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 THE LIFE WORK OF 
 
 HENRI RENE GUY 
 
 r^DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Embracing 
 
 ROMANCE.TRWELCOMEDY Sr VERSE. 
 For the first time Complete in 
 
 Englisli. 
 With a Critical Preface by 
 
 PAUL BOURGET 
 
 of tlie Frencti Academy 
 
 and an Introduction by 
 
 Robert Amot.M.A. 
 
 
 m 
 
 1LLUSTR/\TED FROM ORIGINAL DRAWINGS 
 BYFMINENT \ 
 
 FRENCH AND AMERICAN ARTISTS \ 
 
 O^.^^ 
 
 ,% 
 
 -O 
 
 Vu?§BQl'^ 
 
 'v 
 
 THE ST.DUNSTAN SOClFTi 
 Akron. Ohio.
 
 AFTER THE ORIGINAL DRAWING. BY HHRDINANl) BA< 
 
 " Duroy saic. his wife seated by Laroche-Mathieu, both 
 of them almost hidden behind a group of palms. " 
 
 ( See pagv.'
 
 BEL AMI 
 
 OR 
 
 THE HISTORY OF A SCOUNDREL 
 
 ^ NO^EL 
 
 By 
 
 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 ^ 
 
 VOL. VII. 
 
 SAINT DUNSTAN SOCIETY 
 
 Akron, Ohio
 
 CervMGMT. 1903. BV 
 M. WALTER DUNNE 
 
 £mUr»d M Stati«ntri Hall, London
 
 R02 
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 PAGB 
 
 Chapter I. 
 
 POVERTY I 
 
 Chapter II. 
 
 MADAME FORESTIER I) 
 
 Chapter III. 
 
 FIRST ATTEMPTS 24 
 
 Chapter IV. 
 
 DUROY learns SOMETHING 33 
 
 Chapter V. 
 
 THE FIRST INTRIGUE 4I 
 
 Chapter VI. 
 
 a step upward 61 
 
 Chapter VII. 
 
 A DUEL WITH AN END 76 
 
 Chapter VIII. 
 
 DEATH AND A PROPOSAL 87 
 
 Chapter IX. 
 
 MARRIAGE I02 
 
 Chapter X. 
 
 JEALOUSY 118 
 
 Chapter XI. 
 
 MADAME WALTER TAKES A HAND . . . 1 24 
 
 (ix)
 
 X 
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 Chapter XII. paob 
 
 A MEETING AND THE RESULT 1 37 
 
 Chapter XIII. 
 
 MADAME MARELLE I46 
 
 Chapter XIV. 
 
 THE WILL . 161 
 
 Chapter XV. 
 
 SUZANNE 172 
 
 Chapter XVI. 
 
 DIVORCE 187 
 
 Chapter XVII. 
 
 THE FINAL PLOT I96 
 
 Chapter XVIII. 
 
 ATTAINMENT 205 
 
 YVETTE 
 Chapter I. 
 
 THE INITIATION OF SAVAL 3 
 
 Chapter II. 
 
 BOUGIVAL AND LOVE 25 
 
 Chapter III. 
 
 ENLIGHTENMENT ')6 
 
 Chapter IV. 
 
 from EMOTION TO PHILOSOPHY .... 77
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 " DUROY SAW HIS WIFE SEATED BY LAROCHE MATHIEU, 
 BOTH OF THEM ALMOST HIDDEN BEHIND A GROUP 
 OF PALMS " Frontispiece 
 
 " LEISURELY THEY DESCENDED THE STEPS " .... 212
 
 BEL-AM I 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 Poverty 
 
 FTER changing his five-franc piece 
 Georges Duroy left the restau- 
 rant. He twisted his mustache 
 in mihtary style and cast a rapid, 
 sweeping glance upon the diners, 
 among whom were three sales- 
 women, an untidy music-teacher 
 of uncertain age, and two women 
 with their husbands. 
 When he reached the sidewalk, he 
 paused to consider what route he should 
 ke. It was the twenty-eighth of June 
 f\(y «"" he had only three francs in his pocket 
 '^ to last him the remainder of the month. 
 That meant two dinners and no lunches, or two 
 lunches and no dinners, according to choice. As he 
 pondered upon this unpleasant state of affairs, he 
 sauntered down Rue Notre Dame de Lorette, preserving 
 his military air and carriage, and rudely jostled the 
 people upon the streets in order to clear a path for 
 
 7 G. de M.-i ( 1 )
 
 2 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 himself. He appeared to be hostile to the passers-by, 
 and even to the houses, the entire city. 
 
 Tall, well-built, fair, with blue eyes, a curled mus- 
 tache, hair naturally wavy and parted in the middle, 
 he recalled the hero of the popular romances. 
 
 It was one of those sultry, Parisian evenings when 
 not a breath of air is stirring; the sewers exhaled 
 poisonous gases and the restaurants the disagreeable 
 odors of cooking and of kindred smells. Porters in 
 their shirt-sleeves, astride their chairs, smoked their 
 pipes at the carriage gates, and pedestrians strolled 
 leisurely along, hats in hand. 
 
 When Georges Duroy reached the boulevard he 
 halted again, undecided as to which road to choose. 
 Finally he turned toward the Madeleine and followed 
 the tide of people. 
 
 The large, well-patronized cafis tempted Duroy, 
 but were he to drink only two glasses of beer in an 
 evening, farewell to the meager supper the following 
 night! Yet he said to himself: "1 will take a glass 
 at the Americain. By Jove, 1 am thirsty." 
 
 He glanced at men seated at the tables, men who 
 could afford to slake their thirst, and he scowled at 
 them. "Rascals!" he muttered. If he could have 
 caught one of them at a corner in the dark he would 
 have choked him without a scruple! He recalled the 
 two years spent in Africa, and the manner in which 
 he had extorted money from the Arabs. A smile 
 hovered about his lips at the recollection of an esca- 
 pade which had cost three men their lives, a foray 
 which had given his two comrades and himself sev- 
 enty fowls, two sheep, money, and something to 
 laugh about for six months. The culprits were never
 
 BEL-AMI ^ 
 
 found; indeed, they were not sought for, the Arab 
 being looked upon as the soldier's prey. 
 
 But in Paris it was different; there one could not 
 commit such deeds with impunity. He regretted 
 that he had not remained where he was; but he had 
 hoped to improve his condition — and for that reason 
 he was in Paris! 
 
 He passed the Vaudeville and stopped at the Cafe 
 Americain, debating as to whether he should take 
 that "glass." Before deciding, he glanced at a clock; 
 it was a quarter past nine. He knew that when the 
 beer was placed in front of him, he would drink it; 
 and then what would he do at eleven o'clock? So 
 he walked on, intending to go as far as the Made- 
 leine and return. 
 
 When he reached the Place de I'Opera, a tall, 
 young man passed him, whose face he fancied was 
 familiar. He followed him, repeating: "Where the 
 deuce have I seen that fellow?" 
 
 For a time he racked his brain in vain; then sud- 
 denly he saw the same man, but not so corpulent 
 and more youthful, attired in the uniform of a Hus- 
 sar. He exclaimed: "Wait, Forestier! " and hasten- 
 ing up to him, laid his hand upon the man's shoulder. 
 The latter turned, looked at him, and said: "What 
 do you want, sir?" 
 
 Duroy began to laugh: "Don't you remember 
 me?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Not remember Georges Duroy of the Sixth Hus- 
 sars." 
 
 Forestier extended both hands. 
 
 "Ah, my dear fellow, how are you?"
 
 4 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "Very well. And how are you?" 
 
 "Oh, I am not very well. I cough six months 
 out of the twelve as a result of bronchitis contracted 
 at Bougival, about the time of my return to Paris 
 four years ago." 
 
 "But you look well." 
 
 Forestier, taking his former comrade's arm, told 
 him of his malady, of the consultations, the opinions 
 and the advice of the doctors and of the difficulty of 
 following their advice in his position. They ordered 
 him to spend the winter in the south, but how could 
 he ? He was married and was a journalist in a re- 
 sponsible editorial position. 
 
 "1 manage the political department on 'La Vie 
 Fran9aise'; 1 report the doings of the Senate for ' Le 
 Salut,' and from time to time I write for 'La Planete.' 
 That is what 1 am doing." 
 
 Duroy, in surprise, glanced at him. He was very 
 much changed. Formerly Forestier had been thin, 
 giddy, noisy, and always in good spirits. But three 
 years of life in Paris had made another man of him; 
 now he was stout and serious, and his hair was gray 
 on his temples although he could not number more 
 than twenty-seven years. 
 
 Forestier asked: "Where are you going?" 
 
 Duroy replied: "Nowhere in particular." 
 
 "Very well, will you accompany me to the 'Vie 
 Fran^aise' where I have some proofs to correct; and 
 afterward take a drink with me?" 
 
 "Yes, gladly." 
 
 They walked along arm-in-arm with that familiarity 
 which exists between schoolmates and brother-officers. 
 
 "What are you doing in Paris?" <tsked Forestier.
 
 BEL- AMI 
 
 5 
 
 Duroy shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "Dying of hunger, simply. When my time was 
 up, I came hither to make my fortune, or rather to 
 live in Paris — and for six months I have been em- 
 ployed in a railroad office at fifteen hundred francs a 
 year." 
 
 Forestier murmured: "That is not very much." 
 
 "But what can I do?" answered Duroy. "1 am 
 alone, 1 know no one, I have no recommendations. 
 The spirit is not lacking, but the means are." 
 
 His companion looked at him from head to foot 
 like a practical man who is examining a subject; then 
 he said, in a tone of conviction: "You see, my dear 
 fellow, all depends on assurance, here. A shrewd, 
 observing man can sometimes become a minister. 
 You must obtrude yourself and yet not ask anything. 
 But how is it you have not found anything better 
 than a clerkship at the station?" 
 
 Duroy replied: "1 hunted everywhere and found 
 nothing else. But 1 know where I can get three 
 thousand francs at least — as riding-master at the Pel- 
 lerin school." 
 
 Forestier stopped him: "Don't do it, for you can 
 earn ten thousand francs. You will ruin your pros- 
 pects at once. In your oifice at least no one knows 
 you; you can leave it if you wish to at any time. 
 But when you are once a riding-master all will be 
 over. You might as well be a butler in a house to 
 which all Paris comes to dine. When you have given 
 riding lessons to men of the world or to their sons, 
 they will no longer consider you their equal." 
 
 He paused, reflected several seconds and then 
 ftsked:
 
 6 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "Are you a bachelor?" 
 
 "Yes, though I have been smitten several times." 
 
 "That makes no difference. If Cicero and Tibe- 
 rius were mentioned would you know who they 
 were.?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Good, no one knows any more except about a 
 score of fools. It is not difficult to pass for being 
 learned. The secret is not to betray your ignorance. 
 Just maneuver, avoid the quicksands and obstacles, 
 and the rest can be found in a dictionary." 
 
 He spoke like one who understood human nature, 
 and he smiled as the crowd passed them by. Sud- 
 denly he began to cough and stopped to allow the 
 paroxysm to spend itself; then he said in a discour- 
 aged tone: 
 
 "Isn't it tiresome not to be able to get rid of this 
 bronchitis? And here is midsummer! This winter I 
 shall go to Mentone. Health before everything." 
 
 They reached the Boulevarde Poissoniere; behind a 
 large glass door an open paper was affixed; three peo- 
 ple were reading it. Above the door was printed the 
 legend, "La Vie Fran^aise." 
 
 Forestier pushed open the door and said: "Come 
 in." Duroy entered; they ascended the stairs, passed 
 through an antechamber in which two clerks greeted 
 their comrade, and then entered a kind of waiting- 
 room. 
 
 "Sit down," said Forestier, "I shall be back in 
 five minutes," and he disappeared. 
 
 Duroy remained where he was; from time to time 
 men passed him by, entering by one door and going 
 out by another before he had time to glance at them.
 
 BEL-AMI 7 
 
 Now they were young men, very young, with a busy 
 air, holding sheets of paper in their hands; now com- 
 positors, their shirts spotted with ink — carefully carry- 
 ing what were evidently fresh proofs. Occasionally a 
 gentleman entered, fashionably dressed, some reporter 
 bringing news. 
 
 Forestier reappeared arm-in-arm with a tall, thin 
 man of thirty or forty, dressed in a black coat, with 
 a white cravat, a dark complexion, and an insolent, 
 self-satisfied air. Forestier said to him: "Adieu, my 
 dear sir," and the other pressed his hand with: 
 "Au revoir, my friend." Then he descended the 
 stairs whistling, his cane under his arm. 
 
 Duroy asked his name. 
 
 "That is Jacques Rival, the celebrated writer and 
 duelist. He came to correct his proofs. Garin, 
 Montel and he are the best witty and realistic 
 writers we have in Paris. He earns thirty thousand 
 francs a year for two articles a week." 
 
 As they went downstairs, they met a stout, little 
 man with long hair, who was ascending the stairs 
 whistling. Forestier bowed low. 
 
 "Norbert de Varenne," said he, "the poet, the 
 author of'Les Soleils Morts,' — a very expensive man. 
 Every poem he gives us costs three hundred francs 
 and the longest has not two hundred lines. But let 
 us go into the Napolitain, I am getting thirsty." 
 
 When they were seated at a table, Forestier 
 ordered two glasses of beer. He emptied his at a 
 single draught, while Duroy sipped his beer slowly 
 as if it were something rare and precious. Suddenly 
 his companion asked, "Why don't you try jour- 
 nalism ?"
 
 8 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Duroy looked at him in surprise and said: "Be- 
 cause I have never written anything." 
 
 "Bah, we ail have to make a beginning. I could 
 employ you myself by sending you to obtain infor- 
 mation. At first you would only get two hundred 
 and fifty francs a month but your cab fare would be 
 paid. Shall I speak to the manager?" 
 
 "If you will." 
 
 "Well, then come and dine with me to-morrow; 
 I will only ask five or six to meet you; the manager, 
 M. Walter, his wife, with Jacques Rival, and Norbert 
 de Varenne whom you have just seen, and also a 
 friend of Mme. Forestier. Will you come ? " 
 
 Duroy hesitated, blushing and perplexed. Finally 
 he murmured: "1 have no suitable clothes." 
 
 Forestier was amazed. "You have no dress suit? 
 Egad, that is indispensable. In Paris, it is better to 
 have no bed than no clothes." Then, fumbling in his 
 vest-pocket, he drew from it two louis, placed them 
 before his companion, and said kindly: "You can re- 
 pay me when it is convenient. Buy yourself what you 
 need and pay an installment on it. And come and 
 dine with us at half past seven, at 17 Rue Fontaine." 
 
 In confusion Duroy picked up the money and 
 stammered: "You are very kind — I am much 
 obliged — be sure I shall not forget." 
 
 Forestier interrupted him: "That's all right, take 
 another glass of beer. Waiter, two more glasses!" 
 When he had paid the score, the journalist asked: 
 "Would you like a stroll for an hour?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 They turned toward the Madeleine. "What shall 
 we do?" asked Forestier. "They say that in Paris
 
 BEL- AMI 9 
 
 an idler can always find amusement, but it is not 
 true. A turn in the Bois is only enjoyable if you 
 have a lady with you, and that is a rare occurrence. 
 The cafe concerts may divert my tailor and his wife, 
 but they do not interest me. So what can we do ? 
 Nothing! There ought to be a summer garden here, 
 open at night, where a man could listen to good 
 music while drinking beneath the trees. It would be 
 a pleasant lounging place. You could walk in alleys 
 bright with electric light and seat yourself where you 
 pleased to hear the music. It would be charm.ing. 
 Where would you like to go?" 
 
 Duroy did not know what to reply; finally he said: 
 "I have never been to the Folies Bergeres. I should 
 like to go there." 
 
 His companion exclaimed: "The Folies Bergeres! 
 Very well!" 
 
 They turned and walked toward the Faubourg 
 Montmartre. The brilliantly illuminated building loomed 
 up before them. Forestier entered, Duroy stopped 
 him. "We forgot to pass through the gate." 
 
 The other replied in a consequential tone: "I 
 never pay," and approached the box-office. 
 
 "Have you a good box?" 
 
 "Certainly, M. Forestier." 
 
 He took the ticket handed him, pushed open the 
 door, and they were within the hall. A cloud of 
 tobacco smoke almost hid the stage and the opposite 
 side of the theater. In the spacious foyer which led 
 to the circular promenade, brilliantly dressed women 
 mingled with black-coated men. 
 
 Forestier forced his way rapidly through the throng 
 and accosted an usher.
 
 10 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "Box 17?" 
 
 "This way, sir," 
 
 The friends were shown into a tiny box, hung and 
 carpeted in red, with four chairs upholstered in the 
 same color. They seated themselves. To their right 
 and left were similar boxes. On the stage three men 
 were performing on trapezes. But Duroy paid no 
 heed to them, his eyes finding more to interest them 
 in the grand promenade. Forestier remarked upon 
 the motley appearance of the throng, but Duroy did 
 not listen to him. A woman, leaning her arms upon 
 the edge of her loge, was staring at him. She was 
 a tall, voluptuous brunette, her face whitened with 
 enamel, her black eyes penciled, and her lips painted. 
 With a movement of her head, she summoned a 
 friend who was passing, a blonde with auburn hair, 
 likewise inclined to embonpoint, and said to her in a 
 whisper intended to be heard: "There is a nice 
 fellow!" 
 
 Forestier heard it, and said to Duroy with a smile: 
 "You are lucky, my dear boy. My congratulations!" 
 
 The ci-devant soldier blushed and mechanically fin- 
 gered the two pieces of gold in his pocket. 
 
 The curtain fell — the orchestra played a valse — ■ 
 and Duroy said: 
 
 "Shall we walk around the gallery?" 
 
 "If you like." 
 
 Soon they were carried along in the current of 
 promenaders. Duroy drank in with delight the air, 
 vitiated as it was by tobacco and cheap perfume, 
 but Forestier perspired, panted, and coughed. 
 
 "Let us go into the garden," he said. Turning 
 to the left, they entered a kind of covered garden in
 
 BEL-AMI n 
 
 which two large fountains were playing. Under the 
 yews, men and women sat at tables drinking. 
 
 "Another glass of beer.?" asked Forestier. 
 
 "Gladly." 
 
 They took their seats and watched the promen- 
 aders. Occasionally a woman would stop and ask 
 with a coarse smile: "What have you to offer, 
 sir?" 
 
 Forestier's invariable answer was: "A glass of 
 water from the fountain." And the woman would 
 mutter, "Go along," and walk away. 
 
 At last the brunette reappeared, arm-in-arm with 
 the blonde. They made a handsome couple. The 
 former smiled on perceiving Duroy, and taking a chair 
 she calmly seated herself in front of him, and said in 
 a clear voice: "Waiter, two glasses." 
 
 In astonishment, Forestier exclaimed: "You are 
 not at all bashful!" 
 
 She replied: "Your friend has bewitched me; he 
 is such a fme fellow. I believe he has turned my 
 head." 
 
 Duroy said nothing. 
 
 The waiter brought the beer, which the women 
 swallowed rapidly; then they rose, and the brunette, 
 nodding her head and tapping Duroy's arm with her 
 fan, said to him: "Thank you, my dear! However, 
 you are not very talkative." 
 
 As they disappeared, Forestier laughed and said: 
 "Tell, me, old man, did you know that you had a 
 charm for the weaker sex? You must be careful." 
 
 Without replying, Duroy smiled. His friend asked: 
 "Shall you remain any longer? I am going; I have 
 had enough."
 
 12 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Georges murmured: "Yes, I will stay a little 
 longer: it is not late." 
 
 Forestier arose: "Very well, then, good-bye un- 
 til to-morrow. Do not forget: 17 Rue Fontaine at 
 seven thirty." 
 
 "I shall not forget. Thank you." 
 
 The friends shook hands and the journalist left 
 Duroy to his own devices. 
 
 Forestier once out of sight, Duroy felt free, and 
 again he joyously touched the gold pieces in his 
 pocket; then rising, he mingled witn the crowd. 
 
 He soon discovered the blonde and the brunette. 
 He went toward them, but when near them dared 
 not address them. 
 
 The brunette called out to him: "Have you found 
 your tongue ?" 
 
 He stammered: "Zounds!" too bashful to say an- 
 other word. A pause ensued, during which the 
 brunette took his arm and together they left the hall.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Madame Forestier 
 
 W 
 
 HERE does M. Forestier live?" 
 "Third floor on the left," 
 said the porter pleasantly, 
 on learning Duroy's destination. 
 Georges ascended the staircase. 
 He was somewhat embarrassed and 
 ill-at-ease. He had on a new suit but 
 he was uncomfortable. He felt that it 
 was defective; his boots were not glossy, 
 he had bought his shirt that same even- 
 ing at the Louvre for four francs fifty, his 
 trousers were too wide and betrayed their 
 cheapness in their fit, or rather, misfit, and 
 his coat was too tight. 
 
 Slowly he ascended the stairs, his heart beating, 
 his mind anxious. Suddenly before him stood a well- 
 dressed gentleman staring at him. The person re- 
 sembled Duroy so close that the latter retreated, then 
 stopped, and saw that it was his own image reflected 
 in a pier-glass! Not having anything but a small 
 mirror at home, he had not been able to see himself 
 entirely, and had exaggerated the imperfections of his
 
 14 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 toilette. When he saw his reflection in the glass, he 
 did not even recognize himself; he took himself for 
 some one else, for a man-of-the-world, and was really 
 satisfied with his general appearance. Smiling to 
 himself, Duroy extended his hand and expressed his 
 astonishment, pleasure, and approbation. A door 
 opened on the staircase. He was afraid of being sur- 
 prised and began to ascend more rapidly, fearing that 
 he might have been seen posing there by some of 
 his friend's invited guests. 
 
 On reaching the second floor, he saw another 
 mirror, and once more slackened his pace to look at 
 himself. He likewise paused before the third glass, 
 twirled his mustache, took off his hat to arrange his 
 hair, and murmured half aloud, a habit of his: "Hall 
 mirrors are most convenient." 
 
 Then he rang the bell. The door opened almost 
 immediately, and before him stood a servant in a 
 black coat, with a grave, shaven face, so perfect in 
 his appearance that Duroy again became confused as 
 he compared the cut of their garments. 
 
 The lackey asked: 
 
 "Whom shall I announce, Monsieur?" He raised 
 a portiere and pronounced the name. 
 
 Duroy lost his self-possession upon being ushered 
 into a world as yet strange to him. However, he 
 advanced, A young, fair woman received him alone 
 in a large, well-lighted room. He paused, discon- 
 certed. Who was that smiling lady ? He remem- 
 bered that Forestier was married, and the thought 
 that the handsome blonde was his friend's wife ren- 
 dered him awkward and ill-at-ej^se. He stammered 
 out:
 
 BEL-AMI 
 
 15 
 
 " Madame, I am — " 
 
 She held out her hand. " I know, Monsieur — 
 Charles told me of your meeting last night, and 1 
 am very glad that he asked you to dine with us 
 to-day." 
 
 Duroy blushed to the roots of his hair, not know- 
 ing how to reply; he felt that he was being inspected 
 from his head to his feet. He half thought of excus- 
 ing himself, of inventing an explanation of the care- 
 lessness of his toilette, but he did not know how to 
 touch upon that delicate subject. 
 
 He seated himself upon a chair she pointed out to 
 him, and as he sank into its luxurious depths, it 
 seemed to him that he was entering a new and 
 charming life, that he would make his mark in the 
 world, that he was saved. He glanced at Mme. For- 
 estier. She wore a gown of pale blue cashmere 
 which clung gracefully to her supple form and 
 rounded outlines; her arms and throat rose in lily- 
 white purity from the mass of lace which ornamented 
 the corsage and short sleeves. Her hair was dressed 
 high and curled on the nape of her neck. 
 
 Duroy grew more at his ease under her glance, 
 which recalled to him, he knew not why, that of 
 the girl he had met the preceding evening at the 
 Folies-Bergeres. Mme. Forestier had gray eyes, a 
 small nose, full lips, and a rather heavy chin, an ir- 
 regular, attractive face, full of gentleness and yet of 
 malice. 
 
 After a short silence, she asked: "Have you been 
 in Paris a long time?" 
 
 Gradually regaining his self-possession, he replied: 
 "Only a few months, Madame. I am in the railroad
 
 l6 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 employ, but my friend Forestier has encouraged me 
 to hope that, thanks to him, I can enter into jour- 
 nalism." 
 
 She smiled kindly and murmured in a low voice: 
 "I know." 
 
 The bell rang again and the servant announced: 
 " Mme. de Marelle." She was a dainty brunette, at- 
 tired in a simple, dark robe; a red rose in her black 
 tresses seemed to accentuate her special character, 
 and a young girl, or rather a child, for such she was, 
 followed her, 
 
 Mme. Forestier said: "Good evening, Clotilde." 
 
 "Good evening, Madeleine." 
 
 They embraced each other, then the child offered 
 her forehead with the assurance of an adult, say- 
 ing: 
 
 "Good evening, cousin." * 
 
 Mme. Forestier kissed her, and then made the in- 
 troductions: 
 
 "M. Georges Duroy, an old friend of Charles. 
 Mme. de Marelle, my friend, a relative in fact." She 
 added: "Here, you know, we do not stand on cere- 
 mony." 
 
 Duroy bowed. The door opened again and a short 
 man entered, upon his arm a tall, handsome woman, 
 taller than he and much younger, with distinguished 
 manners and a dignified carriage. It was M. Walter, 
 deputy, financier, a moneyed man, and a man of busi- 
 ness, manager of "La Vie Franc^aise," with his wife, 
 n{'e Basile Ravalade, daughter of the banker of that 
 name. 
 
 Then came Jacques Rival, very elegant, followed 
 by Norbert de Varenne. The latter advanced with
 
 BEL-AMI jn 
 
 the grace of the old school and taking Mme. Fores- 
 tier's hand kissed it; his long hair falling upon his 
 hostess's bare arm as he did so. 
 
 Forestier now entered, apologizing for being late; 
 he had been detained. 
 
 The servant announced dinner, and they entered 
 the dining-room. Duroy was placed between Mme. 
 de Marelle and her daughter. He was again rendered 
 uncomfortable for fear of committing some error in 
 the conventional management of his fork, his spoon, 
 or his glasses, of which he had four. Nothing was 
 said during the soup; then Norbert de Varenne asked 
 a general question: "Have you read the Gauthier 
 case? How droll it was!" 
 
 Then followed a discussion of the subject in which 
 the ladies joined. Then a duel was mentioned and 
 Jacques Rival led the conversation; that was his 
 province. Duroy did not venture a remark, but occa- 
 sionally glanced at his neighbor. A diamond upon a 
 slight, golden thread depended from her ear; from 
 time to time she uttered a remark which evoked a 
 smile upon his lips. Duroy sought vainly for some 
 compliment to pay her; he busied himself with her 
 daughter, filled her glass, waited upon her, and the 
 child, more dignified than her mother, thanked him 
 gravely saying, "You are very kind, Monsieur," while 
 she listened to the conversation with a reflective air. 
 The dinner was excellent and everyone was delighted 
 with it. 
 
 The conversation returned to the colonization of 
 Algeria. M. Walter uttered several jocose remarks; 
 Forestier alluded to the article he had prepared for 
 the morrow; Jacques Rival declared himself in favor 
 
 7 G. de M.— 2
 
 l8 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 of a military government with grants of land to all 
 the officers after thirty years of colonial service. 
 
 "In that way," said he, "you can estabhsh a 
 strong colony, familiar with and liking the country, 
 knowing its language and able to cope with all those 
 local yet grave questions which invariably confront 
 newcomers. 
 
 Norbert de Varenne interrupted: "Yes, they would 
 know everything, except agriculture. They would 
 speak Arabic, but they would not know how to 
 transplant beet-root, and how to sow wheat. They 
 would be strong in fencing, but weak in the art of 
 farming. On the contrary, the new country should 
 be opened to everyone. Intelligent men would make 
 positions for themselves; the others would succumb. 
 It is a natural law." 
 
 A pause ensued. Everyone smiled. Georges Du- 
 roy, startled at the sound of his own voice, as if he 
 had never heard it, said: 
 
 "What is needed the most down there is good 
 soil. Really fertile land costs as much as it does in 
 France and is bought by wealthy Parisians. The real 
 colonists, the poor, are generally cast out into the 
 desert, where nothing grows for lack of water." 
 
 All eyes turned upon him. He colored. M. Wal- 
 ter asked: "Do you know Algeria, sir?" 
 
 He replied: "Yes, sir, I was there twenty-eight 
 months." Leaving the subject of colonization, Nor- 
 bert de Varenne questioned him as to some of the 
 Algerian customs. Georges spoke with animation; 
 excited by the wine and the desire to please, he re- 
 lated anecdotes of the regiment, of Arabian life, and 
 of the war.
 
 BEL-AMI iq 
 
 Mme. Walter murmured to him in her soft tones: 
 "You could write a series of charming articles." 
 
 Forestier took advantage of the situation to say to 
 M. Walter: "My dear sir, I spoke to you a short 
 while since of M. Georges Duroy and asked you to 
 permit me to include him on the staff of political re- 
 porters. Since Marambot has left us, I have had no 
 one to take urgent and confidential reports, and the 
 paper is suffering by it." 
 
 M. Walter put on his spectacles in order to ex- 
 amine Duroy. Then he said: "1 am convinced that 
 M. Duroy is original, and if he will call upon me 
 to-morrow at three o'clock, we will arrange matters." 
 After a pause, turning to the young man, he said: 
 "You may write us a short sketch on Algeria, M. 
 Duroy. Simply relate your experiences; I am sure 
 they will interest our readers. But you must do it 
 quickly." 
 
 Mme. Walter added with her customary, serious 
 grace: "You will have a charming title: 'Souvenirs 
 of a Soldier in Africa.' Will he not, M. Norbert.^" 
 
 The old poet, who had attained renov/n late in 
 life, disliked and mistrusted newcomers. He replied 
 dryly: "Yes, excellent, provided that it is written in 
 the right key, for there lies the great difficulty." 
 
 Mme. Forestier cast upon Duroy a protecting and 
 smiling glance which seemed to say: "You shall 
 succeed." The servant filled the glasses with wine, 
 and Forestier proposed the toast: "To the long pros- 
 perity of 'La Vie Fran^aise.'" Duroy felt superhuman 
 strength within him, infinite hope, and invincible reso- 
 lution. He was at his ease now among these people; 
 his eyes rested upon their faces with renewed assur-
 
 20 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 ance, and for the first time he ventured to address 
 his neighbor: 
 
 "You have the most beautiful earrings I have 
 ever seen." 
 
 She turned toward him with a smile: "It is a 
 fancy of mine to wear diamonds like this, simply on 
 a thread." 
 
 He murmured in reply, trembhng at his audacity: 
 "It is charming — but the ear increases the beauty of 
 the ornament." 
 
 She thanked him with a glance. As he turned 
 his head, he met Mme. Forestier's eyes, in which 
 he fancied he saw a mingled expression of gai- 
 ety, malice, and encouragement. All the men were 
 talking at the same time; their discussion was ani- 
 mated. 
 
 When the party left the dining-room, Duroy of- 
 fered his arm to the little girl. She thanked him 
 gravely and stood upon tiptoe in order to lay her 
 hand upon his arm. Upon entering the drawing- 
 room, the young man carefully surveyed it. It was 
 not a large room; but there were no bright colors, 
 and one felt at ease; it was restful. The walls were 
 draped with violet hangings covered with tiny em- 
 broidered flowers of yellow silk. The portieres were 
 of a grayish blue and the chairs were of all shapes, 
 of all sizes; scattered about the room were couches 
 and large and small easy-chairs, all covered with 
 Louis XVI. brocade, or Utrecht velvet, a cream col- 
 ored ground with garnet flowers. 
 
 "Do you take coffee, M. Duroy?" Mme. Forestier 
 offered him a cup, with the smile that was always 
 upon her lips.
 
 BEL- AMI 2j 
 
 "Yes, Madame, thank you." He took the cup, 
 and as he did so, the young woman whispered to 
 him: "Pay Mme. Walter some attention." Then 
 she vanished before he could reply. 
 
 First he drank his coffee, which he feared he 
 should let fall upon the carpet; then he sought a pre- 
 text for approaching the manager's wife and com- 
 mencing a conversation. Suddenly he perceived that 
 she held an empty cup in her hand, and as she was 
 not near a table, she did not know where to put it. 
 He rushed toward her: 
 
 "Allow me, Madame." 
 
 "Thank you, sir." 
 
 He took away the cup and returned: "If you but 
 knew, Madame, what pleasant moments ' La Vie 
 Fran^aise ' afforded me, when I was in the desert! 
 It is indeed the only paper one cares to read outside 
 of France; it contains everything." 
 
 She smiled with amiable indifference as she re- 
 plied: "M. Walter had a great deal of trouble in 
 producing the kind of journal which was required." 
 
 They talked of Paris, the suburbs, the Seine, the 
 delights of summer, of everything they could think 
 of. Finally M. Norbert de Varenne advanced, a glass 
 of liqueur in his hand, and Duroy discreetly with- 
 drew. Mme. de Marelle, who was chatting with her 
 hostess, called him: "So, sir," she said bluntly, 
 "you are going to try journalism?" That question 
 led to a renewal of the interrupted conversation with 
 Mme. Walter. In her turn Mme. de Marelle related 
 anecdotes, and becoming familiar, laid her hand upon 
 Duroy's arm. He felt that he would like to devote 
 himself to her, to protect her — and the slowness
 
 22 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 with which he replied to her questions indicated his 
 preoccupation. Suddenly, without any cause, Mme. 
 de Marelle called: "Laurine!" and the girl came to 
 her. "Sit down here, my child, you will be cold 
 near the window." 
 
 Duroy was seized with an eager desire to embrace 
 the child, as if part of that embrace would revert to 
 the mother. He asked in a gallant, yet paternal tone: 
 "Will you permit me to kiss you, Mademoiselle.?" 
 The child raised her eyes with an air of surprise. 
 Mme. de Marelle said with a smile: "Reply." 
 
