CHAPTER VI.
A STEP UPWARD
The next morning Georges Duroy arose, dressed himself, and determinedto have money; he sought Forestier. His friend received him in hisstudy.
"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 youcan have them, but no more."
Duroy took the gold-piece, called upon more friends, and by fiveo'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. Iwill pay it when I can."
For two weeks he lived economically, but at the end of that time, thegood resolutions he had formed vanished, and one evening he returned tothe Folies Bergeres in search of Rachel; but the woman was implacableand heaped coarse insults upon him, until he felt his cheeks tingle andhe left the hall.
Forestier, out of health and feeble, made Duroy's existence at theoffice insupportable. The latter did not reply to his rude remarks, butdetermined to be avenged. He called upon Mme. Forestier. He found herreclining upon a couch, reading. She held out her hand without risingand 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 knowwhat they have christened you at her house."
He took a seat near his hostess and glanced at her curiously; she was acharming blonde, fair and plump, made for caresses, and he thought:"She is certainly nicer than the other one." He did not doubt that hewould only have to extend his hand in order to gather the fruit. As hegazed 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 tolove you any more."
She did not seem surprised, nor flattered; she smiled indifferently andreplied 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 hadconfessed your fears to me sooner, I would have reassured you. My dearfriend, a man in love is not only foolish but dangerous. I cease allintercourse with people who love me or pretend to; firstly, becausethey bore me, and secondly, because I look upon them with dread, as Iwould 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 theface--" she no longer smiled. "I will never be your sweetheart; it istherefore useless for you to persist in your efforts. And now that Ihave explained, shall we be friends?"
He knew that that sentence was irrevocable, and delighted to be able toform 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 womanlike you, how gladly would I have married her."
She was touched by those words, and in a soft voice, placing her handupon his arm, she said: "I am going to begin my offices at once. Youare not diplomatic--" she hesitated. "May I speak freely?"
"Yes."
"Call upon Mme. Walter who has taken a fancy to you. But be guarded asto your compliments, for she is virtuous. You will make a betterimpression there by being careful in your remarks. I know that yourposition at the office is unsatisfactory, but do not worry; all theiremployees 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 youever become a widow, I have put in my application!" Then he left theroom hastily in order not to allow her time to be angry.
Duroy did not like to call on Mme. Walter, for he had never beeninvited, and he did not wish to commit a breach of etiquette. Themanager had been kind to him, appreciated his services, employed him todo difficult work, why should he not profit by that show of favor tocall at his house? One day, therefore, he repaired to the market andbought twenty-five pears. Having carefully arranged them in a basket tomake 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 envelopecontaining 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 Malesherbesin a double house which he owned. The reception-rooms were on the firstfloor. In the antechamber were two footmen; one took Duroy's overcoat,the other his cane, put it aside, opened a door and announced thevisitor's name. In the large mirror in the apartment Duroy could seethe reflection of people seated in another room. He passed through twodrawing-rooms and entered a small boudoir in which four ladies weregathered around a tea-table. Notwithstanding the assurance he hadgained during his life in Paris, and especially since he had beenthrown in contact with so many noted personages, Duroy felt abashed. Hestammered:
"Madame, I took the liberty."
The mistress of the house extended her hand and said to him: "You arevery kind, M. Duroy, to come to see me." She pointed to a chair. Theladies chatted on. Visitors came and went. Mme. Walter noticed thatDuroy said nothing, that no one addressed him, that he seemeddisconcerted, and she drew him into the conversation which dealt withthe admission of a certain M. Linet to the Academy. When Duroy hadtaken his leave, one of the ladies said: "How odd he is! Who is he?"
Mme. Walter replied: "One of our reporters; he only occupies a minorposition, but I think he will advance rapidly."
In the meantime, while he was being discussed, Duroy walked gaily downBoulevard Malesherbes.
The following week he was appointed editor of the "Echoes," and invitedto dine at Mme. Walter's. The "Echoes" were, M. Walter said, the verypith of the paper. Everything and everybody should be remembered, allcountries, all professions, Paris and the provinces, the army, thearts, the clergy, the schools, the rulers, and the courtiers. The manat the head of that department should be wide awake, always on hisguard, quick to judge of what was best to be said and best to beomitted, to divine what would please the public and to present it well.Duroy was just the man for the place.
