. MARRIAGE

CHAPTER X. JEALOUSY

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CHAPTER XI. MADAMEWALTER TAKES A HAND

CHAPTER XII. A MEETINGAND THE RESULT

CHAPTER XIII. MADAMEMARELLE

CHAPTER XIV. THE WILL

CHAPTER XV. SUZANNE

CHAPTER XVI. DIVORCE

CHAPTER XVII. THE FINALPLOT

CHAPTER XVIII. ATTAINMENT

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BEL-AMI27/447

CHAPTER I.

POVERTY

After changing his five-franc piece GeorgesDuroy left the restaurant. He twisted hismustache in military style and cast a rapid,sweeping glance upon the diners, amongwhom were three saleswomen, an untidymusic-teacher of uncertain age, and two wo-men with their husbands.

When he reached the sidewalk, he paused toconsider what route he should take. It wasthe twenty-eighth of June and he had onlythree francs in his pocket to last him the

remainder of the month. That meant twodinners and no lunches, or two lunches andno dinners, according to choice. As hepondered upon this unpleasant state of af-fairs, he sauntered down Rue Notre Dame deLorette, preserving his military air and car-riage, and rudely jostled the people upon thestreets in order to clear a path for himself.He appeared to be hostile to the passers-by,and even to the houses, the entire city.

Tall, well-built, fair, with blue eyes, a curledmustache, hair naturally wavy and parted inthe middle, he recalled the hero of the popu-lar romances.

It was one of those sultry, Parisian eveningswhen not a breath of air is stirring; the sew-ers exhaled poisonous gases and the restaur-ants the disagreeable odors of cooking and ofkindred smells. Porters in their shirt-sleeves,astride their chairs, smoked their pipes at

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the carriage gates, and pedestrians strolledleisurely along, hats in hand.

When Georges Duroy reached the boulevardhe halted again, undecided as to which roadto choose. Finally he turned toward theMadeleine and followed the tide of people.

The large, well-patronized cafes temptedDuroy, but were he to drink only two glassesof beer in an evening, farewell to the meagersupper the following night! Yet he said tohimself: "I will take a glass at the Americain.By Jove, I am thirsty."

He glanced at men seated at the tables, menwho could afford to slake their thirst, and hescowled at them. "Rascals!" he muttered. Ifhe could have caught one of them at a cornerin the dark he would have choked himwithout a scruple! He recalled the two yearsspent in Africa, and the manner in which hehad extorted money from the Arabs. A smile

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hovered about his lips at the recollection ofan escapade which had cost three men theirlives, a foray which had given his two com-rades and himself seventy fowls, two sheep,money, and something to laugh about for sixmonths. The culprits were never found; in-deed, they were not sought for, the Arab be-ing looked upon as the soldier's prey.

But in Paris it was different; there one couldnot commit such deeds with impunity. Heregretted that he had not remained where hewas; but he had hoped to improve hiscondition--and for that reason he was inParis!

He passed the Vaudeville and stopped at theCafe Americain, debating as to whether heshould take that "glass." Before deciding, heglanced at a clock; it was a quarter past nine.He knew that when the beer was placed infront of him, he would drink it; and thenwhat would he do at eleven o'clock? So he

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walked on, intending to go as far as theMadeleine and return.

When he reached the Place de l'Opera, a tall,young man passed him, whose face he fan-cied was familiar. He followed him, repeat-ing: "Where the deuce have I seen thatfellow?"

For a time he racked his brain in vain; thensuddenly he saw the same man, but not socorpulent and more youthful, attired in theuniform of a Hussar. He exclaimed: "Wait,Forestier!" and hastening up to him, laid hishand upon the man's shoulder. The latterturned, looked at him, and said: "What doyou want, sir?"

Duroy began to laugh: "Don't you rememberme?"

"No."

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"Not remember Georges Duroy of the SixthHussars."

Forestier extended both hands.

"Ah, my dear fellow, how are you?"

"Very well. And how are you?"

"Oh, I am not very well. I cough six monthsout of the twelve as a result of bronchitiscontracted at Bougival, about the time of myreturn to Paris four years ago."

"But you look well."

Forestier, taking his former comrade's arm,told him of his malady, of the consultations,the opinions and the advice of the doctorsand of the difficulty of following their advicein his position. They ordered him to spendthe winter in the south, but how could he?

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He was married and was a journalist in a re-sponsible editorial position.

"I manage the political department on 'LaVie Francaise'; I report the doings of the Sen-ate for 'Le Salut,' and from time to time Iwrite for 'La Planete.' That is what I amdoing."

Duroy, in surprise, glanced at him. He wasvery much changed. Formerly Forestier hadbeen thin, giddy, noisy, and always in goodspirits. But three years of life in Paris hadmade another man of him; now he was stoutand serious, and his hair was gray on histemples although he could not number morethan twenty-seven years.

Forestier asked: "Where are you going?"

Duroy replied: "Nowhere in particular."

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"Very well, will you accompany me to the'Vie Francaise' where I have some proofs tocorrect; and afterward take a drink withme?"

"Yes, gladly."

They walked along arm-in-arm with that fa-miliarity which exists between schoolmatesand brother-officers.

"What are you doing in Paris?" askedForestier, Duroy shrugged hisshoulders.

"Dying of hunger, simply. When my time wasup, I came hither to make my fortune, orrather to live in Paris--and for six months Ihave been employed in a railroad office at fif-teen hundred francs a year."

Forestier murmured: "That is not verymuch."

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"But what can I do?" answered Duroy. "I amalone, I know no one, I have no recommend-ations. The spirit is not lacking, but themeans are."

His companion looked at him from head tofoot like a practical man who is examining asubject; then he said, in a tone of conviction:"You see, my dear fellow, all depends on as-surance, here. A shrewd, observing man cansometimes become a minister. You must ob-trude yourself and yet not ask anything. Buthow is it you have not found anything betterthan a clerkship at the station?"

Duroy replied: "I hunted everywhere andfound nothing else. But I know where I canget three thousand francs at least--as riding-master at the Pellerin school."

Forestier stopped him: "Don't do it, for youcan earn ten thousand francs. You will ruinyour prospects at once. In your office at least

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no one knows you; you can leave it if youwish to at any time. But when you are once ariding-master all will be over. You might aswell be a butler in a house to which all Pariscomes to dine. When you have given ridinglessons to men of the world or to their sons,they will no longer consider you their equal."

He paused, reflected several seconds andthen asked:

"Are you a bachelor?"

"Yes, though I have been smitten severaltimes."

"That makes no difference. If Cicero andTiberius were mentioned would you knowwho they were?"

"Yes."

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"Good, no one knows any more except abouta score of fools. It is not difficult to pass forbeing learned. The secret is not to betrayyour ignorance. Just maneuver, avoid thequicksands and obstacles, and the rest canbe found in a dictionary."

He spoke like one who understood humannature, and he smiled as the crowd passedthem by. Suddenly he began to cough andstopped to allow the paroxysm to spend it-self; then he said in a discouraged tone:

"Isn't it tiresome not to be able to get rid ofthis bronchitis? And here is midsummer!This winter I shall go to Mentone. Health be-fore everything."

They reached the Boulevarde Poissoniere;behind a large glass door an open paper wasaffixed; three people were reading it. Abovethe door was printed the legend, "La VieFrancaise."

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Forestier pushed open the door and said:"Come in." Duroy entered; they ascended thestairs, passed through an antechamber inwhich two clerks greeted their comrade, andthen entered a kind of waiting- room.

"Sit down," said Forestier, "I shall be back infive minutes," andhe disappeared.

Duroy remained where he was; from time totime men passed him by, entering by onedoor and going out by another before he hadtime to glance at them.

Now they were young men, very young, witha busy air, holding sheets of paper in theirhands; now compositors, their shirts spottedwith ink--carefully carrying what were evid-ently fresh proofs. Occasionally a gentlemanentered, fashionably dressed, some reporterbringing news.

