Bel Ami (A Ladies' Man) Page 5

  V

  Two months had gone by, September was at hand, and the rapid fortunewhich Duroy had hoped for seemed to him slow in coming. He was, aboveall, uneasy at the mediocrity of his position, and did not see by whatpath he could scale the heights on the summit of which one findsrespect, power, and money. He felt shut up in the mediocre calling of areporter, so walled in as to be unable to get out of it. He wasappreciated, but estimated in accordance with his position. EvenForestier, to whom he rendered a thousand services, no longer invitedhim to dinner, and treated him in every way as an inferior, though stillaccosting him as a friend.

  From time to time, it is true, Duroy, seizing an opportunity, got in ashort article, and having acquired through his paragraphs a mastery overhis pen, and a tact which was lacking to him when he wrote his secondarticle on Algeria, no longer ran any risk of having his descriptiveefforts refused. But from this to writing leaders according to hisfancy, or dealing with political questions with authority, there was asgreat a difference as driving in the Bois de Boulogne as a coachman, andas the owner of an equipage. That which humiliated him above everythingwas to see the door of society closed to him, to have no equal relationswith it, not to be able to penetrate into the intimacy of its women,although several well-known actresses had occasionally received him withan interested familiarity.

  He knew, moreover, from experience that all the sex, ladies oractresses, felt a singular attraction towards him, an instantaneoussympathy, and he experienced the impatience of a hobbled horse at notknowing those whom his future may depend on.

  He had often thought of calling on Madame Forestier, but therecollection of their last meeting checked and humiliated him; andbesides, he was awaiting an invitation to do so from her husband. Thenthe recollection of Madame de Marelle occurred to him, and recallingthat she had asked him to come and see her, he called one afternoon whenhe had nothing to do.

  "I am always at home till three o'clock," she had said.

  He rang at the bell of her residence, a fourth floor in the Rue deVerneuil, at half-past two.

  At the sound of the bell a servant opened the door, an untidy girl, whotied her cap strings as she replied: "Yes, Madame is at home, but Idon't know whether she is up."

  And she pushed open the drawing-room door, which was ajar. Duroy wentin. The room was fairly large, scantily furnished and neglected looking.The chairs, worn and old, were arranged along the walls, as placed bythe servant, for there was nothing to reveal the tasty care of the womanwho loves her home. Four indifferent pictures, representing a boat on astream, a ship at sea, a mill on a plain, and a wood-cutter in a wood,hung in the center of the four walls by cords of unequal length, and allfour on one side. It could be divined that they had been dangling thusaskew ever so long before indifferent eyes.

  Duroy sat down immediately. He waited a long time. Then a door opened,and Madame de Marelle hastened in, wearing a Japanese morning gown ofrose-colored silk embroidered with yellow landscapes, blue flowers, andwhite birds.

  "Fancy! I was still in bed!" she exclaimed. "How good of you to come andsee me! I had made up my mind that you had forgotten me."

  She held out both her hands with a delighted air, and Duroy, whom thecommonplace appearance of the room had put at his ease, kissed one, as

  he had seen Norbert de Varenne do.

  She begged him to sit down, and then scanning him from head to foot,said: "How you have altered! You have improved in looks. Paris has doneyou good. Come, tell me the news."

  And they began to gossip at once, as if they had been old acquaintances,feeling an instantaneous familiarity spring up between them; feeling oneof those mutual currents of confidence, intimacy, and affection, which,in five minutes, make two beings of the same breed and character goodfriends.

  Suddenly, Madame de Marelle exclaimed in astonishment: "It is funny howI get on with you. It seems to me as though I had known you for tenyears. We shall become good friends, no doubt. Would you like it?"

  He answered: "Certainly," with a smile which said still more.

  He thought her very tempting in her soft and bright-hued gown, lessrefined and delicate than the other in her white one, but more excitingand spicy. When he was beside Madame Forestier, with her continual andgracious smile which attracted and checked at the same time; whichseemed to say: "You please me," and also "Take care," and of which thereal meaning was never clear, he felt above all the wish to lie down ather feet, or to kiss the lace bordering of her bodice, and slowly inhalethe warm and perfumed atmosphere that must issue from it. With Madame deMarelle he felt within him a more definite, a more brutal desire--adesire that made his fingers quiver in presence of the rounded outlinesof the light silk.

  She went on talking, scattering in each phrase that ready wit of whichshe had acquired the habit just as a workman acquires the knack neededto accomplish a task reputed difficult, and at which other folk areastonished. He listened, thinking: "All this is worth remembering. A mancould write charming articles of Paris gossip by getting her to chatover the events of the day."

  Some one tapped softly, very softly, at the door by which she hadentered, and she called out: "You can come in, pet."

  Her little girl made her appearance, walked straight up to Duroy, andheld out her hand to him. The astonished mother murmured: "But this is acomplete conquest. I no longer recognize her."

  The young fellow, having kissed the child, made her sit down beside him,and with a serious manner asked her pleasant questions as to what shehad been doing since they last met. She replied, in her littleflute-like voice, with her grave and grown-up air.

  The clock struck three, and the journalist arose.

  "Come often," said Madame de Marelle, "and we will chat as we have doneto-day; it will always give me pleasure. But how is it one no longersees you at the Forestiers?" He replied: "Oh! for no reason. I have beenvery busy. I hope to meet you there again one of these days."

  He went out, his heart full of hope, though without knowing why.

  He did not speak to Forestier of this visit. But he retained therecollection of it the following days, and more than the recollection--asensation of the unreal yet persistent presence of this woman. It seemedto him that he had carried away something of her, the reflection of herform in his eyes, and the smack of her moral self in his heart. Heremained under the haunted influence of her image, as it happenssometimes when we have passed pleasant hours with some one.

  He paid a second visit a few days later.

  The maid ushered him into the drawing-room, and Laurine at onceappeared. She held out no longer her hand, but her forehead, and said:"Mamma has told me to request you to wait for her. She will be aquarter-of-an-hour, because she is not dressed yet. I will keep youcompany."

  Duroy, who was amused by the ceremonious manners of the little girl,replied: "Certainly, Mademoiselle. I shall be delighted to pass aquarter-of-an-hour with you, but I warn you that for my part I am not atall serious, and that I play all day long, so I suggest a game attouch."

  The girl was astonished; then she smiled as a woman would have done atthis idea, which shocked her a little as well as astonished her, andmurmured: "Rooms are not meant to be played in."

  He said: "It is all the same to me. I play everywhere. Come, catch me."