He was enjoying the fact of his promotion, when he received an engravedcard which read:
"M. and Mme. Walter request the pleasure of M. Georges Duroy's company at dinner on Thursday, January 20."
He was so delighted that he kissed the invitation as if it had been alove-letter.
Then he sought the cashier to settle the important question of hissalary. At first twelve hundred francs were allowed Duroy, who intendedto save a large share of the money. He was busy two days gettingsettled in his new position, in a large room, one end of which heoccupied, and the other end of which was allotted to Boisrenard, whoworked with him.
The day of the dinner-party he left the office in good season, in orderto have time to dress, and was walking along Rue de Londres when he sawbefore him a form which resembled Mme. de Marelle's. He felt his cheeksglow and his heart throb. He crossed the street in order to see thelady's face; he was mistaken, and breathed more freely. He had oftenwondered what he should do if he met Clotilde face to face. Should hebow to
her or pretend not to see her? "I should not see her," thoughthe.
When Duroy entered his rooms he thought: "I must change my apartments;these will not do any longer." He felt both nervous and gay, and saidaloud to himself: "I must write to my father." Occasionally he wrotehome, and his letters always delighted his old parents. As he tied hiscravat at the mirror he repeated: "I must write home to-morrow. If myfather could see me this evening in the house to which I am going, hewould be surprised. Sacristi, I shall soon give a dinner which hasnever been equaled!"
Then he recalled his old home, the faces of his father and mother. Hesaw them seated at their homely board, eating their soup. He rememberedevery wrinkle on their old faces, every movement of their hands andheads; he even knew what they said to each other every evening as theysupped. He thought: "I will go to see them some day." His toilettecompleted, he extinguished his light and descended the stairs.
On reaching his destination, he boldly entered the antechamber, lightedby bronze lamps, and gave his cane and his overcoat to the two lackeyswho approached him. All the salons were lighted. Mme. Walter receivedin the second, the largest. She greeted Duroy with a charming smile,and he shook hands with two men who arrived after him, M. Firmin and M.Laroche-Mathieu; the latter had especial authority at the office onaccount of his influence in the chamber of deputies.
Then the Forestiers arrived, Madeleine looking charming in pink.Charles had become very much emaciated and coughed incessantly.
Norbert de Varenne and Jacques Rival came together. A door opened atthe end of the room, and M. Walter entered with two tall young girls ofsixteen and seventeen; one plain, the other pretty. Duroy knew that themanager was a paterfamilias, but he was astonished. He had thought ofthe manager's daughters as one thinks of a distant country one willnever see. Then, too, he had fancied them children, and he saw women.They shook hands upon being introduced and seated themselves at a tableset apart for them. One of the guests had not arrived, and thatembarrassing silence which precedes dinners in general reigned supreme.
Duroy happening to glance at the walls, M. Walter said: "You arelooking at my pictures? I will show them all to you." And he took alamp that they might distinguish all the details. There were landscapesby Guillemet; "A Visit to the Hospital," by Gervex; "A Widow," byBouguereau; "An Execution," by Jean Paul Laurens, and many others.
Duroy exclaimed: "Charming, charming, char--" but stopped short onhearing behind him the voice of Mme. de Marelle who had just entered.M. Walter continued to exhibit and explain his pictures; but Duroy sawnothing--heard without comprehending. Mme. de Marelle was there, behindhim. What should he do? If he greeted her, might she not turn her backupon him or utter some insulting remark? If he did not approach her,what would people think? He was so ill at ease that at one time hethought he should feign indisposition and return home.
The pictures had all been exhibited. M. Walter placed the lamp on thetable and greeted the last arrival, while Duroy recommenced alone anexamination of the canvas, as if he could not tear himself away. Whatshould he do? He heard their voices and their conversation. Mme.Forestier called him; he hastened toward her. It was to introduce himto a friend who was on the point of giving a fete, and who wanted adescription of it in "La Vie Francaise."
He stammered: "Certainly, Madame, certainly."
Madame de Marelle was very near him; he dared not turn to go away.Suddenly to his amazement, she exclaimed: "Good evening, Bel-Ami; doyou not remember me?"