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Forestier reappeared arm-in-arm with a tall,thin man of thirty or forty, dressed in a blackcoat, with a white cravat, a dark complexion,and an insolent, self-satisfied air. Forestiersaid to him: "Adieu, my dear sir," and theother pressed his hand with: "Au revoir, myfriend." Then he descended the stairs whist-ling, his cane under his arm.

Duroy asked his name.

"That is Jacques Rival, the celebrated writerand duelist. He came to correct his proofs.Garin, Montel and he are the best witty andrealistic writers we have in Paris. He earnsthirty thousand francs a year for two articlesa week."

As they went downstairs, they met a stout,little man with long hair, who was ascendingthe stairs whistling. Forestier bowed low.

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"Norbert de Varenne," said he, "the poet, theauthor of 'Les Soleils Morts,'--a very expens-ive man. Every poem he gives us costs threehundred francs and the longest has not twohundred lines. But let us go into the Napolit-ain, I am getting thirsty."

When they were seated at a table, Forestierordered two glasses of beer. He emptied hisat a single draught, while Duroy sipped hisbeer slowly as if it were something rare andprecious. Suddenly his companion asked,"Why don't you try journalism?"

Duroy looked at him in surprise and said:"Because I have neverwritten anything."

"Bah, we all have to make a beginning. Icould employ you myself by sending you toobtain information. At first you would onlyget two hundred and fifty francs a month but

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your cab fare would be paid. Shall I speak tothe manager?"

"If you will."

"Well, then come and dine with me to-mor-row; I will only ask five or six to meet you;the manager, M. Walter, his wife, withJacques Rival, and Norbert de Varennewhom you have just seen, and also a friendof Mme. Forestier, Will you come?"

Duroy hesitated, blushing and perplexed.Finally he, murmured: "I have no suitableclothes."

Forestier was amazed. "You have no dresssuit? Egad, that is indispensable. In Paris, itis better to have no bed than no clothes."Then, fumbling in his vest-pocket, he drewfrom it two louis, placed them before hiscompanion, and said kindly: "You can repayme when it is convenient. Buy yourself what

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you need and pay an installment on it. Andcome and dine with us at half past seven, at17 Rue Fontaine."

In confusion Duroy picked up the money andstammered: "You are very kind--I am muchobliged--be sure I shall not forget."

Forestier interrupted him: "That's all right,take another glass of beer. Waiter, two moreglasses!" When he had paid the score, thejournalist asked: "Would you like a stroll foran hour?"

"Certainly."

They turned toward the Madeleine. "Whatshall we do?" asked Forestier. "They say thatin Paris an idler can always find amusement,but it is not true. A turn in the Bois is onlyenjoyable if you have a lady with you, andthat is a rare occurrence. The cafe concertsmay divert my tailor and his wife, but they

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do not interest me. So what can we do?Nothing! There ought to be a summer gardenhere, open at night, where a man could listento good music while drinking beneath thetrees. It would be a pleasant lounging place.You could walk in alleys bright with electriclight and seat yourself where you pleased tohear the music. It would be charming. Wherewould you like to go?"

Duroy did not know what to reply; finally hesaid: "I have never been to the FoliesBergeres. I should like to go there."

His companion exclaimed: "The FoliesBergeres! Very well!"

They turned and walked toward the Fau-bourg Montmartre. The brilliantly illumin-ated building loomed up before them.Forestier entered, Duroy stopped him. "Weforgot to pass through the gate."

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The other replied in a consequential tone: "Inever pay," andapproached the box-office.

"Have you a good box?"

"Certainly, M. Forestier."

He took the ticket handed him, pushed openthe door, and they were within the hall. Acloud of tobacco smoke almost hid the stageand the opposite side of the theater. In thespacious foyer which led to the circularpromenade, brilliantly dressed womenmingled with black-coated men.

Forestier forced his way rapidly through thethrong and accosted anusher.

"Box 17?"

"This way, sir."

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The friends were shown into a tiny box, hungand carpeted in red, with four chairs up-holstered in the same color. They seatedthemselves. To their right and left were sim-ilar boxes. On the stage three men were per-forming on trapezes. But Duroy paid no heedto them, his eyes finding more to interestthem in the grand promenade. Forestier re-marked upon the motley appearance of thethrong, but Duroy did not listen to him. Awoman, leaning her arms upon the edge ofher loge, was staring at him. She was a tall,voluptuous brunette, her face whitened withenamel, her black eyes penciled, and her lipspainted. With a movement of her head, shesummoned a friend who was passing, ablonde with auburn hair, likewise inclined toembonpoint, and said to her in a whisper in-tended to be heard; "There is a nice fellow!"

Forestier heard it, and said to Duroy with asmile: "You are lucky, my dear boy. Mycongratulations!"

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The ci-devant soldier blushed and mechanic-ally fingered the two pieces of gold in hispocket.

The curtain fell--the orchestra played avalse--and Duroy said:

"Shall we walk around the gallery?"

"If you like."

Soon they were carried along in the currentof promenaders. Duroy drank in with delightthe air, vitiated as it was by tobacco andcheap perfume, but Forestier perspired,panted, and coughed.

"Let us go into the garden," he said. Turningto the left, they entered a kind of coveredgarden in which two large fountains wereplaying. Under the yews, men and womensat at tables drinking.

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"Another glass of beer?" asked Forestier.

"Gladly."

They took their seats and watched the prom-enaders. Occasionally a woman would stopand ask with a coarse smile: "What have youto offer, sir?"

Forestier's invariable answer was: "A glass ofwater from the fountain." And the womanwould mutter, "Go along," and walk away.

At last the brunette reappeared, arm-in-armwith the blonde. They made a handsomecouple. The former smiled on perceivingDuroy, and taking a chair she calmly seatedherself in front of him, and said in a clearvoice: "Waiter, two glasses."

In astonishment, Forestier exclaimed: "Youare not at all bashful!"

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She replied: "Your friend has bewitched me;he is such a fine fellow. I believe he hasturned my head."

Duroy said nothing.

The waiter brought the beer, which the wo-men swallowed rapidly; then they rose, andthe brunette, nodding her head and tappingDuroy's arm with her fan, said to him:"Thank you, my dear! However, you are notvery talkative."

As they disappeared, Forestier laughed andsaid: "Tell, me, old man, did you know thatyou had a charm for the weaker sex? Youmust be careful."

Without replying, Duroy smiled. His friendasked: "Shall you remain any longer? I amgoing; I have had enough."

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Georges murmured: "Yes, I will stay a littlelonger: it is notlate."

Forestier arose: "Very well, then, good-byeuntil to-morrow. Do not forget: 17 Rue Fon-taine at seven thirty."

"I shall not forget. Thank you."

The friends shook hands and the journalistleft Duroy to his owndevices.

Forestier once out of sight, Duroy felt free,and again he joyously touched the goldpieces in his pocket; then rising, he mingledwith the crowd.

He soon discovered the blonde and the bru-nette. He went toward them, but when nearthem dared not address them.

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The brunette called out to him: "Have youfound your tongue?"

He stammered: "Zounds!" too bashful to sayanother word. A pause ensued, during whichthe brunette took his arm and together theyleft the hall.

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CHAPTER II.

MADAME FORESTIER

"Where does M. Forestier live?"

"Third floor on the left," said the porterpleasantly, on learningDuroy's destination.

Georges ascended the staircase. He wassomewhat embarrassed and ill- at-ease. Hehad on a new suit but he was uncomfortable.He felt that it was defective; his boots werenot glossy, he had bought his shirt that sameevening at the Louvre for four francs fifty, his

trousers were too wide and betrayed theircheapness in their fit, or rather, misfit, andhis coat was too tight.