  And he began to go round the table, exciting her to pursue him, whileshe came after him, smiling with a species of polite condescension, andsometimes extending her hand to touch him, but without ever giving wayso far as to run. He stopped, stooped down, and when she drew near withher little hesitating steps, sprung up in the air like ajack-in-the-box, and then bounded with a single stride to the other endof the dining-room. She thought it funny, ended by laughing, andbecoming aroused, began to trot after him, giving little gleeful yettimid cries when she thought she had him. He shifted the chairs and usedthem as obstacles, forcing her to go round and round one of them for aminute at a time, and then leaving that one to seize upon another.Laurine ran now, giving herself wholly up to the charm
of this new game,and with flushed face, rushed forward with the bound of a delightedchild at each of the flights, the tricks, the feints of her companion.Suddenly, just as she thought she had got him, he seized her in hisarms, and lifting her to the ceiling, exclaimed: "Touch."

  The delighted girl wriggled her legs to escape, and laughed with all herheart.

  Madame de Marelle came in at that moment, and was amazed. "What,Laurine, Laurine, playing! You are a sorcerer, sir."

  He put down the little girl, kissed her mother's hand, and they sat downwith the child between them. They began to chat, but Laurine, usually sosilent, kept talking all the while, and had to be sent to her room. Sheobeyed without a word, but with tears in her eyes.

  As soon as they were alone, Madame de Marelle lowered her voice. "You donot know, but I have a grand scheme, and I have thought of you. This isit. As I dine every week at the Forestiers, I return their hospitalityfrom time to time at some restaurant. I do not like to entertain companyat home, my household is not arranged for that, and besides, I do notunderstand anything about domestic affairs, anything about the kitchen,anything at all. I like to live anyhow. So I entertain them now and thenat a restaurant, but it is not very lively when there are only three,and my own acquaintances scarcely go well with them. I tell you all thisin order to explain a somewhat irregular invitation. You understand, doyou not, that I want you to make one of us on Saturday at the CafeRiche, at half-past seven. You know the place?"

  He accepted with pleasure, and she went on: "There will be only us four.These little outings are very amusing to us women who are not accustomedto them."

  She was wearing a dark brown dress, which showed off the lines of herwaist, her hips, her bosom, and her arm in a coquettishly provocativeway. Duroy felt confusedly astonished at the lack of harmony betweenthis carefully refined elegance and her evident carelessness as regardedher dwelling. All that clothed her body, all that closely and directlytouched her flesh was fine and delicate, but that which surrounded herdid not matter to her.

  He left her, retaining, as before, the sense of her continued presencein species of hallucination of the senses. And he awaited the day of thedinner with growing impatience.

  Having hired, for the second time, a dress suit--his funds not yetallowing him to buy one--he arrived first at the rendezvous, a fewminutes before the time. He was ushered up to the second story, and intoa small private dining-room hung with red and white, its single windowopening into the boulevard. A square table, laid for four, displayingits white cloth, so shining that it seemed to be varnished, and theglasses and the silver glittered brightly in the light of the twelvecandles of two tall candelabra. Without was a broad patch of lightgreen, due to the leaves of a tree lit up by the bright light from thedining-rooms.

  Duroy sat down in a low armchair, upholstered in red to match thehangings on the walls. The worn springs yielding beneath him caused himto feel as though sinking into a hole. He heard throughout the hugehouse a confused murmur, the murmur of a large restaurant, made up ofthe clattering of glass and silver, the hurried steps of the waiters,deadened by the carpets in the passages, and the opening of doorsletting out the sound of voices from the numerous private rooms in whichpeople were dining. Forestier came in and shook hands with him, with acordial familiarity which he never displayed at the offices of the _VieFrancaise_.

  "The ladies are coming together," said he; "these little dinners arevery pleasant."

  Then he glanced at the table, turned a gas jet that was feebly burningcompletely off, closed one sash of the window on account of the draught,and chose a sheltered place for himself, with a remark: "I must becareful; I have been better for a month, and now I am queer again theselast few days. I must have caught cold on Tuesday, coming out of thetheater."

  The door was opened, and, followed by a waiter, the two ladies appeared,veiled, muffled, reserved, with that charmingly mysterious bearing theyassume in such places, where the surroundings are suspicious.

  As Duroy bowed to Madame Forestier she scolded him for not having cometo see her again; then she added with a smile, in the direction of herfriend: "I know what it is; you prefer Madame de Marelle, you can findtime to visit her."

  They sat down to table, and the waiter having handed the wine card toForestier, Madame de Marelle exclaimed: "Give these gentlemen whateverthey like, but for us iced champagne, the best, sweet champagne,mind--nothing else." And the man having withdrawn, she added with anexcited laugh: "I am going to get tipsy this evening; we will have aspree--a regular spree."

  Forestier, who did not seem to have heard, said: "Would you mind thewindow being closed? My chest has been rather queer the last few days."

  "No, not at all."

  He pushed too the sash left open, and returned to his place with areassured and tranquil countenance. His wife said nothing. Seeminglylost in thought, and with her eyes lowered towards the table, she smiled

  at the glasses with that vague smile which seemed always to promise andnever to grant.

  The Ostend oysters were brought in, tiny and plump like little earsenclosed in shells, and melting between the tongue and the palate likesalt bon-bons. Then, after the soup, was served a trout as rose-tintedas a young girl, and the guests began to talk.

  They spoke at first of a current scandal; the story of a lady ofposition, surprised by one of her husband's friends supping in a privateroom with a foreign prince. Forestier laughed a great deal at theadventure; the two ladies declared that the indiscreet gossip wasnothing less than a blackguard and a coward. Duroy was of their opinion,and loudly proclaimed that it is the duty of a man in these matters,whether he be actor, confidant, or simple spectator, to be silent as thegrave. He added: "How full life would be of pleasant things if we couldreckon upon the absolute discretion of one another. That which often,almost always, checks women is the fear of the secret being revealed.Come, is it not true?" he continued. "How many are there who would yieldto a sudden desire, the caprice of an hour, a passing fancy, did theynot fear to pay for a short-lived and fleeting pleasure by anirremediable scandal and painful tears?"

  He spoke with catching conviction, as though pleading a cause, his owncause, as though he had said: "It is not with me that one would have todread such dangers. Try me and see."

  They both looked at him approvingly, holding that he spoke rightly andjustly, confessing by their friendly silence that their flexiblemorality as Parisians would not have held out long before the certaintyof secrecy. And Forestier, leaning back in his place on the divan, oneleg bent under him, and his napkin thrust into his waistcoat, suddenlysaid with the satisfied laugh of a skeptic: "The deuce! yes, they wouldall go in for it if they were certain of silence. Poor husbands!"

  And they began to talk of love. Without admitting it to be eternal,Duroy understood it as lasting, creating a bond, a tender friendship, aconfidence. The union of the senses was only a seal to the union ofhearts. But he was angry at the outrageous jealousies, melodramaticscenes, and unpleasantness which almost always accompany ruptures.

  When he ceased speaking, Madame de Marelle replied: "Yes, it is the onlypleasant thing in life, and we often spoil it by preposterousunreasonableness."

  Madame Forestier, who was toying with her knife, added: "Yes--yes--it ispleasant to be loved."

  And she seemed to be carrying her dream further, to be thinking thingsthat she dared not give words to.