 "1 will allow you to-day, Monsieur, but not all 
 the time." 
 
 Seating himself, Duroy took Laurine upon his 
 knee, and kissed her lips and her fine wavy hair. 
 Her mother was surprised: "Well, that is strange! 
 Ordinarily she only allows ladies to caress her. You 
 are irresistible, Monsieur!" 
 
 Duroy colored, but did not reply. 
 
 When Mme. Forestier joined them, a cry of aston- 
 ishment escaped her: "Well, Laurine has become 
 sociable; what a miracle!" 
 
 The young man rose to take his leave, fearing he 
 might spoil his conquest by some awkward word. 
 He bowed to the ladies, clasped and gently pressed 
 their hands, and then shook hands with the men. 
 He observed that Jacques Rival's was dry and warm 
 and responded cordially to his pressure; Norbert de 
 Varenne's was moist and cold and slipped through 
 his fingers; Walter's was cold and soft, without life, 
 expressionless; Forestier's fat and warm. 
 
 His friend whispered to him: "To-morrow at 
 three o'clock; do not forget."
 
 BEL- AMI 23 
 
 "Never fear!" 
 
 When he reached the staircase, he felt like run- 
 ning down, his joy was so great; he went down 
 two steps at a time, but suddenly on the second 
 floor, in the large mirror, he saw a gentleman 
 hurrying on, and he slackened his pace, as much 
 ashamed as if he had been surprised in a crime. 
 
 He surveyed himself some time with a complacent 
 smile; then taking leave of his image, he bowed low, 
 ceremoniously, as if saluting some grand personage.
 
 CHA PTER III. 
 
 First Attempts 
 
 W 
 
 HEN George Duroy reached the 
 street, he hesitated as to what 
 he should do. He feU inclined 
 to stroll along, dreaming of the future 
 and inhaling the soft night air; but 
 ^)k^ the thought of the series of articles 
 ordered by M. Walter occurred to him, 
 and he decided to return home at once 
 and begin work. He walked rapidly 
 along until he came to Rue Boursault. The 
 tenement in which he lived was occupied 
 by twenty families — families of workingmen 
 — and as he mounted the staircase he experi- 
 enced a sensation of disgust and a desire to 
 to live as wealthy men do. Duroy's room was on the 
 fifth floor. He entered it, opened his window, and 
 looked out: the view was anything but prepossessing. 
 He turned away, thinking: "This won't do. I 
 must go to work." So he placed his light upon the 
 table and began to write. He dipped his pen into 
 the ink and wrote at the head of his paper in a bold 
 hand: "Souvenirs of a Soldier in Africa." Then he 
 cast about for the first phrase. He rested his head 
 (24)
 
 BEL-AMI 
 
 25 
 
 upon his hand and stared at the blank sheet before 
 him. What should he say? Suddenly he thought: 
 "1 must begin with my departure," and he wrote: 
 "In 1874, about the fifteenth of May, when exhausted 
 France was recruiting after the catastrophe of the 
 terrible years — " Here he stopped short, not know- 
 ing how to introduce his subject. After a few min- 
 utes' reflection, he decided to lay aside that page 
 until the following day, and to write a description of 
 Algiers. He began: "Algiers is a very clean city — " 
 but he could not continue. After an effort he 
 added: "It is inhabited partly by Arabs." Then he 
 threw his pen upon the table and arose. He glanced 
 around his miserable room; mentally he rebelled 
 against his poverty and resolved to leave the next 
 day. 
 
 Suddenly the desire to work came on him, and 
 he tried to begin the article again; he had vague 
 ideas of what he wanted to say, but he could not 
 express his thoughts in words. Convinced of his in- 
 ability he arose once more, his blood coursing rapidly 
 through his veins. He turned to the window just as 
 the train was coming out of the tunnel, and his 
 thoughts reverted to his parents. He saw their tiny 
 home on the heights overlooking Rouen and the 
 valley of the Seine. His father and mother kept an 
 inn, La Belle-Vue, at which the citizens of the fau- 
 bourgs took their lunches on Sundays. They had 
 wished to make a "gentleman" of their son and had 
 sent him to college. His studies completed, he 
 had entered the army with the intention of becoming 
 an officer, a colonel, or a general. But becoming dis- 
 gusted with military life, he determined to try his
 
 26 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 fortune in Paris. When his time of service had ex- 
 pired, he went thither, with what results we have 
 seen. He awoke from his reflections as the locomo- 
 tive whistled shrilly, closed his window, and began to 
 disrobe, muttering: "Bah, I shall be able to work 
 better to-morrow morning. My brain is not clear 
 to-night. 1 have drunk a little too much. 1 can't 
 work well under such circumstances." He extin- 
 guished his light and fell asleep. 
 
 He awoke early, and, rising, opened his window 
 to inhale the fresh air. In a few moments he seated 
 himself at his table, dipped his pen in the ink, rested 
 his head upon his hand and thought — but in vain! 
 However, he was not discouraged, but in thought 
 reassured himself: "Bah, I am not accustomed to 
 it! It is a profession that must be learned like all 
 professions. Some one must help me the first time. 
 I'll go to Forestier. He'll start my article for me in 
 ten minutes." 
 
 When he reached the street, Duroy decided that 
 it was rather early to present himself at his friend's 
 house, so he strolled along under the trees on one 
 of the boulevards for a time. On arriving at Fores- 
 tier's door, he found his friend going out. 
 
 "You here — at this hour! Can I do anything for 
 you?" 
 
 Duroy stammered in confusion: "I — I — cannot 
 write that article on Algeria that M. Walter wants. 
 It is not very surprising, seeing that I have never 
 written anything. It requires practice. I could write 
 very rapidly, 1 am sure, if I could make a beginning. 
 I have the ideas but 1 cannot express them." He 
 paused and hesitated.
 
 BEL-AMI 
 
 27 
 
 Forestier smiled maliciously: '! understand that." 
 
 Duroy continued: "Yes, anyone is liable to have 
 that trouble at the beginning; and, well — 1 have come 
 to ask you to help me. In ten minutes you can set 
 me right. You can give me a lesson in style; with- 
 out you I can do nothing." 
 
 The other smiled gaily. He patted his com- 
 panion's arm and said to him: "Go to my wife; she 
 will help you better than 1 can. 1 have trained her 
 for that work. I have not time this morning or I 
 would do it willingly." 
 
 But Duroy hesitated: "At this hour I cannot in- 
 quire for her." 
 
 "Oh, yes, you can; she has risen. You will find 
 her in my study." 
 
 "I will go, but I shall tell her you sent me!" 
 
 Forestier walked away, and Duroy slowly ascended 
 the stairs, wondering what he should say and what 
 kind of a reception he would receive. 
 
 The servant who opened the door said: "Mon- 
 sieur has gone out." 
 
 Duroy replied: "Ask Mme. Forestier if she will 
 see me, and tell her that M. Forestier, whom I met 
 on the street, sent me." 
 
 The lackey soon returned and ushered Duroy into 
 Madame's presence. She was seated at a table and 
 extended her hand to him. 
 
 "So soon?" said she. It was not a reproach, but 
 a simple question. 
 
 He stammered: "I did not want to come up, 
 Madame, but your husband, whom 1 met below, in- 
 sisted — 1 dare scarcely tell you my errand — I worked 
 late last night and early this morning, to write the
 
 28 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 article on Algeria which M. Walter wants — and I did 
 not succeed — I destroyed all my attempts — I am not 
 accustomed to the work — and I came to ask Fores- 
 tier to assist me — this once." 
 
 She interrupted with a laugh: "And he sent you 
 to me?" 
 
 "Yes, Madame. He said you could help me bet- 
 ter than he — but — I dared not — I did not like to." 
 
 She rose. 
 
 "It will be delightful to work together that way. 
 I am charmed with your idea. Wait, take my chair, 
 for they know my handwriting on the paper — we 
 will write a successful article." 
 
 She took a cigarette from the mantelpiece and 
 lighted it. "1 cannot work without smoking," she 
 said; "what are you going to say?" 
 
 He looked at her in astonishment. "I do not 
 know; I came here to find that out." 
 
 She replied: "I will manage it all right. 1 will 
 make the sauce but I must have the dish." She 
 questioned him in detail and finally said: 
 
 "Now, we will begin. First of all we will sup- 
 pose that you are addressing a friend, which will al- 
 low us scope for remarks of all kinds. Begin this 
 way: 'My dear Henry, you wish to know something 
 about Algeria; you shall.'" 
 
 Then followed a brilliantly worded description of 
 Algeria and of the port of Algiers, an excursion to 
 the province of Oran, a visit to Saida, and an ad- 
 venture with a pretty Spanish maid employed in 
 a factory. 
 
 When the article was concluded, he could find no 
 words of thanks; he was happy to be near her,
 
 B E L - A M 
 
 29 
 
 grateful for and delighted with their growing in- 
 timacy. It seemed to him that everything about 
 him was a part of her, even to the books upon the 
 shelves. The chairs, the furniture, the air — all were 
 permeated with that delightful fragrance peculiar to 
 her. 
 
 She asked bluntly: "What do you think of my 
 friend Mme. de Marelle.^" 
 
 "I think her very fascinating," he said; and he 
 would have liked to add: "But not as much so as 
 you." He had not the courage to do so. 
 
 She continued: " If you only knew how comical, 
 original, and intelligent she is! She is a true Bohe- 
 mian. It is for that reason that her husband no 
 longer loves her. He only sees her defects and none 
 of her good qualities." 
 
 Duroy was surprised to hear that Mme. de Ma- 
 relle was married. 
 
 "What," he asked, "is she married.^ What does 
 her husband do.^" 
 
 Mme. Forestier shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, he 
 is superintendent of a railroad. He is in Paris a week 
 out of each month. His wife calls it 'Holy Week,' 
 or 'The week of duty.' When you get better ac- 
 quainted with her, you will see how witty she is! 
 Come here and see her some day." 
 
 As she spoke, the door opened noiselessly, and a 
 gentleman entered unannounced. He halted on see- 
 ing a man. For a moment Mme. Forestier seemed 
 confused; then she said in a natural voice, though 
 her cheeks were tinged with a blush: 
 
 "Come in, my dear sir; allow me to present to 
 you an old comrade of Charles, M. Georges Duroy, a
 
 30 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 future journalist." Then in a different tone, she said: 
 "Our best and dearest friend, Count de Vaudrec." 
 
 The two men bowed, gazed into one another's 
 eyes, and then Duroy took his leave. Neither tried 
 to detain him. 
 
 On reaching the street he felt sad and uncomforta- 
 ble. Count de Vaudrec's face was constantly before 
 him. It seemed to him that the man was displeased 
 at finding him tete-d-tete with Mme. Forestier, though 
 why he should be, he could not divine. 
 
 To while away the time until three o'clock, he 
 lunched at Duval's, and then lounged along the boule- 
 vard. When the clock chimed the hour of his ap- 
 pointment, he climbed the stairs leading to the office 
 of "La Vie Fran^aise." 
 
 Duroy asked: "Is M. Walter in?" 
 
 "M. Walter is engaged," was the reply. "Will 
 you please take a seat?" 
 
 Duroy waited twenty minutes, then he turned lo 
 the clerk and said: " M. Walter had an appointment 
 with me at three o'clock. At any rate, see if my 
 friend M. Forestier is here." 
 
 He was conducted along a corridor and ushered 
 into a large room in which four men were writing 
 at a table. Forestier was standing before the fire- 
 place, smoking a cigarette. After listening to Duroy's 
 story he said: 
 
 "Come with me; I will take you to M. Walter, 
 or else you might remain here until seven o'clock." 
 
 They entered the manager's room. Norbert de 
 Varenne was writing an article, seated in an easy- 
 chair; Jacques Rival, stretched upon a divan, was 
 smoking a cigar. The room had the peculiar odor
 
 BEL-AMI 
 
 31 
 
 familiar to all journalists. When they approached 
 M. Walter, Forestier said: "Here is my friend Du- 
 roy." 
 
 The manager looked keenly at the young man 
 and asked: 
 
 "Have you brought my article?" 
 
 Duroy drew the sheets of manuscript from his 
 pocket. 
 
 "Here they are, Monsieur." 
 
 The manager seemed delighted and said with a 
 smile: "Very good. You are a man of your word. 
 Need 1 look over it, Forestier?" 
 
 But Forestier hastened to reply: "It is not nec- 
 essary, M. Walter; I helped him in order to initiate 
 him into the profession, it is very good." Then 
 bending toward him, he whispered: "You know 
 you promised to engage Duroy to replace Marambot. 
 Will you allow me to retain him on the same 
 terms?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 Taking his friend's arm, the journalist drew him 
 away, while M. Walter returned to the game of 
 ecarU he had been engaged in when they entered. 
 Forestier and Duroy returned to the room in which 
 Georges had found his friend. The latter said to his 
 new reporter: 
 
 "You must come here every day at three o'clock, 
 and 1 will tell you what places to go to. First of 
 all, I shall give you a letter of introduction to the 
 chief of the police, who will in turn introduce you to 
 one of his employees. You can arrange with him for 
 all important news, official and semiofficial. For de- 
 tails you can apply to Saint-Potin, who is posted;
 
 32 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 you will see him to-morrow. Above all, you must 
 learn to make your way everywhere in spite of closed 
 doors. You will receive two hundred francs a 
 months, two sous a line for original matter, and two 
 sous a line for articles you are ordered to write on 
 different subjects." 
 
 "What shall I do to-day.?" asked Duroy. 
 
 "I have no work for you to-day; you can go if 
 you wish to." 
 
 "And our — our article?" 
 
 "Oh, do not worry about it; I will correct the 
 proofs. Do the rest to-morrow and come here at 
 three o'clock as you did to-day." 
 
 And after shaking hands, Duroy descended the 
 staircase with a light heart.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 DuROY Learns Something 
 
 G 
 
 EORGES DuROY did not sleep well, 
 
 so anxious was he to see his 
 
 article in print. He rose at 
 
 daybreak, and was on the street long 
 
 ^_Ji before the newsboys. When he se- 
 
 j,^ cured a paper and saw his name at 
 
 the end of a column in large letters, 
 
 he became very much excited. He felt 
 
 inclined to enact the part of a newsboy 
 
 and cry out to the hurrying throng: "Buy 
 
 J^^ this! it contains an article by me!" He strolled 
 
 Q^ ' along to a cafe and seated himself in order to 
 
 V^-^ read the article through; that done he decided to 
 
 "^ go to the railroad office, draw his salary, and hand 
 
 in his resignation. 
 
 With great pomposity he informed the chief clerk 
 that he was on the staff of "La Vie Fran(;aise," and 
 by that means was avenged for many petty insults 
 which had been offered him. He then had some 
 cards written with his new calling beneath his name, 
 made several purchases, and repaired to the office of 
 " La Vie Fran9aise." Forestier received him loftily as 
 one would an inferior. 
 
 7 G. deM.-j (^j)
 
 54 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "Ah, here you are! Very well; I have several 
 things for you to do. Just wait ten minutes till { 
 finish this work." He continued writing. 
 
 At the other end of the table sat a short, pale man, 
 very stout and bald. Forestier asked him, when his 
 letter was completed, " Saint-Potin, at what time shall 
 you interview those people?' 
 
 "At four o'clock." 
 
 "Take Duroy, who is here, with you and initiate 
 him into the business." 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 Then turning to his friend, Forestier added: "Have 
 you brought the other paper on Algeria.? The article 
 this morning was very successful." 
 
 Duroy stammered: "No, 1 thought I should have 
 time this afternoon. I had so much to do — I could 
 not." 
 
 The other shrugged his shoulders. "If you are 
 not more careful, you will spoil your future. M. 
 Walter counted on your copy. I will tell him it will 
 be ready to-morrow. If you think you will be paid 
 for doing nothing, you are mistaken." After a pause, 
 he added: "You should strike while the iron is hot." 
 
 Saint-Potin rose: "1 am ready," said he. 
 
 Forestier turned around in his chair and said to 
 Duroy: "Listen. The Chinese general Li-Theng-Fao, 
 stopping at the Continental, and Rajah Taposahib 
 Ramaderao Pali, stopping at Hotel Bishop, have been 
 in Paris two days. You must interview them." Ad- 
 dressing Saint-Potin, he said: "Do not forget the 
 principal points I indicated to you. Ask the general 
 and the rajah their opinions on the dealings of Eng- 
 land in the extreme East, their ideas of their system of
 
 BEL-AMI 
 
 35 
 
 colonization and government, their hopes relative to the 
 intervention of Europe and of France in particular." 
 To Duroy he said: "Observe what Saint-Potin says; 
 he is an excellent reporter, and try to learn how to 
 draw out a man in five minutes." Then he resumed 
 his work. 
 
 The two men walked down the boulevard to- 
 gether, while Saint-Potin gave Duroy a sketch of all 
 the officials connected with the paper, sparing no 
 one in his criticism. When he mentioned Forestier, 
 he said: "As for him, he was fortunate in marrying 
 his wife." 
 
 Duroy asked: "What about his wife?" 
 
 Saint-Potin rubbed his hands. "Oh, she is be- 
 loved by an old fellow named Vaudrec — he dotes 
 upon her." 
 
 Duroy felt as if he would like to box Saint-Potin's 
 ears. To change the subject he said: "It seems to 
 me that it is late, and we have two noble lords to 
 call upon!" 
 
 Saint-Potin laughed: "You are very innocent! 
 Do you think that 1 am going to interview that 
 Chinese and that Indian.^ As if 1 did not know 
 better than they do what they should think to please 
 the readers of 'La Vie Franfaise'! 1 have interviewed 
 five hundred Chinese, Prussians, Hindoos, Chilians, 
 and Japanese. They all say the same thing. I need 
 only copy my article on the last comer, word for 
 word, changing the heading, names, titles, and ages: 
 in that there must be no error, or I shall be hauled 
 over the coals by the 'Figaro' or 'Gaulois.' But on 
 that subject the porter of the hotels will post me in 
 five minutes. We will smoke our cigars and stroll
 
 ■^d WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 in that direction. Total — one hundred sous for cab- 
 fare. That is the way, my dear fellow." 
 
 When they arrived at the Madeleine, Saint-Potin 
 said to his companion: "If you have anything to 
 do, I do not need you." 
 
 Duroy shook hands with him and walked away. 
 The thought of the article he had to write that even- 
 ing haunted him. Mentally he collected the material 
 as he wended his way to the cafi at which he dined. 
 Then he returned home and seated himself at his 
 table to work. Before his eyes was the sheet of 
 blank paper, but all the material he had amassed had 
 escaped him. After trying for an hour, and after fill- 
 ing five pages with sentences which had no connec- 
 tion one with the other, he said: "I am not yet 
 familiar with the work. I must take another les- 
 son." 
 
 At ten o'clock the following morning he rang the 
 bell, at his friend's house. The servant who opened 
 the door, said: "Monsieur is busy." 
 
 Duroy had not expected to find Forestier at home. 
 However he said: "Tell him it is M. Duroy on im- 
 portant business." 
 
 In the course of five minutes he was ushered into 
 the room in which he had spent so happy a morn- 
 ing. In the place Mme. Forestier had occupied, her 
 husband was seated writing, while Mme. Forestier 
 stood by the mantelpiece and dictated to him, a ciga- 
 rette between her lips. 
 
 Duroy paused upon the threshold and murmured: 
 "I beg your pardon, I am interrupting you." 
 
 His friend growled angrily: "What do you want 
 again? Make haste; we are busy."
 
 BEL-AMI 
 
 31 
 
 Georges stammered: "It is nothing." 
 
 But Forestier persisted: "Come, we are losing 
 time; you did not force your way into the house for 
 the pleasure of bidding us good morning." 
 
 Duroy, in confusion, replied: "No, it is this: I 
 cannot complete my article, and you were — so — so 
 kind the last time that I hoped — that I dared to 
 come — " 
 
 Forestier interrupted with: "So you think I will 
 do your work and that you have only to take the 
 money. Well, that is fine!" His wife smoked on 
 without interfering. 
 
 Duroy hesitated: "Excuse me. I believed — I — 
 thought — " Then, in a clear voice, he said: "I beg 
 a thousand pardons, Madame, and thank you very 
 much for the charming article you wrote for me yes- 
 terday." Then he bowed, and said to Charles: "I 
 will be at the office at three o'clock." 
 
 He returned home saying to himself: "Very well, 
 I will write it alone and they shall see." Scarcely 
 had he entered than he began to write, anger spur- 
 ring him on. In an hour he had finished an article, 
 which was a chaos of absurd matter, and took it 
 boldly to the office. Duroy handed Forestier his manu- 
 script. "Here is the rest of Algeria." 
 
 "Very well, I will hand it to the manager. That 
 will do." 
 
 When Duroy and Saint-Potin, who had some po- 
 litical information to look up, were in the hall, the 
 latter asked: "Have you been to the cashier's room?" 
 
 "No, why?" 
 
 "Why? To get your pay? You should always 
 get your salary a month in advance. One cannot tell
 
 38 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 what might happen. I will introduce you to the 
 cashier." 
 
 Duroy drew his two hundred francs together with 
 twenty-eight francs for his article of the preceding 
 day, which, in addition to what remained to him of 
 his salary from the railroad office, left him three 
 hundred and forty francs. He had never had so 
 much, and he thought himself rich for an indefinite 
 time. Saint-Potin took him to the offices of four or 
 five rival papers, hoping that the news he had been 
 commissioned to obtain had been already received by 
 them and that he could obtain it by means of his 
 diplomacy. 
 
 When evening came, Duroy, who had nothing 
 more to do, turned toward the Folies-Bergeres, and 
 walking up to the office, he said: "My name is 
 Georges Duroy. I am on the staff of ' La Vie Fran- 
 gaise.' I was here the other night with M. Forestier, 
 who promised to get me a pass. I do not know if 
 he remembered it." 
 
 The register was consulted, but his name was not 
 inscribed upon it. However, the cashier, a very affable 
 man, said to him: "Come in, M. Duroy, and speak 
 to the manager yourself; he will see that everything 
 is all right." 
 
 He entered and almost at once came upon Ra- 
 chel, the woman he had seen there before. She ap- 
 proached him: "Good evening, my dear; are you 
 well?" 
 
 "Very well; how are you?" 
 
 "I am not ill. I have dreamed of you twice since 
 the other night." 
 
 Duroy smiled. "What does that mean?"
 
 BEL-AMI 
 
 39 
 
 •'That means that I like you"; she raised her eyes 
 to the young man's face, took his arm and leaning 
 upon it, said: "Let us drink a glass of wine and 
 then take a walk. I should like to go to the opera 
 like this, with you, to show you off." 
 
 At daybreak he again sallied forth to obtain a 
 "Vie Fran^aise." He opened the paper feverishly; 
 his article was not there. On entering the office 
 several hours later, he said to M. Walter: "I was 
 very much surprised this morning not to see my sec- 
 ond article on Algeria." 
 
 The manager raised his head and said sharply: 
 " I gave it to your friend, Forestier, and asked him 
 to read it; he was dissatisfied with it; it will have 
 to be done over." 
 
 Without a word, Duroy left the room, and enter- 
 ing his friend's office, brusquely asked: "Why did 
 not my article appear this morning.^" 
 
 The journalist, who was smoking a cigar, said 
 calmly: "The manager did not consider it good, and 
 bade me return it to you to be revised. There it is." 
 Duroy revised it several times, only to have it re- 
 jected. He said nothing more of his "souvenirs," 
 but gave his whole attention to reporting. He be- 
 came acquainted behind the scenes at the theaters, 
 and in the halls and corridors of the chamber of 
 deputies; he knew all the cabinet ministers, generals, 
 police agents, princes, ambassadors, men of the 
 world, Greeks, cabmen, waiters at caf6s, and many 
 others. In short he soon became a remarkable re- 
 porter, of great value to the paper, so M, Walter said.
 
 40 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 But as he only received ten centimes a line in addi- 
 tion to his fixed salary of two hundred francs and as 
 his expenses were large, he never had a sou. When 
 he saw certain of his associates with their pockets 
 ful' of money, he wondered what secret means they 
 employed in order to obtain it. He determined to 
 penetrate that mystery, to enter into the association, 
 to obtrude himself upon his comrades, and make them 
 share with him. Often at evening, as he watched 
 the trains pass his window, he dreamed of the con- 
 duct he might pursue.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 The First Intrigue 
 
 wo months elapsed. It was Sep 
 tember. The fortune which Duroy 
 had hoped to make so rapidly 
 seemed to him slow in coming. Above 
 all he was dissatisfied with the medi- 
 ocrity of his position; he was appre- 
 ciated, but was treated according to 
 his rank. Forestier himself no longer 
 invited him to dinner, and treated him as 
 
 V^ t^ an inferior. Often he had thought of mak- 
 y^ ing Mme. Forestier a visit, but the remem- 
 brance of their last meeting restrained him. 
 Mme, de Marelle had invited him to call, saying: 
 "I am always at home about three o'clock." So 
 one afternoon, when he had nothing to do, he pro- 
 ceeded toward her house. She lived on Rue Verneuil, 
 on the fourth floor. A maid answered his summons, 
 and said: "Yes, Madame is at home, but I do not know 
 whether she has risen." She conducted Duroy into 
 the drawing-room, which was large, poorly furnished, 
 and somewhat untidy. The shabby, threadbare chairs 
 were ranged along the walls according to the serv- 
 ant's fancy, for there was not a trace visible of the 
 
 (40
 
 42 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 care of a woman who loves her home. Duroy took 
 a seat and waited some time. Then a door opened 
 and Mme. de Marelle entered hastily, clad in a Jap- 
 anese dressing-gown. She exclaimed: 
 
 "How kind of you to come to see me. I was 
 positive you had forgotten me." She held out her 
 hand to him with a gesture of delight; and Duroy, 
 quite at his ease in that shabby apartment, kissed it 
 as he had seen Norbert de Varenne do. 
 
 Examining him froni head to foot, she cried: 
 "How you have changed! Well, tell me the news." 
 
 They began to chat at once as if they were old 
 acquaintances, and in five minutes an intimacy, a mu- 
 tual understanding, was established between those 
 two beings alike in character and kind. Suddenly 
 the young woman said in surprise: "It is astonish- 
 ing how I feel with you. It seems to me as if I had 
 known you ten years. We shall undoubtedly become 
 good friends; would that please you.?" 
 
 He replied: "Certainly," with a smile more ex> 
 pressive than words. He thought her very bewitch- 
 ing in her pretty gown. When near Mme. Forestier, 
 whose impassive, gracious smile attracted yet held 
 at a distance, and seemed to say: "I like you, yet 
 take care," he felt a desire to cast himself at her 
 feet, or to kiss the hem of her garment. When near 
 Mme. de Marelle, he felt a more passionate desire. 
 
 A gentle rap came at the door through which 
 Mme. de Marelle had entered, and she cried: "You 
 may come in, my darling." 
 
 The child entered, advanced to Duroy and offered 
 him her hand. The astonished mother murmured: 
 "That is a conquest." The young man, having
 
 BEL- A M 1 
 
 43 
 
 kissed the child, seated her by his side, and with a 
 serious air questioned her as to what she had done 
 since they last met. She replied in a flute-like voice 
 and with the manner of a woman. The clock struck 
 three; the journalist rose. 
 
 "Come often," said Mme. de Marelle; "it has 
 been a pleasant canserie. I shall always be glad to 
 welcome you. Why do I never meet you at the 
 Forestiers.?" 
 
 "For no particular reason. 1 am very busy. I 
 hope, however, that we shall meet there one of these 
 days." 
 
 In the course of a few days he paid another visit 
 to the enchantress. The maid ushered him into the 
 drawing-room and Laurine soon entered; she offered 
 him not her hand but her forehead, and said: 
 "Mamma wishes me to ask you to wait for her 
 about fifteen minutes, for she is not dressed. I will 
 keep you company." 
 
 Duroy, who was amused at the child's ceremo- 
 nious manner, replied: "Indeed, Mademoiselle, I 
 shall be enchanted to spend a quarter of an hour 
 with you." When the mother entered they were in 
 the midst of an exciting game, and Mme. de Marelle 
 paused in amazement, crying: "Laurine playing? 
 You are a sorcerer, sir!" He placed the child, whom 
 he had caught in his arms, upon the floor, kissed the 
 lady's hand, and they seated themselves, the child be- 
 tween them. They tried to converse, but Laurine, 
 usually so silent, monopolized the conversation, and 
 her mother was compelled to send her to her room. 
 
 When they were alone, Mme. de Marelle lowered 
 her voice and said: "I have a great project. It is
 
 44 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 this: As I dine every week at the Forestiers', I re- 
 turn it from time to time by inviting them to a res- 
 taurant. I do not like to have company at home; 
 I am not so situated that I can have any. I know 
 nothing about housekeeping or cooking. I prefer a 
 life free from care; therefore 1 invite them to the cafe 
 occasionally; but it is not lively when we are only 
 three. I am telling you this in order to explain such 
 an informal gathering. I should like you to be pres- 
 ent at our Saturd.iys at the Cafe Riche at seven- 
 thirty. Do you know the house?" 
 
 Duroy accepted gladly. He left her in a transport 
 of delight and impatiently awaited the day of the 
 dinner. He was the first to arrive at the place appointed 
 and was shown into a small private room, in which 
 the table was laid for four; that table looked very 
 inviting with its colored glasses, -silver, and cande- 
 labra. 
 
 Duroy seated himself upon a low bench. Fores- 
 tier entered and shook hands with him with a cor- 
 diality he never evinced at the office, 
 
 "The two ladies will come together," said he. 
 "These dinners are truly delightful." 
 
 Very soon the door opened and Mesdames Fores- 
 tier and De Marelle appeared, heavily veiled, surrounded 
 by the charming mystery necessary to a rendezvous 
 in a place so public. As Duroy greeted the former, 
 she took him to task for not having been to see 
 her; then she added with a smile: "Ah, you prefer 
 Mme. de Marelle; the time passes more pleasantly 
 with her." 
 
 When the waiter handed the wine-list to Fores- 
 tier. Mme. de Marelle exclaimed: "Bring the gentle-
 
 B E L - A M I 
 
 45 
 
 men whatever they want; as for us, we want nothing 
 but champagne." 
 
 Forestier, who seemed not to have heard her, 
 asked: "Do you object to my closing the window? 
 My cough has troubled me for several days." 
 
 "Not at all." 
 
 His wife did not speak. The various courses 
 were duly served and then the guests began to chat. 
 They discussed a scandal which was being circulated 
 about a society belle. Forestier was very much 
 amused by it. Duroy said with a smile: "How many 
 would abandon themselves to a caprice, a dream of 
 love, if they did not fear that they would pay for a 
 brief happiness with tears and an irremediable scandal ?" 
 
 Both women glanced at him approvingly. For- 
 estier cried with a sceptical laugh: "The poor hus- 
 bands!" Then they talked of love. Duroy said: 
 "When I love a woman, everything else in the 
 world is forgotten." 
 
 Mme. Forestier murmured: "There is no happi- 
 ness comparable to that first clasp of the hand, when 
 one asks: 'Do you love me.^' and the other replies; 
 'Yes, 1 love you.'" Mme. de Marelle cried gaily as 
 she drank a glass of champagne: "I am less Platonic." 
 
 Forestier, lying upon the couch, said in serious 
 tone: "That frankness does you honor and proves 
 you to be a practical woman. But might one ask, 
 What is M. de Marelle's opinion?" 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders disdainfully and said: 
 "M. de Marelle has no opinion on that subject." 
 
 The conversation grew slow. Mme. de Marelle 
 seemed to offer provocation by her remarks, while 
 Mme. Forestier's charming reserve, the modesty in
 
 ^6 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 her voice, in her smile, all seemed to extenuate the 
 bold sallies which issued from her lips. The dessert 
 came and then followed the coffee. The hostess and 
 her guests lighted cigarettes, but Forestier suddenly 
 began to cough. When the attack was over, he 
 growled angrily: "These parties are not good for 
 me; they are stupid. Let us go home." 
 
 Mme. de Marelle summoned the waiter and asked 
 for her bill. She tried to read it, but the figures 
 danced before her eyes; she handed the paper to 
 Duroy. 
 
 "Here, pay it for me; I cannot see." At the same 
 time, she put her purse in his hand. 
 
 The total was one hundred and thirty francs. 
 Duroy glanced at the bill and when it was settled, 
 whispered: "How much shall 1 give the waiter?" 
 
 "Whatever you like; 1 do not know." 
 
 He laid five francs upon the plate and handed the 
 purse to its owner, saying: "Shall 1 escort you 
 home.?" 
 
 "Certainly; I am unable to find the house." 
 
 They shook hands with the Forestiers and were 
 soon rolling along in a cab side by side. Duroy could 
 think of nothing to say; he felt impelled to clasp her 
 in his arms. " If I should dare, what would she do?" 
 thought he. The recollection of their conversation at 
 dinner emboldened, but the fear of scandal restrained 
 him. Mme. de Marelle reclined silently in her corner. 
 He would have thought her asleep, had he not seen 
 her eyes glisten whenever a ray of light penetrated 
 the dark recesses of the carriage. Of what was she 
 thinking? Suddenly she moved her foot, nervously, 
 impatiently. That movement caused him to tremble,
 
 B E L - A M I 
 
 47 
 
 and turning quickly, he cast himself upon her, seek- 
 ing her lips with his. She uttered a cry, attempted 
 to repulse him and then yielded to his caresses as if 
 she had not the strength to resist. 
 
 The carriage stopped at her door, but she did not 
 rise; she did not move, stunned by what had just 
 taken place. Fearing that the cabman would mistrust 
 something, Duroy alighted from the cab first and 
 offered his hand to the young woman. Finally she 
 got out, but in silence. Georges rang the bell, and 
 when the door was opened, he asked timidly: 
 "When shall 1 see you again?" 
 
 She whispered so low that he could barely hear 
 her: "Come and lunch with me to-morrow." With 
 those words she disappeared. 
 
 Duroy gave the cabman a five-franc piece, and 
 turned away with a triumphant, joyful air. He had 
 at last conquered a married woman! A woman of 
 the world! A Parisian! How easy it had been! 
 
