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

to overcome his hunger. He went out and as he passed the restaurants he could scarcely resist their temptations. At noon he said: “Bah, I shall lunch upon Clotilde’s twenty francs; that will not hinder me from returning the money tomorrow.”

He ate his lunch, for which he paid two francs fifty, and on entering the office of “La Vie Francaise” he repaid the porter the three francs he had borrowed from him. He worked until seven o’clock, then he dined, and he continued to draw upon the twenty francs until only four francs twenty remained. He decided to say to Mme. de Marelle upon her arrival:

“I found the twenty-franc piece you slipped into my pocket. I will not return the money to-day, but I will repay you when we next meet.”

When Madame came, he dared not broach the delicate subject. They spent the evening together and appointed their next meeting for Wednesday of the following week, for Mme. de Marelle had a number of engagements. Duroy continued to accept money from Clotilde and quieted his conscience by assuring himself: “I will give it back in a lump. It is nothing but borrowed money anyway.” So he kept account of all that he received in order to pay it back some day.

One evening, Mme. de Marelle said to him: “Would you believe that I have never been to the Folies-Bergeres; will you take me there?”

He hesitated, fearing a meeting with Rachel. Then he thought: “Bah, I am not married after all. If she should see me, she would take in the situation and not accost me. Moreover, we would have a box.”

When they entered the hall, it was crowded; with difficulty they made their way to their seats. Mme. de Marelle did not look at the stage; she was interested in watching the women who were promenading, and she felt an irresistible desire to touch them, to see of what those beings were made. Suddenly she said:

“There is a large brunette who stares at us all the time. I think every minute she will speak to us. Have you seen her?”

He replied: “No, you are mistaken.”

He told an untruth, for he had noticed the woman, who was no other than Rachel, with anger in her eyes and violent words upon her lips.

Duroy had passed her when he and Mme. de Marelle entered and she had said to him: “Good evening,” in a low voice and with a wink which said “I understand.” But he had not replied; for fear of being seen by his sweetheart he passed her coldly, disdainfully. The woman, her jealousy aroused, followed the couple and said in a louder key: “Good evening, Georges.” He paid no heed to her. Then she was determined to be recognized and she remained near their box, awaiting a favorable moment. When she saw that she was observed by Mme. de Marelle, she touched Duroy’s shoulder with the tip of her finger, and said:

“Good evening. How are you?”

But Georges did not turn his head.

She continued: “Have you grown deaf since Thursday?”

Still he did not reply. She laughed angrily and cried:

“Are you dumb, too? Perhaps Madame has your tongue?”

With a furious glance, Duroy then exclaimed:

“How dare you accost me? Go along or I will have you arrested.”

With flaming eyes, she cried: “Ah, is that so! Because you are with another is no reason that you cannot recognize me. If you had made the least sign of recognition when you passed me, I would not have molested you. You did not even say good evening to me when you met me.”

During that tirade Mme. de Marelle in affright opened the door of the box and fled through the crowd seeking an exit. Duroy rushed after her. Rachel, seeing him disappear, cried: “Stop her! she has stolen my lover!”

Two men seized the fugitive by the shoulder, but Duroy, who had caught up with her, bade them desist, and together he and Clotilde reached the street.

They entered a cab. The cabman asked: “Where shall I drive to?” Duroy replied: “Where you will!”

Clotilde sobbed hysterically. Duroy did not know what to say or do. At length he stammered:

“Listen Clo—my dearest Clo, let me explain. It is not my fault. I knew that woman—long ago—”

She raised her head and with the fury of a betrayed woman, she cried disconnectedly: “Ah, you miserable fellow—what a rascal you are! Is it possible? What disgrace, oh, my God! You gave her my money—did you not? I gave him the money—for that woman—oh, the wretch!”

For several moments she seemed to be vainly seeking an epithet more forcible. Suddenly leaning forward she grasped the cabman’s sleeve. “Stop!” she cried, and opening the door, she alighted. Georges was about to follow her but she commanded: “I forbid you to follow me,” in a voice so loud that the passers-by crowded around her, and Duroy dared not stir for fear of a scandal.

She drew out her purse, and taking two francs fifty from it, she handed it to the cabman, saying aloud: “Here is the money for your hour. Take that rascal to Rue Boursault at Batignolles!”

The crowd applauded; one man said: “Bravo, little one!” and the cab moved on, followed by the jeers of the bystanders.

 

CHAPTER VI.

A STEP UPWARD

The next morning Georges Duroy arose, dressed himself, and determined to have money; he sought Forestier. His friend received him in his study.

“What made you rise so early?” he asked.

“A very serious matter. I have a debt of honor.”

“A gaming debt?”

He hesitated, then repeated: “A gaming debt.”

“Is it large?”

“Five hundred francs.” He only needed two hundred and eighty.