  As the first _entree_ was slow in coming, they sipped from time to timea mouthful of champagne, and nibbled bits of crust. And the idea oflove, entering into them, slowly intoxicated their souls, as the brightwine, rolling drop by drop down their throats, fired their blood andperturbed their minds.

  The waiter brought in some lamb cutlets, delicate and tender, upon athick bed of asparagus tips.

  "Ah! this is good," exclaimed Forestier; and they ate slowly, savoringthe delicate meat and vegetables as smooth as cream.

  Duroy resumed: "For my part, when I love a woman everything else in theworld disappears." H
e said this in a tone of conviction.

  Madame Forestier murmured, with her let-me-alone air:

  "There is no happiness comparable to that of the first hand-clasp, whenthe one asks, 'Do you love me?' and the other replies, 'Yes.'"

  Madame de Marelle, who had just tossed a fresh glass of champagne off ata draught, said gayly, as she put down her glass: "For my part, I am notso Platonic."

  And all began to smile with kindling eyes at these words.

  Forestier, stretched out in his seat on the divan, opened his arms,rested them on the cushions, and said in a serious tone: "This franknessdoes you honor, and proves that you are a practical woman. But may oneask you what is the opinion of Monsieur de Marelle?"

  She shrugged her shoulders slightly, with infinite and prolongeddisdain; and then in a decided tone remarked: "Monsieur de Marelle hasno opinions on this point. He only has--abstentions."

  And the conversation, descending from the elevated theories, concerninglove, strayed into the flowery garden of polished blackguardism. It wasthe moment of clever double meanings; veils raised by words, aspetticoats are lifted by the wind; tricks of language; clever disguisedaudacities; sentences which reveal nude images in covered phrases; whichcause the vision of all that may not be said to flit rapidly before theeye and the mind, and allow the well-bred people the enjoyment of akind of subtle and mysterious love, a species of impure mental contact,due to the simultaneous evocation of secret, shameful, and longed-forpleasures. The roast, consisting of partridges flanked by quails, hadbeen served; then a dish of green peas, and then a terrine of foie gras,accompanied by a curly-leaved salad, filling a salad bowl as though withgreen foam. They had partaken of all these things without tasting them,without knowing, solely taken up by what they were talking of, plungedas it were in a bath of love.

  The two ladies were now going it strongly in their remarks. Madame deMarelle, with a native audacity which resembled a direct provocation,and Madame Forestier with a charming reserve, a modesty in her tone,voice, smile, and bearing that underlined while seeming to soften thebold remarks falling from her lips. Forestier, leaning quite back on thecushions, laughed, drank and ate without leaving off, and sometimesthrew in a word so risque or so crude that the ladies, somewhat shockedby its appearance, and for appearance sake, put on a little air ofembarrassment that lasted two or three seconds. When he had given ventto something a little too coarse, he added: "You are going ahead nicely,my children. If you go on like that you will end by making fools ofyourselves."

  Dessert came, and then coffee; and the liquors poured a yet warmer doseof commotion into the excited minds.

  As she had announced on sitting down to table, Madame de Marelle wasintoxicated, and acknowledged it in the lively and graceful rabble of awoman emphasizing, in order to amuse her guests, a very realcommencement of drunkenness.

  Madame Forestier was silent now, perhaps out of prudence, and Duroy,feeling himself too much excited not to be in danger of compromisinghimself, maintained a prudent reserve.

  Cigarettes were lit, and all at once Forestier began to cough. It was aterrible fit, that seemed to tear his chest, and with red face andforehead damp with perspiration, he choked behind his napkin. When thefit was over he growled angrily: "These feeds are very bad for me; theyare ridiculous." All his good humor had vanished before his terror ofthe illness that haunted his thoughts. "Let us go home," said he.

  Madame de Marelle rang for the waiter, and asked for the bill. It wasbrought almost immediately. She tried to read it, but the figures dancedbefore her eyes, and she passed it to Duroy, saying: "Here, pay for me;I can't see, I am too tipsy."

  And at the same time she threw him her purse. The bill amounted to onehundred and thirty francs. Duroy checked it, and then handed over twonotes and received back the change, saying in a low tone: "What shall Igive the waiter?"

  "What you like; I do not know."

  He put five francs on the salver, and handed back the purse, saying:"Shall I see you to your door?"

  "Certainly. I am incapable of finding my way home."

  They shook hands with the Forestiers, and Duroy found himself alone withMadame de Marelle in a cab. He felt her close to him, so close, in thisdark box, suddenly lit up for a moment by the lamps on the sidewalk. Hefelt through his sleeve the warmth of her shoulder, and he could findnothing to say to her, absolutely nothing, his mind being paralyzed bythe imperative desire to seize her in his arms.

  "If I dared to, what would she do?" he thought. The recollection of allthe things uttered during dinner emboldened him, but the fear of scandalrestrained him at the same time.

  Nor did she say anything either, but remained motionless in her corner.He would have thought that she was asleep if he had not seen her eyesglitter every time that a ray of light entered the carriage.

  "What was she thinking?" He felt that he must not speak, that a word, asingle word, breaking this silence would destroy his chance; yet couragefailed him, the courage needed for abrupt and brutal action. All at oncehe felt her foot move. She had made a movement, a quick, nervousmovement of impatience, perhaps of appeal. This almost imperceptiblegesture caused a thrill to run through him from head to foot, and hethrew himself upon her, seeking her mouth with his lips, her form withhis hands.

  But the cab having shortly stopped before the house in which sheresided, Duroy, surprised, had no time to seek passionate phrases tothank her, and express his grateful love. However, stunned by what hadtaken place, she did not rise, she did not stir. Then he was afraid thatthe driver might suspect something, and got out first to help her toalight.

  At length she got out of the cab, staggering and without saying a word.He rang the bell, and as the door opened, said, tremblingly: "When shallI see you again?"

  She murmured so softly that he scarcely heard it: "Come and lunch withme to-morrow." And she disappeared in the entry, pushed to the heavydoor, which closed with a noise like that of a cannon. He gave thedriver five francs, and began to walk along with rapid and triumphantsteps, and heart overflowing with joy.

  He had won at last--a married woman, a lady. How easy and unexpected ithad all been. He had fancied up till then that to assail and conquer oneof these so greatly longed-for beings, infinite pains, interminableexpectations, a skillful siege carried on by means of gallantattentions, words of love, sighs, and gifts were needed. And, lo!suddenly, at the faintest attack, the first whom he had encountered hadyielded to him so quickly that he was stupefied at it.

  "She was tipsy," he thought; "to-morrow it will be another story. Shewill meet me with tears." This notion disturbed him, but he added:"Well, so much the worse. Now I have her, I mean to keep her."

  He was somewhat agitated the next day as he ascended Madame de Marelle'sstaircase. How would she receive him? And suppose she would not receivehim at all? Suppose she had forbidden them to admit him? Suppose she hadsaid--but, no, she could not have said anything without letting thewhole truth be guessed. So he was master of the situation.