 He was somewhat nervous the following day as 
 he ascended Mme. de Marelle's staircase. How would 
 she receive him ? Suppose she forbade him to enter 
 her house? If she had told — but no, she could not 
 tell anything without telling the whole truth! He 
 was master of the situation! 
 
 The little maid-servant opened the door. She was 
 as pleasant as usual. Duroy felt reassured and asked: 
 "Is Madame well?" 
 
 "Yes, sir; as well as she always is," was the 
 reply, and he was ushered into the salon. He walked 
 to the mantelpiece to see what kind of an appear- 
 ance he presented: he was readjusting his cravat 
 when he saw in the mirror the young woman stand-
 
 48 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 ing on the threshold looking at him. He pretended 
 not to have seen her, and for several moments they 
 gazed at one another in the mirror. Then he turned. 
 She had not moved; she seemed to be waiting. He 
 rushed toward her crying: "How I love you!" He 
 clasped her to his breast. He thought: "It is easier 
 than I thought it would be. All is well." He looked 
 at her with a smile, without uttering a word, trying 
 to put into his glance a wealth of love. She too 
 smiled and murmured: "We are alone. I sent Lau- 
 rine to lunch with a friend." 
 
 He sighed, and kissing her wrists said: "Thanks; 
 I adore you." She took his arm as if he had been 
 her husband, and led him to a couch, upon which they 
 seated themselves side by side. Duroy stammered, 
 incoherently: "You do not care for me." 
 
 She laid her hand upon his lips. "Be silent!" 
 
 "How I love you!" said he. 
 
 She repeated: "Be silent!" 
 
 They could hear the servant laying the table in 
 the dining-room. He rose: "I cannot sit so near 
 you. I shall lose my head." 
 
 The door opened: "Madame is served!" 
 
 He offered her his arm gravely. They lunched 
 without knowing what they were eating. The serv- 
 ant came and went without seeming to notice any- 
 thing. When the meal was finished, they returned 
 to the drawing-room and resumed their seats on the 
 couch side by side. Gradually he drew nearer her 
 and tried to embrace her. 
 
 "Be careful, some one might come in." 
 
 He whispered: "When can 1 see you alone to 
 tell you how I love you?"
 
 B E L - A M I 
 
 49 
 
 She leaned toward him and said softly: "1 will 
 pay you a visit one of these days." 
 
 He colored. "My rooms — are — are — very mod- 
 est." 
 
 She smiled: "That makes no difference. 1 shall 
 come to see you and not your rooms." 
 
 He urged her to tell him when she would come. 
 She fixed a day in the following week, while he be- 
 sought her with glowing eyes to hasten the day. She 
 was amused to see him implore so ardently and 
 yielded a day at a time. He repeated: "To-morrow, 
 say — to-morrow." Finally she consented. " Yes, to- 
 morrow at five o'clock." 
 
 He drew a deep breath; then they chatted together 
 as calmly as if they had known one another for 
 twenty years. A ring caused them to start; they 
 separated. She murmured: "It is Laurine." 
 
 The child entered, paused in surprise, then ran 
 toward Duroy clapping her hands, delighted to see 
 him, and crying: "Ah, 'Bel-Ami!'" 
 
 Mme. de Marelle laughed. "Bel-Ami! Laurine has 
 christened you. It is a pretty name. I shall call you 
 Bel-Ami. too!" 
 
 He took the child upon his knee. At twenty min- 
 utes of three he rose to go to the office; at the half- 
 open door he whispered: "To-morrow, five o'clock." 
 The young woman replied: "Yes," with a smile and 
 disappeared. 
 
 After he had finished his journalistic work, he tried 
 to render his apartments more fit to receive his ex- 
 pected visitor. He was well satisfied with the results 
 of his efforts and retired, lulled to rest by the whist- 
 ling of the trains. Early the next morning he bought 
 
 7 G. de M.— 4
 
 50 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 a cake and a bottle of Madeira. He spread the colla- 
 tion on his dressing-table which was covered with a 
 napkin. Then he waited. She came at a quarter 
 past five and exclaimed as she entered: "Why, it is 
 nice here. But there were a great many people on 
 the stairs." 
 
 He took her in his arms and kissed her hair. An 
 hour and a half later he escorted her to a cab-stand 
 on the Rue de Rome. When she was seated in the 
 cab, he whispered: "Tuesday, at the same hour." 
 
 She repeated his words, and as it was night, she 
 kissed him. Then as the cabman started up his 
 horse, she cried: "Adieu, Bel-Ami!" and the old 
 coupe rumbled off. 
 
 For three weeks Duroy received Mme. de Marelle 
 every two or three days, sometimes in the morning, 
 sometimes in the evening. 
 
 As he was awaiting her one afternoon, a noise on 
 the staircase drew him to his door. A child screamed. 
 A man's angry voice cried: "What is the brat howl- 
 ing about ?" 
 
 A woman's voice replied: "Nicolas has been 
 tripped up on the landing-place by the journalist's 
 sweetheart." 
 
 Duroy retreated, for he heard the rustling of skirts. 
 Soon there was a knock at his door, which he 
 opened, and Mme. de Marelle rushed in, crying: "Did 
 you hear.?" Georges feigned ignorance of the matter. 
 
 "No; what.?" 
 
 "How they insulted me?" 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "Those miserable people below." 
 
 "Why, no; what is it? Tell me."
 
 BEL-AMI 51 
 
 She sobbed and could not speak. He was forced 
 to place her upon his bed and to lay a damp cloth 
 upon her temples. When she grev/ calmer, anger 
 succeeded her agitation. She wanted Duroy to go 
 downsitairs at once, to fight them, to kill them. 
 
 He replied: "They are working-people. Just 
 think, it would be necessary to go to court where 
 you would be recognized; one must not compromise 
 oneself with such people." 
 
 She said: "What shall we do .^ I cannot come 
 here again." 
 
 He replied: "That is very simple. I will move." 
 
 She murmured: "Yes, but that will take some 
 time." 
 
 Suddenly she said: "Listen to me, I have found a 
 means; do not worry about it. I will send you a 
 'little blue' to-morrow morning." She called a tele- 
 gram a "little blue." 
 
 She smiled with delight at her plans, which she 
 would not reveal. She was, however, very much af- 
 fected as she descended the staircase and leaned with 
 all her strength upon her lover's arm. They met no 
 one. 
 
 He was still in bed the following morning when 
 the promised telegram was handed him. Duroy 
 opened it and read: 
 
 "Come at five o'clock to Rue de Constantinople, No. 127. Ask 
 for the room rented by Mme. Duroy. Clo." 
 
 At five o'clock precisely he entered a large fur- 
 nished house and asked the janitor; "Has Mme. Du- 
 roy hired a room here?" 
 
 ♦•Y?s, §ir,"
 
 52 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "Will you show me to it, if you please?" 
 
 The man, accustomed no doubt to situations in 
 which it was necessary to be prudent, looked him 
 straight in the eyes; then selecting a key, he asked: 
 "Are you M. Duroy?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 He opened a small suite, comprising two rooms 
 on the ground floor. 
 
 Duroy thought uneasily: "This will cost a fortune. 
 I shall have to run into debt. She has done a very 
 foolish thing." 
 
 The door opened and Clotilde rushed in. She 
 was enchanted. "Is it not fine? There are no stairs 
 to climb; it is on the ground floor! One could come 
 and go through the window without the porter see- 
 ing one." 
 
 He embraced her nervously, not daring to ask the 
 question that hovered upon his lips. She had placed 
 a large package on the stand in the center of the 
 room. Opening it she took out a tablet of soap, a 
 bottle of Lubin's extract, a sponge, a box of hair- 
 pins, a button-hook, and curling-tongs. Then she 
 amused herself by finding places in which to put 
 them. 
 
 She talked incessantly as she opened the drawers: 
 "1 must bring some linen in order to have a change. 
 We shall each have a key, besides the one at the 
 lodge, in case we should forget ours. 1 rented the 
 apartments for three months — in your name, of 
 course, for I could not give mine." 
 
 Then he asked: "Will you tell me when to 
 pay?" 
 
 She replied simply: "It is paid, my dear."
 
 B F, L - A M I 
 
 53 
 
 He made a pretense of being angry: "I cannot 
 permit that." 
 
 She laid her hand upon his shoulder and said in a 
 supplicatory tone: "Georges, it will give me pleasure 
 to have the nest mine. Say that you do not care, 
 dear Georges, " and he yielded. When she had left 
 him, he murmured: "She is kind-hearted, any- 
 way." 
 
 Several days later he received a telegram which 
 read: 
 
 "My husband is coming lionie this evening. We shall therefore 
 not meet for a week. What a bore, my dearest ! 
 
 "Your Clo." 
 
 Duroy was startled; he had not realized the fact 
 that Mme. de Marelle was married. He impatiently 
 awaited her husband's departure. One morning he 
 received the following telegram: 
 
 "Five o'clock. — Clo." 
 
 When they met, she rushed mto his arms, kissed 
 him passionately, and asked: "After a while will 
 you take me to dine?" 
 
 "Certainly, my darling, wherever you wish to 
 
 go." 
 
 "I should like to go to some restaurant frequented 
 by the working-classes." 
 
 They repaired to a wine merchant's where meals 
 were also served. Clotilde's entrance caused a sen- 
 sation on account of the elegance of her dress. They 
 partook of a ragout of mutton and left that place to 
 enter a ball-room in which she pressed more closely
 
 54 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 to his side. In fifteen minutes her curiosity was sat- 
 isfied and he conducted her home. Then followed a 
 series of visits to all sorts of places of amusement. 
 Duroy soon began to tire of those expeditions, for 
 he had exhausted all his resources and all means 
 of obtaining money. In addition to that he owed 
 Forestier a hundred francs, Jacques Rival three hun- 
 dred, and he was hampered with innumerable petty 
 debts ranging from twenty francs to one hundred 
 sous. 
 
 On the fourteenth of December, he was left without 
 a sou in his pocket. As he had often done before, he 
 did not lunch, and spent the afternoon working at 
 the office. At four o'clock he received a telegram 
 from Mme. de Marelle, saying: "Shall we dine to- 
 gether and afterward have a frolic?" 
 
 He replied at once: "Impossible to dine," then he 
 added: "But 1 will expect you at our apartments at 
 nine o'clock." Having sent a boy with the note in 
 order to save the money for a telegram, he tried to 
 think of some way by which he could obtain his 
 evening meal. He waited until all of his associates 
 had gone and when he was alone, he rang for the 
 porter, put his hand in his pocket and said: " Fou- 
 cart, I have left my purse at home and I have to 
 dine at the Luxembourg. Lend me fifty sous to pay 
 for my cab." 
 
 The man handed him three francs and asked: 
 
 "Is that enough ?" 
 
 "Yes, thank you." Taking the coins, Duroy 
 rushed down the staircase and dined at a cookshop. 
 
 At nine o'clock, Mme. de Marelle, whom he 
 awaited in the tiny salon, arrived. She wished to 
 
 i
 
 BEL-AMI 
 
 55 
 
 take a walk and he objected. His opposition irri- 
 tated her. 
 
 "I shall go alone, then. Adieu!" 
 
 Seeing that the situation was becoming grave, he 
 seized her hands and kissed them, saying: 
 
 "Pardon me, darling; I am nervous and out of 
 sorts this evening. 1 have been annoyed by business 
 matters." 
 
 Somewhat appeased but still vexed, she replied: 
 
 "That does not concern me; 1 will not be the 
 butt for your ill humor." 
 
 He clasped her in his arms and murmured his 
 apologies. Still she persisted in her desire to go out. 
 
 "I beseech you, remain here by the fire with me. 
 Say yes." 
 
 "No," she replied, "I will not yield to your 
 caprices." 
 
 He insisted: "I have a reason, a serious rea- 
 son — 
 
 "If you will not go with me, 1 shall go alone. 
 Adieu!" 
 
 She disengaged herself from his embrace and fled 
 to the door. He followed her: 
 
 "Listen Go, my little Clo, listen to me — " 
 
 She shook her head, evaded his caresses and tried 
 to escape from his encircling arms. 
 
 "I have a reason — " 
 
 Looking him in the face, she said: "You lie! 
 What is h?" 
 
 He colored, and in order to avoid a rupture, con- 
 fessed in accents of despair: "1 have no money!" 
 
 She would not believe him until he had turned all 
 his pockets inside out, to prove his words. Then she
 
 56 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 fell upon his breast: "Oh, my poor darling! Had I 
 known! How did it happen?" 
 
 He invented a touching story to this effect: That 
 his father was in straitened circumstances, that he 
 had given him not only his savings, but had run 
 himself into debt. 
 
 "I shall have to starve for the next six months." 
 
 "Shall 1 lend you some?" she whispered. 
 
 He replied with dignity: "You are very kind, 
 dearest; but do not mention that again; it wounds 
 me." , 
 
 She murmured: "You will never know how 
 much I love you." On taking leave of him, she 
 asked: "Shall we meet again the day after to- 
 morrow?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 "At the same time?" 
 
 "Yes, my darling." 
 
 They parted. 
 
 When Duroy opened his bedroom door and fum- 
 bled in his vest pocket for a match, he was amazed 
 to find in it a piece of money — a twenty-franc 
 piece! At first he wondered by what miracle it 
 had got there; suddenly it occurred to him that 
 Mme. de Marelle had given him alms! Angry and 
 humiliated, he determined to return it when next 
 they met. The next morning it was late when he 
 awoke; he tried 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 
 to-morrow."
 
 BEL- AMI 
 
 57 
 
 He ate his lunch, for which he paid two francs 
 fifty, and on entering the office of "La Vie Fran- 
 ^aise" 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 num- 
 ber 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 m 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 in- 
 terested in watching the women who were prome- 
 nading, and she felt an irresistible desire to touch
 
 58 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 them, to see of what those beings were made. Sud- 
 denly 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 Ma- 
 relle entered and she had said to him: "Good even- 
 ing," in a low voice and with a wink which said '• I 
 understand." But he had not replied; for fear of be- 
 ing seen by his sweetheart he passed her coldly, 
 disdainfully. The woman, her jealousy aroused, fol- 
 lowed 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 re- 
 mained 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."
 
 B E L - A M I 5g 
 
 With flaming eyes, she cried: "Ah, is that sol 
 Because you are with another is no reason that you can- 
 not 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 de- 
 sist, and together he and Clotilde reached the street. 
 
 They entered a cab. The cabman asked: "Where 
 shall I drive to?" Duroy replied: "Where you willl " 
 
 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 be- 
 trayed woman, she cried disconnectedly: "Ah, you 
 miserable fellow — what a rascal you are! Is it pos- 
 sible.? 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
 
 6o WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 the passers-by crowded around her, and Duroy dared 
 noi 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 
 
 
 T 
 
 HE 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," 
 
 (6i)
 
 62 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 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. 1 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 Fo- 
 lies 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 repHed with a smile: "I saw Mme. de Ma- 
 relle last week and I know what they have chris- 
 tened 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: "1 did not come because it was, for 
 the best—" 
 
 "How? Why?"
 
 B E L - A M 1 63 
 
 "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 inter- 
 course with people who love me or pretend to; 
 firstly, because they bore me, and secondly, because 
 I look upon them with dread, as 1 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 1 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?"
 
 64 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "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 guar- 
 dian angel." 
 
 As he took his leave, he asked again: "Are we 
 friends — is it settled?" 
 
 "It is." 
 
 Having observed the effect of his last compli- 
 ment, 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:
 
 BEL- A MI 6s 
 
 "Mme. Walter thanks M. Georges Duroy very much, and is at 
 honie 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 rellection 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 stam- 
 mered: 
 
 "Madame, 1 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 nothing, that no one ad- 
 dressed him, that he seemed disconcerted, and she 
 drew him into the conversation which dealt with the 
 admission of a certain M. Linet to the Academy. 
 When Duroy had taken 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 minor position, but I think he will 
 advance rapidly." 
 
 In the meantime, while he was being discussed. 
 Duroy walked gaily down Boulevard Malesherbes. ' 
 
 7 G. de M.— 5
 
 66 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 The following week he was appointed editor of 
 the "Echoes," and invited to dine at Mme. Walter's. 
 The "Echoes" were, M. Walter said, the very pith 
 of the paper. Everything and everybody should be 
 remembered, all countries, all professions, Paris and 
 the provinces, the army, the arts, the clergy, the 
 schools, the rulers, and the courtiers. The man at the 
 head of that department should be wide awake, 
 always on his guard, quick to judge of what was 
 best to be said and best to be omitted, 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 engraved card which read: 
 
 " M. and Mme. Walter request tlie pleasure of M. Georges Du- 
 roy's company at dinner on Thursday, January 20." 
 
 He was so delighted that he kissed the invitation 
 as if it had been a love-letter. 
 
 Then he sought the cashier to settle the import- 
 ant question of his salary. At first twelve hundred 
 francs were allowed Duroy, who intended to save 
 a large share of the money. He was busy two days 
 getting settled in his new position, in a large room, 
 one end of which he occupied, and the other end 
 of which was allotted to Boisrenard, who worked 
 with him. 
 
 The day of the dinner-party he left the office in 
 good season, in order to have time to dress, and was 
 walking along Rue de Londres when he saw before 
 him a form which resembled Mme. de Marelle's. He 
 felt his cheeks glow and his heart throb. He crossed
 
 BEL-AMI 
 
 67 
 
 the street in order to see the hidy's face; he was mis- 
 taken, and breathed more freely. He had often won- 
 dered what he should do if he met Clotilde face to 
 face. Should he bow to her or pretend not to see 
 her? "I should not see her," thought he. 
 
 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 said 
 aloud to himself: "I must write to my father." Oc- 
 casionally he wrote home, and his letters always de- 
 lighted his old parents. As he tied his cravat at the 
 mirror he repeated: "I must write home to-morrow. 
 If my father could see me this evening in the house 
 to which I am going, he would be surprised. Sacristi, 
 1 shall soon give a dinner which has never been 
 equaled I" 
 
 Then he recalled his old heme, the faces of his 
 father and mother. He saw them seated at their 
 homely board, eating their soup. He remembered 
 every wrinkle on their old faces, every movement of 
 their hands and heads; he even knew what they said 
 to each other every evening as they supped. He 
 thought: "I will go to see them some day." His 
 toilette completed, he extinguished his light and de- 
 scended the stairs. 
 
 On reaching his destination, he boldly entered the 
 antechamber, lighted by bronze lamps, and gave his 
 cane and his overcoat to the two lackeys who ap- 
 proached him. All the salons were lighted. Mme. 
 Walter received in 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 espe-
 
 68 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 cial authority at the office on account 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 to- 
 gether. A door opened at the end of the room, and 
 M. Walter entered with two tall young girls of six- 
 teen and seventeen; one plain, the other pretty. 
 Duroy knew that the manager was a paterfamilias, 
 but he was astonished. He had thought of the mana- 
 ger's daughters as one thinks of a distant country one 
 will never see. Then, too, he had fancied them chil- 
 dren, and he saw women. They shook hands upon 
 being introduced and seated themselves at a table set 
 apart for them. One of the guests had not arrived, 
 and that embarrassing silence which precedes dinners 
 in general reigned supreme. 
 
 Duroy happening to glance at the walls, M. Walter 
 said: "You are looking at my pictures? I will show 
 them all to you." And he took a lamp that they 
 might distinguish all the details. There were land- 
 scapes by Guillemet; "A Visit to the Hospital," by 
 Gervex; "A Widow," by Bouguereau; "An Execu- 
 tion," by Jean Paul Laurens, and many others. 
 
 Duroy exclaimed: "Charming, charming, char — " 
 but stopped short on hearing behind him the voice of 
 Mme. de Marelle who had just entered. M. Walter 
 continued to exhibit and explain his pictures; but 
 Duroy saw nothing — heard without comprehending. 
 Mme. de Marelle was there, behind him. What 
 should he do? If he greeted her, might she not turn 
 her back upon him or utter some insulting remark?
 
 BEL- AMI 
 
 69 
 
 If he did not approach her, what would people think? 
 He was so ill at ease that at one time he thought he 
 should feign indisposition and return home. 
 
 The pictures had all been exhibited. M. Walter 
 placed the lamp on the table and greeted the last 
 arrival, while Duroy recommenced alone an examina- 
 tion of the canvas, as if he could not tear himself 
 away. What should he do ? He heard their voices 
 and their conversation. Mme. Forestier called him; 
 he hastened toward her. It was to introduce him to 
 a friend who was on the point of giving a fete, and 
 who wanted a description of it in "La Vie Fran- 
 9aise." 
 
 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; do you not 
 remember me?" 
 
 He turned upon his heel hastily; she stood before 
 him smiling, her eyes overflowing 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 mur- 
 mured: "1 have had a great deal to do, Madame, a 
 great deal to do. M. Walter has given me another 
 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, ddcollciee, with red arms, red 
 cheeks, and attired in gay colors. As she was re-
 
 70 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 ceived with effusion, Duroy asked Mme. Forestier: 
 "Who is that person?" 
 
 "Viscountess de Percemur, whose nam 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 Patte Blanche.? Ah, she is hand- 
 some, very handsome!" 
 
 A servant appeared at the door and announced: 
 "Madame is served." 
 
 Duroy was placed between the manager's plain 
 daughter, Mile. Rose, and Mme. 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 re- 
 turned, and before the meal was over, he knew that 
 their relations would be renewed. Wishing, too, to 
 be polite to his employer's daughter, he addressed 
 her from time to time. She responded as her mother 
 would have done, without any hesitation as to wha/ 
 she should say. At M. Walter's right sat Viscountess 
 de Percemur, and Duroy, looking at her with a smile, 
 asked Mme, 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 false curls and teeth, wit of the time 
 of the Restoration, and toilettes of the same period." 
 
 When the guests returned to the drawing-room, 
 Duroy asked Mme. de Marelle: "May I escort you 
 home?"
 
 BEL-AMI yi 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Because M. Laroche-Mathieu, who is my neigh- 
 bor, leaves me at my door every time that 1 dine 
 here." 
 
 "When shall I see you again?" 
 
 "Lunch with me to-morrow." 
 
 They parted without another word. Duroy did not 
 remain late; as he descended the staircase, he met 
 Norbert de Varenne, who was likewise going away. 
 The old poet took his arm; fearing no rivalry on the 
 newspaper, their work being essentially different, he 
 was very friendly to 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 did not 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 considered one of the most capable 
 men in the Chamber?" 
 
 "That may be. In a kingdom of blind men the 
 blind are kings. All those people are divided between 
 money and politics; they are pedants to whom it is 
 impossible to speak of anything that is familiar to 
 us. Ah, it is difficult to find a man who is liberal in 
 his ideas! I have known several, they are dead. Still, 
 what difference does a little more or a little less 
 genius make, since all must come to an end?" He 
 paused, and Duroy said with a smile: 
 
 "You are gloomy to-night, sir!"
 
 72 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 The poet replied: "I always am, my child; you 
 will be too in a few years. While one is climbing the 
 ladder, one sees the top and feels hopeful; but when 
 one has reached that summit, one sees the descent 
 and the end which is death. It is slow work ascend- 
 ing, but one descends rapidly. At your age one is 
 joyous; one hopes for many things which never 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 later on you will remem- 
 ber what I have told you. We breathe, sleep, drink, 
 eat, work, and then die! The end of life is death. 
 What do you long for? Love? A few kisses and 
 you will be powerless. Money? What for? To 
 gratify your desires. Glory ? What comes after it 
 all? Death! Death alone is certain." 
 
 He stopped^ took Duroy by his coat collar and 
 said slowly: "Ponder upon all that, young man; 
 think it over for days, months, and years, and you 
 will see life from a different standpoint. 1 am a 
 lonely, old man. 1 have neither father, mother, 
 brother, sister, wife, children, nor God. 1 have only 
 poetry. Marry, my friend; you do not know what 
 it is to live alone at my age. It is so lonesome. I 
 seem to have no one upon earth. When one is old 
 it is a comfort to have children." 
 
 When they reached Rue de Bourgogne, the poet 
 halted before a high house, rang the bell, pressed 
 Duroy 's hand and said: "Forget what 1 have said to 
 you, young man, and live according to your age. 
 Adieu!" With those words he disappeared in the 
 dark corridor.
 
 BEL-AMI 
 
 1} 
 
 Duroy felt somewhat depressed on leaving Var- 
 enne, but on his way a perfumed damsel passed 
 by him and recalled to his mind his reconciliation 
 with Mme. de Marelle. How delightful was the 
 realization of one's hopes! 
 
 The next morning he arrived at his lady-love's 
 door somewhat early; she welcomed him as if there 
 had been no rupture, and said as she kissed him: 
 
 "You do not know how annoyed I am, my be- 
 loved; 1 anticipated a delightful 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, especially after our little disagreement, and this 
 is how I have arranged matters: Come to dinner 
 Monday. I will introduce you to M. de Marelle, I 
 have already spoken of you to him." 
 
 Duroy hesitated in perplexity; he feared he might 
 betray something by a word, 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 you so foolish." 
 
 "Very well, I will come to dinner Monday." 
 
 "To make it more pleasant, 1 will have the 
 Forestiers, though I do not like to receive company 
 at home.'" 
 
 On Monday as he ascended Mme. de Marelle's 
 staircase, he felt strangely troubled; not that he dis- 
 liked to take her husband's hand, drink his wine, and 
 eat his bread, but he dreaded something, he knew 
 not what. He was ushered into the salon and he 
 waited as usual. Then the door opened, and a tall 
 man with a white beard, grave and precise, advanced 
 toward him and said courteously:
 
 74 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "My wife has often spoken of you, sir; I am 
 charmed to make your acquaintance." 
 
 Duroy tried to appear cordial and shook his host's 
 proffered hand with exaggerated 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 em- 
 barrassment wearing off, he began to consider the 
 situation very amusing. He gazed at M. de Marelle, 
 serious and dignified, and felt a desire to laugh 
 aloud. At that moment Mme. de Marelle entered and 
 approached Duroy, who in the presence of her hus- 
 band 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 indiscre- 
 tion to reveal her secret. 
 
 When the Forestiers arrived, Duroy was startled 
 at Charles's appearance. He had grown thinner and 
 paler in a week and coughed incessantly; he said 
 they would leave for Cannes on the following Thurs- 
 day at the doctor's orders. They did not stay late; 
 after they had left, 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 man to obtain such a 
 v/ife." 
 
 Duroy asked: "Does she help him very much?" 
 
 "She does all the work; she is well posted on 
 every subject, and she always gains her point, as she
 
 B E L - A M I .^5 
 
 wants it, and when she wants it! Oh, she is as 
 maneuvering as anyone! She is a treasure to a man 
 who wishes to succeed." 
 
 Georges replied: "She will marry very soon again, 
 1 have no doubt." 
 
 "Yes! 1 should not even be surprised if she had 
 some one in view — a deputy! but 1 do not know 
 anything about it." 
 
 M. de Marelle said impatiently: "You infer so 
 many things that I do not like! We should never 
 interfere in the affairs of others. Everyone should 
 make that a rule." 
 
 Duroy took his leave with a heavy heart. The 
 next day he called on the Forestiers, and found them 
 in the midst of packing. Charles lay upon a sofa and 
 repeated: "I should have gone a month ago." Then 
 he proceeded to give Duroy innumerable orders, al- 
 though everything had been arranged with M. Walter. 
 When Georges left him, he pressed his comrade's 
 hand and said: 
 
 "Well, old fellow, we shall soon meet again." 
 
 Mme. Forestier accompanied him to the door and 
 he reminded her of their compact. "We are friends 
 and allies, are we not ? If you should require my 
 services in any way, do not hesitate to call upon me. 
 Send me a dispatch 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. The Count seemed sad — perhaps 
 at the approaching departure. 
 
 The journalist bowed, the Count returned his sal- 
 utation courteously but somewhat haughtily. 
 
 On Thursday evening the Forestiers left town.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A Duel with an End 
 
 Charles's absence gave Duroy a 
 more important position on " La 
 Vie Fran(;aise." Only one mat- 
 ter arose to annoy him, otherwise 
 his sky was cloudless. 
 An insignificant paper, "La Plume," 
 attacked him constantly, or rather 
 attacked the editor of the "Echoes" of 
 La Vie Fran(paise." 
 
 Jacques Rival said to him one day: 
 ou are very forbearing." 
 What should I do ? It is no direct 
 attack." 
 But, one afternoon when he entered the 
 office, Boisrenard handed him a number of "La 
 Plume." 
 
 "See, here is another unpleasant remark for you." 
 "Relative to what?" 
 "To the arrest of one Dame Aubert." 
 Georges took the paper and read a scathing per- 
 sonal denunciation. Duroy, it seems, had written an 
 item claiming that Dame Aubert who, as the editor of 
 "La Plume," claimed, had been put under arrest, was 
 (76)
 
 B E L - A M I 
 
 77 
 
 a myth. The latter retaliated by accusing Duroy of 
 receiving bribes and of suppressing matter that should 
 be published. 
 
 As Saint-Potin entered, Duroy asked him: "Have 
 you seen the paragraph in 'La Plume'?" 
 
 "Yes, and I have just come from Dame Aubert's; 
 she is no myth, but she has not been arrested; that 
 ':cport has no foundation." 
 
 Duroy went at once to M. Walter's office. After 
 hearing the case, the manager bade him go to the 
 woman's house himself, find out the details, and reply 
 to the article. 
 
 Duroy set out upon his errand and on his return 
 to the office, wrote the following: 
 
 "An anonymous writer in 'La Plume' is trying to pick a quar- 
 rel with me on the subject of an old woman who, he claims, was ar- 
 rested for disorderly conduct, which 1 deny. 1 have myself seen 
 Dame Aubert, who is sixty years old at least; she told me the partic- 
 ulars of her dispute with a butcher as to the weight of some cutlets, 
 which dispute necessitated an explanation before a magistrate. That is 
 the whole truth in a nutshell. As for the other insinuations ! scorn 
 them. One never should reply to such things, moreover, when they 
 are written under a mask. Georges Duroy." 
 
 M. Walter and Jacques Rival considered that suffi- 
 cient, and it was decided that it should be published 
 in that day's issue, 
 
 Duroy returned home rather agitated and uneasy. 
 What would this opponent reply? Who was he? 
 Why that attack ? He passed a restless night. When 
 he re-read his article in the paper the next morning, 
 he thought it more aggressive in print than it was in 
 writing. He might, it seemed to him, have softened 
 certain terms. He was excited all day and feverish
 
 'jS WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 during the night. He rose early to obtain an issue 
 of "La Plume" which should contain the reply to his 
 note. He ran his eyes over the columns and at first 
 saw nothing. He was beginning to breathe more 
 freely when these words met his eye: 
 
 " M. Duroy of 'La Vie Frarif aise ' gives us the lie! In doing so, 
 he lies. He owns, however, that a woman named Aubert exists, and 
 that she was taken before a magistrate by an agent. Two words 
 only remain to be added to the word 'agent,' which are 'of morals' 
 and all is told. But the consciences of certain journalists are on a par 
 with their talents. 1 sign myself, 
 
 "Louis Langremont. " 
 
 Georges's heart throbbed violently, and he returned 
 home in order to dress himself. He had been insulted 
 and in such a manner that it was impossible to hesi- 
 tate. Why had he been insulted.^ For nothing! On 
 account of an old woman who had quarreled with 
 her butcher. 
 
 He dressed hastily and repaired to M. Walters 
 house, although it was scarcely eight o'clock. M. 
 Walter was reading "La Plume." 
 
 "Well," he said gravely, on perceiving Duroy, "you 
 cannot let that pass." The young man did not reply. 
 
 The manager continued: "Go at once in search 
 of Rival, who will look after your interests." 
 
 Duroy stammered several vague words and set out 
 for Rival's house. Jacques was still in bed, but he 
 rose when the bell rang, and having read the insult- 
 ing paragraph, said: "Whom would you like to 
 have besides me?" 
 
 " I do not know." 
 
 "Boisrcnard?"
 
 BEL-AMI y^ 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Are you a good swordsman?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "A good shot?" 
 
 "I have used a pistol a good deal." 
 
 "Good! Come and exercise while 1 attend to 
 everything. Wait a moment." 
 
 He entered his dressing-room and soon reappeared, 
 washed, shaven, and presentable. 
 
 "Come with me," said he. He lived on the 
 ground floor, and he led Duroy into a cellar converted 
 into a room for the practice of fencing and shooting. 
 He produced a pair of pistols and began to give his 
 orders as briefly as if they were on the dueling 
 ground. He was well satisfied with Duroy's use of 
 the weapons, and told him to remain there and prac- 
 tice until noon, when he would return to take him 
 to lunch and tell him the result of his mission. Left 
 to his own devices, Duroy aimed at the target several 
 times and then sat down to reflect. 
 
 Such affairs were abominable anyway! What 
 would a respectable man gain by risking his life ? 
 And he recalled Norbert de Varcnne's remarks, made 
 to him a short while before. "He was right!" he 
 declared aloud. It was gloomy in that cellar, as 
 gloomy as in a tomb. What o'clock was it? The 
 time dragged slowly on. Suddenly he heard foot- 
 steps, voices, and Jacques Rival reappeared accom- 
 panied by Boisrenard. The former cried on perceiving 
 Duroy: "All is settled!" 
 
 Duroy thought the matter had terminated with a 
 letter of apology; his heart gave a bound and he 
 stammered: "Ah — thank youl"
 
 8o WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Rival continued: "M. Langremont has accepted 
 every condition. Tv/enty-five paces, fire when the 
 pistol is leveled and the order given." Then he 
 added: "Now let us lunch; it is past twelve 
 o'clock." 
 
 They repaired to a neighboring restaurant. Duroy 
 was silent. He ate that they might not think he was 
 frightened, and went in the afternoon with Boisre- 
 nard to the office, where he worked in an absent, 
 mechanical manner. Before leaving, Jacques Rival 
 shook hands with him and warned him that he and 
 Boisrenard would call for him in a carriage the next 
 morning at seven o'clock to repair to the wood at 
 Vesinet, where the meeting was to take place. 
 