Slowly he ascended the stairs, his heart beat-ing, his mind anxious. Suddenly before himstood a well-dressed gentleman staring athim. The person resembled Duroy so closethat the latter retreated, then stopped, andsaw that it was his own image reflected in apier- glass! Not having anything but a smallmirror at home, he had not been able to seehimself entirely, and had exaggerated theimperfections of his toilette. When he sawhis reflection in the glass, he did not even re-cognize himself; he took himself for someone else, for a man-of-the-world, and wasreally satisfied with his general appearance.Smiling to himself, Duroy extended his handand expressed his astonishment, pleasure,and approbation. A door opened on the stair-case, He was afraid of being surprised andbegan to ascend more rapidly, fearing that he

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might have been seen posing there by someof his friend's invited guests.

On reaching the second floor, he saw anothermirror, and once more slackened his pace tolook at himself. He likewise paused beforethe third glass, twirled his mustache, took offhis hat to arrange his hair, and murmuredhalf aloud, a habit of his: "Hall mirrors aremost convenient."

Then he rang the bell. The door opened al-most immediately, and before him stood aservant in a black coat, with a grave, shavenface, so perfect in his appearance that Duroyagain became confused as he compared thecut of their garments.

The lackey asked:

"Whom shall I announce, Monsieur?" Heraised a portiere andpronounced the name.

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Duroy lost his self-possession upon beingushered into a world as yet strange to him.However, he advanced. A young, fair womanreceived him alone in a large, well-lightedroom. He paused, disconcerted. Who wasthat smiling lady? He remembered thatForestier was married, and the thought thatthe handsome blonde was his friend's wiferendered him awkward and ill-at-ease. Hestammered out:

"Madame, I am--"

She held out her hand. "I know, Monsieur--Charles told me of your meeting last night,and I am very glad that he asked you to dinewith us to-day."

Duroy blushed to the roots of his hair, notknowing how to reply; he felt that he was be-ing inspected from his head to his feet. Hehalf thought of excusing himself, of inventingan explanation of the carelessness of his

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toilette, but he did not know how to touchupon that delicate subject.

He seated himself upon a chair she pointedout to him, and as he sank into its luxuriousdepths, it seemed to him that he was enter-ing a new and charming life, that he wouldmake his mark in the world, that he wassaved. He glanced at Mme. Forestier. Shewore a gown of pale blue cashmere whichclung gracefully to her supple form androunded outlines; her arms and throat rosein, lily-white purity from the mass of lacewhich ornamented the corsage and shortsleeves. Her hair was dressed high andcurled on the nape of her neck.

Duroy grew more at his ease under herglance, which recalled to him, he knew notwhy, that of the girl he had met the preced-ing evening at the Folies-Bergeres. Mme.Forestier had gray eyes, a small nose, fulllips, and a rather heavy chin, an irregular,

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attractive face, full of gentleness and yet ofmalice.

After a short silence, she asked: "Have youbeen in Paris a longtime?"

Gradually regaining his self-possession, hereplied: "a few months, Madame. I am in therailroad employ, but my friend Forestier hasencouraged me to hope that, thanks to him, Ican enter into journalism."

She smiled kindly and murmured in a lowvoice: "I know."

The bell rang again and the servant an-nounced: "Mme. de Marelle." She was adainty brunette, attired in a simple, darkrobe; a red rose in her black tresses seemedto accentuate her special character, and ayoung girl, or rather a child, for such shewas, followed her.

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Mme. Forestier said: "Good evening,Clotilde."

"Good evening, Madeleine."

They embraced each other, then the childoffered her forehead with the assurance of anadult, saying:

"Good evening, cousin."

Mme. Forestier kissed her, and then madethe introductions:

"M. Georges Duroy, an old friend of Charles.Mme. de Marelle, my friend, a relative infact." She added: "Here, you know, we do notstand on ceremony."

Duroy bowed. The door opened again and ashort man entered, upon his arm a tall,handsome woman, taller than he and muchyounger, with distinguished manners and a

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dignified carriage. It was M. Walter, deputy,financier, a moneyed man, and a man ofbusiness, manager of "La Vie Francaise,"with his wife, nee Basile Ravalade, daughterof the banker of that name.

Then came Jacques Rival, very elegant, fol-lowed by Norbert de Varenne. The latter ad-vanced with the grace of the old school andtaking Mme. Forestier's hand kissed it; hislong hair falling upon his hostess's bare armas he did so.

Forestier now entered, apologizing for beinglate; he had beendetained.

The servant announced dinner, and theyentered the dining-room. Duroy was placedbetween Mme. de Marelle and her daughter.He was again rendered uncomfortable forfear of committing some error in the conven-tional management of his fork, his spoon, or

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his glasses, of which he had four. Nothingwas said during the soup; then Norbert deVarenne asked a general question: "Have youread the Gauthier case? How droll it was!"

Then followed a discussion of the subject inwhich the ladies joined. Then a duel wasmentioned and Jacques Rival led the conver-sation; that was his province. Duroy did notventure a remark, but occasionally glanced athis neighbor. A diamond upon a slight,golden thread depended from her ear; fromtime to time she uttered a remark whichevoked a smile upon his lips. Duroy soughtvainly for some compliment to pay her; hebusied himself with her daughter, filled herglass, waited upon her, and the child, moredignified than her mother, thanked himgravely saying, "You are very kind, Mon-sieur," while she listened to the conversationwith a reflective air. The dinner was excellentand everyone was delighted with it.

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The conversation returned to the coloniza-tion of Algeria. M. Walter uttered several joc-ose remarks; Forestier alluded to the articlehe had prepared for the morrow; JacquesRival declared himself in favor of a militarygovernment with grants of land to all the of-ficers after thirty years of colonial service.

"In that way," said he, "you can establish astrong colony, familiar with and liking thecountry, knowing its language and able tocope with all those local yet grave questionswhich invariably confront newcomers."

Norbert de Varenne interrupted: "Yes, theywould know everything, except agriculture.They would speak Arabic, but they would notknow how to transplant beet-root, and howto sow wheat. They would be strong in fen-cing, but weak in the art of farming. On thecontrary, the new country should be openedto everyone. Intelligent men would make

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positions for themselves; the others wouldsuccumb. It is a natural law."

A pause ensued. Everyone smiled. GeorgesDuroy, startled at the sound of his own voice,as if he had never heard it, said:

"What is needed the most down there is goodsoil. Really fertile land costs as much as itdoes in France and is bought by wealthyParisians. The real colonists, the poor, aregenerally cast out into the desert, wherenothing grows for lack of water."

All eyes turned upon him. He colored. M.Walter asked: "Do you knowAlgeria, sir?"

He replied: "Yes, sir, I was there twenty-eight months." Leaving the subject of colon-ization, Norbert de Varenne questioned himas to some of the Algerian customs. Georgesspoke with animation; excited by the wine

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and the desire to please, he related anecdotesof the regiment, of Arabian life, and of thewar.

Mme. Walter murmured to him in her softtones: "You could write a series of charmingarticles."

Forestier took advantage of the situation tosay to M. Walter: "My dear sir, I spoke to youa short while since of M. Georges Duroy andasked you to permit me to include him onthe staff of political reporters. Since Maram-bot has left us, I have had no one to take ur-gent and confidential reports, and the paperis suffering by it."

M. Walter put on his spectacles in order toexamine Duroy. Then he said: "I am con-vinced that M. Duroy is original, and if hewill call upon me tomorrow at three o'clock,we will arrange matters." After a pause, turn-ing to the young man, he said: "You may

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write us a short sketch on Algeria, M. Duroy.Simply relate your experiences; I am surethey will interest our readers. But you mustdo it quickly."

Mme. Walter added with her customary, ser-ious grace: "You will have a charming title:'Souvenirs of a Soldier in Africa.' Will he not,M. Norbert?"

The old poet, who had attained renown latein life, disliked and mistrusted newcomers.He replied dryly: "Yes, excellent, providedthat it is written in the right key, for therelies the great difficulty."

Mme. Forestier cast upon Duroy a protectingand smiling glance which seemed to say:"You shall succeed." The servant filled theglasses with wine, and Forestier proposedthe toast: "To the long prosperity of 'La VieFrancaise.'" Duroy felt superhuman strengthwithin him, infinite hope, and invincible

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resolution. He was at his ease now amongthese people; his eyes rested upon their faceswith renewed assurance, and for the firsttime he ventured to address his neighbor:

"You have the most beautiful earrings I haveever seen."