  The little servant opened the door. She wore her usual expression. Hefelt reassured, as if he had anticipated her displaying a troubledcountenance, and asked: "Is your mistress quite well?"

  She replied: "Oh! yes, sir, the same as usual," and showed him into thedrawing-room.

  He went straight to the chimney-glass to ascertain the state of his hairand his toilet, and was arranging his necktie before it, when he saw init the young woman watching him as she stood at the door leading fromher room. He pretended not to have noticed her, and the pair looked atone another for a few moments in the glass, observing and watchingbefore finding themselves face to face. He turned round. She had notmoved, and seemed to be waiting. He darted forward, stammering: "Mydarling! my darling!"

  She opened her arms and fell upon his breast; then having lifted herhead towards him, their lips met in a long kiss.

  He thought: "It is easier than I should have imagined. It is all goingon very well."

  And their lips separating, he smiled with
out saying a word, whilestriving to throw a world of love into his looks. She, too, smiled, withthat smile by which women show their desire, their consent, their wishto yield themselves, and murmured: "We are alone. I have sent Laurine tolunch with one of her young friends."

  He sighed as he kissed her. "Thanks, I will worship you."

  Then she took his arm, as if he had been her husband, to go to the sofa,on which they sat down side by side. He wanted to start a clever andattractive chat, but not being able to do so to his liking, stammered:"Then you are not too angry with me?"

  She put her hand on his mouth, saying "Be quiet."

  They sat in silence, looking into one another's eyes, with burningfingers interlaced.

  "How I did long for you!" said he.

  She repeated: "Be quiet."

  They heard the servant arranging the table in the adjoiningdining-room, and he rose, saying: "I must not remain so close to you. Ishall lose my head."

  The door opened, and the servant announced that lunch was ready. Duroygravely offered his arm.

  They lunched face to face, looking at one another and constantlysmiling, solely taken up by themselves, and enveloped in the sweetenchantment of a growing love. They ate, without knowing what. He felt afoot, a little foot, straying under the table. He took it between hisown and kept it there, squeezing it with all his might. The servant cameand went, bringing and taking away the dishes with a careless air,without seeming to notice anything.

  When they had finished they returned to the drawing-room, and resumedtheir place on the sofa, side by side. Little by little he pressed upagainst her, striving to take her in his arms. But she calmly repulsedhim, saying: "Take care; someone may come in."

  He murmured: "When can I see you quite alone, to tell you how I loveyou?"

  She leant over towards him and whispered: "I will come and pay you avisit one of these days."

  He felt himself redden. "You know--you know--my place is very small."

  She smiled: "That does not matter. It is you I shall call to see, andnot your rooms."

  Then he pressed her to know when she would come. She named a day in thelatter half of the week. He begged of her to advance the date in brokensentences, playing with and squeezing her hands, with glittering eyes,and flushed face, heated and torn by desire, that imperious desire whichfollows _tete-a-tete_ repasts. She was amazed to see him implore herwith such ardor, and yielded a day from time to time. But he keptrepeating: "To-morrow, only say to-morrow."

  She consented at length. "Yes, to-morrow; at five o'clock."

  He gave a long sigh of joy, and they then chatted almost quietly with anair of intimacy, as though they had known one another twenty years. Thesound of the door bell made them start, and with a bound they separatedto a distance. She murmured: "It must be Laurine."

  The child made her appearance, stopped short in amazement, and then ranto Duroy, clapping her hands with pleasure at seeing him, andexclaiming: "Ah! pretty boy."

  Madame de Marelle began to laugh. "What! Pretty boy! Laurine hasbaptized you. It's a nice little nickname for you, and I will call youPretty-boy, too."

  He had taken the little girl on his knee, and he had to play with her atall the games he had taught her. He rose to take his leave at twentyminutes to three to go to the office of the paper, and on the staircase,through the half-closed door, he still whispered: "To-morrow, at five."

  She answered "Yes," with a smile, and disappeared.

  As soon as he had got through his day's work, he speculated how heshould arrange his room to receive his mistress, and hide as far aspossible the poverty of the place. He was struck by the idea of pinning

  a lot of Japanese trifles on the walls, and he bought for five francsquite a collection of little fans and screens, with which he hid themost obvious of the marks on the wall paper. He pasted on the windowpanes transparent pictures representing boats floating down rivers,flocks of birds flying across rosy skies, multi-colored ladies onbalconies, and processions of little black men over plains covered withsnow. His room, just big enough to sleep and sit down in, soon lookedlike the inside of a Chinese lantern. He thought the effectsatisfactory, and passed the evening in pasting on the ceiling birdsthat he had cut from the colored sheets remaining over. Then he went tobed, lulled by the whistle of the trains.

  He went home early the next day, carrying a paper bag of cakes and abottle of Madeira, purchased at the grocer's. He had to go out again tobuy two plates and two glasses, and arranged this collation on hisdressing-table, the dirty wood of which was covered by a napkin, the jugand basin being hidden away beneath it.

  Then he waited.

  She came at about a quarter-past five; and, attracted by the brightcolors of the pictures, exclaimed: "Dear me, yours is a nice place. Butthere are a lot of people about on the staircase."

  He had clasped her in his arms, and was eagerly kissing the hair betweenher forehead and her bonnet through her veil.

  An hour and a half later he escorted her back to the cab-stand in theRue de Rome. When she was in the carriage he murmured: "Tuesday at thesame time?"

  She replied: "Tuesday at the same time." And as it had grown dark, shedrew his head into the carriage and kissed him on the lips. Then thedriver, having whipped up his beast, she exclaimed: "Good-bye,Pretty-boy," and the old vehicle started at the weary trot of its oldwhite horse.

  For three weeks Duroy received Madame de Marelle in this way every twoor three days, now in the evening and now in the morning. While he wasexpecting her one afternoon, a loud uproar on the stairs drew him to thedoor. A child was crying. A man's angry voice shouted: "What is thatlittle devil howling about now?" The yelling and exasperated voice of awoman replied: "It is that dirty hussy who comes to see thepenny-a-liner upstairs; she has upset Nicholas on the landing. As ifdabs like that, who pay no attention to children on the staircase,should be allowed here."

  Duroy drew back, distracted, for he could hear the rapid rustling ofskirts and a hurried step ascending from the story just beneath him.There was soon a knock at the door, which he had reclosed. He opened it,and Madame de Marelle rushed into the room, terrified and breathless,stammering: "Did you hear?"

  He pretended to know nothing. "No; what?"

  "How they have insulted me."

  "Who? Who?"

  "The blackguards who live down below."

  "But, surely not; what does it all mean, tell me?"

  She began to sob, without being able to utter a word. He had to take offher bonnet, undo her dress, lay her on the bed, moisten her foreheadwith a wet towel. She was choking, and then when her emotion wassomewhat abated, all her wrathful indignation broke out. She wanted himto go down at once, to thrash them, to kill them.