Forestier asked sceptically: “To whom do you owe that amount?”

Duroy did not reply at once. “To—to—a—M. de Carleville.”

“Ah, where does he live?”

“Rue—Rue—”

Forestier laughed. “I know the gentleman! If you want twenty francs you can have them, but no more.”

Duroy took the gold-piece, called upon more friends, and by five o’clock had collected eighty francs. As he required two hundred more, he kept what he had begged and muttered: “I shall not worry about it. I will pay it when I can.”

For two weeks he lived economically, but at the end of that time, the good resolutions he had formed vanished, and one evening he returned to the Folies Bergeres in search of Rachel; but the woman was implacable and heaped coarse insults upon him, until he felt his cheeks tingle and he left the hall.

Forestier, out of health and feeble, made Duroy’s existence at the office insupportable. The latter did not reply to his rude remarks, but determined to be avenged. He called upon Mme. Forestier. He found her reclining upon a couch, reading. She held out her hand without rising and said: “Good morning, Bel-Ami!”

“Why do you call me by that name?”

She replied with a smile: “I saw Mme. de Marelle last week and I know what they have christened you at her house.”

He took a seat near his hostess and glanced at her curiously; she was a charming blonde, fair and plump, made for caresses, and he thought: “She is certainly nicer than the other one.” He did not doubt that he would only have to extend his hand in order to gather the fruit. As he gazed upon her she chided him for his neglect of her.

He replied: “I did not come because it was for the best—”

“How? Why?”

“Why? Can you not guess?”

“No!”

“Because I loved you; a little, only a little, and I did not wish to love you any more.”

She did not seem surprised, nor flattered; she smiled indifferently and replied calmly: “Oh, you can come just the same; no one loves me long.”

“Why not?”

“Because it is useless, and I tell them so at once. If you had confessed your fears to me sooner, I would have reassured you. My dear friend, a man in love is not only foolish but dangerous. I cease all intercourse with people who love me or pretend to; firstly, because they bore me, and secondly, because I look upon them with dread, as I would upon a mad dog. I know that your love is only a kind of appetite; while with me it would be a communion of souls. Now, look me in the face—” she no longer smiled. “I will never be your sweetheart; it is therefore useless for you to persist in your efforts. And now that I have explained, shall we be friends?”

He knew that that sentence was irrevocable, and delighted to be able to form such an alliance as she proposed, he extended both hands, saying:

“I am yours, Madame, to do with as you will”

He kissed her hands and raising his head said: “If I had found a woman like you, how gladly would I have married her.”

She was touched by those words, and in a soft voice, placing her hand upon his arm, she said: “I am going to begin my offices at once. You are not diplomatic—” she hesitated. “May I speak freely?”

“Yes.”

“Call upon Mme. Walter who has taken a fancy to you. But be guarded as to your compliments, for she is virtuous. You will make a better impression there by being careful in your remarks. I know that your position at the office is unsatisfactory, but do not worry; all their employees are treated alike.”

He said: “Thanks; you are an angel—a guardian angel.”

As he took his leave, he asked again: “Are we friends—is it settled?”

“It is.”

Having observed the effect of his last compliment, he said: “If you ever become a widow, I have put in my application!” Then he left the room hastily in order not to allow her time to be angry.

Duroy did not like to call on Mme. Walter, for he had never been invited, and he did not wish to commit a breach of etiquette. The manager had been kind to him, appreciated his services, employed him to do difficult work, why should he not profit by that show of favor to call at his house? One day, therefore, he repaired to the market and bought twenty-five pears. Having carefully arranged them in a basket to make them appear as if they came from a distance he took them to Mme. Walter’s door with his card on which was inscribed:

“Georges Duroy begs Mme. Walter to accept the fruit which he received this morning from Normandy.”

The following day he found in his letter-box at the office an envelope containing Mme, Walter’s card on which was written:

“Mme. Walter thanks M. Georges Duroy very much, and is at home on Saturdays.”

The next Saturday he called. M. Walter lived on Boulevard Malesherbes in a double house which he owned. The reception-rooms were on the first floor. In the antechamber were two footmen; one took Duroy’s overcoat, the other his cane, put it aside, opened a door and announced the visitor’s name. In the large mirror in the apartment Duroy could see the reflection of people seated in another room. He passed through two drawing-rooms and entered a small boudoir in which four ladies were gathered around a tea-table. Notwithstanding the assurance he had gained during his life in Paris, and especially since he had been thrown in contact with so many noted personages, Duroy felt abashed. He stammered:

“Madame, I took the liberty.”

The mistress of the house extended her hand and said to him: “You are very kind, M. Duroy, to come to see me.” She pointed to a chair. The ladies chatted on. Visitors came and went. Mme. Walter noticed that Duroy said