She turned toward him with a smile: "It is afancy of mine to wear diamonds like this,simply on a thread."

He murmured in reply, trembling at his au-dacity: "It is charming-- but the ear increasesthe beauty of the ornament."

She thanked him with a glance. As he turnedhis head, he met Mme. Forestier's eyes, inwhich he fancied he saw a mingled expres-sion of gaiety, malice, and encouragement.All the men were talking at the same time;their discussion was animated.

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When the party left the dining-room, Duroyoffered his arm to the little girl. She thankedhim gravely and stood upon tiptoe in orderto lay her hand upon his arm. Upon enteringthe drawing-room, the young man carefullysurveyed it. It was not a large room; butthere were no bright colors, and one felt atease; it was restful. The walls were drapedwith violet hangings covered with tiny em-broidered flowers of yellow silk. The porti-eres were of a grayish blue and the chairswere of all shapes, of all sizes; scatteredabout the room were couches and large andsmall easy-chairs, all covered with LouisXVI. brocade, or Utrecht velvet, a creamcolored ground with garnet flowers.

"Do you take coffee, M. Duroy?" Mme.Forestier offered him a cup, with the smilethat was always upon her lips.

"Yes, Madame, thank you." He took the cup,and as he did so, the young woman

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whispered to him: "Pay Mme. Walter someattention." Then she vanished before hecould reply.

First he drank his coffee, which he feared heshould let fall upon the carpet; then hesought a pretext for approaching themanager's wife and commencing a conversa-tion. Suddenly he perceived that she held anempty cup in her hand, and as she was notnear a table, she did not know where to putit. He rushed toward her:

"Allow me, Madame."

"Thank you, sir."

He took away the cup and returned: "If you,but knew, Madame, what pleasant moments'La Vie Francaise' afforded me, when I was inthe desert! It is indeed the only paper onecares to read outside of France; it containseverything."

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She smiled with amiable indifference as shereplied: "M. Walter had a great deal oftrouble in producing the kind of journalwhich was required."

They talked of Paris, the suburbs, the Seine,the delights of summer, of everything theycould think of. Finally M. Norbert de Var-enne advanced, a glass of liqueur in his hand,and Duroy discreetly withdrew. Mme. deMarelle, who was chatting with her hostess,called him: "So, sir," she said bluntly, "youare going to try journalism?" That questionled to a renewal of the interrupted conversa-tion with Mme. Walter. In her turn Mme. deMarelle related anecdotes, and becoming fa-miliar, laid her hand upon Duroy's arm. Hefelt that he would like to devote himself toher, to protect her-- and the slowness withwhich he replied to her questions indicatedhis preoccupation. Suddenly, without anycause, Mme. de Marelle called: "Laurine!"

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and the girl came to her. "Sit down here, mychild, you will be cold near the window."

Duroy was seized with an eager desire to em-brace the child, as if part of that embracewould revert to the mother. He asked in agallant, yet paternal tone: "Will you permitme to kiss you, Mademoiselle?" The childraised her eyes with an air of surprise. Mme.de Marelle said with a smile: "Reply."

"I will allow you to-day, Monsieur, but not allthe time."

Seating himself, Duroy took Laurine uponhis knee, and kissed her lips and her finewavy hair. Her mother was surprised: "Well,that is strange! Ordinarily she only allowsladies to caress her. You are irresistible,Monsieur!"

Duroy colored, but did not reply.

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When Mme. Forestier joined them, a cry ofastonishment escaped her: "Well, Laurinehas become sociable; what a miracle!"

The young man rose to take his leave, fearinghe might spoil his conquest by some awk-ward word. He bowed to the ladies, claspedand gently pressed their hands, and thenshook hands with the men. He observed thatJacques Rival's was dry and warm and re-sponded cordially to his pressure; Norbert deVarenne's was moist and cold and slippedthrough his fingers; Walter's was cold andsoft, without life, expressionless; Forestier'sfat and warm.

His friend whispered to him: "To-morrow atthree o'clock; do notforget."

"Never fear!"

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When he reached the staircase, he felt likerunning down, his joy was so great; he wentdown two steps at a time, but suddenly onthe second floor, in the large mirror, he sawa gentleman hurrying on, and he slackenedhis pace, as much ashamed as if he had beensurprised in a crime.

He surveyed himself some time with a com-placent smile; then taking leave of his image,he bowed low, ceremoniously, as if salutingsome grand personage.

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CHAPTER III.

FIRST ATTEMPTS

When Georges Duroy reached the street, hehesitated as to what he should do. He felt in-clined to stroll along, dreaming of the futureand inhaling the soft night air; but thethought of the series of articles ordered byM. Walter occurred to him, and he decidedto return home at once and begin work. Hewalked rapidly along until he came to RueBoursault. The tenement in which he livedwas occupied by twenty families--families ofworkingmen--and as he mounted the stair-case he experienced a sensation of disgust

and a desire to live as wealthy men do.Duroy's room was on the fifth floor. Heentered it, opened his window, and lookedout: the view was anything butprepossessing.

He turned away, thinking: "This won't do. Imust go to work." So he placed his light uponthe table and began to write. He dipped hispen into the ink and wrote at the head of hispaper in a bold hand: "Souvenirs of a Soldierin Africa." Then he cast about for the firstphrase. He rested his head upon his handand stared at the blank sheet before him.What should he say? Suddenly he thought: "Imust begin with my departure," and hewrote: "In 1874, about the fifteenth of May,when exhausted France was recruiting afterthe catastrophe of the terrible years--" Herehe stopped short, not knowing how to intro-duce his subject. After a few minutes' reflec-tion, he decided to lay aside that page untilthe following day, and to write a description

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of Algiers. He began: "Algiers is a very cleancity--" but he could not continue. After an ef-fort he added: "It is inhabited partly byArabs." Then he threw his pen upon the tableand arose. He glanced around his miserableroom; mentally he rebelled against hispoverty and resolved to leave the next day.

Suddenly the desire to work came on him,and he tried to begin the article again; hehad vague ideas of what he wanted to say,but he could not express his thoughts inwords. Convinced of his inability he aroseonce more, his blood coursing rapidlythrough his veins. He turned to the windowjust as the train was coming out of the tun-nel, and his thoughts reverted to his parents.He saw their tiny home on the heights over-looking Rouen and the valley of the Seine.His father and mother kept an inn, La Belle-Vue, at which the citizens of the faubourgstook their lunches on Sundays. They hadwished to make a "gentleman" of their son

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and had sent him to college. His studiescompleted, he had entered the army with theintention of becoming an officer, a colonel,or a general. But becoming disgusted withmilitary life, he determined to try his fortunein Paris. When his time of service had ex-pired, he went thither, with what results wehave seen. He awoke from his reflections asthe locomotive whistled shrilly, closed hiswindow, and began to disrobe, muttering:"Bah, I shall be able to work better to-mor-row morning. My brain is not clear to-night.I have drunk a little too much. I can't workwell under such circumstances." He extin-guished his light and fell asleep.

He awoke early, and, rising, opened his win-dow to inhale the fresh air. In a few momentshe seated himself at his table, dipped his penin the ink, rested his head upon his hand andthought--but in vain! However, he was notdiscouraged, but in thought reassured him-self: "Bah, I am not accustomed to it! It is a

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profession that must be learned like all pro-fessions. Some one must help me the firsttime. I'll go to Forestier. He'll start my articlefor me in ten minutes."

When he reached the street, Duroy decidedthat it was rather early to present himself athis friend's house, so he strolled along underthe trees on one of the boulevards for a time.On arriving at Forestier's door, he found hisfriend going out.

"You here--at this hour! Can I do anythingfor you?"