  He repeated: "But they are only work-people, low creatures. Justremember that it would lead to a police court, that you might berecognized, arrested, ruined. One cannot lower one's self to haveanything to do with such people."

  She passed on to another idea. "What shall we do now? For my part, Icannot come here again."

  He replied: "It is very simple; I will move."

  She murmured: "Yes, but that will take some time." Then all at once sheframed a plan, and reassured, added softly: "No, listen, I know what todo; let me act, do not trouble yourself about anything. I will send youa telegram to-morrow morning."

  She smiled now, delighted with her plan, which she would not reveal, andindulged in a thousand follies. She was very agitated, however, as shewent downstairs, leaning with all her weight on her lover's arm, herlegs trembled so beneath her. They did not meet anyone, though.

  As he usually got up late, he was still in bed the next day, when, abouteleven o'clock, the telegraph messenger brought him the promisedtelegram. He opened it and read:

  "Meet me at five; 127, Rue de Constantinople. Rooms hired by MadameDuroy.--Clo."

  At five o'clock to the minute he entered the doorkeeper's lodge of alarge furnished house, and asked: "It is here that Madame Duroy hastaken rooms, is it not?"<
br />
  "Yes, sir."

  "Will you show me to them, if you please."

  The man, doubtless used to delicate situations in which prudence isnecessary, looked him straight in the eyes, and then, selecting one ofthe long range of keys, said: "You are Monsieur Duroy?"

  "Yes, certainly."

  The man opened the door of a small suite of rooms on the ground floor infront of the lodge. The sitting-room, with a tolerably fresh wall-paperof floral design, and a carpet so thin that the boards of the floorcould be felt through it, had mahogany furniture, upholstered in greenrep with a yellow pattern. The bedroom was so small that the bedthree-parts filled it. It occupied the further end, stretching from onewall to the other--the large bed of a furnished lodging-house, shroudedin heavy blue curtains also of rep, and covered with an eider-down quiltof red silk stained with suspicious-looking spots.

  Duroy, uneasy and displeased, thought: "This place will cost, Lord knowshow much. I shall have to borrow again. It is idiotic what she hasdone."

  The door opened, and Clotilde came in like a whirlwind, withoutstretched arms and rustling skirts. She was delighted. "Isn't itnice, eh, isn't it nice? And on the ground floor, too; no stairs to goup. One could get in and out of the windows without the doorkeeperseeing one. How we will love one another here!"

  He kissed her coldly, not daring to put the question that rose to hislips. She had placed a large parcel on the little round table in themiddle of the room. She opened it, and took out a cake of soap, a bottleof scent, a sponge, a box of hairpins, a buttonhook, and a small pair ofcurling tongs to set right her fringe, which she got out of curl everytime. And she played at moving in, seeking a place for everything, andderived great amusement from it.

  She kept on chattering as she opened the drawers. "I must bring a littlelinen, so as to be able to make a change if necessary. It will be veryconvenient. If I get wet, for instance, while I am out, I can run inhere to dry myself. We shall each have one key, beside the one left withthe doorkeeper in case we forget it. I have taken the place for threemonths, in your name, of course, since I could not give my own."

  Then he said: "You will let me know when the rent is to be paid."

  She replied, simply: "But it is paid, dear."

  "Then I owe it to you."

  "No, no, my dear; it does not concern you at all; this is a little fancyof my own."

  He seemed annoyed: "Oh, no, indeed; I can't allow that."

  She came to him in a supplicating way, and placing her hands on hisshoulders, said: "I beg of you, George; it will give me so much pleasureto feel that our little nest here is mine--all my own. You cannot beannoyed at that. How can you? I wanted to contribute that much towardsour loves. Say you agree, Georgy; say you agree."

  She implored him with looks, lips, the whole of her being. He held out,refusing with an irritated air, and then he yielded, thinking that,after all, it was fair. And when she had gone, he murmured, rubbing hishands, and without seeking in the depths of his heart whence the opinioncame on that occasion: "She is very nice."

  He received, a few days later, another telegram running thus: "Myhusband returns to-night, after six weeks' inspection, so we shall havea week off. What a bore, darling.--Clo."

  Duroy felt astounded. He had really lost all idea of her being married.But here was a man whose face he would have liked to see just once, inorder to know him. He patiently awaited the husband's departure, but hepassed two evenings at the Folies Bergere, which wound up with Rachel.

  Then one morning came a fresh telegram: "To-day at five.--Clo."

  They both arrived at the meeting-place before the time. She threwherself into his arms with an outburst of passion, and kissed him allover the face, and then said: "If you like, when we have loved oneanother a great deal, you shall take me to dinner somewhere. I have kept

  myself disengaged."

  It was at the beginning of the month, and although his salary was longsince drawn in advance, and he lived from day to day upon money gleanedon every side, Duroy happened to be in funds, and was pleased at theopportunity of spending something upon her, so he replied: "Yes,darling, wherever you like."

  They started off, therefore, at about seven, and gained the outerboulevards. She leaned closely against him, and whispered in his ear:"If you only knew how pleased I am to walk out on your arm; how I loveto feel you beside me."

  He said: "Would you like to go to Pere Lathuile's?"

  "Oh, no, it is too swell. I should like something funny, out of the way!a restaurant that shopmen and work-girls go to. I adore dining at acountry inn. Oh! if we only had been able to go into the country."

  As he knew nothing of the kind in the neighborhood, they wandered alongthe boulevard, and ended by going into a wine-shop where there was adining-room. She had seen through the window two bareheaded girlsseated at tables with two soldiers. Three cab-drivers were dining at thefurther end of the long and narrow room, and an individual impossible toclassify under any calling was smoking, stretched on a chair, with hislegs stuck out in front of him, his hands in the waist-band of histrousers, and his head thrown back over the top bar. His jacket was amuseum of stains, and in his swollen pockets could be noted the neck ofa bottle, a piece of bread, a parcel wrapped up in a newspaper, and adangling piece of string. He had thick, tangled, curly hair, gray withscurf, and his cap was on the floor under his chair.

  The entrance of Clotilde created a sensation, due to the elegance of hertoilet. The couples ceased whispering together, the three cab-driversleft off arguing, and the man who was smoking, having taken his pipefrom his mouth and spat in front of him, turned his head slightly tolook.

  Madame de Marelle murmured: "It is very nice; we shall be verycomfortable here. Another time I will dress like a work-girl." And shesat down, without embarrassment or disgust, before the wooden table,polished by the fat of dishes, washed by spilt liquors, and cleaned by awisp of the waiter's napkin. Duroy, somewhat ill at ease, and slightlyashamed, sought a peg to hang his tall hat on. Not finding one, he putit on a chair.

  They had a ragout, a slice of melon, and a salad. Clotilde repeated: "Idelight in this. I have low tastes. I like this better than the CafeAnglais." Then she added: "If you want to give me complete enjoyment,you will take me to a dancing place. I know a very funny one close bycalled the Reine Blanche."