 All had been settled without his saying a word, 
 giving his opinion, accepting or refusing, with such 
 rapidity that his brain whirled and he scarcely knew 
 what was taking place. He returned home about 
 nine o'clock in the evening after having dined with 
 Boisrenard, who had not left him all day. When he 
 was alone, he paced the floor; he was too confused 
 to think. One thought alone filled his mind and that 
 was: a duel to-morrow! He sat down and began to 
 meditate. He had thrown upon his table his adver- 
 sary's card brought him by Rival. He read it for the 
 twentieth time that day: 
 
 "Louis Langremont, 
 "176 Rue Montniartre." 
 
 Nothing more! Who was the man? How old 
 was he ? How tall ? How did he look ? How odious 
 that a total stranger should without rhyme or reason, 
 out of pure caprice, annoy him thus on account of
 
 BEL- A MI 8l 
 
 an old woman's quarrel with her butcher! He said 
 aloud: "The brute!" and glared angrily at the card. 
 
 He began to feel nervous; the sound of his voice 
 made him start; he drank a glass of water and laid 
 down. He turned from his right side to his left un- 
 easily. He was thirsty; he rose, he felt restless' 
 "Am 1 afraid?" he asked himself. 
 
 Why did his heart palpitate so wildly at the 
 slightest sound? He began to reason philosophically 
 on the possibility of being afraid. No, certainly he 
 was not, since he was ready to fight. Still he felt 
 so deeply moved that he wondered if one could be 
 afraid in spite of oneself. What would happen if 
 that state of things should exist? If he should trem- 
 ble or lose his presence of mind ? He hghted his 
 candle and looked in the glass; he scarcely recog- 
 nized his own face, it was so changed. 
 
 Suddenly he thought: "To-morrow at this time 
 I may be dead." He turned to his couch and saw 
 himself stretched lifeless upon it. He hastened to the 
 window and opened it; but the night air was so 
 chilly that he closed it, lighted a fire, and began to 
 pace the floor once more, saying mechanically: "I 
 must be more composed. 1 will write to my parents, 
 in case of accident." He took a sheet of paper and 
 after several attempts began: 
 
 "My Dear Father and Mother: 
 
 "At daybreak I am going to fight a duel, and as something 
 might happen — " 
 
 He could write no more, he rose with a shudder. 
 It seemed to him that notwithstanding his efforts, he 
 would not have the strength necessary to face the 
 
 7 G. de M.— 6
 
 82 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 meeting. He wondered if his adversary had ever 
 fought before; if he were known? He had never 
 heard his name. However, if he had not been a re- 
 markable shot, he would not have accepted that dan- 
 gerous weapon without hesitation. He ground his 
 teeth to prevent his crying aloud. Suddenly he re- 
 membered that he had a bottle of brandy; he fetched 
 it from the cupboard and soon emptied it. Now he 
 felt his blood course more warmly through his veins. 
 "I have found a means," said he. 
 
 Day broke. He began to dress; when his heart 
 failed him, he took more brandy. At length there 
 was a knock at the door. His friends had come; 
 they were wrapped in furs. After shaking hands, 
 Rival said: "It is as cold as Siberia. Is all well?" 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Are you calm ?" 
 "Very calm." 
 
 "Have you eaten and drunk something?" 
 "1 do not need anything." 
 
 They descended the stairs. A gentleman was 
 seated in the carriage. Rival said: "Dr. Le Bru- 
 ment." Duroy shook hands with him and stammered: 
 "Thank you," as he entered the carriage. Jacques 
 Rival and Boisrenard followed him, and the coachman 
 drove off. He knew where to go. 
 
 The conversation flagged, although the doctor re- 
 lated a number of anecdotes. Rival alone replied to 
 him. Duroy tried to appear self-possessed, but he 
 was haunted continually by the fear of showing his 
 feelings or of losing his self-possession. Rival ad- 
 dressed him, saying: "I took the pistols to Gastine 
 Renette. He loaded them. The box is sealed."
 
 BEL- AMI 
 
 83 
 
 Duroy replied mechanically: "Thank you." 
 
 Then Rival proceeded to give him minute directions, 
 that he might make no mistakes. Duroy repeated 
 those directions as children learn their lessons in 
 order to impress them upon his memory. As he 
 muttered the phrases over and over, he almost prayed 
 that some accident might happen to the carriage; if 
 he could only break his leg! 
 
 At the end of a glade he saw a carriage standing 
 and four gentlemen stamping their feet in order to 
 keep them warm, and he was obliged to gasp in 
 order to get breath. Rival and Boisrenard alighted 
 first, then the doctor and the combatant. 
 
 Rival took the box of pistols, and with Boisrenard 
 approached the two strangers, who were advancing 
 toward them. Duroy saw them greet one another 
 ceremoniously, then walk through the glade together 
 as they counted the paces. 
 
 Dr. Le Brument asked Duroy: "Do you feel well.? 
 Do you not want anything?" 
 
 "Nothing, thank you." It seemed to him that he 
 was asleep, that he was dreaming. Was he afraid ? 
 He did not know. Jacques Rival returned and said 
 in a low voice: "All is ready. Fortune has favored 
 us in the drawing of the pistols." That was a mat- 
 ter of indifference to Duroy. They helped him off 
 with his overcoat, led him to the ground set apart 
 for the duel, and gave him his pistol. Before him 
 stood a man, short, stout, and bald, who wore 
 glasses. That was his adversary. A voice broke the 
 silence — a voice which came from afar: "Are you 
 ready, sirs?" 
 
 Georges cried: "Yes."
 
 84 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 The same voice commanded: "Fire!'" 
 
 Duroy heard nothing more, saw nothing more; 
 he only knew that he raised his arm and pressed 
 with all his strength upon the trigger. Soon he 
 saw a little smoke before him; his opponent was 
 still standing in the same position, and there was 
 a small white cloud above his head. They had both 
 fired. All was over! His second and the doctor 
 felt him, unbuttoned his garments, and asked anx- 
 iously: "Are you wounded?" He replied: "No, I 
 think not." 
 
 Langremont was not wounded either, and Jacques 
 Rival muttered discontentedly: "That is always the 
 way with those cursed pistols, one either misses or 
 kills one's opponent." 
 
 Duroy was paralyzed with surprise and joy. All 
 was over! He felt that he could fight the entire uni- 
 verse. All was over! What bliss! He felt brave 
 enough to provoke anyone. The seconds consulted 
 several moments, then the duelists and their friends 
 entered the carriages and drove off. When the offi- 
 cial report was drawn up, it was handed to Duroy 
 who was to insert it in the " Echoes." He was sur- 
 prised to find that two balls had been fired. 
 
 He said to Rival: "We only fired once!" 
 
 The latter smiled: "Yes — once — once each — 
 that makes twice!" 
 
 And Duroy, satisfied with that explanation, asked 
 no more questions. M. Walter embraced him. 
 
 "Bravo! you have defended the colors of 'La Vie 
 Fran^aise' ! Bravo! " 
 
 The following day at eleven o'clock in the fore- 
 noon, Duroy received a telegram:
 
 B E L - A M I 85 
 
 "My God! I have been frightened. Come at once to Rue de 
 Constantinople that I may embrace you, my love. How brave you 
 are. 1 adore you. Clo. " 
 
 He repaired to the place appointed, and Mme. de 
 Marelle rushed into his arms, covering him with 
 kisses. 
 
 "Oh, my darling, if you only knew how I felt 
 when 1 read the morning papers! Tell me, tell me 
 all about it." 
 
 Duroy was obliged to give her a detailed account. 
 
 "You must have had a terrible night before the 
 duel!'" 
 
 "Why, no; 1 slept very well." 
 
 "1 should not have closed my eyes. Tell me 
 what took place on the ground." 
 
 Forthwith he proceeded to give her a graphic 
 description of the duel. When he had concluded, she 
 said to him: "1 cannot live without you! I must see 
 you, and with my husband in Paris it is not very 
 convenient. 1 often have an hour early in the morn- 
 ing when I could come and embrace you, but 1 can- 
 not enter that horrible house of yours! What can 
 we do?" 
 
 He asked abruptly: "How much do you pay 
 here?" 
 
 "One hundred francs a month." 
 
 "Very well, 1 will take the apartments on my 
 own account, and I will move at once. Mine are not 
 suitable anyway for me now." 
 
 She thought a moment and then replied: "No I 
 do not want you to." 
 
 He asked in surprise: "Why not?" 
 
 "Because!"
 
 86 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 " That is no reason. These rooms suit me very 
 well, ! am here; I shall remain." He laughed. 
 "Moreover, they were hired in my name!" 
 
 But she persisted: "No, no, I do not wish 
 you to." 
 
 "Why not, then.?" 
 
 She whispered softly, tenderly: "Because you 
 would bring others here, and 1 do not wish you to." 
 
 Indignantly he cried: "Never, I promise you!" 
 
 "You would do so in spite of your promise." 
 
 " I swear 1 will not." 
 
 "Truly?" 
 
 "Truly — upon my word of honor. This is our 
 nest — ours alone!" 
 
 She embraced him in a transport of delight. 
 "Then I agree, my dearest. But if you deceive me 
 once — just once, that will end all between us for- 
 ever." 
 
 He protested, and it was agreed that he should 
 settle in the rooms that same day. She said to him: 
 
 "You must dine with us Sunday. My husband 
 thinks you charming." 
 
 He was flattered. "Indeed?" 
 
 "Yes, you have made a conquest. Did you not 
 tell me that your home was in the country?" 
 
 "Yes; why?" 
 
 "Then you know something about agriculture?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Very well; talk to him of gardening and crops; 
 he enjoys those subjects." 
 
 "All right. I shall not forget." 
 
 She left him, after lavishing upon him innumerable 
 caresses.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Death and a Proposal 
 
 D 
 
 UROY moved his effects to the 
 apartments in Rue de Constanti- 
 nople. Two or three times a 
 week, Mme. de Marelle paid him 
 visits. Duroy, to counterbalance them, 
 dined at her house every Thursday, and 
 delighted her husband by talking agri- 
 culture to him. 
 
 It was almost the end of February. Du- 
 roy was free from care. One night, when 
 he returned home, he found a letter under 
 his door. He examined the postmark; it was 
 from Cannes. Having opened it, he read: 
 
 "Cannes, Villa Jolie. 
 "Dear Sir and Friend: You told me, did you not, that I could 
 count upon you at any time ? Very well. I have a favor to ask ol 
 you; it is to come and help me — not to leave me alone during 
 Charles's last moments. He may not live through the week, although 
 he is not confined to his bed, but the doctor has warned me. 1 
 have not the strength nor the courage to see that agony day and 
 night, and 1 think with terror of the approaching end. I can only 
 ask such a thing of you, for my husband has no relatives. You were 
 his comrade; he helped you to your position; come, I beg of you; 1 
 have no one else to ask. Your friend, 
 
 ' ' Madeleine Forestibr. " 
 (87)
 
 88 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Georges murmured: "Certainly I will go. Poor 
 Charles!" 
 
 The manager, to whom he communicated the con- 
 tents of that letter, grumblingly gave his consent. 
 He repeated: "But return speedily, you are indispen- 
 sable to us." 
 
 Georges Duroy left for Cannes the next day by 
 the seven o'clock express, after having warned Mme. 
 de Marelle by telegram. He arrived the following day 
 at four o'clock in the afternoon. A commissionnaire 
 conducted him to Villa Jolie. The house was small 
 and low, and of the Italian style of architecture. 
 
 A servant opened the door and cried: "Oh, sir, 
 Madame is awaiting you patiently." 
 
 Duroy asked: "How is your master?" 
 
 "Not very well, sir. He will not be here long." 
 
 The floor of the drawing-room which the young 
 man entered was covered with a Persian rug; the 
 large windows looked upon the village and the sea. 
 
 Duroy murmured: "How cozy it is here! Where 
 the deuce do they get the money from?" 
 
 The rustling of a gown caused him to turn. Mme. 
 Forestier extended both her hands, saying: 
 
 "How kind of you to come." 
 
 She was a trifle paler and thinner, but still as 
 bright as ever, and perhaps prettier for being more 
 delicate. She whispered: "It is terrible — he knows 
 he cannot be saved and he tyrannizes over me. I 
 have told him of your arrival. But where is your 
 trunk?" 
 
 Duroy replied: "I left it at the station, not know- 
 ing which hotel you would advise me to stop at, in 
 order to be near you."
 
 BEL-AMI 89 
 
 She hesitated, then said: "You must stop here, 
 at the villa. Your chamber is ready. He might die 
 any moment, and if it should come in the night, I 
 would be alone. I will send for your luggage." 
 
 He bowed. "As you will." 
 
 "Now, let us go upstairs," said she; he followed 
 her. She opened a door on the first floor, and Duroy 
 saw a form near a window, seated in an easy-chair, 
 and wrapped in coverlets. He divined that it was 
 his friend, though he scarcely recognized him. For- 
 estier raised his hand slowly and with difficulty, 
 saying: 
 
 "You are here; you have come to see me die. 
 1 am much obliged." 
 
 Duroy forced a smile. "To see you die? That 
 would not be a very pleasant sight, and I would not 
 choose that occasion on which to visit Cannes. I 
 came here to rest." 
 
 "Sit down," said Forestier, and he bowed his 
 head as if deep in hopeless meditation. Seeing that 
 he did not speak, his wife approached the window 
 and pointing to the horizon, said, "Look at that? Is 
 it not beautiful?" 
 
 In spite of himself Duroy felt the grandeur of the 
 closing day and exclaimed: "Yes, indeed, it is mag- 
 nificent." 
 
 Forestier raised his head and said to his wife: 
 "Give me more air." 
 
 She replied: "You must be careful; it is late, the 
 sun is setting; you will catch more cold and that 
 would be a serious thing in your condition." 
 
 He made a feeble gesture of anger with his right 
 hand, and said: "I tell you I am suffocating! What
 
 ^ WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 difference does it make if I die a day sooner or later, 
 since I must die?" 
 
 She opened the window wide. The air was soft 
 and balmy. Forestier inhaled it in feverish gasps. He 
 grasped the arms of his chair and said in a low voice: 
 "Shut the window. I would rather die in a cellar." 
 
 His wife slowly closed the window, then leaned 
 her brow against the pane and looked out. Duroy, 
 ill at ease, wished to converse with the invalid to re- 
 assure him, but he could think of no words of com- 
 fort. He stammered: "Have you not been better 
 since you are here?" 
 
 His friend shrugged his shoulders impatiently: 
 "You will see very soon." And he bowed his head 
 again. 
 
 Duroy continued: "At home it is still wintry. It 
 snows, hails, rains, and is so dark that they have to 
 light the lamps at three o'clock in the afternoon." 
 
 Forestier asked: "Is there anything new at the 
 office?" 
 
 "Nothing. They have taken little Lacrin of the 
 'Voltaire,' to fill your place, but he is incapable. It 
 is time you came back." 
 
 The invalid muttered: "I? I will soon be writ- 
 ing under six feet of sod." A long silence ensued. 
 
 Mme. Forestier did not stir; she stood with her 
 back to the room, her face toward the window. At 
 length Forestier broke the silence in a gasping voice, 
 heartrending to listen to: "How many more sunsets 
 shall i see — eight — ten — fifteen — twenty — or per- 
 haps thirty — no more. You have more time, you 
 two — as for me — all is at an end. And everything 
 will go on when 1 am gone as if 1 were here." He
 
 BEL-AMI g, 
 
 paused a few moments, then continued: "Everything 
 that 1 see reminds me that I shall not see them long. 
 It is horrible. 1 shall no longer see the smallest ob- 
 jects — the glasses — the dishes — the beds on which 
 we rest — the carriages. It is fine to drive in the 
 evening. How I loved all that." 
 
 Again Norbert de Varenne's words occurred to Du- 
 roy. The room grew dark. Forestier asked irritably: 
 "Are we to have no lamp to-night? That is what 
 is called caring for an invalid!" 
 
 The form outlined against the window disappeared 
 and an electric bell was heard to ring. A servant 
 soon entered and placed a lamp upon the mantel- 
 piece. Mme. Forestier asked her husband: "Do you 
 wish to retire, or will you go downstairs to dinner?" 
 
 "1 will go down to dinner." 
 
 The meal seemed to Duroy interminable, for there 
 was no conversation, only the ticking of a clock 
 broke the silence. When they had finished, Duroy, 
 pleading fatigue, retired to his room and tried in vain 
 to invent some pretext for returning home as quickly 
 as possible. He consoled himself by saying: "Per- 
 haps it will not be for long." 
 
 The next morning Georges rose early and strolled 
 down to the beach. When he returned the servant 
 said to him: "Monsieur has asked for you two or 
 three times. Will you go upstairs?" 
 
 He ascended the stairs. Forestier appeared to be 
 asleep in a chair; his wife, reclining upon a couch, 
 was reading. The invalid raised his head. Duroy 
 asked : 
 
 "Well, how are you? You look better this morn- 
 ing.
 
 92 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Forestier murmured: "Yes, I am better and 
 stronger. Lunch as hastily as you can with Made- 
 leine, because we are going to take a drive." 
 
 When Mme. Forestier was alone with Duroy, she 
 said to him: "You see, to-day he thinks he is 
 better! He is making plans for to-morrow. We are 
 now going to Gulf Juan to buy pottery for our rooms 
 in Paris. He is determined to go, but he cannot 
 stand the jolting on the road." 
 
 The carriage arrived, Forestier descended the stairs, 
 step by step, supported by his servant. When he 
 saw the closed landau, he wanted it uncovered. His 
 wife opposed him: "It is sheer madnessl You will 
 take cold." 
 
 He persisted: "No, 1 am going to be better, I 
 know it." 
 
 They first drove along a shady road and then 
 took the road by the sea. Forestier explained the 
 different points of interest. Finally they arrived at a 
 pavilion over which were these words: "Gulf 
 Juan Art Pottery," and the carriage drew up at the 
 door. Forestier wanted to buy a vase to put on 
 his bookcase. As he could not leave the carriage, 
 they brought the pieces to him one by one. It took 
 him a long time to choose, consulting his wife and 
 Duroy: "You know it is for my study. From my 
 easy-chair I can see it constantly. I prefer the an- 
 cient form — the Greek." 
 
 At length he made his choice. "I shall return to 
 Paris in a few days," said he. 
 
 On their way home along the gulf a cool breeze 
 suddenly sprang up, and the invalid began to cough. 
 At first it was nothing, only a slight attack, but it
 
 BEL- AM I 
 
 93 
 
 grew worse and turned to a sort of hiccough — a 
 rattle. Forestier choked, and every time he tried to 
 breathe he coughed violently. Nothing quieted him. 
 He had to be carried from the landau to his room. 
 The heat of the bed did not stop the attack, which 
 lasted until midnight. The first words the sick man 
 uttered were to ask for a barber, for he insisted on 
 being shaved every morning. He rose to be shaved, 
 but was obliged to go to bed at once, and began to 
 breathe so painfully that Mme. Forestier in affright 
 woke Duroy and asked him to fetch the doctor. He 
 returned almost immediately with Dr. Gavant who 
 prescribed for the sick man. When the journalist asked 
 him his opinion, he said: "It is the final stage. He 
 will be dead to-morrow morning. Prepare that 
 poor, young wife and send for a priest. I can do 
 nothing more. However, I am entirely at your dis- 
 posal," 
 
 Duroy went to Mme. Forestier. "He is going to 
 die. The doctor advises me to send for a priest. 
 What will you do.?" 
 
 She hesitated a moment and then said slowly: 
 
 "I will go and tell him that the curd wishes to 
 see him. Will you be kind enough to procure one 
 who will require nothing but the confession, and who 
 will not make much fuss.?" 
 
 The young man brought with him a kind, old 
 priest who accommodated himself to circumstances. 
 When he had entered the death chamber, Mme. For- 
 estier went out and seated herself with Duroy in an 
 adjoining room. 
 
 "That has upset him," said she. "When I men- 
 tioned the priest to him, his face assumed a scared
 
 94 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 expression. He knew that the end was near. I shall 
 never forget his face." 
 
 At that moment they heard the priest saying to 
 him: "Why no, you are not so low as that. You 
 are ill, but not in danger. The proof of that is that 
 1 came as a friend, a neighbor." They could not 
 hear his reply. The priest continued: "No, I shall 
 not administer the sacrament. We will speak of that 
 when you are better. If you will only confess, I ask 
 no more. I am a pastor; I take advantage of every 
 occasion to gather in my sheep." 
 
 A long silence followed. Then suddenly the priest 
 said, in the tone of one officiating at the altar: 
 
 "The mercy of God is infinite; repeat the ' Con- 
 fiteor,' my son. Perhaps you have forgotten it; I will 
 help you. Repeat with me: ' Confiteor Deo omnipo- 
 tenii; Beatcv Maria' semper virgini.' " He paused 
 from time to time to permit the dying man to catch 
 up to him. 
 
 Then he said: "Now, confess." The sick man 
 murmured something. The priest repeated: "You 
 have committed sins: of what kind, my son?" 
 
 The young woman rose and said simply: "Let us 
 go into the garden. We must not listen to his secrets." 
 
 They seated themselves upon a bench before the 
 door, beneath a blossoming rosebush. After several 
 moments of silence Duroy asked: "Will it be some 
 time before you return to Paris?" 
 
 "No," she replied; "when all is over, I will go 
 back." 
 
 " In about ten days ?" 
 
 "Yes, at most." 
 
 He continued: "Charles has no relatives then?"
 
 BEL- AMI 95 
 
 "None, save cousins. His father and mother died 
 when he was very young." 
 
 In the course of a few minutes, the servant came 
 to tell them that the priest had finished, and together 
 they ascended the stairs. Forestier seemed to have 
 grown thinner since the preceding day. The priest 
 was holding his hand. 
 
 " Au revoir, my son. I will come again to-morrow 
 morning"; and he left. When he was gone, the 
 dying man, who was panting, tried to raise his two 
 hands toward his wife and gasped: 
 
 "Save me — save me, my darling. I do not want 
 to die — oh, save me — go for the doctor. 1 will 
 take anything. I do not want to die." He wept; 
 the tears coursed down his pallid cheeks. Then his 
 hands commenced to wander hither and thither con- 
 tinually, slowly, and regularly, as if gathering some- 
 thing on the coverlet. His wife, who was also 
 weeping, sobbed: 
 
 "No, it is nothing. It is only an attack; you 
 will be better to-morrow; you tired yourself with that 
 drive." 
 
 Forestier drew his breath quickly and so faintly 
 that one could scarcely hear him. He repeated: 
 
 " 1 do not want to die! Oh, my God — my God 
 — what has happened to me? 1 cannot see. Oh, my 
 God!" His staring eyes saw something invisible 
 to the others; his hands plucked continually at the 
 counterpane. Suddenly he shuddered and gasped: 
 "The cemetery — me — my God!" He did not speak 
 again. He lay there motionless and ghastly. The 
 hours dragged on; the clock of a neighboring con- 
 vent chimed noon.
 
 96 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Duroy left the room to obtain some food. He re- 
 turned an hour later; Mme. Forestier would eat noth- 
 ing. The invalid had not stirred. The young woman 
 was seated in an easy-chair at the foot of the bed. 
 Duroy likewise seated himself, and they watched in 
 silence. A nurse, sent by the doctor- had arrived and 
 was dozing by the window. 
 
 Duroy himself was almost asleep when he felt a 
 presentiment that something was about to happen. 
 He opened his eyes just in time to see Forestier close 
 his. He coughed slightly, and two streams of blood 
 issued from the corners of his mouth and flowed upon 
 his night robe; his hands ceased their perpetual mo- 
 tion; he had breathed his last. His wife, perceiving 
 it, uttered a cry and fell upon her knees by the bed- 
 side. Georges, in surprise and affright, mechanically 
 made the sign of the cross. 
 
 The nurse, awakening, approached the bed and 
 said: "It has come." Duroy, recovering his self-pos- 
 session, murmured with a sigh of relief: "It was not 
 as hard as 1 feared it would be." 
 
 That night Mme. Forestier and Duroy watched in 
 the chamber of death. They were alone beside him 
 who was no more. They did not speak, Georges's 
 eyes seemed attracted to that emaciated face which 
 the flickering light made more hollow. That was his 
 friend, Charles Forestier, who the day before had 
 spoken to him. For several years he had lived, eaten, 
 laughed, loved, and hoped as did everyone — and now 
 all was ended for him forever. 
 
 Life lasted a few months or years, and then fled! 
 One was born, grew, was happy, and died. Adieu! 
 man or wo-rian, you will never return to earth! He
 
 BEL- AMI 
 
 97 
 
 thought of the insects whicli live several hours, of 
 the beasts which live several days, of the men who 
 live several years, of the worlds which last several 
 centuries. What was the difference between one and 
 the other? A few more dawns, that was all. 
 
 Duroy turned away his eyes in order not to see 
 the corpse. Mme. Forestier's head was bowed; her 
 fair hair enhanced the beauty of her sorrowful face. 
 The young man's heart grew hopeful. Why should 
 he lament when he had so many years still before 
 him ? He glanced at the handsome widow. How 
 had she ever consented to marry that man ? Then 
 he pondered upon all the hidden secrets of their 
 lives. He remembered that he had been told of a 
 Count de Vaudrec who had dowered and given her 
 in marriage. What would she do now.^ Whom 
 would she marry ? Had she projects, plans ? He 
 would have liked to know. Why that anxiety as to 
 what she would do ? 
 
 Georges questioned himself, and found that it was 
 caused by a desire to win her for himself. Why 
 should he not succeed ? He was positive that she 
 liked him; she would have confidence in him, for 
 she knew that he was intelligent, resolute, tenacious. 
 Had she not sent for him ? Was not that a kind of 
 avovv'al ? He was impatient to question her, to find 
 out her intentions. He would soon have to leave 
 that villa, for he could not remain alone with the 
 young widow; therefore he must find out her plans 
 before returning to Paris, in order that she might not 
 yield to another's entreaties. He broke the oppressive 
 silence by saying: 
 
 "You must be fatigued." 
 
 7 C. de M.— 7
 
 98 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "Yes, but above all I am grieved." 
 
 Their voices sounded strange in that room. They 
 glanced involuntarily at the corpse as if they expected 
 to see it move. Duroy continued: 
 
 "It is a heavy blou' for you, and will make a 
 complete change in your life." 
 
 She sighed deeply, but did not reply. He added: 
 
 "It is very sad for a young woman like you to 
 be left alone." He paused; she still did not reply, 
 and he stammered: "At any rate, you will remem- 
 ber the compact between us; you can command me 
 as you will. I am yours." 
 
 She held out her hand to him and said mourn- 
 fully and gently: "Thanks, you are very kind. 
 If ! can do anything for you, I say too: 'Count 
 on me.'" 
 
 He took her proffered hand, gazed at it, and was 
 seized with an ardent desire to kiss it. Slowly he 
 raised it to his lips and then relinquished it. As her 
 delicate fingers lay upon her knee the young widow 
 said gravely: 
 
 "Yes, I shall be all alone, but I shall force myself 
 to be brave." 
 
 He did not know how to tell her that he would 
 be delighted to wed her. Certainly it was no time to 
 speak to her on such a subject; however, he thought 
 he might be able to express himself by means of 
 some phrase which would have a hidden meaning 
 and would infer what he wished to say. But that 
 rigid corpse lay between them. The atmosphere be- 
 came oppressive, almost suffocating. Duroy asked: 
 
 "Can we not open the window a little? The air 
 seems to be impure."
 
 BEL-AMI 
 
 99 
 
 "Certainly," she replied; "I have noticed it too." 
 
 He opened the window, letting in the cool night 
 air. He turned: "Come and look out, it is delight- 
 ful." 
 
 She glided softly to his side. He whispered: 
 "Listen to me. Do not be angry that I broach the sub- 
 ject at such a time, but the day after to-morrow I 
 shall leave here and when you return to Paris it 
 might be too late. You know that I am only a poor 
 devil, who has his position to make, but I have the 
 will and some intelligence, and I am advancing. A 
 man who has attained his ambition knows what to 
 count on; a man who has his way to make does not 
 know what may come — it may be better or worse. 
 I told you one day that my most cherished dream 
 was to have a wife like you, 
 
 " I repeat it to you to-day. Do not reply, but let 
 me continue. This is no proposal — the time and 
 place would render it odious. I only wish to tell 
 you that by a word you can make me happy, and 
 that you can make of me as you will, either a friend 
 or a husband — for my heart and my body are yours. 
 1 do not want you to answer me now. I do not 
 wish to speak any more on the subject here. When 
 we meet in Paris, you. can tell me your decision." 
 
 He uttered these words without glancing at her, 
 and she seemed not to have heard them, for she stood 
 by his side motionless, staring vaguely and fixedly at 
 the landscape before her, bathed in moonlight. 
 
 At length she murmured: "It is rather chilly," 
 and turned toward the bed. Duroy followed her. 
 They did not speak but continued their watch. To- 
 ward midnight Georges fell asleep. At daybreak the
 
 100 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 nurse entered and he started up. Both he and Mme. 
 Forestier retired to their rooms to obtain some rest. 
 At eleven o'clock they rose and lunched together; 
 while through the open window was wafted the 
 sweet, perfumed air of spring. After lunch, Mme. 
 Forestier proposed that they take a turn in the 
 garden; as they walked slowly along, she suddenly 
 said, without turning her head toward him, in a low, 
 grave voice: 
 
 "Listen to me, my dear friend; I have already re- 
 flected upon what you proposed to me, and I cannot 
 allow you to depart without a word of reply, I will, 
 however, say neither yes nor no. We will wait, we 
 will see; we will become better acquainted. You 
 must think it well over too. Do not yield to an im- 
 pulse. I mention this to you before even poor 
 Charles is buried, because it is necessary, after what 
 you have said to me, that you should know me as I 
 am, in order not to cherish the hope you expressed 
 to me any longer, if you are not a man who can 
 understand and bear with me. 
 
 "Now listen carefully: Marriage, to me, is not a 
 chain but an association. I must be free, entirely 
 unfettered, in all my actions — my coming and my 
 going; I can tolerate neither, control, jealousy, nor 
 criticism as to my conduct. I pledge my word, how- 
 ever, never to compromise the name of the man I 
 marry, nor to render him ridiculous in the eyes of 
 the world. But that man must promise to look upon 
 me as an equal, an ally, and not as an inferior, or as 
 an obedient, submissive wife. My ideas, I know, are 
 not like those of other people, but I shall never 
 change them. Do not answer me, it would be use-
 
 BEL-AMI lOI 
 
 less. We shall meet again and talk it all over later. 
 Now take a walk; 1 shall return to him. Good-bye 
 until to-night." 
 
 He kissed her hand and left her without having 
 uttered a word. That night they met at dinner; 
 directly after the meal they sought their rooms, worn 
 out with fatigue. 
 
 Charles Forestier was buried the next day in the 
 cemetery at Cannes without any pomp, and Georges 
 returned to Paris by the express which left at one- 
 thirty. Mme. Forestier accompanied him to the sta- 
 tion. They walked up and down the platform 
 awaiting the hour of departure and conversing on in- 
 different subjects. 
 
 The train arrived, the journalist took his seat; a 
 porter cried: "Marseilles, Lyons, Paris! All aboard!" 
 The locomotive whistled and the train moved slowly 
 out of the station. 
 
 The young man leaned out of the carriage, and 
 looked at the youthful widow standing on the plat- 
 form gazing after him. Just as she was disappearing 
 from his sight, he threw her a kiss, which she re- 
 turned with a more discreet wave of her hand.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Marriage 
 
 ■^^^w?^ 
 
 EORGES DuROY resumed his old 
 habits. Installed in the cozy 
 apartments on Rue de Constan- 
 tinople, his relations with Mme. de 
 Marelle became quite conjugal. 
 Mme. Forestiei had not returned; 
 she lingered at Cannes, He, how- 
 ever, received a letter from her an- 
 nouncing her return about the middle 
 of April, but containing not a word as to 
 __^ their parting. He waited. He was resolved 
 
 ^^•~^7^ "to employ every means to marry her if she 
 ^^■^-^ seemed to hesitate; he had faith in his good 
 fortune, in that power of attraction which he 
 felt within him — a power so irresistible that all 
 women yielded to it. 
 
 At length a short note admonished him that the 
 decisive moment had arrived. 
 
 I am in Paris. Come to see me. 
 
 'Madeleine Forestier. " 
 
 Nothing more. He received it at nine o'clock. At 
 three o'clock of the same day he called at her house. 
 (102)
 
 BEL-AMI 
 
 103 
 
 She extended Loth hands to him with a sweet smile, 
 and they gazed into each other's eyes for several sec- 
 onds, then she murmured: 
 
 "How kind of you to comel" 
 
 He replied: "1 should have come, whensoever you 
 bade me." 
 
 They sat down; she inquired about the Walters, 
 his associates, and the newspaper. 
 
 "I miss that very much," said she. "I had be- 
 come a journalist in spirit. I like the profession." 
 She paused. He fancied he saw in her smile, in 
 her voice, in her words, a kind of invitation, and 
 although he had resolved not to hasten matters, he 
 stammered: 
 
 "Well — why — why do you not resume — that 
 profession — under — the name of Duroy?" 
 
 She became suddenly serious, and placing her hand 
 on his arm, she said: "Do not let us speak of that 
 yet." 
 
 Divining that she would accept him, he fell upon 
 his knees, and passionately kissed her hands, saying: 
 
 "Thank you — thank you — how I love you." 
 
 She rose, she was very pale. Duroy kissed her 
 brow. When she had disengaged herself from his 
 embrace, she said gravely: "Listen, my friend, I have 
 not yet fully decided; but my answer may be 'yes.' 
 You must wait patiently, however, until I disclose 
 the secret to you." 
 
 He promised and left her, his heart overflowing 
 with joy. He worked steadily, spent little, tried to 
 save some money that he might not be without a sou 
 at the time of his marriage, and became as miserly 
 as he had once been prodigal.
 
 I04 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Summer glided by; then autumn, and no one sus- 
 pected the tie existing between Duroy and Mme. 
 Forestier, for they seldom met in public. 
 
 One evening Madeleine said to him: "You have 
 not yet told Mme. de Marelle our plans?" 
 