Duroy stammered in confusion: "I--I--can-not write that article on Algeria that M. Wal-ter wants. It is not very surprising, seeingthat I have never written anything. It re-quires practice. I could write very rapidly, Iam sure, if I could make a beginning. I havethe ideas but I cannot express them." Hepaused and hesitated.

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Forestier smiled maliciously: "I understandthat."

Duroy continued: "Yes, anyone is liable tohave that trouble at the beginning; and, well--I have come to ask you to help me. In tenminutes you can set me right. You can giveme a lesson in style; without you I can donothing."

The other smiled gaily. He patted hiscompanion's arm and said to him: "Go to mywife; she will help you better than I can. Ihave trained her for that work. I have nottime this morning or I would do it willingly."

But Duroy hesitated: "At this hour I cannotinquire for her."

"Oh, yes, you can; she has risen. You will findher in my study."

"I will go, but I shall tell her you sent me!"

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Forestier walked away, and Duroy slowly as-cended the stairs, wondering what he shouldsay and what kind of a reception he wouldreceive.

The servant who opened the door said:"Monsieur has gone out."

Duroy replied: "Ask Mme. Forestier if shewill see me, and tell her that M. Forestier,whom I met on the street, sent me."

The lackey soon returned and ushered Duroyinto Madame's presence. She was seated at atable and extended her hand to him.

"So soon?" said she. It was not a reproach,but a simple question.

He stammered: "I did not want to come up,Madame, but your husband, whom I metbelow, insisted--I dare scarcely tell you myerrand--I worked late last night and early

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this morning, to write the article on Algeriawhich M. Walter wants--and I did notsucceed--I destroyed all my attempts--I amnot accustomed to the work--and I came toask Forestier to assist me--his once."

She interrupted with a laugh: "And he sentyou to me?"

"Yes, Madame. He said you could help mebetter than he--but--I dared not--I did notlike to."

She rose.

"It will be delightful to work together thatway. I am charmed with your idea. Wait, takemy chair, for they know my handwriting onthe paper--we will write a successful article."

She took a cigarette from the mantelpieceand lighted it. "I cannot work without

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smoking," she said; "what are you going tosay?"

He looked at her in astonishment. "I do notknow; I came here tofind that out."

She replied: "I will manage it all right. I willmake the sauce but I must have the dish."She questioned him in detail and finally said:

"Now, we will begin. First of all we will sup-pose that you are addressing a friend, whichwill allow us scope for remarks of all kinds.Begin this way: 'My dear Henry, you wish toknow something about Algeria; you shall.'"

Then followed a brilliantly worded descrip-tion of Algeria and of the port of Algiers, anexcursion to the province of Oran, a visit toSaida, and an adventure with a pretty Span-ish maid employed in a factory.

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When the article was concluded, he couldfind no words of thanks; he was happy to benear her, grateful for and delighted withtheir growing intimacy. It seemed to himthat everything about him was a part of her,even to the books upon the shelves. Thechairs, the furniture, the air--all were per-meated with that delightful fragrance peculi-ar to her.

She asked bluntly: "What do you think of myfriend Mme. de Marelle?"

"I think her very fascinating," he said; and hewould have liked to add: "But not as much soas you." He had not the courage to do so.

She continued: "If you only knew how comic-al, original, and intelligent she is! She is atrue Bohemian. It is for that reason that herhusband no longer loves her. He only seesher defects and none of her good qualities."

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Duroy was surprised to hear that Mme. deMarelle was married.

"What," he asked, "is she married? Whatdoes her husband do?"

Mme. Forestier shrugged her shoulders. "Oh,he is superintendent of a railroad. He is inParis a week out of each month. His wifecalls it 'Holy Week.' or 'The week of duty.'When you get better acquainted with her,you will see how witty she is! Come here andsee her some day."

As she spoke, the door opened noiselessly,and a gentleman entered unannounced. Hehalted on seeing a man. For a moment Mme.Forestier seemed confused; then she said ina natural voice, though her cheeks weretinged with a blush:

"Come in, my dear sir; allow me to present toyou an old comrade of Charles, M. Georges

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Duroy, a future journalist." Then in a differ-ent tone, she said: "Our best and dearestfriend, Count de Vaudrec."

The two men bowed, gazed into oneanother's eyes, and then Duroy took hisleave. Neither tried to detain him.

On reaching the street he felt sad and un-comfortable. Count de Vaudrec's face wasconstantly before him. It seemed to him thatthe man was displeased at finding him tete-a-tete with Mme. Forestier, though why heshould be, he could not divine.

To while away the time until three o'clock, helunched at Duval's, and then lounged alongthe boulevard. When the clock chimed thehour of his appointment, he climbed thestairs leading to the office of "La VieFrancaise."

Duroy asked: "Is M. Walter in?"

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"M. Walter is engaged," was the reply. "Willyou please take aseat?"

Duroy waited twenty minutes, then heturned to the clerk and said: "M. Walter hadan appointment with me at three o'clock. Atany rate, see if my friend M. Forestier ishere."

He was conducted along a corridor andushered into a large room in which four menwere writing at a table. Forestier was stand-ing before the fireplace, smoking a cigarette.After listening to Duroy's story he said:

"Come with me; I will take you to M. Walter,or else you might remain here until seveno'clock."

They entered the manager's room. Norbertde Varenne was writing an article, seated inan easychair; Jacques Rival, stretched upon

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a divan, was smoking a cigar. The room hadthe peculiar odor familiar to all journalists.When they approached M. Walter, Forestiersaid: "Here is my friend Duroy."

The manager looked keenly at the youngman and asked:

"Have you brought my article?"

Duroy drew the sheets of manuscript fromhis pocket.

"Here they are, Monsieur."

The manager seemed delighted and said witha smile: "Very good. You are a man of yourword. Need I look over it, Forestier?"

But Forestier hastened to reply: "It is not ne-cessary, M. Walter; I helped him in order toinitiate him into the profession. It is verygood." Then bending toward him, he

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whispered: "You know you promised to en-gage Duroy to replace Marambot. Will youallow me to retain him on the same terms?"

"Certainly."

Taking his friend's arm, the journalist drewhim away, while M. Walter returned to thegame of ecarte he had been engaged in whenthey entered. Forestier and Duroy returnedto the room in which Georges had found hisfriend. The latter said to his new reporter:

"You must come here every day at threeo'clock, and I will tell you what places to goto. First of all, I shall give you a letter of in-troduction to the chief of the police, who willin turn introduce you to one of his employ-ees. You can arrange with him for all import-ant news, official and semiofficial. For detailsyou can apply to Saint-Potin, who is posted;you will see him to-morrow. Above all, youmust learn to make your way everywhere in

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spite of closed doors. You will receive twohundred francs a months, two sous a line fororiginal matter, and two sous a line for art-icles you are ordered to write on differentsubjects."

"What shall I do to-day?" asked Duroy.

"I have no work for you to-day; you can go ifyou wish to."

"And our--our article?"

"Oh, do not worry about it; I will correct theproofs. Do the rest to-morrow and come hereat three o'clock as you did to-day."

And after shaking hands, Duroy descendedthe staircase with a lightheart.

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CHAPTER IV.

DUROY LEARNS SOMETHING

Georges Duroy did not sleep well, so anxiouswas he to see his article in print. He rose atdaybreak, and was on the street long beforethe newsboys. When he secured a paper andsaw his name at the end of a column in largeletters, he became very much excited. He feltinclined to enact the part of a newsboy andcry out to the hurrying throng: "Buy this! itcontains an article by me!" He strolled alongto a cafe and seated himself in order to readthe article through; that done he decided to

go to the railroad office, draw his salary, andhand in his resignation.

With great pomposity he informed the chiefclerk that he was on the staff of "La Vie Fran-caise," and by that means was avenged formany petty insults which had been offeredhim. He then had some cards written withhis new calling beneath his name, made sev-eral purchases, and repaired to the office of"La Vie Francaise." Forestier received himloftily as one would an inferior.

"Ah, here you are! Very well; I have severalthings for you to do. Just wait ten minutestill I finish this work." He continued writing.