  Duroy, surprised at this, asked: "Whoever took you there?"

  He looked at her and saw her blush, somewhat disturbed, as though thissudden question had aroused within her some delicate recollections.After one of these feminine hesitations, so short that they can scarcelybe guessed, she replied: "A friend of mine," and then, after a briefsilence, added, "who is dead." And she cast down her eyes with a verynatural sadness.

  Duroy, for the first time, thought of all that he did not know asregarded the past life of this woman. Certainly she already had lovers,but of what kind, in what class of society? A vague jealousy, a speciesof enmity awoke within him; an enmity against all that he did not know,all that had not belonged to him. He looked at her, irritated at themystery wrapped up within that pretty, silent head, which was thinking,perhaps, at that very moment, of the other, the others, regretfully. Howhe would have liked to have looked into her recollections--to have knownall.

  She repeated: "Will you take me to the Reine Blanche? That will be aperfect treat."

  He thought: "What matters the past? I am very foolish to bother aboutit," and smilingly replied: "Certainly, darling."

  When they were in the street she resumed, in that low and mysterioustone in which confidences are made: "I dared not ask you this until now,but you cannot imagine how I love these escapades in places ladies donot go to. During the carnival I will dress up as a schoolboy. I makesuch a capital boy."

  When they entered the ball-room she clung close to him, gazing withdelighted eyes on the girls and the bullies, and from time to time, asthough to reassure herself as regards any possible danger, saying, asshe noticed some serious and motionless municipal guard:
"That is astrong-looking fellow." In a quarter of an hour she had had enough of itand he escorted her home.

  Then began quite a series of excursions in all the queer places wherethe common people amuse themselves, and Duroy discovered in his mistressquite a liking for this vagabondage of students bent on a spree. Shecame to their meeting-place in a cotton frock and with a servant'scap--a theatrical servant's cap--on her head; and despite the elegantand studied simplicity of her toilet, retained her rings, her bracelets,and her diamond earrings, saying, when he begged her to remove them:"Bah! they will think they are paste."

  She thought she was admirably disguised, and although she was reallyonly concealed after the fashion of an ostrich, she went into the mostill-famed drinking places. She wanted Duroy to dress himself like aworkman, but he resisted, and retained his correct attire, without evenconsenting to exchange his tall hat for one of soft felt. She wasconsoled for this obstinacy on his part by the reflection that she wouldbe taken for a chambermaid engaged in a love affair with a gentleman,and thought this delightful. In this guise they went into popularwine-shops, and sat down on rickety chairs at old wooden tables insmoke-filled rooms. A cloud of strong tobacco smoke, with which stillblended the smell of fish fried at dinner time, filled the room; men inblouses shouted at one another as they tossed off nips of spirits; andthe astonished waiter would stare at this strange couple as he placedbefore them two cherry brandies. She--trembling, fearsome, yetcharmed--began to sip the red liquid, looking round her with uneasy andkindling eye. Each cherry swallowed gave her the sensation of a sincommitted, each drop of burning liquor flowing down her throat gave her

  the pleasure of a naughty and forbidden joy.

  Then she would say, "Let us go," and they would leave. She would passrapidly, with bent head and the short steps of an actress leaving thestage, among the drinkers, who, with their elbows on the tables, watchedher go by with suspicious and dissatisfied glances; and when she hadcrossed the threshold would give a deep sigh, as if she had just escapedsome terrible danger.

  Sometimes she asked Duroy, with a shudder: "If I were insulted in theseplaces, what would you do?"

  He would answer, with a swaggering air: "Take your part, by Jove!"

  And she would clasp his arm with happiness, with, perhaps, a vague wishto be insulted and defended, to see men fight on her account, even suchmen as those, with her lover.

  But these excursions taking place two or three times a week began toweary Duroy, who had great difficulty, besides, for some time past, inprocuring the ten francs necessary for the cake and the drinks. He nowlived very hardly and with more difficulty than when he was a clerk inthe Northern Railway; for having spent lavishly during his first monthof journalism, in the constant hope of gaining large sums of money in aday or two, he had exhausted all his resources and all means ofprocuring money. A very simple method, that of borrowing from thecashier, was very soon exhausted; and he already owed the paper fourmonths' salary, besides six hundred francs advanced on his lineageaccount. He owed, besides, a hundred francs to Forestier, three hundredto Jacques Rival, who was free-handed with his money; and he was alsoeaten up by a number of small debts of from five francs to twenty.Saint-Potin, consulted as to the means of raising another hundredfrancs, had discovered no expedient, although a man of inventive mind,and Duroy was exasperated at this poverty, of which he was more sensiblenow than formerly, since he had more wants. A sullen rage againsteveryone smouldered within him, with an ever-increasing irritation,

  which manifested itself at every moment on the most futile pretexts. Hesometimes asked himself how he could have spent an average of a thousandfrancs a month, without any excess and the gratification of anyextravagant fancy, and he found that, by adding a lunch at eightfrancs to a dinner at twelve, partaken of in some large cafe on theboulevards, he at once came to a louis, which, added to ten francspocket-money--that pocket-money that melts away, one does not knowhow--makes a total of thirty francs. But thirty francs a day is ninehundred francs at the end of the month. And he did not reckon in thecost of clothes, boots, linen, washing, etc.

  So on the 14th December he found himself without a sou in his pocket,and without a notion in his mind how to get any money. He went, as hehad often done of old, without lunch, and passed the afternoon workingat the newspaper office, angry and preoccupied. About four o'clock hereceived a telegram from his mistress, running: "Shall we dine together,and have a lark afterwards?"

  He at once replied: "Cannot dine." Then he reflected that he would bevery stupid to deprive himself of the pleasant moments she might affordhim, and added: "But will wait at nine at our place." And having sentone of the messengers with this, to save the cost of a telegram, hebegan to reflect what he should do to procure himself a dinner.

  At seven o'clock he had not yet hit upon anything and a terrible hungerassailed him. Then he had recourse to the stratagem of a despairing man.He let all his colleagues depart, one after the other, and when he wasalone rang sharply. Monsieur Walter's messenger, left in charge of theoffices, came in. Duroy was standing feeling in his pockets, and said inan abrupt voice: "Foucart, I have left my purse at home, and I have togo and dine at the Luxembourg. Lend me fifty sous for my cab."

  The man took three francs from his waistcoat pocket and said: "Do youwant any more, sir?"

  "No, no, that will be enough. Thanks."

  And having seized on the coins, Duroy ran downstairs and dined at aslap-bank, to which he drifted on his days of poverty.

  At nine o'clock he was awaiting his mistress, with his feet on thefender, in the little sitting-room. She came in, lively and animated,brisked up by the keen air of the street. "If you like," said she, "wewill first go for a stroll, and then come home here at eleven. Theweather is splendid for walking."

  He replied, in a grumbling tone: "Why go out? We are very comfortablehere."

  She said, without taking off her bonnet: "If you knew, the moonlight isbeautiful. It is splendid walking about to-night."