 "No, my dear; as you wished them kept secret, I 
 have not mentioned them to a soul." 
 
 "Very well; there is plenty of time. I will tell 
 the Walters." 
 
 She turned away her head and continued: "If 
 you wish, we can be married the beginning of May." 
 
 "1 obey you in all things joyfully." 
 
 "The tenth of May, which falls on Saturday, 
 would please me, for it is my birthday." 
 
 "Very well, the tenth of May." 
 
 "Your parents live near Rouen, do they not?" 
 
 "Yes, near Rouen, at Canteleu." 
 
 "I am very anxious to see them!" 
 
 He hesitated, perplexed: "But — they are — " 
 Then he added more firmly: "My dear, they are 
 plain, country people, innkeepers, who strained every 
 nerve to give me an education. I am not ashamed 
 of them, but their — simplicity — their rusticity might 
 annoy you." 
 
 She smiled sweetly. "No, I will love them very 
 much. We will visit them; 1 wish to. I, too, am 
 the child of humble parents — but I lost mine — 1 have 
 no one in the world" — she held out her hand to him 
 — "but you." 
 
 He was affected, conquered as he had never been 
 by any woman. 
 
 "1 have been thinking of something," said she, 
 "but it is difficult to explain."
 
 BEL-AMI 
 
 105 
 
 He asked: "What is it?" 
 
 "It is tiiis: I am like all women. I have my — 
 my weaknesses. I should like to bear a noble name. 
 Can you not on the occasion of our marriage change 
 your name somewhat?" She blushed as if she had 
 proposed something indelicate. 
 
 He replied simply: "I have often thought of it, 
 but it does not seem easy to me." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 He laughed. " Because 1 am afraid I should be 
 ridiculed." 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. "Not at all — not at 
 all. Everyone does it, and no one laughs. Separate 
 your name in this way: Du Roy. It sounds very 
 well." 
 
 He replied: "No, that will not do; it is too com- 
 mon a proceeding. I have thought of assuming the 
 name of my native place, first as a literary pseudo- 
 nym and then as my surname in conjunction with 
 Duroy, which might later on, as you proposed, be 
 separated." 
 
 She asked: "Is your native place Cantelcu?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I do not like the termination. Could we not 
 modify it?" 
 
 She took a pen and wrote down the names in 
 order to study them. Suddenly she cried: "Now 1 
 have it," and held toward him a sheet of paper on 
 which was written: " Mme. Duroy de Cantel." 
 
 Gravely he replied: "Yes, it is very nice." 
 
 She was delighted, and repeated: " Duroy de Can- 
 tel. Mme. Duroy de Cantel. It is excellent, ex- 
 cellent!"
 
 Io6 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Then she added with an air of conviction: "You 
 will see how easily it will be accepted by everyone! 
 After to-morrow, sign your articles 'D. de Cantel,' 
 and your 'Echoes' simply 'Duroy.' That is done 
 on the press every day and no one will be surprised 
 to see you take a nom de plume. What is your 
 father's name ?" 
 
 "Alexandre." 
 
 She murmured "Alexandre!" two or three times 
 in succession; then she wrote upon a blank sheet: 
 
 "M. and Mme. Alexandre du Roy de Cantel 
 announce the marriage of their son, M. Georges du 
 Roy de Cantel with Mme. Forestier." 
 
 She examined her writing, and, charmed with the 
 effect, exclaimed: "With a little method one can 
 succeed in anything." 
 
 When Georges reached the street resolved to call 
 himself, henceforth, " Du Roy," or even " Du Roy de 
 Cantel," it seemed to him that he was of more 
 importance. He swaggered more boldly, held his 
 head more erect and walked as he thought gentlemen 
 should. He felt a desire to inform the passers-by, 
 "My name is Du Roy de Cantel." 
 
 Scarcely had he entered his apartments when the 
 thought of Mme. de Marelle rendered him uneasy, 
 and he wrote to her immediately, appointing a meet- 
 ing for the following day. 
 
 "It will be hard," thought he. "There will be a 
 quarrel surely." 
 
 The next morning he received a telegram from 
 Madame, informing him that she would be with him 
 at one o'clock. He awaited her impatiently, deter- 
 mined to confess at once and afterward to argue with
 
 BEL- AMI 
 
 107 
 
 her, to tell her that he could not remain a bachelor 
 indefinitely, and that, as M. de Marelle persisted in 
 living, he had been compelled to choose some one 
 else as a legal companion. When the bell rang, his 
 heart gave a bound. 
 
 Mme. de Marelle entered and cast herself into his 
 arms, saying: "Good afternoon, Bel-Ami." Perceiv- 
 ing that his embrace was colder than usual, she 
 glanced up at him and asked: "What ails you?" 
 
 "Take a seat," said he. "We must talk seri- 
 ously." 
 
 She seated herself without removing her hat, and 
 waited. He cast down his eyes; he was preparing 
 to commence. 
 
 Finally he said slowly: "My dear friend, you see 
 that I am very much perplexed, very sad, and very 
 much embarrassed by what I have to confess to you. 
 1 love you; 1 love you with all my heart, and the 
 fear of giving you pain grieves me more than what I 
 have to tell you." 
 
 She turned pale, trembled, and asked: "What is 
 it? Tell me quickly." 
 
 He said sadly but resolutely: "I am going to be 
 married." 
 
 She sighed like one about to lose consciousness; 
 then she gasped, but did not speak. 
 
 He continued: "You cannot imagine how much 
 I suffered before taking that resolution. But I have 
 neither position nor money. 1 am alone in Paris, I 
 must have near me some one who can counsel, com- 
 fort, and support me. What I need is an associate, 
 an ally, and I have found one!" He paused, hoping 
 that she would reply, expecting an outburst of furious
 
 I08 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 rage, reproaches, and insults. She pressed her hand 
 to her heart and breathed with difficulty. He took 
 the hand resting on the arm of the chair, but she 
 drew it away and murmured as if stupefied: "Oh, 
 my God!" 
 
 He fell upon his knees before her, without, how- 
 ever, venturing to touch her, more moved by her 
 silence than he would have been by her anger. 
 
 "Clo, my little Clo, you understand my position. 
 Oh, if I could have married you, what happiness it 
 would have afforded me! But you were married! 
 What could 1 do? Just think of it! 1 must make 
 my way in the world and I can never do so as long 
 as I have no domestic ties. If you knew. There are 
 days when 1 should like to kill your husband." He 
 spoke in a low, seductive voice. He saw two tears 
 gather in Mme. de Marelle's eyes and trickle slowly 
 down her cheeks. He whispered: "Do not weep, 
 Clo, do not weep, I beseech you. You break my 
 heart." 
 
 She made an effort to appear dignified and haughty, 
 and asked, though somewhat unsteadily: "Who is 
 it?" 
 
 For a moment he hesitated before he replied: 
 "Madeleine Forestier!" 
 
 Mme. de Marelle started; her tears continued to 
 flow. She rose. Duroy saw that she was going to 
 leave him without a word of reproach or pardon, 
 and he felt humbled, humiliated. He seized her gown 
 and implored: 
 
 "Do not leave me thus." 
 
 She looked at him with that despairing, tearful 
 glance so charming and so touching, which expresses
 
 B E L - A M I 
 
 109 
 
 all the misery pent-up in a woman's heart, and stam- 
 mered: "1 have nothing — to say; 1 can do nothing. 
 You — you are right; you have made a good choice." 
 
 And disengaging herselt she left the room. 
 
 With a sigh of relief at escaping so easily, he re- 
 paired to Mme. Forestier's, who asked him: "Have 
 you told Mme. de Marelle?" 
 
 He replied calmly: "Yes." 
 
 "Did it affect her?" 
 
 "Not at all. On the contrary, she thought it an 
 excellent plan." 
 
 The news was soon noised abroad. Some were 
 surprised, others pretended to have foreseen it, and 
 others again smiled, inferring that they were not at 
 all astonished. The young man, who signed his ar- 
 ticles, "D. de Cantel," his "Echoes," "Duroy," and 
 his political sketches, " Du Roy," spent the best part 
 of his time with his betrothed, who had decided that 
 the date fixed for the wedding should be kept secret, 
 that the ceremony should be celebrated in the presence 
 of witnesses only, that they should leave the same 
 evening for Rouen, and that the day following they 
 should visit the journalist's aged parents and spend 
 several days with them. Duroy had tried to persuade 
 Madeleine to abandon that project, but not succeeding 
 in his efforts he was finally compelled to submit. 
 
 The tenth of May arrived. Thinking a religious 
 ceremony unnecessary, as they had issued no invita- 
 tions, the couple were married at a magistrate's and 
 took the six o'clock train for Normandy. 
 
 As the train glided along, Duroy seated in front 
 of his wife, took her hand, kissed it, and said: "When 
 we return we will dine at Chatou sometimes."
 
 no WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 She murmured: "We shall have a great many 
 things to do!" in a tone which seemed to say: "We 
 must sacrifice pleasure to duty." 
 
 He retained her hand wondering anxiously how 
 he could manage to caress her. He pressed her hand 
 slightly, but she did not respond to the pressure. 
 
 He said: " It seems strange that you should be my 
 wife." 
 
 She appeared surprised: "Why?" 
 
 "I do not know. It seems droll. I want to em- 
 brace you and I am surprised that I have the right." 
 
 She calmly offered him her cheek which he kissed 
 as he would have kissed his sister's. He continued: 
 
 "The first time I saw you (you remember, at that 
 dinner to which I was invited at Forestier's), I thought: 
 'Sacristi, if I could only find a wife like that!' And 
 now I have one." 
 
 She glanced at him with smiling eyes. 
 
 He said to himself: "I am too cold. I am stu- 
 pid. I should make more advances." And he asked: 
 "How did you make Forestier's acquaintance?" 
 
 She replied with provoking archness: "Are we 
 going to Rouen to talk of him?" 
 
 He colored. " I am a fool. You intimidate me." 
 
 She was delighted. "I? Impossible." 
 
 He seated himself beside her. She exclaimed: 
 "Ah! a stag!" The train was passing through the 
 forest of Saint-Germain and she had seen a fright- 
 ened deer clear an alley at a bound. As she gazed 
 out of the open window, Duroy bending over her, 
 pressed a kiss upon her neck. For several moments 
 she remained motionless, then raising her head, she 
 said: "You tickle me, stop!"
 
 B E L - A M I 
 
 III 
 
 But he did not obey her. 
 
 She repeated: "Stop, 1 say!" 
 
 He seized her head with his right hand, turned it 
 toward him and pressed his lips to hers. She strug- 
 gled, pushed him away and repeated: "Stop!" 
 
 He did not heed her. With an effort, she freed 
 herself and rising, said: "Georges, have done. We 
 are not children, we shall soon reach Rouen." 
 
 "Very well," said he, gaily, "I will wait." 
 
 Reseating herself near him she talked of what 
 they would do on their return; they would keep the 
 apartments in which she had lived with her first hus- 
 band, and Duroy would receive Forestier's position on 
 "La Vie Fran^aise." In the meantime, forgetting her 
 injunctions and his promise, he slipped his arm 
 around her waist, pressed her to him and murmured: 
 "I love you dearly, my little Made." 
 
 The gentleness of his tone moved the young 
 woman, and leaning toward him she offered him her 
 lips; as she did so, a whistle announced the prox- 
 imity of the station. Pushing back some stray locks 
 upon her temples, she exclaimed: 
 
 "We are foolish." 
 
 He kissed her hands feverishly and replied: 
 
 "I adore you, my little Made." 
 
 On reaching Rouen they repaired to a hotel where 
 they spent the night. The following morning, when 
 they had drunk the tea placed upon the table in their 
 room, Duroy clasped his wife in his arms and said: 
 "My little Made, 1 feel that I love you very, very 
 much." 
 
 She smiled trustfully and murmured as she re- 
 turned his kisses: "I love you too — a little."
 
 112 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 The visit to iiis parents worried Georges, although 
 he had prepared his wife. He began again: "You 
 know they are peasants, real, not sham, comic-opera 
 peasants." 
 
 She smiled. "I know it, you have told me often 
 enough." 
 
 "We shall be very uncomfortable. There is only 
 a straw bed in my room; they do not know what 
 hair mattresses are at Canteleu." 
 
 She seemed delighted. "So much the better, it 
 would be charming to sleep badly — when — near you 
 — and to be awakened by the crowing of the cocks." 
 
 He walked toward the window and lighted a cig- 
 arette. The sight of the harbor, of the river filled 
 with ships, moved him and he exclaimed: "Egad, but 
 that is fine!" 
 
 Madeleine joined him and placing both of her 
 hands on her husband's shoulder, cried: "Oh, how 
 beautiful! 1 did not know that there were so many 
 ships!" 
 
 An hour later they departed in order to breakfast 
 with the old couple, who had been informed several 
 days before of their intended arrival. Both Duroy and 
 his wife were charmed with the beauties of the land- 
 scape presented to their view, and the cabman halted 
 in order to allow them to get a better idea of the pan- 
 orama before them. As he whipped up his horse, 
 Duroy saw an old couple not a hundred meters off, 
 approaching, and he leaped from the carriage crying: 
 "Here they are, I know them." 
 
 The man was short, corpulent, florid, and vigorous, 
 notwithstanding his age; the woman was tall, thin, 
 and melancholy, with stooping shoulders — a woman
 
 BEL- AMI 
 
 n5 
 
 who had worked from childhood, who had never 
 laughed nor jested. 
 
 Madeleine, too, alighted and watched the couple 
 advance, with a contraction of her heart she had not 
 anticipated. They did not recognize their son in that 
 fine gentleman, and they would never have taken 
 that handsome lady for their daughter-in-law. They 
 walked along, passed the child they were expecting, 
 without glancing at the "city folks." 
 
 Georges cried with a laugh: "Good day, Father 
 Duroy." 
 
 Both the old man and his wife were struck dumb 
 with astonishment; the latter recovered her self-pos- 
 session first and asked: "Is it you, son?" 
 
 The young man replied: "Yes, it is I, Mother 
 Duroy," and approaching her, he kissed her upon 
 both cheeks and said: "This is my wife." 
 
 The two rustics stared at Madeleine as if she were 
 a curiosity, with anxious fear, combined with a sort 
 of satisfied approbation on the part of the father and 
 of jealous enmity on that of the mother. 
 
 M. Duroy, senior, who was naturally jocose, made 
 so bold as to ask with a twinkle in his eye: "May 
 I kiss you too ?" His son uttered an exclamation and 
 Madeleine offered her cheek to the old peasant, who 
 afterward wiped his lips with the back of his hand. 
 The old woman, in her turn, kissed her daughter-in- 
 law with hostile reserve. Her ideal was a stout, 
 rosy, country lass, as red as an apple and as round. 
 
 The carriage preceded them with the luggage. 
 The old man took his son's arm and asked him: 
 *'How are you getting on?" 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 7 G. de M.— 3
 
 114 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "That is right. Tell me, has your wife any 
 means?" 
 
 Georges replied: "Forty thousand francs." 
 
 His father whistled softly and muttered: "Whew!" 
 Then he added: "She is a handsome woman." He 
 admired his son's wife, and in his day had considered 
 himself a connoisseur, 
 
 Madeleine and the mother walked side by side in 
 silence; the two men joined them. They soon 
 reached the village, at the entrance to which stood 
 M. Duroy's tavern. A pine board fastened over the 
 door indicated that thirsty people might enter. The 
 table was laid. A neighbor, who had come to assist, 
 made a low courtesy on seeing so beautiful a lady 
 appear; then recognizing Georges, she cried: "Oh 
 Lord, is it you ?" 
 
 He replied merrily: "Yes, it is I, Mother Brulin," 
 and he kissed her as he had kissed his father and 
 mother. Then he turned to his wife: 
 
 "Come into our room," said he, "you can lay 
 aside your hat." 
 
 They passed through a door to the right and en- 
 tered a room paved with brick, with whitewashed 
 walls and a bed with cotton hangings. 
 
 A crucifix above a holy-water basin and two col- 
 ored prints, representing Paul and Virginia beneath a 
 blue palm-tree, and Napoleon I. on a yellow horse, 
 were the only ornaments in that neat, but bare 
 room. 
 
 When they were alone, Georges embraced Made- 
 leine. 
 
 "Good morning, Made! I am glad to see the old 
 people once more. When one is in Paris one does
 
 BEL-AMI 
 
 H5 
 
 not think of this place, but when one returns, one 
 enjoys it just the same." 
 
 At that moment his father cried, knocking on the 
 partition with his fist: "Come, the soup is ready." 
 
 They re-entered the large pubhc-room and took 
 their seats at the table. The meal was a long one, 
 served in a truly rustic fashion. Father Duroy, en- 
 livened by the cider and several glasses of wine, 
 related many anecdotes, while Georges, to whom 
 they were all familiar, laughed at them. 
 
 Mother Duroy did not speak, but sat at the board, 
 grim and austere, glancing at her daughter-in-law 
 with hatred in her heart. 
 
 Madeleine did not speak nor did she eat; she was 
 depressed. Wherefore? She had wished to come; 
 she knew that she was coming to a simple home; 
 she had formed no poetical ideas of those peasants, 
 but she had perhaps expected to find them somewhat 
 more polished, refined. She recalled her own mother, 
 of whom she never spoke to anyone — a governess 
 who had been betrayed and who had died of grief 
 and shame when Madeleine was twelve years old. A 
 stranger had had the little girl educated. Her father 
 without doubt. Who was he ? She did not know 
 positively, but she had vague suspicions. 
 
 The meal was not yet over when customers 
 entered, shook hands with M. Duroy, exclaimed on 
 seeing his son, and seating themselves at the wooden 
 tables began to drink, smoke, and play dominoes. 
 The smoke from the clay pipes and penny cigars 
 filled the room. 
 
 Madeleine choked and asked: "Can we go out? 
 I cannot remain here any longer."
 
 1,6 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Old Duroy grumbled at being disturbed. Mad- 
 eleine rose and placed her chair at the door in order 
 to wait until her father-in-law and his wife had 
 finished their coffee and wine. 
 
 Georges soon joined her, 
 
 "Would you like to stroll down to the Seine?" 
 he asked. 
 
 Joyfully she cried: "Yes." 
 
 They descended the hillside, hired a boat at 
 Croisset, and spent the remainder of the afternoon 
 beneath the willows in the soft, warm, spring air, 
 and rocked gently by the rippling waves of the river. 
 They returned at nightfall. The evening repast by 
 candle-light was more painful to Madeleine than that 
 of the morning. Neither Father Duroy nor his wife 
 spoke. When the meal was over, Madeleine drew 
 her husband outside in order not to have to remain 
 in that room, the atmosphere of which was heavy 
 with smoke and the fumes of liquor. 
 
 When they were alone, he said: "You are already 
 weary." 
 
 She attempted to protest; he interrupted her: 
 
 "I have seen it. If you wish we will leave to- 
 morrow." 
 
 She whispered: "I should like to go." 
 
 They walked along and entered a narrow path 
 among high trees, hedged in on either side by 
 impenetrable brushwood. 
 
 She asked: "Where are we?" 
 
 He replied: "In the forest — one of the largest in 
 France." 
 
 Madeleine, on raising her head, could see the stars 
 between the branches and hear the rustling of the
 
 BEL-AMI 
 
 117 
 
 leaves. She felt strangely nervous. Why, she could 
 not tell. She seemed to be lost, surrounded by perils, 
 abandoned, alone, beneath that vast vaulted sky. 
 
 She murmured: "1 am afraid; I should like to 
 return." 
 
 "Very well, we will." 
 
 On their return they found the old people in bed. 
 The next morning Madeleine rose early and was 
 ready to leave at daybreak. When Georges told his 
 parents that they were going to return home, they 
 guessed whose wish it was. 
 
 His father asked simply: "Shall I see you soon 
 again ?" 
 
 "Yes — in the summer-time." 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 His mother grumbled: "I hope you will not re- 
 gret what you have done." 
 
 Georges gave them two hundred francs to appease 
 them, and the cab arriving at ten o'clock, the couple 
 kissed the old peasants and set out. 
 
 As they were descending the side of the hill, 
 Duroy laughed. "You see," said he, "I warned you. 
 1 should, however, not have presented you to M. and 
 Mme. du Roy de Cantel, senior." 
 
 She laughed too and replied: "1 am charmed noivf 
 They are nice people whom 1 am beginning to like 
 very much. I shall send them confections from Paris." 
 Then she murmured: " Du Roy de Cantel. We will 
 say that we spent a week at your parents' estate," 
 and drawing near him, she kissed him saying: 
 
 "Good morning, Georges." 
 
 He replied: "Good morning, Madeleine," as he 
 slipped his arm around her waist.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 Jealousy 
 
 -HE Du Roys had been in Paris 
 two days and the journalist had 
 resumed work; he had given 
 up his own especial province to 
 assume that of Forestier, and to 
 devote himself entirely to politics. 
 On this particular evening he 
 turned his steps toward home with 
 a light heart. As he passed a flor- 
 ist's on Rue Notre Dame de Lorette he 
 bought a bouquet of half-open roses for 
 Madeleine. Having forgotten his key, on 
 ^iy- arriving at his door, he rang and the servant 
 ^^ answered his summons. 
 
 Georges asked: "Is Madame at home?" 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 In the dining-room he paused in astonishment to 
 see covers laid for three: the door of the salon be- 
 ing ajar, he saw Madeleine arranging in a vase on 
 the mantelpiece a bunch of roses similar to his. 
 
 He entered the room and asked: "Have you in- 
 vited anyone to dinner?" 
 
 She replied without turning her head and con- 
 tinuing the arrangement of her flowers: "Yes and 
 (m8J
 
 BEL-AMI 
 
 119 
 
 no: it is my old friend, Count de Vaudrec, who is 
 in the habit of dining here every Monday and who 
 will come now as he always has." 
 
 Georges murmured: "Very well." 
 
 He stopped behind her, the bouquet in his hand, 
 the desire strong within him to conceal it — to throw 
 it away. However, he said: 
 
 "Here, I have brought you some roses!" 
 
 She turned to him with a smile and said: "Ah, 
 how thoughtful of you!" and she kissed him with 
 such evident affection that he felt consoled. 
 
 She took the flowers, inhaled their perfume, and 
 put them in an empty vase. Then she said as she 
 noted the effect: "Now I am satisfied; my mantel- 
 piece looks pretty," adding with an air of conviction: 
 "Vaudrec is charming; you will become intimate 
 with him at once," 
 
 A ring announced the Count. He entered as if 
 he were at home. After gallantly kissing Mme. Du 
 Roy's hand, he turned to her husband and cordially 
 offered his hand, saying: "How are you, my dear 
 Du Roy?" 
 
 He had no longer that haughty air, but was very 
 affable. One would have thought in the course of 
 five minutes, that the two men had known one an- 
 other for ten years. Madeleine, whose face was 
 radiant, said: "1 will leave you together. I have 
 work to superintend in the kitchen." The dinner 
 was excellent and the Count remained very late. 
 When he was gone, Madeleine said to her husband: 
 "Is he not nice? He improves, too, on acquaintance. 
 He is a good, true, faithful friend. Ah, without 
 him — "
 
 120 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 She did not complete her sentence and Georges 
 replied: "Yes, he is very pleasant. I think we shall 
 understand each other well." 
 
 "You do not know," she said, "that we have 
 work to do to-night before retiring. 1 did not have 
 time to tell you before dinner, for Vaudrec came. 
 Laroche-Mathieu brought me important news of Mo- 
 rocco. We must make a fine article of that. Let us 
 set to work at once. Come, take the lamp." 
 
 He carried the lamp and they entered the study. 
 Madeleine leaned against the mantelpiece, and having 
 lighted a cigarette, told him the news and gave him 
 her plan of the article. He listened attentively, 
 making notes as she spoke, and when she had fin- 
 ished he raised objections, took up the question and, 
 in his turn, developed another plan. His wife ceased 
 smoking, for her interest was aroused in following 
 Georges's line of thought. From time to time she 
 murmured: "Yes, yes; very good — excellent — very 
 forcible — " And when he had finished speaking, she 
 said: "Now let us write." 
 
 It was always difficult for him to make a begin- 
 ning and she would lean over his shoulder and whis- 
 per the phrases in his ear, then he would add a few 
 lines; when their article was completed, Georges 
 re-read it. Both he and Madeleine pronounced it 
 admirable and kissed one another with passionate ad- 
 miration. 
 
 The article appeared with the signature of "G. du 
 Roy de Cantel," and made a great sensation. M. 
 Walter congratulated the author, who soon became 
 celebrated in political circles. His wife, too, surprised 
 him by the ingenuousness of her mind, the cleverness
 
 BEL-AMI 121 
 
 of her wit, and the number of her acquaintances. At 
 almost any time upon returning home he found in his 
 salon a senator, a deputy, a magistrate, or a general, 
 who treated Madeleine with grave familiarity. 
 
 Deputy Laroche-Mathieu, who dined at Rue Fon- 
 taine every Tuesday, was one of the largest stock- 
 holders of M. Walter's paper and the hitter's colleague 
 and associate in many business transactions. Du Roy 
 hoped, later on, that some of the benefits promised 
 by him to Forestier might fall to his share. They 
 would be given to Madeleine's new husband — that 
 was all — nothing was changed; even his associates 
 sometimes called him Forestier, and it made Du Roy 
 furious at the dead. He grew to hate the very name; 
 it was to him almost an insult. Even at home the 
 obsession continued; the entire house reminded him 
 of Charles. 
 
 One evening Du Roy, who liked sweetmeats, asked: 
 
 "Why do we never have sweets.^" 
 
 His wife replied pleasantly: "1 never think of it, 
 because Charles disliked them." 
 
 He interrupted her with an impatient gesture: 
 "Do you know 1 am getting tired of Charles.'* It is 
 Charles here, Charles there, Charles liked this, Charles 
 liked that. Since Charles is dead, let him rest in 
 peace." 
 
 Madeleine ascribed her husband's burst of ill humor 
 to puerile jealousy, but she was flattered and did not 
 reply. On retiring, haunted by the same thought, 
 he asked: 
 
 "Did Charles wear a cotton nightcap to keep the 
 draft out of his ears ?" 
 
 She replied pleasantly: "No, a lace one!"
 
 122 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Georges shrugged his shoulders and said scorn- 
 fully: "What a bird!" 
 
 From that time Georges never called Charles any- 
 thing but "poor Charles," with an accent of infinite 
 pity. One evening as Du Roy was smoking a ciga- 
 rette at his window, toward the end of June, the heat 
 awoke in him a desire for fresh air. He asked: 
 
 "My little Made, would you like to go as far as 
 the Bois?" 
 
 "Yes, certainly." 
 
 They took an open carriage and drove to the Ave- 
 nue du Bois de Boulogne. It was a sultry evening; 
 a host of cabs lined the drive, one behind another. 
 When the carriage containing Georges and Madeleine 
 reached the turning which led to the fortifications, 
 they kissed one another and Madeleine stammered in 
 confusion: "We are as childish as wb were at Rouen." 
 
 The road they followed was not so much fre- 
 quented, a gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the 
 trees, the sky was studded with brilliant stars and 
 Georges murmured, as he pressed his wife to his 
 breast: "Oh, my little Made." 
 
 She said to him: "Do you remember how gloomy 
 the forest at Canteleu was ? It seemed to me that it 
 was full of horrible beasts and that it was intermi- 
 nable, while here it is charming. One can feel the 
 caressing breezes, and I know that Sevres is on the 
 other side." 
 
 He replied: "In our forests there are nothing but 
 stags, foxes, roebucks, and boars, with here and there 
 a forester's house." He paused for a moment and 
 then asked: "Did you come here in the evening with 
 Charles occasionally?"
 
 BEL. AMI 123 
 
 She replied: "Frequently." 
 
 He felt a desire to return home at once. Fores- 
 tier's image haunted him, however; he could think 
 of nothing else. The carriage rolled on toward the 
 Arc de Triomphe and joined the stream of carriages 
 returning home. As Georges remained silent, his 
 wife, who divined his thoughts, asked in her soft 
 voice: "Of what are you thinking.? For half an hour 
 you have not uttered a word." 
 
 He replied with a sneer: "I am thinking of all 
 those fools who kiss one another, and I believe truly 
 that there is something else to be done in life." 
 
 She whispered: "Yes, but it is nice sometimesl 
 It is nice when one has nothing better to do." 
 
 Georges' thoughts were busy with the dead; he 
 said to himself angrily: "I am foolish to worry, to 
 torment myself as I have done." After remonstrating 
 thus with himself, he felt more reconciled to the 
 thought of Forestier, and felt like exclaiming: "Good 
 evening, old fellow!" 
 
 Madeleine, who was bored by his silence, asked: 
 *' Shall we go to Tortoni's for ices before returning 
 home?" 
 
 He glanced at her from his corner and thought: 
 "She is pretty; so much the better. Tit for tat, my 
 comrade. But if they begin again to annoy me with 
 you, it will get somewhat hot at the North Pole!" 
 
 Then he replied: "Certainly, my darling," and 
 before she had time to think he kissed her. It seemed 
 to Madeleine that her husband's lips were icy. How- 
 ever he smiled as usual and gave her his hand to 
 assist her to alight at the cafL
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Madame Walter Takes a Hand 
 
 O 
 
 N ENTERING the ofFicc the following 
 day, Du Roy sought Boisrenard and 
 told him to warn his associates not 
 to continue the farce of calling him 
 Fofestier, or there would be war. 
 When Du Roy returned an hour later, 
 no one called him by that name. 
 From the office he proceeded to his 
 home, and hearing the sound of ladies' 
 voices in the drawing-room, he asked 
 the servant: "Who is here?" 
 Mme. Walter and Mme. de Marelle," was 
 ^ the reply. 
 ^, His heart pulsated violently as he opened the 
 J door. Clotilde was seated by the fireplace; it 
 seemed to Georges that she turned pale on perceiv- 
 ing him. 
 
 Having greeted Mme. Walter and her two daugh- 
 ters seated like sentinels beside her, he turned to his 
 former mistress. She extended her hand; he took 
 and pressed it as if to say: "I love you still I" She 
 returned the pressure. 
 
 He said: " Have you been well since we last met ?" 
 
 (•24)
 
 BEL-AMI 
 
 125 
 
 "Yes; have you, Bel-Ami?" And turning to Mad- 
 eleine she added: "Will you permit me to call him 
 Bel-Ami?" 
 
 "Certainly, my dear; I will permit anything you 
 wish." 
 
 A shade of irony lurked beneath those words, 
 dttered so pleasantly. 
 
 Mme, Walter mentioned a fencing-match to be 
 given at Jacques Rival's apartments, the proceeds to 
 be devoted to charities, and in which many society 
 ladies were going to assist. She said: "it will be 
 very entertaining; but I am in despair, for we have 
 no one to escort us, my husband having an engage- 
 ment." 
 
 Du Roy offered his services at once. She accepted, 
 saying: "My daughters and I shall be very grateful." 
 
 He glanced at the younger of the two girls and 
 thought: "Little Suzanne is not at all bad, not at 
 all." 
 
 She resembled a doll, being very small and dainty, 
 with a well-proportioned form, a pretty, delicate face, 
 blue-gray eyes, a fair skin, and curly, flaxen hair. 
 Her elder sister. Rose, was plain — one of those girls 
 to whom no attention is ever paid. Her mother rose, 
 and turning to Georges, said: "I shall count on you 
 next Thursday at two o'clock." 
 
 He replied: "Count upon me, Madame." 
 
 When the door closed upon Mme. Walter, Mme. 
 de Marelle, in her turn, rose. 
 
 " y^« revoir, Bel-Ami." 
 
 This time she pressed his hand and he was moved 
 by that silent avowal. "I will go to see her to-mor- 
 row," thought he.
 
 126 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Left alone with his wife, she laughed, and looking 
 into his eyes said: " Mme. Walter has taken a fancy 
 to you!" 
 
 He replied incredulously: "Nonsense!" 
 
 "But 1 know it. She spoke of you to me with 
 great enthusiasm. She said she would like to find 
 two husbands like you for her daughters. Fortu- 
 nately she is not susceptible herself." 
 
 He did not understand her and repeated: "Sus- 
 ceptible herself?" 
 
 She replied in a tone of conviction: "Oh, Mme. 
 Walter is irreproachable. Her husband you know as 
 well as I. But she is different. Still she has suffered 
 a great deal in having married a Jew, though she has 
 been true to him; she is a virtuous woman." 
 
 Du Roy was surprised: "I thought her a Jewess." 
 
 "She a Jewess! No, indeed! She is the prime 
 mover in all the charitable movements at the Made- 
 leine. She was even married by a priest. I am not 
 sure but that M. Walter went through the form of 
 baptism." 
 
 Georges murmured: "And — she — likes — me — " 
 
 "Yes. If you were not married 1 should advise 
 you to ask for the hand of — Suzanne — would you 
 not prefer her to Rose?" 
 
 He replied as he twisted his mustache: "Ehl the 
 mother is not so bad!" 
 
 Madeleine replied: "1 am not afraid of her. At 
 her age one does not begin to make conquests — one 
 should commence sooner." 
 
 Georges thought: "If 1 might have had Suzanne, 
 ah!" Then he shrugged his shoulders: "Bah, it is 
 absurd; her father would not have consented."
 
 BEL- AMI 
 
 127 
 
 He determined to treat Mmc. Walter very consid- 
 erately in order to retain her regard. All that even- 
 ing he was haunted by recollections of his love for 
 Clotilde; he recalled their escapades, her kindness. 
 He repeated to himself: "She is indeed nice. Yes, 
 \ shall call upon her to-morrow." 
 
 When he had lunched the following morning he 
 repaired to Rue Verneuil. The same maid opened 
 the door, and with the familiarity of an old servant 
 she asked: "Is Monsieur well?" 
 
 He replied: "Yes, my child," and entered the 
 drawing-room in which some one was practising 
 scales. It was Laurine. He expected she would fall 
 upon his neck. She, however, rose ceremoniously, 
 bowed coldly, and left the room with dignity; her 
 manner was so much like that of an outraged woman 
 that he was amazed. Her mother entered. He kissed 
 her hand. 
 