He turned upon his heel hastily; she stood before him smiling, her eyesoverflowing with roguishness and affection. She offered him her hand;he took it doubtfully, fearing some perfidy. She continued calmly:"What has become of you? One never sees you!"
Not having regained his self-possession, he murmured: "I have had agreat deal to do, Madame, a great deal to do. M. Walter has given meanother position and the duties are very arduous."
"I know, but that is no excuse for forgetting your friends."
Their conversation was interrupted by the entrance of a large woman,decollette, with red arms, red cheeks, and attired in gay colors. Asshe was received with effusion, Duroy asked Mme. Forestier: "Who isthat person?"
"Viscountess de Percemur, whose nom de plume is 'Patte Blanche.'"
He was surprised and with difficulty restrained a burst of laughter.
"Patte Blanche? I fancied her a young woman like you. Is that PatteBlanche? Ah, she is handsome, very handsome!"
A servant appeared at the door and announced: "Madame is served."
Duroy was placed between the manager's plain daughter, Mlle. Rose, andMme. de Marelle. The proximity of the latter embarrassed him somewhat,although she appeared at ease and conversed with her usual spirit.Gradually, however, his assurance returned, and before the meal wasover, he knew that their relations would be renewed. Wishing, too, tobe polite to his employer's daughter, he addressed her from time totime. She responded as her mother would have done, without anyhesitation as to what she should say. At M. Walter's right satViscountess de Percemur, and Duroy, looking at her with a smile, askedMme. de Marelle in a low voice: "Do you know the one who signs herself'Domino Rose'?"
"Yes, perfectly; Baroness de Livar."
"Is she like the Countess?"
"No. But she is just as comical. She is sixty years old, has falsecurls and teeth, wit of the time of the Restoration, and toilettes ofthe same period."
When the guests returned to the drawing-room, Duroy asked Mme. deMarelle: "May I escort you home?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because M. Laroche-Mathieu, who is my neighbor, leaves me at my doorevery time that I dine here."
"When shall I see you again?"
"Lunch with me to-morrow."
They parted without another word. Duroy did not remain late; as hedescended the staircase, he met Norbert de Varenne, who was likewisegoing away. The old poet took his arm; fearing no rivalry on thenewspaper, their work being essentially different, he was very friendlyto the young man.
"Shall we walk along together?"
"I shall be pleased to," replied Duroy.
The streets were almost deserted that night. At first the two men didnot speak. Then Duroy, in order to make some remark, said: "That M.Laroche-Mathieu looks very intelligent."
The old poet murmured: "Do you think so?"
The younger man hesitated in surprise: "Why, yes! Is he not consideredone of the most capable men in the Chamber?"
"That may be. In a kingdom of blind men the blind are kings. All thosepeople are divided between money and politics; they are pedants to whomit is impossible to speak of anything that is familiar to us. Ah, it isdifficult to find a man who is liberal in his ideas! I have knownseveral, they are dead. Still, what difference does a little more or alittle less genius make, since all must come to an end?" He paused, andDuroy said with a smile:
"You are gloomy to-night, sir!"
The poet replied: "I always am, my child; you will be too in a fewyears. While one is climbing the ladder, one sees the top and feelshopeful; but when one has reached that summit, one sees the descent andthe end which is death. It is slow work ascending, but one descendsrapidly. At your age one is joyous; one hopes for many things whichnever come to pass. At mine, one expects nothing but death."
Duroy laughed: "Egad, you make me shudder."
Norbert de Varenne continued: "You do not understand me now, but lateron you will remember what I have told you. We breathe, sleep, drink,eat, work, and then die! The end of life is death. What do you longfor? Love? A few kisses and you will be powerless. Money? What for? Togratify your desires. Glory? What comes after it all? Death! Deathalone is certain."
He stopped, took Duroy by his coat collar and said slowly: "Ponder uponall that, young man; think it over for days, months, and years, and youwill see life from a different standpoint. I am a lonely, old man. Ihave neither father, mother, brother, sister, wife, children, nor God.I have only poetry. Marry, my friend; you do not know what it is toliv
e alone at my age. It is so lonesome. I seem to have no one uponearth. When one is old it is a comfort to have children."