  "Perhaps so, but I do not care for walking about!"

  He had said this in an angry fashion. She was struck and hurt by it, andasked: "What is the matter with you? Why do you go on in this way? Ishould like to go for a stroll, and I don't see how that can vex you."

  He got up in a rage. "It does not vex me. It is a bother, that is all."

  She was one of those sort of women whom resistance irritates andimpoliteness exasperates, and she said disdainfully and with angry calm:"I am not accustomed to be spoken to like that. I will go alone, then.Good-bye."

  He understood that it was serious, and darting towards her, seized herhands and kissed them, saying: "Forgive me, darling, forgive me. I amvery nervous this evening, very irritable. I have had vexations andannoyances, you know--matters of business."

  She replied, somewhat softened, but not calmed down: "That does notconcern me, and I will not bear the consequences of your ill-temper."

  He took her in his arms, and drew her towards the couch.

  "Listen, darling, I did not want to hurt you; I was not thinking of whatI was saying."

  He had forced her to sit down, and, kneeling before her, went on: "Haveyou forgiven me? Tell me you have forgiven me?"

  She murmured, coldly: "Very well, but do not do so again;" and rising,she added: "Now let us go for a stroll."

  He had remained at her feet, with his arms clasped about her hips, andstammered: "Stay here, I beg of you. Grant me this much. I should solike to keep you here this evening all to myself, here by the fire. Sayyes, I beg of you, say yes."

  She answered plainly and firmly: "No, I want to go out, and I am notgoing to give way to your fancies."

  He persisted. "I beg of you, I have a reason, a very serious reason."

  She said again: "No; and if you won't go out with me, I shall go.Good-bye."

  She had freed herself with a jerk, and gained the door. He ran towardsher, and clasped her in his arms, crying:

  "Listen, Clo, my little Clo; listen, grant me this much
."

  She shook her head without replying, avoiding his kisses, and strivingto escape from his grasp and go.

  He stammered: "Clo, my little Clo, I have a reason."

  She stopped, and looking him full in the face, said: "You are lying.What is it?"

  He blushed not knowing what to say, and she went on in an indignanttone: "You see very well that you are lying, you low brute." And with anangry gesture and tears in her eyes, she escaped him.

  He again caught her by the shoulders, and, in despair, ready toacknowledge anything in order to avoid a rupture, he said, in adespairing tone: "I have not a son. That's what it all means." Shestopped short, and looking into his eyes to read the truth in them,said: "You say?"

  He had flushed to the roots of his hair. "I say that I have not a sou.Do you understand? Not twenty sous, not ten, not enough to pay for aglass of cassis in the cafe we may go into. You force me to confess whatI am ashamed of. It was, however, impossible for me to go out with you,and when we were seated with refreshments in front of us to tell youquietly that I could not pay for them."

  She was still looking him in the face. "It is true, then?"

  In a moment he had turned out all his pockets, those of his trousers,coat, and waistcoat, and murmured: "There, are you satisfied now?"

  Suddenly opening her arms, in an outburst of passion, she threw themaround his neck, crying: "Oh, my poor darling, my poor darling, if I hadonly known. How did it happen?"

  She made him sit down, and sat down herself on his knees; then, with herarm round his neck, kissing him every moment on his moustache, hismouth, his eyes, she obliged him to tell her how this misfortune hadcome about.

  He invented a touching story. He had been obliged to come to theassistance of his father, who found himself in difficulties. He had notonly handed over to him all his savings, but had even incurred heavydebts on his behalf. He added: "I shall be pinched to the last degreefor at least six months, for I have exhausted all my resources. So muchthe worse; there are crises in every life. Money, after all, is notworth troubling about."

  She whispered: "I will lend you some; will you let me?"

  He answered, with dignity: "You are very kind, pet; but do not think ofthat, I beg of you. You would hurt my feelings."

  She was silent, and then clasping him in her arms, murmured: "You willnever know how much I love you."

  It was one of their most pleasant evenings.

  As she was leaving, she remarked, smilingly: "How nice it is when one isin your position to find money you had forgotten in your pocket--a cointhat had worked its way between the stuff and the lining."

  He replied, in a tone of conviction: "Ah, yes, that it is."

  She insisted on walking home, under the pretense that the moon wasbeautiful and went into ecstasies over it. It was a cold, still night atthe beginning of winter. Pedestrians and horses went by quickly, spurredby a sharp frost. Heels rang on the pavement. As she left him she said:"Shall we meet again the day after to-morrow?"

  "Certainly."

  "At the same time?"

  "The same time."

  "Good-bye, dearest." And they kissed lovingly.

  Then he walked home swiftly, asking himself what plan he could hit onthe morrow to get out of his difficulty. But as he opened the door ofhis room, and fumbled in his waistcoat pocket for a match, he wasstupefied to find a coin under his fingers. As soon as he had a light hehastened to examine it. It was a louis. He thought he must be mad. Heturned it over and over, seeking by what miracle it could have foundits way there. It could not, however, have fallen from heaven into hispocket.

  Then all at once he guessed, and an angry indignation awoke within him.His mistress had spoken of money slipping into the lining, and beingfound in times of poverty. It was she who had tendered him this alms.How shameful! He swore: "Ah! I'll talk to her the day after to-morrow.She shall have a nice time over it."

  And he went to bed, his heart filled with anger and humiliation.

  He woke late. He was hungry. He tried to go to sleep again, in order notto get up till two o'clock, and then said to himself: "That will notforward matters. I must end by finding some money." Then he went out,hoping that an idea might occur to him in the street. It did not; but atevery restaurant he passed a longing to eat made his mouth water. As bynoon he had failed to hit on any plan, he suddenly made up his mind: "Iwill lunch out of Clotilde's twenty francs. That won't hinder me frompaying them back to-morrow."

  He, therefore, lunched for two francs fifty centimes. On reaching theoffice he also gave three francs to the messenger, saying: "Here,Foucart, here is the money you lent me last night for my cab."

  He worked till seven o'clock. Then he went and dined taking anotherthree francs. The two evening bocks brought the expenditure of the dayup to nine francs thirty centimes. But as he could not re-establish acredit or create fresh resources in twenty-four hours, he borrowedanother six francs fifty centimes the next day from the twenty he wasgoing to return that very evening, so that he came to keep hisappointment with just four francs twenty centimes in his pocket.

  He was in a deuce of a temper, and promised himself that he would prettysoon explain things. He would say to his mistress: "You know, I foundthe twenty francs you slipped into my pocket the other day. I cannotgive them back to you now, because my situation is unaltered, and I havenot had time to occupy myself with money matters. But I will give themto you the next time we meet."

  She arrived, loving, eager, full of alarm. How would he receive her? Shekissed him persistently to avoid an explanation at the outset.

  He said to himself: "It will be time enough to enter on the matterby-and-by. I will find an opportunity of doing so."