 "How much I have thought of you," said he. 
 
 "And I of you," she replied. 
 
 They seated themselves and smiled as they gazed 
 into one another's eyes. 
 
 "My dear little Clo, 1 love you." 
 
 "And I love you." 
 
 "Still — still — you did not miss me." 
 
 "Yes and no. 1 was grieved, but when I heard 
 your reason, I said to myself: ' Bah, he will return 
 to me some day.'" 
 
 "I dared not come. I did not know how I should 
 be received. 1 dared not, but 1 longed to come. 
 Now, tell me what ails Laurine; she scarcely bade 
 me good morning and left the room with an angry 
 air."
 
 128 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 " I do not know, but one cannot mention you to 
 her since your marriage; I really believe she is jeal- 
 ous." 
 
 "Nonsense." 
 
 "Yes, my dear, she no longer calls you Bel-Ami, 
 but M. Forestier instead." 
 
 Du Roy colored, then drawing nearer the young 
 woman, he said: "Kiss me." 
 
 She obeyed him. 
 
 "Where can we meet again?" he asked. 
 
 "At Rue de Constantinople." 
 
 "Ah, are the apartments not rented?" 
 
 "No, I kept them." 
 
 "You did?" 
 
 "Yes, I thought you would return." 
 
 His heart bounded joyfully. She loved him then 
 with a lasting love! He whispered: "I adore you." 
 Then he asked: "Is your husband well ? " 
 
 " Yes, very well. He has just been home for a 
 month; he went away the day before yesterday." 
 
 Du Roy could not suppress a smile: "How op- 
 portunely that always happens!" 
 
 She replied naively: "Yes, it happens opportunely, 
 but he is not in the way when he is here; is he?" 
 
 "That is true; he is a charming man!" 
 
 "How do you like your new life?" 
 
 "Tolerably; my wife is a comrade, an associate, 
 nothing more; as for my heart — " 
 
 "I understand; but she is good." 
 
 "Yes, she does not trouble me." 
 
 He drew near Clotilde and murmured: "When 
 shall we meet again?" 
 
 "To-morrow, if you will."
 
 BEL- AM I 129 
 
 " Yes, to-morrow at two o'clock." 
 
 He rose to take his leave somewhat embarrassed. 
 
 "You know I intend to take back the rooms on 
 Rue de Constantinople myself. 1 wish to; it is not 
 necessary for you to pay for them," 
 
 She kissed his hands, saying: "You may do as 
 you like. 1 am satisfied to have kept them until we 
 met again." And Du Roy took his leave very well 
 satisfied. 
 
 When Thursday came, he asked Madeleine: "Are 
 you not going to the fencing-match at Rival's?" 
 
 "No, 1 do not care about it. 1 will go to the 
 chamber of deputies." 
 
 Georges called for Mme. Walter in an open car- 
 riage, for the weather was delightful. He was sur- 
 prised to find her looking so handsome and so 
 young. Never had she appeared so fresh. Her 
 daughter, Suzanne, was dressed in pink; her sister 
 looked like her governess. At Rival's door was a 
 long line of carriages. Du Roy offered his arm to 
 Mme. Walter and they entered. 
 
 The entertainment was for the benefit of the or- 
 phans of the Sixth Ward under the patronage of all 
 the wives of the senators and deputies who were 
 connected with "La Vie Fran^aise." 
 
 Jacques Rival received the arrivals at the entrance 
 to his apartments, then he pointed to a small stair- 
 case which led to the cellar in which were his shooting- 
 gallery and fencing-room, saying: "Downstairs, ladies, 
 downstairs. The match will take place in the sub- 
 terranean apartments." 
 
 Pressing Du Roy's hand, he said: "Good evening, 
 BeKAmi." 
 
 7 G. de M.— 9
 
 I30 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Du Roy was surprised: "Who told you about 
 that name ? " 
 
 Rival replied: "Mme. Walter, who thinks it very 
 pretty." 
 
 Mme. Walter blushed. 
 
 "Yes, I confess that if I knew you better, I should 
 do as little Laurine, and 1 should call you Bel-Ami, 
 too. It suits you admirably." 
 
 Du Roy laughed. "I beg you to do so, Madame." 
 
 She cast down her eyes. "No, we are not well 
 enough acquainted." 
 
 He murmured: "Permit me to hope that we shall 
 become so. " 
 
 "Well, we shall see," said she. 
 
 They descended the stairs and entered a large 
 room, which was lighted by Venetian lanterns and 
 decorated with festoons of gauze. Nearly all the 
 benches were filled with ladies, who were chatting 
 as if they were at a theater. Mme. Walter and her 
 daughters reached their seats in the front row. 
 
 Du Roy, having obtained their places for them, 
 whispered: "I shall be obliged to leave you; men 
 cannot occupy the seats." 
 
 Mme. Walter replied hesitatingly: "I should like 
 to keep you, just the same. You could tell me the 
 names of the participants. See, if you stand at 
 the end of the seat, you will not annoy anyone." 
 She raised her large, soft eyes to his and in- 
 sisted: "Come, stay with us — Bel-Ami — we need 
 you!" 
 
 He replied: "I obey with pleasure, Madame!" 
 
 Suddenly Jacques Rival's voice announced: "We 
 will begin, ladies."
 
 BEL-AMI 1-1 
 
 Then followed the fencing-match. Du Roy re- 
 tained his place beside the ladies and gave them ail 
 the necessary information. When the entertainment 
 was over and all expenses were paid, two hundred 
 and twenty francs remained for the orphans of the 
 Sixth Ward. 
 
 Du Roy, escorting the Walters, awaited his car- 
 riage. When seated face to face with Mme. Walter, 
 he met her troubled but caressing glance. 
 
 "Egad, 1 believe she is affected," thought he; and 
 he smiled as he recognized the fact that he was really 
 successful with the female sex, for Mme. de Marelle, 
 since the renewal of their relations, seemed to love 
 him madly. 
 
 With a light heart he returned home. Madeleine 
 was awaiting him in the drawing-room. 
 
 "I have some news," said she. "The affair with 
 Morocco is becoming complicated. France may send 
 an expedition out there in several months. In any 
 case the ministry will be overthrown and Laroche 
 will profit by the occasion." 
 
 Du Roy, in order to draw out his wife, pretended 
 not to believe it. "France would not be silly enough 
 to commence any folly with Tunis!" 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders impatiently. "I tell 
 you she will! You do not understand that it is a 
 question of money — you are as simple as Forestier." 
 
 Her object was to wound and irritate him, but he 
 only smiled and replied: "What! as simple as that 
 stupid fellow?" 
 
 She ceased and murmured: "Oh, Georges!" 
 
 He added: "Poor devil!" in a tone of profound 
 pity.
 
 1^2 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Madeleine turned her back upon him scornfully; 
 after a moment of silence, she continued: "We shall 
 have some company Tuesday. Mme. Laroche-Mathieu 
 is coming here to dine with Viscountess de Percemur. 
 Will vou invite Rival and Norbert de Varenne? 1 
 shall eo to Mmes. Walter and de Marelle to-morrow. 
 Perhaps, too, we may have Mme. Rissolin." 
 
 Du Roy replied: "Very well, I will see to Rival 
 and Norbert." 
 
 The following day he thought he would anticipate 
 his wife's visit to Mme. Walter and attempt to find 
 out if she really was in love with him. He arrived 
 at Boulevard Malesherbes at two o'clock. He was 
 ushered into the salon and waited. Finally Mme. 
 Walter appeared and offered him her hand cordially. 
 "What good wind blows you here.?" 
 
 "No good wind, but a desire to see you. Some 
 power has impelled me hither, 1 do not know why; 
 I have nothing to say except that I have come; here 
 1 am! Pardon the morning call and the candor of 
 my explanation," 
 
 He uttered those words with a smile upon his lips 
 and a serious accent in his voice. 
 
 In her astonishment, she stammered with a blush: 
 "But indeed — 1 do not understand — you surprise me." 
 
 He added: "It is a declaration made in jest in 
 order not to startle you." 
 
 They were seated near each other. She took the 
 matter as a jest. "Is it a declaration — seriously?" 
 
 "Yes, for a long time I have wished to make 
 it, but I dared not; they say you are so austere, so 
 rigid." 
 
 She had recovered her self-possession and replied:
 
 BEL- AMI 
 
 »33 
 
 "Why did you choose to-day?" 
 
 "I do not know." Then he lowered his voice: 
 "Or rather because I have thought only of you since 
 yesterday." 
 
 Suddenly turning pale, she gasped: "Come, enough 
 of this childishness! Let us talk of something else." 
 
 But he fell upon his knees before her. She tried 
 to rise; he prevented her by twining his arms about 
 her waist, and repeated in a passionate voice: "Yes, 
 it is true that I have loved you madly for some time. 
 Do not answer me. I am mad — I love you. Oh, if 
 you knew how I love youl" 
 
 She could utter no sound; in her agitation she 
 repulsed him with both hands, for she could feel his 
 breath upon her cheek. He rose suddenly and 
 attempted to embrace her, but gaining her liberty for 
 a moment, she escaped him and ran froni chair to 
 chair. He, considering such pursuit beneath his 
 dignity, sank into a chair, buried his face in his 
 hands, and feigned to sob convulsively. Then he 
 rose, cried: 
 
 "Adieu, adieu!" and fled. 
 
 In the hall he took his cane calmly and left the 
 house saying: "Cristi! I believe she loves me!" 
 
 He went at once to the telegraph office to send a 
 message to Clotilde, appointing a rendezvous for the 
 next day. 
 
 On entering the house at his usual time, he said 
 to his wife: "Well, is everyone coming to dinner?" 
 
 She replied: "Yes, all but Mme. Walter, who is 
 uncertain as to whether she can come. She acted 
 very strangely. Never mind, perhaps she can manage 
 it anyway."
 
 134 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 He replied: "She will come." 
 
 He was not, however, certain and was rendered 
 uneasy until the day of the dinner. That morning 
 Madeleine received a message from Mme. Walter to 
 this effect: "I have succeeded in arranging matters 
 and I shall be with you, but my husband cannot ac- 
 company me." 
 
 Du Roy thought: "I did right not to return 
 there. She has calmed down." Still he awaited her 
 arrival anxiously. 
 
 She appeared very composed, somewhat reserved, 
 and haughty. He was very humble, very careful, and 
 submissive. Mmes. Laroche-Mathieu and Rissolin 
 were accompanied by their husbands. Mme. de Ma- 
 relle looked bewitching in an odd combination of 
 yellow and black. 
 
 At Du Roy's right sat Mme. Walter, and he spoke 
 to her only of serious matters with exaggerated 
 respect. From time to time he glanced at Clotilde. 
 
 "She is really very pretty and fresh looking," 
 thought he. But Mme. Walter attracted him by 
 the difficulty of the conquest. She took her leave 
 early. 
 
 "I will escort you," said he. 
 
 She declined his offer. He insisted: "Why do 
 you not want me? You wound me deeply. Do not 
 let me feel that I am not forgiven. You see that I 
 am calm." 
 
 She replied: "You cannot leave your guests thus." 
 
 He smiled: "Bah! 1 shall be absent twenty min- 
 utes. No one will even notice it; if you refuse me, 
 you will break my heart." 
 
 "Very well," she whispered, "I will accept."
 
 BEL- AM 
 
 '3? 
 
 When they were seated in the carriage, he seized 
 her hand, and kissing it passionately said: "I love 
 you, 1 love you. Let me tell it to you. I will not 
 touch you. I only wish to repeat that I love you." 
 
 She stammered: "After what you promised me 
 • — it is too bad — too bad." 
 
 He seemed to make a great effort, then he con- 
 tinued in a subdued voice: "See, how 1 can control 
 myself — and yet — let me only tell you this — I love 
 you — yes, let me go home with you and kneel be- 
 fore you five minutes to utter those three words and 
 gaze upon your beloved face." 
 
 She suffered him to take her hand and replied in 
 broken accents: "No, I cannot — I do not wish to. 
 Think of what my servants, my daughters, would say 
 — no — no — it is impossible." 
 
 He continued: "1 cannot live without seeing you; 
 whether it be at your house or elsewhere, I must see 
 you for only a moment each day that I may touch 
 your hand, breathe the air stirred by your gown, con- 
 template the outlines of your form, and see your beau- 
 tiful eyes." 
 
 She listened tremblingly to the musical language 
 of love, and made answer: "No, it is impossible. Be 
 silent 1" 
 
 He spoke very low; he whispered in her ear, com- 
 prehending that it was necessary to win that simple 
 woman gradually, to persuade her to appoint a meet- 
 ing where she willed at first, and later on where he 
 willed. 
 
 "Listen: I must see you! I will wait at your 
 door like a beggar. If you do not come down, 1 will 
 come to you, but I shall see you to-morrow."
 
 1^6 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 She repeated: "No, do not come. I shall not re- 
 ceive you. Think of my daughters!" 
 
 "Then tell me where I can meet you — in the 
 street — it matters not where — at any hour you wish 
 — provided that I can see you. I will greet you; I 
 will say, I love you; and then go away." 
 
 She hesitated, almost distracted. As the coupe 
 stopped at the door, she whispered hastily: "I will 
 be at La Trinite to-morrow, at half past three." 
 
 After alighting, she said to her coachman: "Take 
 M. du Roy home," 
 
 When he returned, his wife asked: "Where have 
 you been .?" 
 
 He replied in a low voice: "1 have been to send 
 an important telegram." 
 
 Mme. de Marelle approached him: "You must 
 take me home, Bel- Ami; you know that I only dine 
 so far from home on that condition." Turning to 
 Madeleine, she asked: "You are not jealous.?" 
 
 Mme. du Roy replied slowly: "No, not at all." 
 
 The guests departed. Clotilde, enveloped in laces, 
 whispered to Madeleine at the door: "Your dinner 
 was perfect. In a short while you will have the best 
 political salon in Paris.*' 
 
 When she was alone with Georges, she said: 
 "Oh, my darling Bel-Ami, I love you more dearly 
 every day." 
 
 The cab rolled on, and Georges' thoughts were 
 with Mme. Walter.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 A Meeting and the Result 
 
 'HE July sun shone upon the Place 
 de la Trinite, which was almost 
 deserted. Du Roy drew out his 
 watch. It was only three o'clock: 
 he was half an hour too early. He 
 laughed as he thought of the place 
 of meeting. He entered the sacred 
 edifice of La Trinite; the coolness within 
 was refreshing. Here and there an old 
 woman kneeled at prayer, her face in her 
 ^ hands. Du Roy looked at his watch again. 
 
 /^' It was not yet a quarter past three. He 
 P» took a seat, regretting that he could not 
 
 '^ smoke. At the end of the church near the 
 
 choir, he could hear the measured tread of a corpu- 
 lent man whom he had noticed when he entered. 
 Suddenly the rustle of a gown made him start. It 
 was she. He arose and advanced quickly. She did 
 not offer him her hand and whispered: "1 have only 
 a few minutes. You must kneel near me that no one 
 will notice us." 
 
 She proceeded to a side aisle after saluting the 
 Host on the High Altar, took a footstool, and kneeled 
 
 (>37)
 
 1^8 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 down. Georges took one beside it and when they 
 were in the attitude of prayer, he said: "Thank 
 you, thank you, I adore you. I should hke to tell 
 you constantly how 1 began to love you, how I was 
 conquered the first time 1 saw you. Will you per- 
 mit me some day to unburden my heart, to explain 
 all to you?" 
 
 She replied between her fingers: "I am mad to 
 let you speak to me thus — mad to have come hither 
 
 — mad to do as I have done, to let you believe that 
 this — this adventure can have any results. Forget 
 it, and never speak to me of it again." She paused. 
 
 He replied: "1 expect nothing — 1 hope nothing 
 
 — I love you — whatever you may do, 1 will repeat 
 it so often, with so much force and ardor that you 
 will finally understand me, and reply: 'I love you 
 too.'" 
 
 He felt her frame tremble as she involuntarily re- 
 peated: "1 love you too." 
 
 He was overcome by astonishment. 
 
 "Oh, my God!" she continued incoherently, 
 "Should 1 say that to you? 1 feel guilty, despicable 
 
 — I — who have two daughters — but I cannot — lean- 
 not — 1 never thought — it was stronger than I — lis- 
 ten — listen — I have never loved — any other — but 
 you — I swear it — I have loved you a year in secret 
 
 — I have suffered and struggled — I can no longer; 1 
 love you." She wept and her bowed form was 
 shaken by the violence of her emotion, 
 
 Georges murmured: "Give me your hand that I 
 may touch, may press it." 
 
 She slowly took her hand from her face, he seized 
 it saying: "1 should like to drink your tears!"
 
 BEL-AMI 199 
 
 Placing the hand he held upon his heart he asked: 
 "Do you feel it beat?" 
 
 !n a few moments the man Georges had noticed 
 before passed by them. When Mme. Walter heard 
 him near her, she snatched her fingers from Georges's 
 clasp and covered her face with them. After the man 
 had disappeared, Du Roy asked, hoping for another 
 place of meeting than La Trinite: "Where shall I 
 see you to-morrow?" 
 
 She did not reply; she seemed transformed into a 
 statue of prayer. He continued: "Shall 1 meet you 
 to-morrow at Park Monceau?" 
 
 She turned a livid face toward him and said un- 
 steadily: "Leave me — leave me now — go — go away 
 — for only five minutes — 1 suffer too much near you. 
 I want to pray — go. Let me pray alone — five 
 minutes — let me ask God — to pardon me — to save 
 me — leave me — five minutes." 
 
 She looked so pitiful that he rose without a word 
 and asked with some hesitation: "Shall 1 return 
 presently?" 
 
 She nodded her head in the affirmative and he left 
 her. She tried to pray; she closed her eyes in order 
 not to see Georges. She could not pray; she could 
 only think of him. She would rather have died than 
 have fallen thus; she had never been weak. She 
 murmured several words of supplication; she knew 
 that all was over, that the struggle was in vain. She 
 did not however wish to yield, but she felt her weak- 
 ness. Some one approached with a rapid step; she 
 turned her head. It was a priest. She rose, ran to- 
 ward him, and clasping her hands, she cried: "Save 
 me, save me! "
 
 I40 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 He stopped in surprise. 
 
 "Wiiat do you want, Madame?" 
 
 "I want you to save me. Have pity on me. If 
 you do not help me, I am lost!" 
 
 He gazed at her, wondering if she were mad. 
 
 "What can I do for you.?" The priest was a 
 young man somewhat inclined to corpulence. 
 
 "Receive my confession," said she, "and counsel 
 me, sustain me, tell me what to do." 
 
 He replied: "I confess every Saturday from three 
 to six." 
 
 Seizing his arm she repeated: "No, now, at once 
 — at once! It is necessary! He is here I In this 
 church! He is waiting for me." 
 
 The priest asked: "Who is waiting for you?" 
 
 "A man — who will be my ruin if you do not 
 save me. I can no longer escape him — I am too 
 weak — too weak." 
 
 She fell upon her knees sobbing: "Oh, father, have 
 pity upon me. Save me, for God's sake, save me!" 
 She seized his gown that he might not escape her, 
 while he uneasily glanced around on all sides to see if 
 anyone noticed the woman at his feet. Finally, see- 
 ing that he could not free himself from her, he said: 
 "Rise; I have the key to the confessional with me." 
 ******* 
 
 Du Roy having walked around the choir, was 
 sauntering down the nave, when he met the stout, 
 bold man wandering about, and he wondered: "What 
 can he be doing here?" 
 
 The man slackened his pace and looked at 
 Georges with the evident desire to speak to him. 
 When he was near him, he bowed and said politely:
 
 BEL-AMI 
 
 141 
 
 "I beg your pardon, sir, for disturbing you; but 
 can you tell me when this church was built ? " 
 
 Du Roy replied: "1 do not know; 1 think it is 
 twenty or twenty-five years. It is the first time 1 
 have been here. I have never seen it before." Feel- 
 ing interested in the stranger, the journalist contin- 
 ued: "It seems to me that you are examining into it 
 very carefully." 
 
 The man replied: "I am not visiting the church; 
 1 have an appointment." He paused and in a few 
 moments added: "It is very warm outside." 
 
 Du Roy looked at him and suddenly thought that 
 he resembled Forestier. "Are you from the prov- 
 inces?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes, I am from Rennes. And did you, sir, enter 
 this church from curiosity?" 
 
 "No, I am waiting for a lady." And with a smile 
 upon his lips, he walked away. 
 
 He did not find Mme. Walter in the place in 
 which he had left her, and was surprised. She had 
 gone. He was furious. Then he thought she might 
 be looking for him, and he walked around the 
 church. Not finding her, he returned and seated 
 himself on the chair she had occupied, hoping that 
 she would rejoin him there. Soon he heard the sound 
 of a voice. He saw no one; whence came it? He 
 rose to examine into it, and saw in a chapel near by, 
 the doors of the confessionals. He drew nearer in 
 order to see the woman whose voice he heard. He 
 recognized Mme. Walter; she was confessing. At 
 first he felt a desire to seize her by the arm and drag 
 her away; then he seated himself near by and bided 
 his time. He waited quite a while. At length Mme.
 
 142 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Walter rose, turned, saw him and came toward him. 
 Her face was cold and severe. 
 
 "Sir," said she, "I beseech you not to accompany 
 me, not to follow me and not to come to my house 
 alone. You will not be admitted. Adieu!" And she 
 walked away in a dignified manner. 
 
 He permitted her to go, because it was against 
 his principles to force matters. As the priest in his 
 turn issued from the confessional, he advanced to- 
 ward him and said: "If you did not wear a gown, 
 I would give you a sound thrashing." Then he 
 turned upon his heel and left the church whistling. 
 In the doorway he met the stout gentleman. When 
 Du Roy passed him, they bowed. 
 
 The journalist then repaired to the office of "La 
 Vie Fran^aise." As he entered he saw by the clerks' 
 busy air that something of importance was going on, 
 and he hastened to the manager's room. The latter 
 exclaimed joyfully as Du Roy entered: "What luck! 
 here is Bel-Ami." 
 
 He stopped in confusion and apologized: "I beg 
 your pardon, I am very much bothered by circum- 
 stances. And then 1 hear my wife and daughter call 
 you Bel-Ami from morning until night, and I have 
 acquired the habit myself. Are you displeased ? " 
 
 Georges laughed. "Not at all." 
 
 M. Walter continued: "Very well, then 1 will 
 call you Bel-Ami as everyone else does. Great 
 changes have taken place. The ministry has been 
 overthrown. Marrot is to form a new cabinet. He 
 has chosen General Boutin d'Acre as minister of 
 war, and our friend Laroche-Mathieu as minister of 
 foreign affairs. We shall be very busy. I must write
 
 BEL-AMI 143 
 
 a leading article, a simple declaration of principles; 
 then I must have something interesting on the 
 Morocco question — you must attend to that." 
 
 Du Roy reflected a moment and then replied: "1 
 have it. 1 will give you an article on the political 
 situation of our African colony," and he proceeded to 
 prepare M. Walter an outline of his work, which was 
 nothing but a modification of his first article on 
 "Souvenirs of a Soldier in Africa." 
 
 The manager having read the article said: "It is 
 perfect; you are a treasure. Many thani<s." 
 
 Du Roy returned home to dinner delighted with 
 his day, notwithstanding his failure at La Trinite. 
 His wife was awaiting him anxiously. She exclaimed 
 on seeing him: 
 
 "You know that Laroche is minister of foreign 
 affairs." 
 
 "Yes, I have just written an article on that sub- 
 ject." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "Do you remember the first article we wrote on 
 'Souvenirs of a Soldier in Africa'? Well, I revised 
 and corrected it for the occasion." 
 
 She smiled. "Ah, yes, that will do very well." 
 
 At that moment the servant entered with a dis- 
 patch containing these words without any signature: 
 
 "I was beside myself. Pardon me and come to- 
 morrow at four o'clock to Park Monceau." 
 
 He understood the message, and with a joyful 
 heart, slipped the telegram into his pocket. During 
 dinner he repeated the words to himself; as he in- 
 terpreted them, they meant, "I yield — 1 am yours 
 where and when you will." He laughed.
 
 144 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Madeleine asked: "What is it?" 
 "Nothing much. I was thinking of a comical old 
 priest I met a short while since." 
 
 Du Roy arrived at the appointed hour the follow- 
 ing day. The benches were ail occupied by people 
 trying to escape from the heat and by nurses with 
 their charges. 
 
 He found Mme. Walter in a little antique ruin; she 
 seemed unhappy and anxious. When he had greeted 
 her, she said: "How many people there are in the 
 garden! " 
 
 He took advantage of the occasion: "Yes, that is 
 true; shall we go somewhere else?" 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "It matters not where; for a drive, for instance. 
 You can lower the shade on your side and you will 
 be well concealed." 
 
 "Yes, 1 should like that better; 1 shall die of fear 
 here." 
 
 " Very well, meet me in five minutes at the gate 
 which opens on the boulevard. I will fetch a cab." 
 
 When they were seated in the cab, she asked: 
 "Where did you tell the coachman to drive to?" 
 
 Georges replied: "Do not worry; he knows." 
 
 He had given the man his address on the Rue de 
 Constantinople. 
 
 Mme. Walter said to Du Roy: "You cannot im- 
 agine how 1 suffer on your account — how I am tor- 
 mented, tortured. Yesterday I was harsh, but I 
 wanted to escape you at any price. I was afraid to 
 remain alone with you. Have you forgiven me?"
 
 BEL-AMI 
 
 145 
 
 He pressed her hand. "Yes, yes, why should I 
 not forgive you, loving you as 1 do?" 
 
 She looked at him with a beseeching air: "Listen: 
 You must promise to respect me, otherwise I could 
 never see you again." 
 
 At first he did not reply; a 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 Mad- 
 eleine 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-d-tete, and stammered: "No, no, 1 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 re- 
 peated, "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." 
 
 7 C. dc iVL— 10
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Madame De Marelle 
 
 UTUMN had come. The Du Roys 
 had spent the entire summer in 
 Paris, leading a vigorous cam- 
 paign in "La Vie Fran^aise," in favor 
 of the new cabinet. Although it was 
 only the early part of October, the 
 chamber was about to resume its ses- 
 sions, for affairs in Morocco were be- 
 coming menacing. The celebrated speech 
 ^^] made by Count de Lambert Sarrazin had 
 ^^y^ furnished Du Roy with material for ten arti- 
 Q^ ' cles on the Algerian colony. " La Vie Fran^aise " 
 4^- 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 or- 
 gan 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 back- 
 ground. Madeleine's salon became an influential 
 
 center in which several members of the cabinet met 
 (146)
 
 BEL-AM I 
 
 147 
 
 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 sec- 
 retaries. 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 scorn- 
 fully, 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 re- 
 ceive instructions from him, before the session, for a 
 political article the following day in " La Vie Fran- 
 gaise," 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 
 tan render you a great service; your friend until death, 
 
 "VlROINlE."
 
 148 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 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, sum- 
 moned 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 Constanti- 
 nople, but Du Roy, who feared an encounter with 
 Mme. de Marelle, invented a thousand and one pre- 
 texts 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 door,s. 
 Above all, Georges enjoyed being thrown so much in
 
 BEL-AMI 
 
 149 
 
 contact with Suzanne; she made sport of everything 
 and everybody with cutting appropriateness. At length, 
 however, he began to feel an unconquerable repug- 
 nance 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, re- 
 plying to her letters, and yielding to her appeals. She 
 finally divined that he no longer loved her, and the dis- 
 covery 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 Fran9aise," and he endeavored by means of cold- 
 ness, 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 to- 
 gether 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
 
 150 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 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, pro- 
 vided 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 tor- 
 ment 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 oc- 
 cupations 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 
 
 agam. 
 
 He entered to await her. She soon arrived and, 
 seeing him, exclaimed: "Ah, you received my dis- 
 patch! How fortunate!" 
 
 "Yes, I received it at the office just as I was set- 
 ting 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.
 
 BEL-AMI 
 
 151 
 
 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 mel 
 My God, my God, how you maltreat mel" 
 
 He stamped his foot and said violently: "Enough, 
 be silent! 1 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 1 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 chil- 
 dren." 
 
 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
 
 1>2 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 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, 1 pay attention to 
 what is talked of around me," and she proceeded to 
 tell him what she had heard relative to the expedi- 
 tion 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 fifty or sixty millions. 
 
 He cried: "Are you sure of that.?" 
 
 She replied: "Yes, I am sure." 
 
 He continued: "That is indeed fine! As for that 
 rascal of a Laroche, let him beware! 1 will get his 
 ministerial carcass between my fingers yet!" 
 
 Then, after a moment's reflection, he muttered: 
 "One might profit by that!" 
 
 "You too can buy some stock," said she; "it is 
 only seventy-two francs." 
 
 He replied: "But 1 have no ready money."
 
 BEL- AMI ,C3 
 
 She raised her eyes to his — eyes full of suppli- 
 cation. 
 
 "1 have thought of that, my darling, and if you 
 love me a little, you will let me lend it to you." 
 
 He replied abruptly, almost harshly: "No, indeed." 
 
 She whispered imploringly: "Listen, there is some- 
 thing you can do without borrowing money. I in- 
 tended buying ten thousand francs' worth of the 
 stock; instead, 1 will take twenty thousand and you 
 can have half. There will be nothing to pay at once, 
 if It succeeds, we will make seventy thousand francs; 
 if not, you will owe me ten thousand which you can 
 repay at your pleasure." 
 
 He said again: "No, 1 do not like those combina- 
 tions." 
 
 She tried to persuade him by telling him that she 
 advanced nothing — that the payments were made by 
 Walter's bank. She pointed out to him that he had 
 led the political campaign in " La Vie Fran^aise," and 
 that he would be very simple not to profit by the 
 results he had helped to bring about. As he still 
 hesitated, she added: "It is in reality Walter who 
 will advance the money, and you have done enough 
 for him to offset that sum." 
 
 "Very well," said he, "I will do it. If we lose 
 I will pay you back ten thousand francs." 
 
 She was so delighted that she rose, took his head 
 between her hands, and kissed him. At first he did 
 not repulse her, but when she grew more lavish with 
 her caresses, he said: 
 
 "Come, that will do." 
 
 She gazed at him sadly. "Oh, Georges, I can no 
 longer even embrace you."
 
 154 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "No, not to-day. I have a headache." 
 
 She reseated herself with docility at his feet and 
 asked: 
 
 "Will you dine with us to-morrow? It would 
 give me such pleasure." 
 
 He hesitated at first, but dared not refuse. 
 
 "Yes, certainly." 
 
 "Thank you, dearest." She rubbed her cheek 
 against the young man's vest; as she did so, one of 
 her long black hairs caught on a button; she twisted 
 it tightly around, then she twisted another around 
 another button and so on. When he rose, he would 
 tear them out of her head, and would carry away 
 with him unwittingly a lock of her hair. It would 
 be an invisible bond between them. Involuntarily he 
 would think, would dream of her; he would love 
 her a little more the next day. 
 
 Suddenly he said: "I must leave you, for I am 
 expected at the Chamber for the close of the session. 
 I cannot be absent to-day." 
 
 She sighed: "Already!" Then adding resignedly: 
 "Go, my darling, but you will come to dinner to- 
 morrow"; she rose abruptly. For a moment she felt 
 a sharp, stinging pain as if needles had been stuck 
 into her head, bat she was glad to have suffered for 
 him. 
 
 "Adieu," said she. 
 
 He took her in his arms and kissed her eyes 
 coldly; then she offered him her lips which he brushed 
 lightly as he said: "Come, come, let us hurry; it is 
 after three o'clock." 
 
 She passed out before him saying: "To-morrow 
 at seven"; he repeated her words and they separated.
 
 BEL- AM I 
 
 155 
 
 Du Roy returned at four o'clock to await his mis- 
 tress. She was somewhat late because her husband 
 had come home for a week. She asked: 
 
 " Can you come to dinner to-morrow ? He will 
 be delighted to see you." 
 
 "No; 1 dine at the Walters. We have a great 
 many political and financial matters to talk over." 
 
 She took off her hat. He pointed to a bag on the 
 mantelpiece: "1 bought you some sweetmeats." 
 
 She clapped her hands. "What a darling you 
 are!" She took them, tasted one, and said: "They 
 are delicious. I shall not leave one. Come, sit down 
 in the armchair, 1 will sit at your feet and eat my 
 bonbons." 
 
 He smiled as he saw her take the seat a short 
 while since occupied by Mme. Walter. She too, 
 called him "darling, little one, dearest," and the 
 words seemed to him sweet and caressing from her 
 lips, while from Mme. Walter's they irritated and 
 nauseated him. 
 
 Suddenly he remembered the seventy thousand 
 francs he was going to make, and bluntly interrupting 
 Mme. de Marelle's chatter, he said: 
 
 "Listen, my darling; 1 am going to intrust you 
 with a message to your husband. Tell him from me 
 to buy to-morrow ten thousand francs' worth of Mo- 
 roccan stock which is at seventy-two, and I predict 
 that before three months are passed he will have 
 made eighty thousand francs. Tell him to maintain 
 absolute silence. Tell him that the expedition to 
 Tangiers is decided upon, and that the French gov- 
 ernment will guarantee the Moroccan debt. It is a 
 state secret I am confiding to you, remember!"
 
 156 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 She listened to him gravely and murmured: 
 
 "Thank you. I will tell my husband this evening. 
 You may rely upon him; he will not speak of it; he 
 can be depended upon; there is no danger." 
 
 She had eaten all of her bonbons and began to 
 toy with the buttons on his vest. Suddenly she drew 
 a long hair out of the buttonhole and began to laugh. 
 
 " See! Here is one of Madeleine's hairs; you are 
 a faithful husband!" Then growing serious, she ex- 
 amined the scarcely perceptible thread more closely 
 and said: "It is not Madeleine's, it is dark." 
 
 He smiled. "It probably belongs to the house- 
 maid." 
 
 But she glanced at the vest with the care of a police- 
 inspector and found a second hair twisted around a 
 second button; then she saw a third; and turning pale 
 and trembling somewhat, she exclaimed: "Oh, some 
 woman has left hairs around all your buttons." 
 