At the other end of the table sat a short, paleman, very stout and bald. Forestier askedhim, when his letter was completed, "Saint-Potin, at what time shall you interview thosepeople?"

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"At four o'clock."

"Take Duroy, who is here, with you andinitiate him into thebusiness."

"Very well."

Then turning to his friend, Forestier added:"Have you brought the other paper on Alger-ia? The article this morning was verysuccessful."

Duroy stammered: "No, I thought I shouldhave time this afternoon. I had so much todo--I could not."

The other shrugged his shoulders. "If you arenot more careful, you will spoil your future.M. Walter counted on your copy. I will tellhim it will be ready to-morrow. If you thinkyou will be paid for doing nothing, you are

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mistaken." After a pause, he added: "Youshould strike while the iron is hot."

Saint-Potin rose: "I am ready," said he.

Forestier turned around in his chair andsaid, to Duroy: "Listen. The Chinese generalLi-Theng-Fao, stopping at the Continental,and Rajah Taposahib Ramaderao Pali, stop-ping at Hotel Bishop, have been in Paris twodays. You must interview them." AddressingSaint-Potin, he said: "Do not forget the prin-cipal points I indicated to you. Ask the gen-eral and the rajah their opinions on the deal-ings of England in the extreme East, theirideas of their system of colonization and gov-ernment, their hopes relative to the interven-tion of Europe and of France in particular."To Duroy he said: "Observe what Saint- Pot-in says; he is an excellent reporter, and try tolearn how to draw out a man in fiveminutes." Then he resumed his work.

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The two men walked down the boulevard to-gether, while Saint-Potin gave Duroy asketch of all the officials connected with thepaper, sparing no one in his criticism. Whenhe mentioned Forestier, he said: "As for him,he was fortunate in marrying his wife."

Duroy asked: "What about his wife?"

Saint-Potin rubbed his hands. "Oh, she is be-loved by an old fellow named Vaudrec--hedotes upon her."

Duroy felt as if he would like to box Saint-Potin's ears. To change the subject he said:"It seems to me that it is late, and we havetwo noble lords to call upon!"

Saint-Potin laughed: "You are very innocent!Do you think that I am going to interviewthat Chinese and that Indian? As if I did notknow better than they do what they shouldthink to please the readers of 'La Vie

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Francaise'! I have interviewed five hundredChinese, Prussians, Hindoos, Chilians, andJapanese. They all say the same thing. I needonly copy my article on the last comer, wordfor word, changing the heading, names,titles, and ages: in that there must be no er-ror, or I shall be hauled over the coals by the'Figaro' or 'Gaulois.' But on that subject theporter of the hotels will post me in fiveminutes. We will smoke our cigars and strollin that direction. Total--one hundred sousfor cabfare. That is the way, my dear fellow."

When they arrived at the Madeleine, Saint-Potin said to his companion: "If you haveanything to do, I do not need you."

Duroy shook hands with him and walkedaway. The thought of the article he had towrite that evening haunted him. Mentally hecollected the material as he wended his wayto the cafe at which he dined. Then he re-turned home and seated himself at his table

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to work. Before his eyes was the sheet ofblank paper, but all the material he hadamassed had escaped him. After trying for anhour, and after filling five pages with sen-tences which had no connection one with theother, he said: "I am not yet familiar with thework. I must take another lesson."

At ten o'clock the following morning he rangthe bell, at his friend's house. The servantwho opened the door, said: "Monsieur isbusy."

Duroy had not expected to find Forestier athome. However he said: "Tell him it is M.Duroy on important business."

In the course of five minutes he was usheredinto the room in which he had spent sohappy a morning. In the place Mme. Foresti-er had occupied, her husband was seatedwriting, while Mme. Forestier stood by the

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mantelpiece and dictated to him, a cigarettebetween her lips.

Duroy paused upon the threshold and mur-mured: "I beg your pardon, I am interruptingyou."

His friend growled angrily: "What do youwant again? Make haste; weare busy."

Georges stammered: "It is nothing."

But Forestier persisted: "Come, we are losingtime; you did not force your way into thehouse for the pleasure of bidding us goodmorning."

Duroy, in confusion, replied: "No, it is this: Icannot complete my article, and you were--so--so kind the last time that I hoped--that Idared to come--"

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Forestier interrupted with: "So you think Iwill do your work and that you have only totake the money. Well, that is fine!" His wifesmoked on without interfering.

Duroy hesitated: "Excuse me. I believed--I--thought--" Then, in a clear voice, he said: "Ibeg a thousand pardons, Madame, and thankyou very much for the charming article youwrote for me yesterday." Then he bowed, andsaid to Charles: "I will be at the office atthree o'clock."

He returned home saying to himself: "Verywell, I will write it alone and they shall see."Scarcely had he entered than he began towrite, anger spurring him on. In an hour hehad finished an article, which was a chaos ofabsurd matter, and took it boldly to the of-fice. Duroy handed Forestier his manuscript."Here is the rest of Algeria."

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"Very well, I will hand it to the manager.That will do."

When Duroy and Saint-Potin, who had somepolitical information to look up, were in thehall, the latter asked: "Have you been to thecashier's room?"

"No, why?"

"Why? To get your pay? You should alwaysget your salary a month in advance. One can-not tell what might happen. I will introduceyou to the cashier."

Duroy drew his two hundred francs togetherwith twenty-eight francs for his article of thepreceding day, which, in addition to what re-mained to him of his salary from the railroadoffice, left him three hundred and fortyfrancs. He had never had so much, and hethought himself rich for an indefinite time.Saint-Potin took him to the offices of four or

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five rival papers, hoping that the news hehad been commissioned to obtain had beenalready received by them and that he couldobtain it by means of his diplomacy.

When evening came, Duroy, who had noth-ing more to do, turned toward the Folies-Bergeres, and walking up to the office, hesaid: "My name is Georges Duroy. I am onthe staff of 'La Vie Francaise.' I was here theother night with M. Forestier, who promisedto get me a pass. I do not know if he re-membered it."

The register was consulted, but his name wasnot inscribed upon it. However, the cashier,a very affable man, said to him: "Come in, M.Duroy, and speak to the manager yourself;he will see that everything is all right."

He entered and almost at once came uponRachel, the woman he had seen there before.

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She approached him: "Good evening, mydear; are you well?"

"Very well; how are you?"

"I am not ill. I have dreamed of you twicesince the other night."

Duroy smiled. "What does that mean?"

"That means that I like you"; she raised hereyes to the young man's face, took his armand leaning upon it, said: "Let us drink aglass of wine and then take a walk. I shouldlike to go to the opera like this, with you, toshow you off."

* * * * * * *

At daybreak he again sallied forth to obtain a"Vie Francaise." He opened the paper fever-ishly; his article was not there. On enteringthe office several hours later, he said to M.

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Walter: "I was very much surprised thismorning not to see my second article onAlgeria."

The manager raised his head and saidsharply: "I gave it to your friend, Forestier,and asked him to read it; he was dissatisfiedwith it; it will have to be done over."

Without a word, Duroy left the room, andentering his friend'soffice, brusquely asked: "Why did not myarticle appear thismorning?"

The journalist, who was smoking a cigar,said calmly: "The manager did not considerit good, and bade me return it to you to berevised. There it is." Duroy revised it severaltimes, only to have it rejected. He said noth-ing more of his "souvenirs," but gave hiswhole attention to reporting. He became ac-quainted behind the scenes at the theaters,

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and in the halls and corridors of the chamberof deputies; he knew all the cabinet minis-ters, generals, police agents, princes, ambas-sadors, men of the world, Greeks, cabmen,waiters at cafes, and many others. In shorthe soon became a remarkable reporter, ofgreat value to the paper, so M. Walter said.But as he only received ten centimes a line inaddition to his fixed salary of two hundredfrancs and as his expenses were large, henever had a sou. When he saw certain of hisassociates with their pockets full of money,he wondered what secret means they em-ployed in order to obtain it. He determinedto penetrate that mystery, to enter into theassociation, to obtrude himself upon hiscomrades, and make them share with him.Often at evening, as he watched the trainspass his window, he dreamed of the conducthe might pursue.