  He did not find the opportunity, and said nothing, shirking before thedifficulty of opening this delicate subject. She did not speak of goingout, and was in every way charming. They separated about midnight, aftermaking an appointment for the Wednesday of the following week, forMadame de Marelle was engaged to dine out several days in succession.

  The next day, as Duroy, on paying for his breakfast, felt for the fourcoins that ought to be remaining to him, he perceived that they werefive, and one of them a gold one. At the outset he thought that he hadreceived it by mistake in his change the day before, then he understoodit, and his heart throbbed with humiliation at this persistent charity.How he now regretted not having said anything! If he had spokenenergetically this would not have happened.

  For four days he made efforts, as numerous as they were fruitless, toraise five louis, and spent Clotilde's second one. She managed, althoughhe had said to her savagely, "Don't play that joke of the otherevening's again, or I shall get angry," to slip another twenty francsinto his trouser pockets the first time they met. When he found them heswore bitterly, and transferred them to his waistcoat to have them underhis hand, for he had not a rap. He appeased his conscience by thisargument: "I will give it all back to her in a lump. After all, it isonly borrowed money."

  At length the cashier of the paper agreed, on his desperate appeals, tolet him have five francs daily. It was just enough to live upon, but notenough to repay sixty francs with. But as Clotilde was again seized byher passion for nocturnal excursions in all the suspicious localities inParis, he ended by not being unbearably annoyed to find a yellow boy inone of his pockets, once even in his boot, and another time in hiswatch-case, after their adventurous excursions. Since she had wisheswhich he could not for the moment gratify himself, was it not naturalthat she should pay for them rather than go without them? He kept anaccount, too, of all he received in this way, in order to return it toher some day.

  One evening she said to him: "Would you believe that I have never beento the Folies-Bergere? Will you take me there?"

  He hesitated a moment, afraid of meeting Rachel. Then he thought: "Bah!I am not married, after all. If that girl sees me she will understandthe state of things, and will not speak to me. Besides, we will have abox."

  Another reason helped his decision.
He was well pleased of thisopportunity of offering Madame de Marelle a box at the theater withoutits costing anything. It was a kind of compensation.

  He left her in the cab while he got the order for the box, in order thatshe might not see it offered him, and then came to fetch her. They wentin, and were received with bows by the acting manager. An immense crowdfilled the lounge, and they had great difficulty in making their waythrough the swarm of men and women. At length they reached the box andsettled themselves in it, shut in between the motionless orchestra andthe eddy of the gallery. But Madame de Marelle rarely glanced at thestage. Wholly taken up with the women promenading behind her back, sheconstantly turned round to look at them, with a longing to touch them,to feel their bodices, their skirts, their hair, to know what thesecreatures were made of.

  Suddenly she said: "There is a stout, dark girl who keeps watching usall the time. I thought just now that she was going to speak to us. Didyou notice her?"

  He answered: "No, you must be mistaken." But he had already noticed herfor some time back. It was Rachel who was prowling about in theirneighborhood, with anger in her eyes and hard words upon her lips.

  Duroy had brushed against her in making his way through the crowd, andshe had whispered, "Good evening," with a wink which signified, "Iunderstand." But he had not replied to this mark of attention for fearof being seen by his mistress, and he had passed on coldly, with haughtylook and disdainful lip. The woman, whom unconscious jealousy alreadyassailed, turned back, brushed against him again, and said in loudertones: "Good evening, George." He had not answered even then. Then shemade up her mind to be recognized and bowed to, and she kept continuallypassing in the rear of the box, awaiting a favorable moment.

  As soon as she saw that Madame de Marelle was looking at her she touchedDuroy's shoulder, saying: "Good evening, are you quite well?"

  He did not turn round, and she went on: "What, have you grown deaf sinceThursday?" He did not reply, affecting a contempt which would not allowhim to compromise himself even by a word with this slut.

  She began to laugh an angry laugh, and said: "So you are dumb, then?Perhaps the lady has bitten your tongue off?"

  He made an angry movement, and exclaimed, in an exasperated tone: "Whatdo you mean by speaking to me? Be off, or I will have you locked up."

  Then, with fiery eye and swelling bosom, she screeched out: "So that'sit, is it? Ah! you lout. When a man sleeps with a woman the least he cando is to nod to her. It is no reason because you are with someone elsethat you should cut me to-day. If you had only nodded to me when Ipassed you just now, I should have left you alone. But you wanted to dothe grand. I'll pay you out! Ah, so you won't say good evening when youmeet me!"

  She would have gone on for a long time, but Madame de Marelle had openedthe door of the box and fled through the crowd, blindly seeking the wayout. Duroy started off in her rear and strove to catch her up, whileRachel, seeing them flee, yelled triumphantly: "Stop her, she has stolenmy sweetheart."

  People began to laugh. Two gentlemen for fun seized the fugitive by theshoulders and sought to bring her back, trying, too, to kiss her. ButDuroy, having caught her up, freed her forcibly and led her away intothe street. She jumped into an empty cab standing at the door. He jumpedin after her, and when the driver asked, "Where to, sir?" replied,"Wherever you like."

  The cab slowly moved off, jolting over the paving stones. Clotilde,seized by a kind of hysterical attack, sat choking and gasping with herhands covering her face, and Duroy neither knew what to do nor what tosay. At last, as he heard her sobbing, he stammered out: "Clo, my dearlittle Clo, just listen, let me explain. It is not my fault. I used toknow that woman, some time ago, you know--"

  She suddenly took her hands from her face, and overcome by the wrath ofa loving and deceitful woman, a furious wrath that enabled her torecover her speech, she pantingly jerked out, in rapid and brokensentences: "Oh!--you wretch--you wretch--what a scoundrel you are--canit be possible? How shameful--O Lord--how shameful!" Then, gettingangrier and angrier as her ideas grew clearer and arguments suggestedthemselves to her, she went on: "It was with my money you paid her,wasn't it? And I was giving him money--for that creature. Oh, thescoundrel!" She seemed for a few minutes to be seeking some strongerexpression that would not come, and then all at once she spat out, as itwere, the words: "Oh! you swine--you swine--you swine--you paid herwith my money--you swine--you swine!" She could not think of anythingelse, and kept repeating, "You swine, you swine!"

  Suddenly she leant out of the window, and catching the driver by thesleeve, cried, "Stop," and opening the door, sprang out.

  George wanted to follow, but she cried, "I won't have you get out," insuch loud tones that the passers-by began to gather about her, and Duroydid not move for fear of a scandal. She took her purse from her pocketand looked for some change by the light of the cab lantern, then takingtwo francs fifty centimes she put them in the driver's hand, saying, inringing tones: "There is your fare--I pay you, now take this blackguardto the Rue Boursault, Batignolles."

  Mirth was aroused in the group surrounding her. A gentleman said: "Welldone, little woman," and a young rapscallion standing close to the cabthrust his head into the open door and sang out, in shrill tones,"Good-night, lovey!" Then the cab started off again, followed by a burstof laughter.