 In surprise, he stammered: "Why you — you are 
 mad." 
 
 She continued to unwind the hairs and cast them 
 upon the floor. With her woman's instinct she had 
 divined their meaning and gasped in her anger, ready 
 to cry: 
 
 "She loves you and she wished you to carry away 
 with you something of hers. Oh, you are a traitor." 
 She uttered a shrill, nervous cry: "Oh, it is an old 
 woman's hair — here is a white one — you have taken 
 a fancy to an old woman now. Then you do not 
 need me — keep the other one." She rose. 
 
 He attempted to detain her and stammered: "No 
 
 — Clo — you are absurd — I do not know whose it is 
 
 — listen — stay — see — stay — "
 
 BEL- AMI irn 
 
 But she repeated: "Keep your old woman — 
 keep her — have a chain made of her hair — of her 
 gray hair — there is enough for that — " 
 
 Hastily she donned her hat and veil, and when he 
 attempted to touch her she struck him in the face, 
 and made her escape while he was stunned by the 
 blow. When he found that he was alone, he cursed 
 Mme. Walter, bathed his face, and went out vowing 
 vengeance. That time he would not pardon. No, 
 indeed. 
 
 He strolled to the boulevard and stopped at a 
 jeweler's to look at a chronometer he had wanted for 
 some time and which would cost eighteen hundred 
 francs. He thought with joy: "If I make my 
 seventy thousand francs, I can pay for it " — and he began 
 to dream of all the things he would do when he got 
 the money. First of all he would become a deputy; 
 then he would buy the chronometer; then he would 
 speculate on 'Change, and then, and then — he did 
 not enter the office, preferring to confer with Mad- 
 eleine before seeing Walter again and writing his 
 article; he turned toward home. He reached Rue 
 Drouot when he paused; he had forgotten to inquire 
 for Count de Vaudrec, who lived on Chaussee d'- 
 Antin. He retraced his steps with a light heart, 
 thinking of a thousand things — of the fortune he 
 would make, of that rascal of a Laroche, and of old 
 Walter. 
 
 He was not at all uneasy as to Clotilde's anger, 
 knowing that she would soon forgive him. 
 
 When he asked the janitor of the house in which 
 Count de Vaudrec lived: "How is M, de Vaudrec? 
 I have heard that he has been ailing of late, "the man
 
 158 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 replied: "The Count is very ill, sir; they think he 
 will not live through the night; the gout has reached 
 his heart." 
 
 Du Roy was so startled he did not know what to 
 do! Vaudrec dying! He stammered: "Thanks — I 
 will call again" — unconscious of what he was say- 
 ing. He jumped into a cab and drove home. His 
 wife had returned. He entered her room out of 
 breath: "Did you know? Vaudrec is dying!" 
 
 She was reading a letter and turning to him asked: 
 "What did you say.?" 
 
 "I said that Vaudrec is dying of an attack of 
 gout." 
 
 Then he added: "What shall you do?" 
 
 She rose; her face was livid; she burst into tears 
 and buried her face in her hands. She remained 
 standing, shaken by sobs, torn by anguish. Suddenly 
 she conquered her grief and wiping her eyes, said: 
 "lam going to him — do not worry about me — I do 
 not know what time I shall return — do not expect 
 me. 
 
 He replied: "Very well. Go." 
 
 They shook hands and she left in such haste that 
 she forgot her gloves. Georges, after dining alone, 
 began to write his article. He wrote it according to 
 the minister's instructions, hinting to the readers 
 that the expedition to Morocco would not take place. 
 He took it, when completed, to the office, conversed 
 several moments with M. Walter, and set out again, 
 smoking, with a light heart, he knew not why. 
 
 His wife had not returned. He retired and fell 
 asleep. Toward midnight Madeleine came home. 
 Georges sat up in bed and asked: "Well?"
 
 BEL-AM 
 
 '=)9 
 
 He had never seen her so pale and agitated. She 
 whispered: "He is dead!" 
 
 "Ah — and — he told you nothing?" 
 
 "Nothing. He was unconscious when I arrived." 
 
 Questions which he dared not ask arose to 
 Georges' hps. 
 
 "Lie down and rest," said he. 
 
 She disrobed hastily and slipped into bed. 
 
 He continued: "Had he any relatives at his death- 
 bed?" 
 
 "Only a nephew." 
 
 "Ahl Did he often see that nephew?" 
 
 "They had not met for ten years." 
 
 "Had he other relatives?" 
 
 "No, I believe not." 
 
 "Will that nephew be his heir?" 
 
 " I do not know." 
 
 "Was Vaudrec very rich?" 
 
 "Yes, very." 
 
 "Do you know what he was worth?" 
 
 "No, not exactly — one or two millions perhaps." 
 
 He said no more. She extinguished the light. 
 He could not sleep. He looked upon Mme. Walter's 
 promised seventy thousand francs as very insignificant. 
 Suddenly he thought he heard Madeleine crying. In 
 order to insure himself he asked: "Are you asleep?" 
 
 "No." Her voice was tearful and unsteady. 
 
 He continued: "1 forgot to tell you that your 
 minister has deceived us." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 He gave her a detailed account of the combina- 
 tion prepared by Laroche and Walter. When he 
 concluded she asked: "How did you know that?'
 
 l6o WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 He replied: "Pardon me if I do not tell you! 
 You have your means of obtaining information into 
 which I do not inquire; I have mine which I desire 
 to keep. 1 can vouch at any rate for the truth of 
 my statements." 
 
 She muttered: "It may be possible. I sus- 
 pected that they were doing something without our 
 knowledge." 
 
 As she spoke Georges drew near her; she paid 
 no heed to his proximity, however, and turning to- 
 ward the wail, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 The Will 
 
 HE church was draped in black, and 
 over the door a large escutcheon 
 surmounted by a coronet announced 
 to the passers-by that a nobleman was 
 being buried. The ceremony was just 
 over; those present went out slowly, 
 passing by the coffin, and by Count 
 de Vaudrec's nephew, who shook hands 
 and returned salutations. 
 jL 8 When Georges du Roy and his wife left 
 
 v\«7-^ the church, they walked along side by side 
 on their way home. They did not speak; 
 they were both preoccupied. At length Georges 
 said, as if talking to himself: "Truly it is very 
 astonishing!" 
 
 Madeleine asked: "What, my friend?" 
 "That Vaudrec left us nothing." 
 She blushed and said: "Why should he leave us 
 anything? Had he any reason for doing so?" Then 
 after several moments of silence, she continued: 
 "Perhaps there is a will at a lawyer's; we should 
 not know of it." 
 
 7 G,<leM.-ii ( i6l )
 
 l63 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 He replied: "That is possible, for he was our best 
 friend. He dined with us twice a week; he came at 
 any time; he was at home with us. He loved you 
 as a father; he had no family, no children, no broth- 
 ers nor sisters, only a nephew. Yes, there should be 
 a will. I would not care for much — a remembrance 
 to prove that he thought of us — that he recognized 
 the affection we felt for him. We should certainly 
 have a mark of friendship." 
 
 She said with a pensive and indifferent air: "It is 
 possible that there is a will." 
 
 When they entered the house, the footman handed 
 Madeleine a letter. She opened it and offered it to 
 her husband. 
 
 "Office of M. Lamaneur, 
 "Notary. 
 
 "17 Rue des Vosges. 
 "Madame: Kindly call at my office at a quarter past two 
 o'clock Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday, on business which concerns 
 you. Yours respectfully, 
 
 " Lamaneur." 
 
 Georges, in his turn, colored. 
 
 "That is as it should be. It is strange, however, 
 that he should write to you and not to me, for I am 
 the head of the family legally." 
 
 "Shall we go at once?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes, 1 should like to." 
 
 After luncheon they set out for M. Lamaneur's 
 office. 
 
 The notary was a short, round man — round all 
 over. His head looked like a ball fastened to another 
 ball, which was supported by legs so short that they 
 too almost resembled balls.
 
 BEL-AMI 
 
 163 
 
 He bowed, as Du Roy and his wife were shown 
 /nto his office, pointed to seats, and said, turning to 
 Madeleine: "Madame, I sent for you in order to in- 
 form you of Count de Vaudrec's will, which will be 
 of interest to you." 
 
 Georges could not help muttering: "I suspected 
 that." 
 
 The notary continued: "1 shall read you the doc- 
 ument which is very brief. 
 
 "'I, the undersigned, Paul Emile Cyprian Gontran, Count de 
 Vaudrec, sound botli in body and mind, here express my last wishes. 
 As death might take me away at any moment, I wish to take the 
 precaution of drawing up my will, to be deposited with M. Lama- 
 neur. 
 
 " ' Having no direct heirs, I bequeath all my fortune, comprising 
 stocks and bonds for six hundred thousand francs and landed property 
 for five hundred thousand, to Mme. Claire Madeleine du Roy uncon- 
 ditionally. I beg her to accept that gift from a dead friend as a proof 
 of devoted, profound, and respectful affection.'" 
 
 The notary said: "That is all. That document 
 bears the date of August last, and took the place of 
 one of the same nature made two years ago in the 
 name of Mme. Claire Madeleine Forestier. I have the 
 first will, which would prove, in case of contestation 
 on the part of the family, that Count de Vaudrec had 
 not changed his mind." 
 
 Madeleine cast down her eyes; her cheeks were 
 pale. Georges nervously twisted his mustache. 
 
 The notary continued after a moment's pause: "It 
 is of course understood that Madame cannot accept 
 that legacy without your consent."
 
 1^4 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Du Roy rose and said shortly: "I ask time for 
 reflection." 
 
 The notary smiled, bowed, and replied pleasantly: 
 "1 comprehend the scruples which cause you to hesi- 
 tate. I may add that M. de Vaudrec's nephew, who 
 was informed this morning of his uncle's last wishes, 
 expresses himself as ready to respect them if he be 
 given one hundred thousand francs. In my opinion 
 the will cannot be broken, but a lawsuit would cause 
 a sensation which you would probably like to avoid. 
 The world often judges uncharitably. Can you let 
 me have your reply before Saturday.?" 
 
 Georges bowed, and together with his wife left 
 the office. When they arrived home, Du Roy closed 
 the door and throwing his hat on the bed, asked: 
 "What were the relations between you and Vau- 
 drec?" 
 
 Madeleine, who was taking off her veil, turned 
 around with a shudder: "Between us?" 
 
 "Yes, between you and him! One does not leave 
 one's entire fortune to a woman unless — " 
 
 She trembled, and could scarcely take out the pins 
 which fastened the transparent tissue. Then she 
 stammered in an agitated manner: "You are mad — 
 you are — you are — you did not think — he would 
 leave you anything!" 
 
 Georges replied, emphazing each word: " Yes, he 
 could have left me something; me, your husband, his 
 friend; but not you, my wife and his friend. The 
 distinction is material m the eyes of the world." 
 
 Madeleine gazed at him fixedly: "It seems to me 
 that the world would have considered a legacy from 
 him to you very strange."
 
 BEL- AMI 165 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because," — she hesitated, then continued: "Be- 
 cause you are my husband; because you were not 
 well acquainted; because I have been his friend so 
 long; because his first will, made during Forestier's 
 lifetime, was already in my favor." 
 
 Georges began to pace to and fro. He finally 
 said: "You cannot accept that." 
 
 She answered indifferently: "Very well; it is not 
 necessary then to wait until Saturday; you can inform 
 M. Lamaneur at once." 
 
 He paused before her, and they gazed into one 
 another's eyes as if by that mute and ardent interro- 
 gation they were trying to examine each other's con- 
 sciences. In a low voice he murmured: "Come, 
 confess your relations." 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. "You are absurd. 
 Vaudrec was very fond of me, very, but there was 
 nothing more, never." 
 
 He stamped his foot. "You lie! It is not 
 possible." 
 
 She replied calmly: "It is so, nevertheless." 
 
 He resumed his pacing to and fro; then pausing 
 again, he said: "Explain to me, then, why he left 
 all his fortune to you." 
 
 She did so with a nonchalant air: "It is very 
 simple. As you said just now, we were his only 
 friends, or rather, I was his only friend, for he knew 
 me when a child. My mother was a governess in 
 his father's house. He came here continually, and as 
 he had no legal heirs, he selected me. It is pos- 
 sible that he even loved me a little. But what 
 woman has never been loved thus ? He brought me
 
 1 66 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 flowers every Monday. You were never surprised at 
 that, and he never brought you any. To-day he 
 leaves me his fortune for the same reason, because 
 he had no one else to leave it to. It would on the 
 other hand have been extremely surprising if he had 
 left it to you." 
 
 "V/hy?" 
 
 "What are you to him?" 
 
 She spoke so naturally and so calmly that Georges 
 hesitated before replying: "It makes no difference; 
 we cannot accept that bequest under those condi- 
 tions. Everyone would talk about it and laugh at 
 me. My fellow-journalists are already too much dis- 
 posed to be jealous of me and to attack me. I have 
 to be especially careful of my honor and my reputa- 
 tion. I cannot permit my wife to accept a legacy of 
 that kind from a man whom rumor has already as- 
 signed to her as her lover. Forestier might perhaps 
 have tolerated that, but I shall not." 
 
 She replied gently: "Very well, my dear, we will 
 not take it; it will be a million less in our pockets, 
 that is all." 
 
 Georges paced the room and uttered his thoughts 
 aloud, thus speaking to his wife without addressing 
 her: 
 
 "Yes, a million — so much the worse. He did 
 not think when making his will what a breach of 
 etiquette he was committing. He did not realize in 
 what a false, ridiculous position he was placing me. 
 He should have left half of it to me — that would 
 have made matters right." 
 
 He seated himself, crossed his legs and began to 
 twist the ends of his mustache, as was his custom
 
 BEL-AMI ,67 
 
 when annoyed, uneasy, or pondering over a weighty 
 question. 
 
 Madeleine took up a piece of embroidery upon 
 which she worked occasionally, and said: "I have 
 nothing to say. You must decide." 
 
 It was some time before he replied; then he said 
 hesitatingly: "The world would never understand 
 how it was that Vaudrec constituted you his sole 
 heiress and that 1 allowed it. To accept that legacy 
 would be to avow guilty relations on your part and 
 an infamous lack of self-respect on mine. Do you 
 know how the acceptance of it might be interpreted? 
 We should have to find some adroit means of pal- 
 liating it. We should have to give people to suppose, 
 for instance, that he divided his fortune between us, 
 giving half to you and half to me." 
 
 She said: "1 do not see how that can be done, 
 since there is a formal will." 
 
 He replied: "Oh, that is very simple. We have 
 no children; you can therefore deed me part of the 
 inheritance. In that way we can silence malignant 
 tongues." 
 
 She answered somewhat impatiently: "I do not 
 see how we can silence malignant tongues since the 
 will is there, signed by Vaudrec." 
 
 He said angrily: "Do you need to exhibit it, 
 or affix it to the door? You are absurd! We will 
 say that the fortune was left us jointly by Count 
 de Vaudrec. That is all. You cannot, moreover, 
 accept the legacy without my authority; I will only 
 consent on the condition of a partition which will 
 prevent me from becoming a laughing-stock for the 
 world."
 
 l68 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 She glanced sharply at him: "As you will. I arn 
 ready." 
 
 He seemed to hesitate again, rose, paced the floor, 
 and avoiding his wife's piercing gaze, he said: "No 
 — decidedly no — perhaps it would be better to re- 
 nounce it altogether — it would be more correct — 
 more honorable. From the nature of the bequest 
 even charitably-disposed people would suspect illicit 
 relations." 
 
 He paused before Madeleine. " If you like, my 
 darling, I will return to M. Lamaneufs alone, to 
 consult him and to explain the matter to him. I 
 will tell him of my scruples and 1 will add that we 
 have agreed to divide it in order to avoid any 
 scandal. From the moment that 1 accept a portion 
 of the inheritance it will be evident that there is 
 nothing wrong. I can say: 'My wife accepts it be- 
 cause I, her husband, accept' — 1, who am the best 
 judge of what she can do without compromising 
 herself." 
 
 Madeleine simply murmured: "As you wish." 
 
 He continued: "Yes, it will be as clear as day if 
 that is done. We inherit a fortune from a friend 
 who wished to make no distinction between us, 
 thereby showing that his liking for you was purely 
 Platonic. You may be sure that if he had given it a 
 thought, that is what he would have done. He did 
 not reflect — he did not foresee the consequences. 
 As you said just now, he offered you flowers every 
 week, he left you his wealth." 
 
 She interrupted him with a shade of annoyance: 
 
 "I understand. No more explanations are neces- 
 sary. Go to the notary at once."
 
 BEL. AMI 169 
 
 He stammered in confusion: "You are right; I 
 will go." He took his hat, and, as he was leaving 
 the room, he asked: "Shall I try to compromise 
 with the nephew for fifty thousand francs?" 
 
 She replied haughtily: "No. Give him the hun- 
 dred thousand francs he demands, and take them 
 from my share if you wish." 
 
 Abashed, he murmured: "No, we will share it. 
 After deducting fifty thousand francs each we will 
 still have a million net." Then he added: "Until 
 later, my little Made." 
 
 He proceeded to the notary's to explain the ar- 
 rangement decided upon, which he claimed originated 
 with his wife. The following day they signed a deed 
 for five hundred thousand francs, which Madeleine du 
 Roy gave up to her husband. 
 
 On leaving the office, as it was pleasant, Georges 
 proposed that they- take a stroll along the boule- 
 vards. He was very tender, very careful of her, and 
 laughed joyously while she remained pensive and 
 grave. 
 
 It was a cold, autumn day. The pedestrians seemed 
 in haste and walked along rapidly. 
 
 Du Roy led his wife to the shop into the windows 
 of which he had so often gazed at the coveted 
 chronometer. 
 
 "Shall I buy you some trinket?" he asked. 
 
 She replied indifferently: "As you like." 
 
 They entered the shop: "What would you pre- 
 fer, a necklace, a bracelet, or earrings?" 
 
 The sight of the brilliant gems made her eyes 
 sparkle in spite of herself, as she glanced at the cases 
 fiJlevi with costly baubles.
 
 I -JO WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Suddenly she exclaimed: "There is a lovely 
 bracelet." 
 
 It was a chain, very unique in shape, every link 
 of which was set with a different stone. 
 
 Georges asked: "How much is that bracelet?" 
 
 The jeweler replied: "Three thousand francs, 
 sir." 
 
 "If you will let me have it for two thousand five 
 hundred, I will take it." 
 
 The man hesitated, then replied: "No, sir, it is 
 impossible." 
 
 Du Roy said: "See here — throw in this chro- 
 nometer at fifteen hundred francs; that makes four 
 thousand, and I will pay cash. If you do not agree, 
 I will go somewhere else." 
 
 The jeweler finally yielded. "Very well, sir." 
 
 The journalist, after leaving his address, said: 
 "You can have my initials G. R. C. interlaced below 
 a baron's crown, engraved on the chronometer." 
 
 Madeleine, in surprise, smiled, and when they 
 left the shop, she took his arm quite affectionately. 
 She thought him very shrewd and clever. He was 
 right; now that he had a fortune he must have a 
 title. 
 
 They passed the Vaudeville on their way and, en- 
 tering, secured a box. Then they repaired to Mme. 
 de Marelle's at Georges' suggestion, to invite her to 
 spend the evening with them. Georges rather dreaded 
 the first meeting with Clotilde, but she did not seem 
 to bear him any malice, or even to remember their 
 disagreement. The dinner, which they took at a res- 
 taurant, was excellent, and the evening altogether en- 
 joyable.
 
 BEL- AMI 
 
 171 
 
 Georges and Madeleine returned home late. The 
 gas was extinguished, and in order to light the way 
 the journalist from time to time struck a match. On 
 reaching the landing on the first floor they saw their 
 reflections in the mirror. Du Roy raised his hand 
 with the lighted match in it, in order to distinguish 
 their images more clearly, and said, with a trium- 
 phant smile: 
 
 "The millionaires are passing by."
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 M' 
 
 Suzanne 
 
 OROCCO had been conquered; France, 
 the mistress of Tangiers, had guar- 
 anteed the debt of the annexed 
 country. It was rumored that two 
 ministers, Laroche-Mathieu being one 
 of them, had made twenty millions. 
 
 As for Walter, in a few days he had 
 become one of the masters of the world 
 — a financier more omnipotent than a 
 king. He was no longer the Jew, Walter, 
 the director of a bank, the proprietor of a 
 / yellow newspaper; he was M. Walter the 
 wealthy Israelite, and he wished to prove it. 
 Knowing the straitened circumstances of the 
 Prince de Carlsbourg who owned one of the fairest 
 mansions on Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honore, he pro- 
 posed to buy it. He offered three million francs for 
 it. The prince, tempted by the sum, accepted his 
 offer; the next day, Walter took possession of his new 
 dwelling. Then another idea occurred to him — an 
 idea of conquering all Paris — an idea d la Bonaparte. 
 At that time everyone was raving over a painting 
 by the Hungarian, Karl Marcovitch, exhibited by 
 {'72)
 
 BEL-AMI 
 
 173 
 
 Jacques Lenoble and representing ''Christ Walking 
 on the Water." Art critics enthusiastically declared 
 it to be the most magnificent painting of the age. 
 Waiter bought it, thereby causing entire Paris to talk 
 of him, to envy him, to censure or approve his ac- 
 tion. He issued an announcement in the papers 
 that everyone was invited to come on a certain eve- 
 ning to see it. 
 
 Du Roy was jealous of M. Walter's success. He 
 had thought himself wealthy with the five hundred 
 thousand francs extorted from his wife, and now he 
 felt poor as he compared his paltry fortune with the 
 shower of millions around him. His envious rage 
 increased daily. He cherished ill will toward every- 
 one — toward the Walters, even toward his wife, and 
 above all toward the man who had deceived him, 
 made use of him, and who dined twice a week at 
 his house. Georges acted as his secretary, agent, 
 mouthpiece, and when he wrote at his dictation, he 
 felt a mad desire to strangle him. Laroche reigned 
 supreme in the Du Roy household, having taken the 
 place of Count de Vaudrec; he spoke to the ser/* 
 ants as if he were their master. Georges sub- 
 mitted to it all, like a dog which wishes to bite and 
 dares not. But he was often harsh and brutal to 
 Madeleine, who merely shrugged her shoulders and 
 treated him as one would a fretful child. She was 
 surprised, too, at his constant ill humor, and said: 
 "I do not understand you. You are always com- 
 plaining. Your position is excellent." 
 
 His only reply was 1c ^urn his back upon her. 
 He declared that he would not attend M. Walter's 
 fele — that he would not cross the miserable Jew's
 
 in^ WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 threshold. For two months Mme. Walter had writ- 
 ten to him daily, beseeching him to come to see 
 her, to appoint a meeting where he would, in order 
 that she might give him the seventy thousand francs 
 she had made for him. He did not reply and threw 
 her letters into the fire. Not that he would have re- 
 fused to accept his share of the profits, but he enjoyed 
 treating her scornfully, trampHng her under foot; she 
 was too wealthy; he would be inflexible. 
 
 The day of the exhibition of the picture, as Made- 
 leine chided him for not going, he replied: "Leave 
 me in peace. I shall remain at home." 
 
 After they had dined, he said suddenly, "I sup- 
 pose I shall have to go through with it. Get ready 
 quickly." 
 
 "1 shall be ready in fifteen minutes," she said. 
 As they entered the courtyard of the Hotel de 
 Carlsbourg it was one blaze of light. A magnifi- 
 cent carpet was spread upon the steps leading to the 
 entrance, and upon each one stood a man in livery, 
 as rigid as marble. 
 
 Du Roy's heart was torn with jealousy. He and 
 his wife ascended the steps and gave their wraps to 
 the footmen who approached them. 
 
 At the entrance to the drawing-room, two children, 
 one in pink, the other in blue, handed bouquets to the 
 
 ladies. 
 
 The rooms were already well filled. The major- 
 ity of the ladies were in street costumes, a proof 
 that they came thither as they would go to any ex- 
 hibition. The few who intended to remain to the 
 ball which was to follow wore evening dress. 
 
 Mme. Waker, surrounded by friends, stood in the
 
 BEL-AMI 
 
 175 
 
 second salon and received the visitors. Many did 
 not know her, and walked through the rooms as if 
 in a museum — without paying any heed to the host 
 and hostess. 
 
 When Virginie perceived Du Roy, she grew hvid 
 and made a movement toward him; then she paused 
 and waited for him to advance. He bowed cere- 
 moniously, while Madeleine greeted her effusively. 
 Georges left his wife near Mme. Walter and mingled 
 with the guests. Five drawing-rooms opened one 
 into the other; they were carpeted with rich, oriental 
 rugs, and upon their walls hung paintings by the old 
 masters. As he made his way through the throng, 
 some one seized his arm, and a fresh, youthful voice 
 whispered in his ear: "Ah, here you are at last, 
 naughty Bel-Ami! Why do we never see you any 
 more?" 
 
 It was Suzanne Walter, with her azure eyes and 
 wealth of golden hair. He was delighted to see her, 
 and apologized as they shook hands. 
 
 "I have been so busy for two months that I have 
 been nowhere." 
 
 She replied gravely: "That is too bad. You have 
 grieved us deeply, for mamma and 1 adore you. As 
 for myself, I cannot do without you. If you are not 
 here, 1 am bored to death. You see I tell you so 
 frankly, that you will not remain away like that any 
 more. Give me your arm; I will show you 'Christ 
 Walking on the Water ' myself; it is at the very end, 
 behind the conservatory. Papa put it back there so 
 that everyone would be obliged to go through the 
 rooms. It is astonishing how proud papa is of this 
 house."
 
 1^6 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 As they walked through the rooms, all turned 
 to look at that handsome man and that bewitching 
 girl. A well-known painter said: "There is a fine 
 couple." Georges thought: "If my position had 
 been made, 1 would have married her. Why did 1 
 never think of it? How could 1 have taken the other 
 one? What folly! One always acts too hastily — 
 one never reflects sufficiently." And longing, bitter 
 longing possessed him, corrupting all his pleasure, 
 rendering life odious, 
 
 Suzanne said: "You must come often, Bel-Ami; 
 we can do anything we like now papa is rich." 
 
 He replied: "Oh, you will soon marry — some 
 prince, perhaps, and we shall never meet any more." 
 
 She cried frankly: "Oh, oh, I shall not! I shall 
 choose some one 1 love very dearly. I am rich 
 enough for two." 
 
 He smiled ironically and said: "1 give you six 
 months. By that time you will be Madame la Mar- 
 quise, Madame la Duchesse, or Madame la Princesse, 
 and you will look down upon me. Mademoiselle." 
 
 She pretended to be angry, patted his arm with 
 her fan, and vowed that she would marry according 
 to the dictates of her heart. 
 
 He replied: "We shall see; you are too wealthy." 
 
 "You, too, have inherited some money." 
 
 "Barely twenty thousand livres a year. It is a 
 mere pittance nowadays." 
 
 "But your wife has the same." 
 
 "Yes, we have a million together; forty thousand 
 a year. We cannot even keep a carriage on that." 
 
 They had, in the meantime, reached the last 
 drawing-room, and before them lay the conservatory
 
 BEL-AMI 
 
 177 
 
 with its rare shrubs and plants. To their left, under 
 a dome of palms, was a marble basin, on the edges 
 of which four large swans of delftware emitted the 
 water from their beaks. 
 
 The journalist stopped and said to himself: "This 
 is luxury; this is the kind of house in which to live. 
 Why can I not have one?" 
 
 His companion did not speak. He looked at her 
 and thought once more: "If I only had taken herl" 
 
 Suddenly Suzanne seemed to awaken from her 
 reverie. "Come," said she, dragging Georges through 
 a group which barred their way, and turning him to 
 the right. Before him, surrounded by verdure on all 
 sides, was the picture. One had to look closely at it 
 in order to understand it. It was a grand work — 
 the work of a master — one of those triumphs of art 
 which furnishes one for years with food for thought. 
 
 Du Roy gazed at it for some time, and then turned 
 away, to make room for others. Suzanne's tiny hand 
 still rested upon his arm. She asked: 
 
 "Would you like a glass of champagne? We will 
 go to the buffet; we shall find papa there." 
 
 Slowly they traversed the crowded rooms. Sud- 
 denly Georges heard a voice say: "That is Laroche 
 and Mme. du Roy." 
 
 He turned and saw his wife passing upon the 
 minister's arm. They were talking in low tones and 
 smiling into each other's eyes. He fancied he saw 
 some people whisper, as they gazed at them, and he 
 felt a desire to fall upon those two beings and smite 
 them to the earth. His wife was making a laughing- 
 stock of him. Who was she? A shrewd little par- 
 venue, that was all. He could never make his way 
 
 7 G. lie M. — 11
 
 178 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 with a wife who compromised him. She would be a 
 stumbhng-block in his path. Ah, if he had foreseen, 
 if he had known. He would have played for higher 
 stakes. What a brilliant match he might have made 
 with little Suzanne I How could he have been so 
 blind? 
 
 They reached the dining-room with its marble 
 columns and walls hung with old Gobelins tapestry. 
 Walter spied his editor, and hastened to shake 
 hands. He was beside himself with joy. "Have you 
 seen everything? Say, Suzanne, have you shown him 
 everything? What a lot of people, eh? Have you 
 seen Prince de Guerche ? he just drank a glass of 
 punch." Then he pounced upon Senator Rissolin 
 and his wife. 
 
 A gentleman greeted Suzanne — a tall, slender man 
 with fair whiskers and a worldly air. Georges heard 
 her call him Marquis de CazoUes, and he was sud- 
 denly inspired with jealousy. How long had she 
 known him ? Since she had become wealthy no 
 doubt. He saw in him a possible suitor. Some one 
 seized his arm. It was Norbert de Varenne. The 
 old poet said: "This is what they call amusing 
 themselves. After a while they will dance, then 
 they will retire, and the young girls will be satisfied. 
 Take some champagne; it is excellent." 
 
 Georges scarcely heard his words. He was look- 
 ing for Suzanne, who had gone off with the Marquis 
 de Cazolles; he left Norbert de Varenne abruptly and 
 went in pursuit of the young girl. The thirsty crowd 
 stopped him; when he had made his way through 
 it, he found himself face to face with M. and Mme. 
 de Marelle. He had often met the wife, but he had
 
 BEL- AMI 179 
 
 not met the husband for some time; the latter 
 grasped both of his hands and thanked him for the 
 message he had sent him by Clotilda relative to the 
 stocks. 
 
 Du Roy replied: "In exchange for that service 1 
 shall take your wife, or rather offer her my arm. 
 Husband and wife should always be separated." 
 
 M. de Marelle bowed. "Very well. If I lose you 
 we can meet here again in an hour." 
 
 The two young people disappeared in the crowd, 
 followed by the husband. 
 
 Mme. de Marelle said: "There are two girls who 
 will have twenty or thirty millions each, and Suzanne 
 is pretty in the bargain." 
 
 He made no reply; his own thought coming from 
 the lips of another irritated him. He took Clotilde 
 to see the painting. As they crossed the conserva- 
 tory he saw his wife seated near Laroche-Mathieu, 
 both of them almost hidden behind a group of 
 plants. They seemed to say: "We are having a 
 meeting in public, for we do not care for the world's 
 opinion." 
 
 Mme. de Marelle admired Karl Marcovitch's paint- 
 ing, and they turned to repair to the other rooms. 
 They were separated from M. de Marelle. He asked: 
 "Is Laurine still vexed with me?" 
 
 "Yes. She refuses to see you and goes away 
 when you are mentioned." 
 
 He did not reply. The child's sudden enmity 
 grieved and annoyed him. 
 
 Suzanne met them at a door and cried: "Oh, here 
 you are! Now, Bel-Ami, you are going to be left 
 alone, for 1 shall take Clotilde to see my room." And
 
 l8o WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSA>rr 
 
 the two women glided through the throng. At that 
 moment a voice at his side murmured: "Georges!" 
 
 It was Mme. Walter. She continued in a low 
 voice: "How cruel you are! How needlessly you in- 
 flict suffering upon me. I bade Suzanne take that 
 woman away that I might have a word with you. 
 Listen: I must speak to you this evening — or — or — 
 you do not know what I shall do. Go into the con- 
 servatory. You will find a door to the left through 
 which you can reach the garden. Follow the walk 
 directly in front of you. At the end of it you will 
 see an arbor. Expect me in ten minutes. If you do 
 not meet me, I swear I will cause a scandal here at 
 once!" 
 
 He replied haughtily: "Very well, I shall be at 
 the place you named in ten minutes." 
 
 But Jacques Rival detained him. When he reached 
 the alley, he saw Mme. Walter in front of him; she 
 cried: "Ah, here you are! Do you wish to kill me?" 
 
 He replied calmly: "I beseech you, none of that, 
 or 1 shall leave you at once." 
 
 Throwing her arms around his neck, she ex- 
 claimed: "What have I done to you that you should 
 treat me so?" 
 
 He tried to push her away: 'You twisted your 
 hair around my coat buttons the last time we met, 
 and it caused trouble between my wife and myself." 
 
 She shook her head: "Ah, your wife would not 
 care. It was one of your mistresses who made a 
 scene." 
 
 "I have none." 
 
 "Indeed! Why do you never come to see me? 
 Why do you refuse to dine with me even once a
 
 BEL-AMI l8l 
 
 week? 1 have no other thoughts than of you. I 
 suffer terribly. You cannot understand that your 
 image, always present, closes my throat, stifles me, 
 and leaves me scarcely strength enough to move my 
 limbs in order to walk. So I remain all day in my 
 chair thinking of you." 
 
 He looked at her in astonishment. These were 
 the words of a desperate woman, capable of anything. 
 He, however, cherished a vague project and replied: 
 "My dear, love is not eternal. One loves and one 
 ceases to love. When it lasts it becomes a draw- 
 back. I want none of it! However, if you will be 
 reasonable, and will receive and treat me as a friend, 
 I will come to see you as formerly. Can you do 
 that?" 
 
 She murmured: "I can do anything in order to 
 see you." 
 
 "Then it is agreed that we are to be friends, 
 nothing more." 
 