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CHAPTER V.

THE FIRST INTRIGUE

Two months elapsed. It was September. Thefortune which Duroy had hoped to make sorapidly seemed to him slow in coming.Above all he was dissatisfied with the me-diocrity of his position; he was appreciated,but was treated according to his rank.Forestier himself no longer invited him todinner, and treated him as an inferior. Oftenhe had thought of making Mme. Forestier avisit, but the remembrance of their lastmeeting restrained him. Mme. de Marellehad invited him to call, saying: "I am always

at home about three o'clock." So one after-noon, when he had nothing to do, he pro-ceeded toward her house. She lived on RueVerneuil, on the fourth floor. A maidanswered his summons, and said: "Yes, Ma-dame is at home, but I do not know whethershe has risen." She conducted Duroy into thedrawing-room, which was large, poorly fur-nished, and somewhat untidy. The shabby,threadbare chairs were ranged along thewalls according to the servant's fancy, forthere was not a trace visible of the care of awoman who loves her home. Duroy took aseat and waited some time. Then a dooropened and Mme. de Marelle entered hastily,clad in a Japanese dressing-gown. Sheexclaimed:

"How kind of you to come to see me. I waspositive you had forgotten me." She held outher hand to him with a gesture of delight;and Duroy, quite at his ease in that shabby

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apartment, kissed it as he had seen Norbertde Varenne do.

Examining him from head to foot, she cried:"How you have changed! Well; tell me thenews."

They began to chat at once as if they were oldacquaintances, and in five minutes an intim-acy, a mutual understanding, was estab-lished between those two beings alike incharacter and kind. Suddenly the young wo-man said in surprise: "It is astonishing how Ifeel with you. It seems to me as if I hadknown you ten years. We shall undoubtedlybecome good friends; would that pleaseyou?"

He replied: "Certainly," with a smile moreexpressive than words. He thought her verybewitching in her pretty gown. When nearMme. Forestier, whose impassive, gracioussmile attracted yet held at a distance, and

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seemed to say: "I like you, yet take care," hefelt a desire to cast himself at her feet, or tokiss the hem of her garment. When nearMme. de Marelle, he felt a more passionatedesire.

A gentle rap came at the door through whichMme. de Marelle had entered, and she cried:"You may come in, my darling."

The child entered, advanced to Duroy andoffered him her hand. The astonished moth-er murmured: "That is a conquest." Theyoung man, having kissed the child, seatedher by his side, and with a serious air ques-tioned her as to what she had done sincethey last met. She replied in a flute-like voiceand with the manner of a woman. The clockstruck three; the journalist rose.

"Come often," said Mme. de Marelle; "it hasbeen a pleasant causerie. I shall always be

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glad to welcome you. Why do I never meetyou at the Forestiers?"

"For no particular reason. I am very busy. Ihope, however, that we shall meet there oneof these days."

In the course of a few days he paid anothervisit to the enchantress. The maid usheredhim into the drawing-room and Laurinesoon entered; she offered him not her handbut her forehead, and said: "Mamma wishesme to ask you to wait for her about fifteenminutes, for she is not dressed. I will keepyou company."

Duroy, who was amused at the child's cere-monious manner, replied: "Indeed, Ma-demoiselle, I shall be enchanted to spend aquarter of an hour with you." When themother entered they were in the midst of anexciting game, and Mme. de Marelle pausedin amazement, crying: "Laurine playing? You

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are a sorcerer, sir!" He placed the child,whom he had caught in his arms, upon thefloor, kissed the lady's hand, and they seatedthemselves, the child between them. Theytried to converse, but Laurine, usually so si-lent, monopolized the conversation, and hermother was compelled to send her to herroom.

When they were alone, Mme. de Marellelowered her voice and said: "I have a greatproject. It is this: As I dine every week at theForesters', I return it from time to time byinviting them to a restaurant. I do not like tohave company at home; I am not so situatedthat I can have any. I know nothing abouthousekeeping or cooking. I prefer a life freefrom care; therefore I invite them to the cafeoccasionally; but it is not lively when we areonly three. I am telling you this in order toexplain such an informal gathering. I shouldlike you to be present at our Saturdays at the

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Cafe Riche at seven-thirty. Do you know thehouse?"

Duroy accepted gladly. He left her in a trans-port of delight and impatiently awaited theday of the dinner. He was the first to arriveat the place appointed and was shown into asmall private room, in which the table waslaid for four; that table looked very invitingwith its colored glasses, silver, andcandelabra.

Duroy seated himself upon a low bench.Forestier entered and shook hands with himwith a cordiality he never evinced at theoffice.

"The two ladies will come together," said he."These dinners aretruly delightful."

Very soon the door opened and MesdamesForestier and De Marelle appeared, heavily

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veiled, surrounded by the charming mysterynecessary to a rendezvous in a place so pub-lic. As Duroy greeted the former, she tookhim to task for not having been to see her;then she added with a smile: "Ah, you preferMme. de Marelle; the time passes morepleasantly with her."

When the waiter handed the wine-list toForestier, Mme. de Marelle exclaimed:"Bring the gentle-men whatever they want;as for us, we want nothing but champagne."

Forestier, who seemed not to have heard her,asked: "Do you object to my closing the win-dow? My cough has troubled me for severaldays."

"Not at all."

His wife did not speak. The various courseswere duly served and then the guests beganto chat. They discussed a scandal which was

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being circulated about a society belle.Forestier was very much amused by it. Duroysaid with a smile: "How many would aban-don themselves to a caprice, a dream of love,if they did not fear that they would pay for abrief happiness with tears and an irremedi-able scandal?"

Both women glanced at him approvingly.Forestier cried with a sceptical laugh: "Thepoor husbands!" Then they talked of love.Duroy said: "When I love a woman,everything else in the world is forgotten."

Mme. Forestier murmured:, "There is nohappiness comparable to that first clasp ofthe hand, when one asks: 'Do you love me?'and the other replies: 'Yes, I love you.'" Mme.de Marelle cried gaily as she drank a glass ofchampagne: "I am less Platonic."

Forestier, lying upon the couch, said in seri-ous tone: "That frankness does you honor

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and proves you to be a practical woman. Butmight one ask, what is M. de Marelle'sopinion?"

She shrugged her shoulders disdainfully andsaid: "M. de Marelle has no opinion on thatsubject."

The conversation grew slow. Mme. deMarelle seemed to offer provocation by herremarks, while Mme. Forestier's charmingreserve, the modesty in her voice, in hersmile, all seemed to extenuate the bold sal-lies which issued from her lips. The dessertcame and then followed the coffee. The host-ess and her guests lighted cigarettes, butForestier suddenly began to cough. When theattack was over, he growled angrily: "Theseparties are not good for me; they are stupid.Let us go home."

Mme. de Marelle summoned the waiter andasked for her bill. She tried to read it, but the

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figures danced before her eyes; she handedthe paper to Duroy.

"Here, pay it for me; I cannot see." At thesame time, she put herpurse in his hand.

The total was one hundred and thirty francs.Duroy glanced at the bill and when it wassettled, whispered: "How much shall I givethe waiter?"

"Whatever you like; I do not know."

He laid five francs upon the plate andhanded the purse to its owner, saying: "ShallI escort you home?"

"Certainly; I am unable to find the house."

They shook hands with the Forestiers andwere soon rolling along in a cab side by side.Duroy could think of nothing to say; he felt

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impelled to clasp her in his arms. "If I shoulddare, what would she do?" thought he. Therecollection of their conversation at dinneremboldened, but the fear of scandal re-strained him. Mme. de Marelle reclined si-lently in her corner. He would have thoughther asleep, had he not seen her eyes glistenwhenever a ray of light penetrated the darkrecesses of the carriage. Of what was shethinking? Suddenly she moved her foot,nervously, impatiently. That movementcaused him to tremble, and turning quickly,he cast himself upon her, seeking her lipswith his. She uttered a cry, attempted to re-pulse him and then yielded to his caresses asif she had not the strength to resist.