When they reached Rue de Bourgogne, the poet halted before a highhouse, rang the bell, pressed Duroy's hand and said: "Forget what Ihave said to you, young man, and live according to your age. Adieu!"With those words he disappeared in the dark corridor.
Duroy felt somewhat depressed on leaving Varenne, but on his way aperfumed damsel passed by him and recalled to his mind hisreconciliation with Mme. de Marelle. How delightful was the realizationof one's hopes!
The next morning he arrived at his lady-love's door somewhat early; shewelcomed him as if there had been no rupture, and said as she kissedhim:
"You do not know how annoyed I am, my beloved; I anticipated adelightful honeymoon and now my husband has come home for six weeks.But I could not let so long a time go by without seeing you, especiallyafter our little disagreement, and this is how I have arranged matters:Come to dinner Monday. I will introduce you to M. de Marelle, I havealready spoken of you to him."
Duroy hesitated in perplexity; he feared he might betray something by aword, a glance. He stammered:
"No, I would rather not meet your husband."
"Why not? How absurd! Such things happen every day. I did not think youso foolish."
"Very well, I will come to dinner Monday."
"To make it more pleasant, I will have the Forestiers, though I do notlike to receive company at home."
On Monday as he ascended Mme. de Marelle's staircase, he felt strangelytroubled; not that he disliked to take her husband's hand, drink hiswine, and eat his bread, but he dreaded something, he knew not what. Hewas ushered into the salon and he waited as usual. Then the dooropened, and a tall man with a white beard, grave and precise, advancedtoward him and said courteously:
"My wife has often spoken of you, sir; I am charmed to make youracquaintance."
Duroy tried to appear cordial and shook his host's proffered hand withexaggerated energy. M. de Marelle put a log upon the fire and asked:
"Have you been engaged in journalism a long time?"
Duroy replied: "Only a few months." His embarrassment wearing off, hebegan to consider the situation very amusing. He gazed at M. deMarelle, serious and dignified, and felt a desire to laugh aloud. Atthat moment Mme. de Marelle entered and approached Duroy, who in thepresence of her husband dared not kiss her hand. Laurine entered next,and offered her brow to Georges. Her mother said to her:
"You do not call M. Duroy Bel-Ami to-day."
The child blushed as if it were a gross indiscretion to reveal hersecret.
When the Forestiers arrived, Duroy was startled at Charles'sappearance. He had grown thinner and paler in a week and coughedincessantly; he said they would leave for Cannes on the followingThursday at the doctor's orders. They did not stay late; after they hadleft, Duroy said, with a shake of his head:
"He will not live long."
Mme. de Marelle replied calmly: "No, he is doomed! He was a lucky manto obtain such a wife."
Duroy asked: "Does she help him very much?"
"She does all the work; she is well posted on every subject, and shealways gains her point, as she wants it, and when she wants it! Oh, sheis as maneuvering as anyone! She is a treasure to a man who wishes tosucceed."
Georges replied: "She will marry very soon again, I have no doubt."
"Yes! I should not even be surprised if she had some one in view--adeputy! but I do not know anything about it."
M. de Marelle said impatiently: "You infer so many things that I do notlike! We should never interfere in the affairs of others. Everyoneshould make that a rule."
Duroy took his leave with a heavy heart. The next day he called on theForestiers, and found them in the midst of packing. Charles lay upon asofa and repeated: "I should have gone a month ago." Then he proceededto give Duroy innumerable orders, although everything had been arrangedwith M. Walter. When Georges left him, he pressed his comrade's handand said:
"Well, old fellow, we shall soon meet again."
Mme. Forestier accompanied him to the door and he reminded her of theircompact. "We are friends and allies, are we not? If you should requiremy services in any way, do not hesitate to call upon me. Send me adispatch or a letter and I will obey."
She murmured: "Thank you, I shall not forget."
As Duroy descended the staircase, he met M. de Vaudrec ascending. TheCount seemed sad--perhaps at the approaching departure.
The journalist bowed, the Count returned his salutation courteously butsomewhat haughtily.
On Thursday evening the Forestiers left town.