Bel Ami, Guy de Maupassant [read me like a book txt] 📗

smile lurked beneath his mustache; then he murmured: “I am your slave.”

She told him how she had discovered that she loved him, on learning that he was to marry Madeleine Forestier. Suddenly she ceased speaking. The carriage stopped. Du Roy opened the door.

“Where are we?” she asked.

He replied: “Alight and enter the house. We shall be undisturbed there.”

“Where are we?” she repeated.

“At my rooms; they are my bachelor apartments which I have rented for a few days that we might have a corner in which to meet.”

She clung to the cab, startled at the thought of a tete-a-tete, and stammered: “No, no, I do not want to.”

He said firmly: “I swear to respect you. Come, you see that people are looking at us, that a crowd is gathering around us. Make haste!” And he repeated, “I swear to respect you.”

She was terror-stricken and rushed into the house. She was about to ascend the stairs. He seized her arm: “It is here, on the ground floor.”

When he had closed the door, he showered kisses upon her neck, her eyes, her lips; in spite of herself, she submitted to his caresses and even returned them, hiding her face and murmuring in broken accents: “I swear that I have never had a lover”; while he thought: “That is a matter of indifference to me.”

 

CHAPTER XIII.

MADAME DE MARELLE

Autumn had come. The Du Roys had spent the entire summer in Paris, leading a vigorous campaign in “La Vie Francaise,” in favor of the new cabinet. Although it was only the early part of October, the chamber was about to resume its sessions, for affairs in Morocco were becoming menacing. The celebrated speech made by Count de Lambert Sarrazin had furnished Du Roy with material for ten articles on the Algerian colony. “La Vie Francaise” had gained considerable prestige by its connection with the power; it was the first to give political news, and every newspaper in Paris and the provinces sought information from it. It was quoted, feared, and began to be respected: it was no longer the organ of a group of political intriguers, but the avowed mouthpiece of the cabinet. Laroche-Mathieu was the soul of the journal and Du Roy his speaking-trumpet. M. Walter retired discreetly into the background. Madeleine’s salon became an influential center in which several members of the cabinet met every week. The president of the council had even dined there twice; the minister of foreign affairs was quite at home at the Du Roys; he came at any hour, bringing dispatches or information, which he dictated either to the husband or wife as if they were his secretaries. After the minister had departed, when Du Roy was alone with Madeleine, he uttered threats and insinuations against the “parvenu,” as he called him. His wife simply shrugged her shoulders scornfully, repeating: “Become a minister and you can do the same; until then, be silent.”

His reply was: “No one knows of what I am capable; perhaps they will find out some day.”

She answered philosophically: “He who lives will see.”

The morning of the reopening of the Chamber, Du Roy lunched with Laroche-Mathieu in order to receive instructions from him, before the session, for a political article the following day in “La Vie Francaise,” which was to be a sort of official declaration of the plans of the cabinet. After listening to Laroche-Mathieu’s eloquence for some time with jealousy in his heart, Du Roy sauntered slowly toward the office to commence his work, for he had nothing to do until four o’clock, at which hour he was to meet Mme. de Marelle at Rue de Constantinople. They met there regularly twice a week, Mondays and Wednesdays.

On entering the office, he was handed a sealed dispatch; it was from Mme. Walter, and read thus:

“It is absolutely necessary that I should see you to-day. It is important. Expect me at two o’clock at Rue de Constantinople. I can render you a great service; your friend until death,”

“VIRGINIE.”

He exclaimed: “Heavens! what a bore!” and left the office at once, too much annoyed to work.

For six weeks he had ineffectually tried to break with Mme. Walter. At three successive meetings she had been a prey to remorse, and had overwhelmed her lover with reproaches. Angered by those scenes and already weary of the dramatic woman, he had simply avoided her, hoping that the affair would end in that way.

But she persecuted him with her affection, summoned him at all times by telegrams to meet her at street corners, in shops, or public gardens. She was very different from what he had fancied she would be, trying to attract him by actions ridiculous in one of her age. It disgusted him to hear her call him: “My rat—my dog—my treasure- -my jewel—my blue-bird”—and to see her assume a kind of childish modesty when he approached. It seemed to him that being the mother of a family, a woman of the world, she should have been more sedate, and have yielded With tears if she chose, but with the tears of a Dido and not of a Juliette. He never heard her call him “Little one” or “Baby,” without wishing to reply “Old woman,” to take his hat with an oath and leave the room.