The carriage stopped at her door, but she didnot rise; she did not move, stunned by whathad just taken place. Fearing that the cab-man would mistrust something, Duroyalighted from the cab first and offered hishand to the young woman. Finally she got

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out, but in silence. Georges rang the bell, andwhen the door was opened, he asked timidly:"When shall I see you again?"

She whispered so low that he could barelyhear her: "Come and lunch with me to-mor-row." With those words she disappeared.

Duroy gave the cabman a five-franc piece,and turned away with a triumphant, joyfulair. He had at last conquered a married wo-man! A woman of the world! A Parisian!How easy it had been!

He was somewhat nervous the following dayas he ascended Mme. de Marelle's staircase.How would she receive him? Suppose sheforbade him to enter her house? If she hadtold--but no, she could not tell anythingwithout telling the whole truth! He was mas-ter of the situation!

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The little maid-servant opened the door. Shewas as pleasant as usual. Duroy felt reas-sured and asked: "Is Madame well?"

"Yes, sir; as well as she always is," was thereply, and he was ushered into the salon. Hewalked to the mantelpiece to see what kindof an appearance he presented: he was read-justing his cravat when he saw in the mirrorthe young woman standing on the thresholdlooking at him. He pretended not to haveseen her, and for several moments theygazed at one another in the mirror. Then heturned. She had not moved; she seemed tobe waiting. He rushed toward her crying:"How I love you!" He clasped her to hisbreast. He thought: "It is easier than Ithought it would be. All is well." He looked ather with a smile, without uttering a word,trying to put into his glance a wealth of love.She too smiled and murmured: "We arealone. I sent Laurine to lunch with a friend."

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He sighed, and kissing her wrists said:"Thanks; I adore you." She took his arm as ifhe had been her husband, and led him to acouch, upon which they seated themselvesside by side. Duroy stammered, incoher-ently: "You do not care for me."

She laid her hand upon his lips. "Be silent!"

"How I love you!" said he.

She repeated: "Be silent!"

They could hear the servant laying the tablein the dining-room. He rose: "I cannot sit sonear you. I shall lose my head."

The door opened: "Madame is served!"

He offered her his arm gravely. They lunchedwithout knowing what they were eating. Theservant came and went without seeming tonotice anything. When the meal was

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finished, they returned to the drawing-roomand resumed their seats on the couch side byside. Gradually he drew nearer her and triedto embrace her.

"Be careful, some one might come in."

He whispered: "When can I see you alone totell you how I love you?"

She leaned toward him and said softly: "Iwill pay you a visit oneof these days."

He colored. "My rooms--are--are--verymodest."

She smiled: "That makes no difference. Ishall come to see you andnot your rooms."

He urged her to tell him when she wouldcome. She fixed a day in the following week,

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while he besought her with glowing eyes tohasten the day. She was amused to see himimplore so ardently and yielded a day at atime. He repeated: "To-morrow, say--to-morrow." Finally she consented. "Yes, to-morrow at five o'clock."

He drew a deep breath; then they chatted to-gether as calmly as if they had known oneanother for twenty years. A ring caused themto start; they separated. She murmured: "Itis Laurine."

The child entered, paused in surprise, thenran toward Duroyclapping her hands, delighted to see him,and crying: "Ah, 'Bel-Ami!'"

Mme. de Marelle laughed. "Bel-Ami! Laurinehas christened you. It is a pretty name. Ishall call you Bel-Ami, too!"

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He took the child upon his knee. At twentyminutes of three he rose to go to the office; atthe half-open door he whispered: "To-mor-row, five o'clock." The young woman replied:"Yes," with a smile and disappeared.

After he had finished his journalistic work,he tried to render his apartments more fit toreceive his expected visitor. He was well sat-isfied with the results of his efforts and re-tired, lulled to rest by the whistling of thetrains. Early the next morning he bought acake and a bottle of Madeira. He spread thecollation on his dressing-table which wascovered with a napkin. Then he waited. Shecame at a quarter past five and exclaimed asshe entered: "Why, it is nice here. But therewere a great many people on the stairs."

He took her in his arms and kissed her hair.An hour and a half later he escorted her to acab-stand on the Rue de Rome. When she

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was seated in the cab, he whispered: "Tues-day, at the same hour."

She repeated his words, and as it was night,she kissed him. Then as the cabman startedup his horse, she cried:" Adieu, Bel-Ami!"and the old coupe rumbled off.

For three weeks Duroy received Mme. deMarelle every two or three days, sometimesin the morning, sometimes in the evening.

As he was awaiting her one afternoon, anoise on the staircase drew him to his door.A child screamed. A man's angry voice cried:"What is the brat howling about?"

A woman's voice replied: "Nicolas has beentripped up on the landing-place by thejournalist's sweetheart."

Duroy retreated, for he heard the rustling ofskirts. Soon there was a knock at his door,

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which he opened, and Mme. de Marellerushed in, crying: "Did you hear?" Georgesfeigned ignorance of the matter.

"No; what?"

"How they insulted me?"

"Who?"

"Those miserable people below."

"Why, no; what is it? Tell me."

She sobbed and could not speak. He wasforced to place her upon his bed and to lay adamp cloth upon her temples. When shegrew calmer, anger succeeded her agitation.She wanted Duroy to go downstairs at once,to fight them, to kill them.

He replied: "They are working-people. Justthink, it would be necessary to go to court

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where you would be recognized; one mustnot compromise oneself with such people."

She said: "What shall we do? I cannot comehere again."

He replied: "That is very simple. I willmove."

She murmured: "Yes, but that will take sometime."

Suddenly she said: "Listen to me, I havefound a means; do not worry about it. I willsend you a 'little blue' to-morrow morning."She called a telegram a "little blue."

She smiled with delight at her plans, whichshe would not reveal. She was, however, verymuch affected as she descended the staircaseand leaned with all her strength upon herlover's arm. They met no one.

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He was still in bed the following morningwhen the promised telegram was handedhim. Duroy opened it and read:

"Come at five o'clock to Rue de Con-stantinople, No. 127. Ask for the room rentedby Mme. Duroy. CLO."

At five o'clock precisely he entered a largefurnished house and asked the janitor: "HasMme. Duroy hired a room here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Will you show me to it, if you please?"

The man, accustomed no doubt to situationsin which it was necessary to be prudent,looked him straight in the eyes; then select-ing a key, he asked: "Are you M. Duroy?"

"Certainly."

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He opened a small suite, comprising tworooms on the ground floor.

Duroy thought uneasily: "This will cost a for-tune. I shall have to run into debt. She hasdone a very foolish thing."

The door opened and Clotilde rushed in. Shewas enchanted. "Is it not fine? There are nostairs to climb; it is on the ground floor! Onecould come and go through the windowwithout the porter seeing one."

He embraced her nervously, not daring toask the question that hovered upon his lips.She had placed a large package on the standin the center of the room. Opening it shetook out a tablet of soap, a bottle of Lubin'sextract, a sponge, a box of hairpins, a button-hook, and curling-tongs. Then she amusedherself by finding places in which to putthem.

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She talked incessantly as she opened thedrawers: "I must bring some linen in order tohave a change. We shall each have a key, be-sides the one at the lodge, in case we shouldforget ours. I rented the apartments for threemonths--in your name, of course, for I couldnot give mine."

Then he asked: "Will you tell me when topay?"

She replied simply: "It is paid, my dear."

He made a pretense of being angry: "I cannotpermit that."

She laid her hand upon his shoulder and saidin a supplicatory tone: "Georges, it will giveme pleasure to have the nest mine. Say thatyou do not care, dear Georges," and he yiel-ded. When she had left him, he murmured:"She is kind-hearted, anyway."

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Several days later he received