At first they had often met at Rue de Constantinople, but Du Roy, who feared an encounter with Mme. de Marelle, invented a thousand and one pretexts in order to avoid that rendezvous. He was therefore obliged to either lunch or dine at her house daily, when she would clasp his hand under cover of the table or offer him her lips behind the doors. Above all, Georges enjoyed being thrown so much in contact with Suzanne; she made sport of everything and everybody with cutting appropriateness. At length, however, he began to feel an unconquerable repugnance to the love lavished upon him by the mother; he could no longer see her, hear her, nor think of her without anger. He ceased calling upon her, replying to her letters, and yielding to her appeals. She finally divined that he no longer loved her, and the discovery caused her unutterable anguish; but she watched him, followed him in a cab with drawn blinds to the office, to his house, in the hope of seeing him pass by. He would have liked to strangle her, but he controlled himself on account of his position on “La Vie Francaise” and he endeavored by means of coldness, and even at times harsh words, to make her comprehend that all was at an end between them.

Then, too, she persisted in devising ruses for summoning him to Rue de Constantinople, and he was in constant fear that the two women would some day meet face to face at the door.

On the other hand, his affection for Mme. de Marelle had increased during the summer. They were both Bohemians by nature; they took excursions together to Argenteuil, Bougival, Maisons, and Poissy, and when he was forced to return and dine at Mme. Walter’s, he detested his mature mistress more thoroughly, as he recalled the youthful one he had just left. He was congratulating himself upon having freed himself almost entirely from the former’s clutches, when he received the telegram above mentioned.

He re-read it as he walked along. He thought: “What does that old owl want with me? I am certain she has nothing to tell me except that she adores me. However, I will see, perhaps there is some truth in it. Clotilde is coming at four, I must get rid of the other one at three or soon after, provided they do not meet. What jades women are!”

As he uttered those words he was reminded of his wife, who was the only one who did not torment him; she lived by his side and seemed to love him very much at the proper time, for she never permitted anything to interfere with her ordinary occupations of life. He strolled toward the appointed place of meeting, mentally cursing Mme. Walter.

“Ah, I will receive her in such a manner that she will not tell me anything. First of all, I will give her to understand that I shall never cross her threshold again.”

He entered to await her. She soon arrived and, seeing him, exclaimed: “Ah, you received my dispatch! How fortunate!”

“Yes, I received it at the office just as I was setting out for the Chamber. What do you want?” he asked ungraciously.

She had raised her veil in order to kiss him, and approached him timidly and humbly with the air of a beaten dog.

“How unkind you are to me; how harshly you speak! What have I done to you? You do not know what I have suffered for you!”

He muttered: “Are you going to begin that again?”

She stood near him awaiting a smile, a word of encouragement, to cast herself into his arms, and whispered: “You need not have won me to treat me thus; you might have left me virtuous and happy. Do you remember what you said to me in the church and how you forced me to enter this house? And now this is the way you speak to me, receive me! My God, my God, how you maltreat me!”

He stamped his foot and said violently: “Enough, be silent! I can never see you a moment without hearing that refrain. You were mature when you gave yourself to me. I am much obliged to you; I am infinitely grateful, but I need not be tied to your apron-strings until I die! You have a husband and I a wife. Neither of us is free; it was all a caprice, and now it is at an end!”

She said: “How brutal you are, how coarse and villainous! No, I was no longer a young girl, but I had never loved, never wavered in my dignity.”

He interrupted her: “I know it, you have told me that twenty times; but you have had two children.”

She drew back as if she had been struck: “Oh, Georges!” And pressing her hands to her heart, she burst into tears.

When she began to weep, he took his hat: “Ah, you are crying again! Good evening! Is it for this that you sent for me?”

She took a step forward in order to bar the way, and drawing a handkerchief from her pocket she wiped her eyes. Her voice grew steadier: “No, I came to—to give you—political news—to give you the means of earning fifty thousand francs—or even more if you wish to.”

Suddenly softened he asked: “How?”

“By chance last evening I heard a conversation between my husband and Laroche. Walter advised the minister not to let you into the secret for you would expose it.”

Du Roy placed his hat upon a chair and listened attentively.

“They are going to take possession of Morocco!”

“Why, I lunched with Laroche this morning, and he told me the cabinet’s plans!”

“No, my dear, they have deceived you, because they feared their secret would be made known.”

“Sit down,” said Georges.

He sank into an armchair, while she drew up a stool and took her seat at his feet. She continued:

“As I think of you continually, I pay attention to what is talked of around me,” and she proceeded to tell him what she had heard relative to the expedition to Tangiers which had been decided upon the day that Laroche assumed his office; she told him how they had little by little bought up, through agents who aroused no suspicions, the Moroccan loan, which had fallen to sixty-four or sixty-five francs; how when the expedition was entered upon the French government would guarantee the debt, and their friends would make