 She gasped: "It is agreed"; offering him her lips 
 she cried in her despair: "One more kiss — one last 
 kiss!" 
 
 He gently drew back. "No, we must adhere to 
 our rules." 
 
 She turned her head and wiped away two tears, 
 then drawing from her bosom a package of notes 
 tied with pink ribbon, she held it toward Du Roy: 
 " Here is your share of the profits in that Moroccan 
 affair. I was so glad to make it for you. Here, 
 take it." 
 
 He refused: "No, I cannot accept that money." 
 
 She became excited: "Oh, you will not refuse it 
 now! It is yours, yours alone. If you do not take
 
 1 82 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 it, I will throw it in the sewer. You will not refuse 
 it, Georges!" 
 
 He took the package and slipped it into his 
 pocket. "We must return to the house; you will 
 take cold." 
 
 "So much the better; if 1 could but die!" 
 
 She seized his hand, kissed it passionately, and fled 
 toward the house. He returned more leisurely, and 
 entered the conservatory with head erect and smiling 
 lips. His wife and Laroche were no longer there. 
 The crowd had grown thinner. Suzanne, leaning on 
 her sister's arm, advanced toward him. In a few 
 moments, Rose, whom they teased about a certain 
 Count, turned upon her heel and left them. 
 
 Du Roy, finding himself alone with Suzanne, said 
 in a caressing voice: "Listen, my dear little one; do 
 you really consider me a friend.^" 
 
 "Why, yes, Bel-Ami." 
 
 "You have faith in me.?" 
 
 "Perfect faith." 
 
 "Do you remember what I said to you a while 
 since?" 
 
 "About what?" 
 
 "About your marriage, or rather the man you 
 would marry." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, will you promise me one thing?" 
 
 "Yes; what is it?" 
 
 "To consult me when you receive a proposal and 
 to accept no one without asking my advice." 
 
 " Yes, i will gladly." 
 
 "And it is to be a secret between us — not a 
 word to your father or mother."
 
 BEL-AMI 183 
 
 "Not a word." 
 
 Rival approached them saying: "Mademoiselle, 
 your father wants you in the ballroom." 
 
 She said: "Come, Bel-Ami," but he refused, for 
 he had decided to leave at once, wishing to be alone 
 with his thoughts. He went in search of his wife, 
 and found her drinking chocolate at the buffet with 
 two strange men. She introduced her husband with- 
 out naming them. 
 
 In a short while, he asked: "Shall we go?" 
 
 "Whenever you like." 
 
 She took his arm and they passed through the 
 almost deserted rooms. 
 
 Madeleine asked: "Where is Mme. Walter; I 
 should like to bid her good-bye." 
 
 " it is unnecessary. She would try to keep us in 
 the ballroom, and I have had enough." 
 
 "You are right." 
 
 On the way home they did not speak. But when 
 they had entered their room, Madeleine, without even 
 taking off her veil, said to him with a smile: "I 
 have a surprise for you." 
 
 He growled ill-naturedly: "What is it?" 
 
 "Guess." 
 
 "I cannot make the effort." 
 
 "The day after to-morrow is the first of Jan- 
 uary." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "it is the season for New Year's gifts." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Here is yours, which Laroche handed me just 
 now." She gave him a small black box which re- 
 sembled a jewel-casket.
 
 1 84 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 He opened it indifferently and saw the cross of 
 the Legion of Honor. He turned a trifle pale, then 
 smiled, and said: "1 should have preferred ten mil- 
 lions. That did not cost him much." 
 
 She had expected a transport of delight and was 
 irritated by his indifference. 
 
 "You are incomprehensible. Nothing seems to 
 satisfy you." 
 
 He repHed calmly: "That man is only paying his 
 debts; he owes me a great deal more." 
 
 She was astonished at his tone, and said: "It is 
 very nice, however, at your age." 
 
 He replied: "I should have much more." 
 
 He took the casket, placed it on the mantelpiece, 
 and looked for some minutes at the brilliant star 
 within it, then he closed it with a shrug of his shoul- 
 ders and began to prepare to retire. 
 
 " L'Officiel " of January i announced that M. 
 Prosper Georges du Roy had been decorated with the 
 Legion of Honor for exceptional services. The name 
 was written in two words, and that afforded Georges 
 more pleasure than the decoration itself. 
 
 An hour after having read that notice, he received 
 a note from Mme. Walter, inviting him to come and 
 bring his wife to dine with them that evening, to 
 celebrate his distinction. 
 
 At first he hesitated, then throwing the letter iiT 
 the fire, he said to Madeleine: "We shall dine at 
 the Walters' this evening." 
 
 In her surprise she exclaimed: "Why, I thought 
 you would never set your foot in their house again." 
 
 His sole reply was: "1 have changed my mind."
 
 B E I. - A M I 
 
 185 
 
 When they arrived at Rue du Faubourg Saint-Ho- 
 nore, they found Mme. Walter alone in the dainty 
 boudoir in which she received her intimate friends. 
 She was dressed in black and her hair was pow- 
 dered. At a distance she appeared like an old lady, 
 in proximity, like a youthful one. 
 
 "Are you in mourning.?" asked Madeleine. 
 
 She replied sadly: "Yes and no. I have lost none 
 of my relatives, but I have arrived at an age when 
 one should wear somber colors. I wear it to-day to 
 inaugurate it; hitherto 1 have worn it in my heart." 
 
 The dinner was somewhat tedious. Suzanne alone 
 talked incessantly. Rose seemed preoccupied. The 
 journalist was overwhelmed with congratulations, after 
 the meal, when all repaired to the drawing-rooms. 
 Mme. Walter detained him as they were about to 
 enter the salon, saying: "I will never speak of any- 
 thing to you again, only come to see me, Georges. 
 It is impossible for me to live without you. 1 see 
 you, I feel you, in my heart all day and all night. It 
 is as if I had drunk a poison which preyed upon me. 
 I cannot bear it. I would rather be as an old woman 
 to you. I powdered my hair for that reason to-night; 
 but come here — come from time to time as a friend." 
 
 He replied calmly: "Very well. It is unnecessary 
 to speak of it again. You see I came to-day on re- 
 ceipt of your letter." 
 
 Walter, who had preceded them, with his two 
 daughters and Madeleine, awaited Du Roy near the 
 picture of "Christ Walking on the Water." 
 
 "Only think," said he, "I found my wife yester- 
 day kneeling before that painting as if in a chapel. 
 She was praying! "
 
 l86 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Mme. Walter replied in a firm voice, in a voice in 
 which vibrated a secret exaltation: "That Christ will 
 save my soul. He gives me fresh courage and 
 strength every time that 1 look at Him." And paus- 
 ing before the picture, she murmured: "How beauti- 
 ful He is! How frightened those men are, and how 
 they love Him! Look at His head, His eyes, how 
 simple and supernatural He is at the same time!" 
 
 Suzanne cried: "Why, He looks like you, Bel- 
 Ami! I am sure He looks like you. The resemblance 
 is striking." 
 
 She made him stand beside the painting and every- 
 one recognized the likeness. Du Roy was embar- 
 rassed. Walter thought it very singular; Madeleine, 
 with a smile, remarked that Jesus looked more manly. 
 Mme. Walter stood by motionless, staring fixedly at 
 her lover's face, her cheeks as white as her hair.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 Divorce 
 
 URiNG the remainder of the winter, 
 the Du Roys often visited the 
 Walters. Georges, too, frequently 
 dined there alone, Madeleine plead- 
 ing fatigue and preferring to remain 
 at home. He had chosen Friday as 
 his day, and Mme. Walter never in- 
 vited anyone else on that evening; it 
 belonged to Bel-Ami. Often in a dark 
 , corner or behind a tree in the conserva- 
 
 /Cl,^--'^^^^^^"^ tory, Mme. Walter embraced the young 
 "" ' man and whispered in his ear: "1 love 
 you, I love you! I love you desperately!" 
 But he always repulsed her coldly, saying: 
 "If you persist in that, 1 will not come again." 
 
 Toward the end of March people talked of the mar- 
 riage of the two sisters: Rose was to marry, Dame 
 Rumor said, Count de Latour-lvelin and Suzanne, the 
 Marquis de Cazolles. The subject of Suzanne's possi- 
 ble marriage had not been broached again between 
 her and Georges until one morning, the latter having 
 been brought home by M. Walter to lunch, he 
 
 (•87)
 
 l88 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 whispered to Suzanne: "Come, let us give the fish 
 some bread." 
 
 They proceeded to the conservatory in which was 
 the marble basin containing the fish. As Georges and 
 Suzanne leaned over its edge, they saw their reflec- 
 tions in the water and smiled at them. Suddenly, he 
 said in a low voice: "It is not right of you to keep 
 secrets from me, Suzanne." 
 
 She asked: 
 
 "What secrets, Bel-Ami?" 
 
 "Do you remember what you promised me here 
 the night of the fete}" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "To consult me every time you received a pro- 
 posal." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Well, you have received one!" 
 
 "From whom?" 
 
 "You know very well." 
 
 "No, I swear I do not." 
 
 "Yes, you do. It is from that fop of t Marquis 
 de Cazolles." 
 
 " He is not a fop." 
 
 "That may be, but he is stupid. He is no match 
 for you who are so pretty, so fresh, so bright!" 
 
 She asked with a smile: "What have you against 
 him?" 
 
 "1? Nothing!" 
 
 "Yes, you have. He is not all that you say he is." 
 
 "He is a fool, and an intriguer." 
 
 She glanced at him: "What ails you?" 
 
 He spoke as if tearing a secret from the depths of 
 his heart: "I am — I am jealous of him."
 
 BEL-AMI 
 
 189 
 
 She was astonished. 
 
 "You?" 
 
 "Yes, 1." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because I love you and you know it." 
 
 Then she said severely: "You are mad, Bel- 
 Ami!" 
 
 He replied: "1 know that 1 am! Should 1 con- 
 fess it — I, a married man, to you, a young girl? I 
 am worse than mad — I am culpable, wretched — 1 
 have no possible hope, and that thought almost de- 
 stroys my reason. When 1 hear that you are going 
 to be married, i feel murder in my heart. You must 
 forgive me, Suzanne." 
 
 He paused. The young girl murmured half sadly, 
 half gaily: "It is a pity that you are married; but 
 what can you do? It cannot be helped." 
 
 He turned toward her abruptly and said: "If I 
 were free would yi^ marry me?" 
 
 She replied: "Yes, Bel-Ami, I would marry you 
 because 1 love you better than any of the others." 
 
 He rose and stammering: "Thanks — thanks — 
 do not, I implore you, say yes to anyone. Wait 
 a while. Promise me." 
 
 Somewhat confused, and without comprehending 
 what he asked, she whispered: "1 promise." 
 
 Du Roy threw a large piece of bread into the 
 water and fled, without saying adieu, as if he were 
 beside himself. Suzanne, in surprise, returned to the 
 salon. 
 
 When Du Roy arrived home, he asked Madeleine, 
 who was writing letters: "Shall you dine at the 
 Walters' Friday? I am going."
 
 190 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 She hesitated: "No, I am not well. I prefer to 
 remain here." 
 
 "As you like. No one will force you." Then he 
 took up his hat and went out. 
 
 For some time he had watched and followed her, 
 knowing all her actions. The time he had awaited 
 had come at length. 
 
 On Friday he dressed early, in order, as he said, 
 to make several calls before going to M. Walter's. 
 At about six o'clock, after having kissed his wife, he 
 went in search of a cab. He said to the cabman: 
 "You can stop at No. 17 Rue Fontaine, and remain 
 there until 1 order you to go on. Then you can 
 take me to the restaurant Du Coq-Faisan, Rue La- 
 fayette." 
 
 The cab rolled slowly on; Du Roy lowered the 
 shades. When in front of his house, he kept watch 
 of it. After waiting ten minutes, he saw Madeleine 
 come out and go toward the boulevards. When she 
 was out of earshot, he put his head out of the win- 
 dow and cried: "Go on!" 
 
 The cab proceeded on its way and stopped at the 
 Coq-Faisan. Georges entered the dining-room and 
 ate slowly, looking at his watch from time to time. 
 At seven-thirty he left and drove to Rue La Roche- 
 foucauld. He mounted to the third story of a house 
 in that street, and asked the maid who opened the 
 door: "Is M. Guibert de Lorme at home?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 He was shown into the drawing-room, and after 
 waiting some time, a tall man with a military bear- 
 ing and gray hair entered. He was the police com- 
 missioner.
 
 BEL-AMl 
 
 191 
 
 Du Roy bowed, then said: "As I suspected, my 
 wife is with her lover in furnished apartments they 
 have rented on Rue des Martyrs." 
 
 The magistrate bowed: "1 am at your service, 
 sir." 
 
 "Very well, 1 have a cab below." And with 
 three other officers they proceeded to the house in 
 which Du Roy expected to surprise his wife. One 
 officer remained at the door to watch the exit; on the 
 second floor they halted; Du Roy rang the bell and 
 they waited. In two or three minutes Georges rang 
 again several times in succession. They heard a light 
 step approach, and a woman's voice, evidently dis- 
 guised, asked: 
 
 "Who is there?" 
 
 The police officer replied: "Open in the name of 
 the law." 
 
 The voice repeated: "Who are you?" 
 
 "I am the police commissioner. Open, or 1 will 
 force the door." 
 
 The voice continued: "What do you want?" 
 
 Du Roy interrupted: "It is I; it is useless to try 
 to escape us." 
 
 The footsteps receded and then returned. Georges 
 said: " If you do not open, we will force the door." 
 
 Receiving no reply he shook the door so violently 
 that the old lock gave way, and the young man 
 almost fell over Madeleine, who was standing in the 
 antechamber in her petticoat, her hair loosened, her 
 feet bare, and a candle in her hand. 
 
 He exclaimed: "It is she. We have caught 
 them," and he rushed into the room. The commis- 
 sioner turned to Madeleine, who had followed them
 
 192 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 through the rooms, in one of which v/ere the rem- 
 nants of a supper, and looking into her eyes said: 
 "You are Mme. Claire Madeleine du Roy, lawful 
 wife ofM. Prosper Georges du Roy, here present?" 
 
 She replied: "Yes, sir." 
 
 "What are you doing here?" 
 
 She made no reply. The officer repeated his 
 question; still she did not reply. He waited several 
 moments and then said: "If you do not confess, 
 Madame, I shall be forced to inquire into the mat- 
 ter." 
 
 They could see a man's form concealed beneath 
 the covers of the bed. Du Roy advanced softly and 
 uncovered the livid face of M. Laroche-Mathieu. 
 
 The officer again asked: "Who are you?" 
 
 As the man did not reply, he continued: "I am 
 the police commissioner and I call upon you to tell 
 me your name. If you do not answer, 1 shall be 
 forced to arrest you. In any case, rise. I will inter- 
 rogate you when you are dressed." 
 
 In the meantime Madeleine had regained her com- 
 posure, and seeing that all was lost, she was deter- 
 mined to put a brave face upon the matter. Her eyes 
 sparkled with the audacity of bravado, and taking a 
 piece of paper she lighted the ten candles in the 
 candelabra as if for a reception. That done, she 
 leaned against the mantelpiece, took a cigarette out 
 of a case, and began to smoke, seeming not to see 
 her husband. 
 
 In the meantime the man in the bed had dressed 
 himself and advanced. The officer turned to him: 
 "Now, sir, will you tell me who you are?" 
 
 He made no reply.
 
 BEL. AMI 
 
 '93 
 
 "I see I shall have to arrest you." 
 
 Then the man cried: "Do not touch me. I am 
 inviolable." 
 
 Du Roy rushed toward him exclaiming: "I can 
 have you arrested if 1 want to!" Then he added: 
 "This man's name is Laroche-Mathieu, minister of 
 foreign affairs." 
 
 The officer retreated and stammered: "Sir, will 
 you tell me who you are.?" 
 
 "For once that miserable fellow has not lied. I 
 am indeed Laroche-Mathieu, minister," and pointing 
 to Georges' breast, he added, "and that scoundrel 
 wears upon his coat the cross of honor which I gave 
 him." 
 
 Du Roy turned pale. With a rapid gesture he 
 tore the decoration from his buttonhole and throwing 
 it in the fire exclaimed: "That is what a decoration 
 is worth which is given by a scoundrel of your 
 order." 
 
 The commissioner stepped between them, as they 
 stood face to face, saying: "Gentlemen, you forget 
 yourselves and your dignity." 
 
 Madeleine smoked on calmly, a smile hovering 
 about her lips. The officer continued: "Sir, I have 
 surprised you alone with Mme. du Roy under sus- 
 picious circumstances; what have you to say?" 
 
 "Nothing; do your duty." 
 
 The commissioner turned to Madeleine: " Do you 
 confess, Madame, that this gentleman is your lover?" 
 
 She replied boldly: "1 do not deny it. That is 
 sufficient." 
 
 The magistrate made several notes; when he had 
 finished v/riting, the minister, who stood ready, coat 
 
 7 G. de M.— 1}
 
 i(^4 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 upon arm, hat in hand, asked: "Do you need me 
 any longer, sir? Can I go?" 
 
 Du Roy addressed him with an insolent smile: 
 "Why should yoti go, we have finished; we will 
 leave you alone together." Then, taking the officer's 
 arm, he said: "Let us go, sir; we have nothing more 
 to do in this place." 
 
 An hour later Georges du Roy entered the office 
 of "La Vie Fran(^aise." M. Walter was there; he 
 raised his head and asked: "What, are you here? 
 Why are you not dining at my house? Where have 
 you come from ?" 
 
 Georges replied with emphasis:"! have just found 
 out something about the minister of foreign affairs." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "I found him alone with my wife in hired apart- 
 ments. The commissioner of police was my witness. 
 The minister is ruined." 
 
 "Are you not jesting?" 
 
 "No. 1 am not. 1 shall even write an article on it." 
 
 "What is your object?" 
 
 "To overthrow that wretch, that public male- 
 factor." 
 
 Georges placed his hat upon a chair and added: 
 "Woe to those whom 1 find in my path. I never 
 pardon." 
 
 The manager stammered: "But your wife?" 
 
 "I shall apply for a divorce at once." 
 
 "A divorce?" 
 
 " Yes, I am master of the situation. I shall be 
 free. I have a stated income. I shall oflFer myself as 
 a candidate in October in my native district, where I 
 am known. 1 could not win any respect were I to
 
 BEL-AMI 
 
 >95 
 
 be hampered with a wife whose honor was sullied. 
 She took me for a simpleton, but since I have known 
 her game, 1 have watched her, and now I shall get 
 on, for I shall be free." 
 
 Georges rose. 
 
 "I will write the item; it must be handled pru- 
 dently." 
 
 The old man hesitated, then said: "Do so: it 
 serves those right who are caught in such scrapes."
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 The Final Plot 
 
 HREE months had elapsed. Georges 
 du Roy's divorce had been ob- 
 tained. His wife had resumed the 
 name of Forestier. 
 As the Walters were going to 
 Trouville on the fifteenth of July, they 
 decided to spend a day in the country 
 before starting. 
 
 The day chosen was Thursday, and they 
 set out at nine o'clock in the morning in 
 a large six-seated carriage drawn by four 
 ^ horses. They were going to lunch at Saint- 
 2^ Germain. Bel-Ami had requested that he might 
 ^ be the only young man in the party, for he could 
 not bear the presence of the Marquis de Cazolles. 
 At the last moment, however, it was decided that 
 Count de Latour-lvelin should go, for he and Rose 
 had been betrothed a month. The day was delight- 
 ful. Georges, who was very pale, gazed at Suzanne 
 as they sat in the carriage and their eyes met. 
 
 Mme. Walter was contented and happy. The 
 luncheon was a long and merry one. Before leaving 
 (■96)
 
 BEL- AMI 
 
 197 
 
 for Paris, Du Roy proposed a walk on the terrace. 
 They stopped on the way to admire the view; as 
 they passed on, Georges and Suzanne lingered be- 
 hind. The former whispered softly: "Suzanne, I love 
 you madly." 
 
 She whispered in return: "I love you too, Bel- 
 Ami." 
 
 He continued: " If I cannot have you for my wife, 
 I shall leave the country." 
 
 She replied: "Ask papa. Perhaps he will con- 
 sent." 
 
 He answered impatiently: "No, I repeat that it is 
 useless; the door of the house would be closed against 
 me. I would lose my position on the journal, and 
 we would not even meet. Those are the conse- 
 quences a formal proposal would produce. They have 
 promised you to the Marquis de Cazolles; they hope 
 you will finally say 'yes' and they are waiting." 
 
 "What can we do?" 
 
 "Have you the courage to brave your father and 
 mother for my sake?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Truly?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well! There is only one way. It must come 
 from you and not from me. You are an indulged 
 child; they let you say anything and are not surprised 
 at any audacity on your part. Listen, then! This 
 evening on returning home, go to your mother first, 
 and tell her that you want to marry me. She will 
 be very much agitated and very angry." 
 
 Suzanne interrupted him: "Oh, mamma would 
 be glad."
 
 158 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 He replied quickly: "No, no, you do not know 
 her. She will be more vexed than your father. But 
 you must insist, you must not yield; you must repeat 
 that you will marry me and me alone. Will you do 
 so?" 
 
 "I will." 
 
 " And on leaving your mother, repeat the same 
 thing to your father very decidedly." 
 
 "Well, and then — " 
 
 "And then matters will reach a cHmax! If you 
 are determined to be my wife, my dear, dear, little 
 Suzanne, I will elope with you." 
 
 She clapped her hands, as all the charming adven- 
 tures in the romances she had read occurred to her, 
 and cried: 
 
 "Oh, what bliss! When will you elope with 
 me ? " 
 
 He whispered very low: "To-night!" 
 
 "Where shall we go?" 
 
 "That is my secret. Think well of what you are 
 doing. Remember that after that flight you must be- 
 come my wife. It is the only means, but it is danger- 
 ous — very dangerous — for you." 
 
 "I have decided. Where shall I meet you?" 
 
 "Meet me about midnight in the Place de la Con- 
 corde." 
 
 "I will be there." 
 
 He clasped her hand. "Oh, how I love you! 
 How brave and good you are! Then you do not 
 want to marry Marquis de Cazolles?" 
 
 "Oh, no!" 
 
 Mme. Walter, turning her head, called out: "Come, 
 little one; what are you and Bel-Ami doing?"
 
 B E L - A M 1 
 
 199 
 
 They rejoined the others and returned by way of 
 Chatou. When the carriage arrived at the door of 
 the mansion, Mmc. Walter pressed Georges to dine 
 with them, but he refused, and returned home to 
 look over his papers and destroy any compromising 
 letters. Then he repaired in a cab with feverish 
 haste to the place of meeting. He waited there some 
 time, and thinking his ladylove had played him 
 false, he was about to drive off, when a gentle voice 
 whispered at the door of his cab: "Are you there, 
 Bel-Ami?" 
 
 "Is it you, Suzanne ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Ah, get in." She entered the cab and he bade 
 the cabman drive on. 
 
 He asked: "Well, how did it all pass off?" 
 
 She murmured faintly: 
 
 "Oh, it was terrible, with mamma especially." 
 
 "Your mamma? What did she say? Tell me!" 
 
 "Oh, it was frightful! I entered her room and 
 made the little speech I had prepared. She turned 
 pale and cried: 'Never!' I wept, I protested that I 
 would marry only you; she was like a mad woman; 
 she vowed I should be sent to a convent. 1 never 
 saw her like that, never. Papa, hearing her agitated 
 words, entered. He was not as angry as she was, 
 but he said you were not a suitable match for me. 
 As they had vexed me, I talked louder than they, and 
 papa with a dramatic air bade me leave the room. 
 That decided me to fly with you. And here I am; 
 where shall we go?" 
 
 He replied, encircling her waist with his arm: "It 
 is too late to take the train; this cab will take us to
 
 200 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Sevres where we can spend the night, and to-mor- 
 row we will leave for La Roche-Guyon. It is a pretty 
 village on the banks of the Seine between Mantes and 
 Bonnieres." 
 
 The cab rolled on. Georges took the young girl's 
 hand and kissed it respectfully. He did not know 
 what to say to her, being unaccustomed to Platonic 
 affection. Suddenly he perceived that she was weep- 
 ing. He asked in affright: 
 
 "What ails you, my dear little one?" 
 
 She replied tearfully: "I was thinking that poor 
 mamma could not sleep if she had found out that I 
 was gone!" 
 
 ******* 
 
 Her mother indeed was not asleep. 
 
 When Suzanne left the room, Mme. Walter turned 
 to her husband and asked in despair: "What does 
 that mean ?" 
 
 " It means that that intriguer has influenced her. 
 
 It is he who has made her refuse Cazolles. You have 
 
 flattered and cajoled him, too. It was Bel-Ami here, 
 
 Bel-Ami there, from morning until night. Now you 
 
 are paid for it! " 
 II J p.. 
 
 "Yes, you. You are as much infatuated with him 
 as Madeleine, Suzanne, and the rest of them. Do you 
 think that I did not see that you could not exist for 
 two days without him ? " 
 
 She rose tragically: "I will not allow you to speak 
 to me thus. You forget that I was not brought up 
 like you, in a shop." 
 
 With an oath, he left the room, banging the door 
 behind him.
 
 BEL- A MI 2or 
 
 When he was gone, she thought over all that had 
 taken place. Suzanne was in love with Bel-Ami, and 
 Bel-Ami wanted to marry Suzanne! No, it was not 
 true! She was mistaken; he would not be capable of 
 such an action; he knew nothing of Suzanne's esca- 
 pade. They would take Suzanne away for six months 
 and that would end it. 
 
 She rose, saying: "I cannot rest in this uncer- 
 tainty. I shall lose my reason. I will arouse Suzanne 
 and question her." 
 
 She proceeded to her daughter's room. She en- 
 tered; it was empty; the bed had not been slept in. 
 A horrible suspicion possessed her and she flew to 
 her husband. He was in bed, reading. 
 
 She gasped: "Have you seen Suzanne?" 
 
 "No — why?" 
 
 "She is — gone! she is not in her room." 
 
 With one bound he was out of bed; he rushed to 
 his daughter's room; not finding her there, he sank 
 into a chair. His wife had followed him. 
 
 "Well?" she asked. 
 
 He had not the strength to reply: he was no longer 
 dngry; he groaned: "He has her — we are lost." 
 
 "Lost, how?" 
 
 "Why»he must marry her now!" 
 
 She cried wildly: "Marry her, never! Are you 
 mad?" 
 
 He replied sadly: "It will do no good to yell! 
 He has disgraced her. The best thing to be done is 
 to give her to him, and at once, too; then no one 
 will know of this escapade." 
 
 She repeated in great agitation: "Never; he shall 
 never have Suzanne."
 
 202 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Overcome, Walter murmured: "But he has her. 
 And he will keep her as long as we do not yield; 
 therefore, to avoid a scandal we must do so at once." 
 
 But his wife replied: "No, no, I will never con- 
 sent." 
 
 Impatiently he returned: "It is a matter of neces- 
 sity. Ah, the scoundrel — how he has deceived us! 
 But he is shrewd at any rate. She might have done 
 better as far as position, but not intelligence and 
 future, is concerned. He is a promising young man. 
 He will be a deputy or a minister some day." 
 
 Mme. Walter, however, repeated wildly: "I will 
 never let him marry Suzanne! Do you hear — never!" 
 
 In his turn he became incensed, and like a prac- 
 tical man defended Bel-Ami. "Be silent! I tell you 
 he must marry her! And who knows .^ Perhaps 
 we shall not regret it! With men of his stamp 
 one never knows what may come about. You saw 
 how he downed Laroche-Mathieu in three articles, 
 and that v/ith a dignity which was very difficult to 
 maintain in his position as husband. So, we shall 
 see." 
 
 Mme. Walter felt a desire to cry aloud and tear 
 her hair. But she only repeated angrily: "He shall 
 not have her!" 
 
 Walter rose, took up his lamp, and said: "You 
 are silly, like all women! You only act on impulse. 
 You do not know how to accommodate yourself to 
 circumstances. You are stupid! 1 tell you he shall 
 marry her; it is essential." And he left the room. 
 
 Mme. Walter remained alone with her suffering, 
 her despair. If only a priest were at hand! She 
 would cast herself at his feet and confess all her
 
 B E L - A M I 20) 
 
 errors and her agony — he would prevent the mar- 
 riage! Where could she find a priest? Where should 
 she turn? Before her eyes floated, Hke a vision, ihe 
 calm face of "Christ Walking on the Water," as she had 
 seen it in the painting. He seemed to say to her: 
 "Come unto Me. Kneel at My feet. I will comfort 
 and instruct you as to what to do." 
 
 She took the lamp and sought the conservatory; 
 she opened the door leading into the room which 
 held the enormous canvas, and fell upon her knees 
 before it. At first she prayed fervently, but as she 
 raised her eyes and saw the resemblance to Bel-Ami, 
 she murmured: "Jesus — Jesus — " while her thoughts 
 were with her daughter and her lover. She uttered 
 a wild cry, as she pictured them together — alone — 
 and fell into a swoon. When day broke they found 
 Mme. Walter still lying unconscious before the paint- 
 ing. She was so ill, after that, that her life was almost 
 despaired of. 
 
 M. Walter explained his daughter's absence to the 
 servants by saying to them that she had been sent 
 to a convent for a short time. Then he replied to a 
 long letter from Du Roy, giving his consent to his 
 marriage with his daughter. Bel-Ami had posted that 
 epistle when he left Paris, having prepared it the 
 night of his departure. In it he said in r-^spectful 
 terms that he had loved the young girl a long time; 
 that there had never been any understanding between 
 them, but that as she came to him to say: "1 will be 
 your wife," he felt authorized in keeping her, in hid- 
 ing her, in fact, until he had obtained a reply from 
 her parents, whose wishes were to him of more value 
 than those of his betrothed.
 
 204 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Georges and Suzanne spent a week at La Roche- 
 Guyon. Never had the young girl enjoyed herself so 
 thoroughly. As she passed for his sister, they lived 
 in a chaste and free intimacy, a kind of loving com- 
 panionship. He thought it wiser to treat her with 
 respect, and when he said to her: "We will return 
 to Paris to-morrow; your father has bestowed your 
 hand upon me," she whispered naively: "Already.? 
 This is just as pleasant as being your wife."
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Attainment 
 
 ^^^^^ 
 
 T WAS dark in the apartments in 
 the Rue de Constantinople, when 
 Georges du Roy and Clotilde de 
 Marelle, having met at the door, 
 entered them. Without giving him 
 time to raise the shades, the latter 
 said: 
 "So you are going to marry Suzanne 
 Walter?" 
 He replied in the affirmative, adding 
 gently: "Did you not know it?" 
 She answered angrily: "So you are 
 going to marry Suzanne Walter? For three 
 months you have deceived me. Everyone 
 knew of it but me. My husband told me. Since 
 you left your wife you have been preparing for that 
 stroke, and you made use of me in the interim. 
 What a rascal you are!" 
 
 He asked: "How do you make that out? I had 
 a wife who deceived me; I surprised her, obtained a 
 divorce, and am now going to marry another. What 
 is more simple than that?" 
 
 She murmured: "What a villain!"
 
 2o6 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 He said with dignity; "I beg of you to be more 
 careful as to what you say." 
 
 She rebelled at such words from him: "What! 
 Would you like me lo nandle you with gloves? You 
 have conducted yourself like a rascal ever since I 
 have known you, and now you do not want me to 
 speak of it. You deceive everyone; you gather pleas- 
 ure and money everywhere, and you want me to 
 treat you as an honest man." 
 
 He rose; his lips twitched: "Be silent or I wili 
 make you leave these rooms." 
 
 She cried: "Leave here — you will make me — 
 you ? You forget that it is I who have paid for 
 these apartments from the very first, and you threaten 
 to put me out of them. Be silent, good-for-nothing! 
 Do you think 1 do not know how you stole a por- 
 tion of Vaudrec's bequest from Madeleine ? Do you 
 think I do not know about Suzanne?" 
 
 He seized her by her shoulders and shook her. 
 "Do not speak of that; I forbid you.'* 
 
 "I know you have ruined her!" 
 
 He would have taken anything else, but that lie 
 exasperated him. He repeated: "Be silent — take 
 care" — and he shook her as he would have shaken the 
 bough of a tree. Still she continued: "You were 
 her ruin, 1 know it." He rushed upon her and 
 struck her as if she had been a man. Suddenly she 
 ceased speaking, and groaned beneath his blows. 
 Finally he desisted, paced the room several times in 
 order to regain his self-possession, entered the bed- 
 room, filled the basin with cold water and bathed 
 his head. Then he washed his hands and returned 
 to see what Clotilde was doing. She had not
 
 BEL-AMI 
 
 scq 
 
 moved. She lay upon the floor weeping softly. He 
 asked harshly: 
 
 "Will you soon have done crying?" 
 
 She did not reply. He stood in the center of the 
 room, somewhat embarrassed, somewhat ashamed, as 
 he saw the form lying before him. Suddenly he 
 seized his hat. "Good evening. You can leave the 
 key with the janitor when you are ready. I will not 
 await your pleasure." 
 
 He left the room, closed the door, sought the 
 porter, and said to him: "Madame is resting. She 
 will go out soon. You can tell the proprietor that I 
 have given notice for the first of October." 
 
 His marriage was fixed for the twentieth; it was 
 to take place at the Madeleine. There had been a 
 great deal of gossip about the entire affair, and many 
 different reports were circulated. Mme. Walter had 
 aged greatly; her hair was gray and she sought 
 solace in religion. 
 
 In the early part of September "La Vie Fran^aise" 
 announced that Baron du Roy de Cantel had become 
 its chief editor, M. Walter reserving the title of mana- 
 ger. To that announcement were subjoined the 
 names of the staff of art and theatrical critics, polit- 
 ical reporters, and so forth. Journalists no longer 
 sneered in speaking of "La Vie Fran^aise;" its suc- 
 cess had been rapid and complete. The marriage of 
 its chief editor was what was called a "Parisian 
 event," Georges du Roy and the Walters having 
 occasioned much comment for some time. 
 
 The ceremony took place on a clear, autumn day. 
 At ten o'clock the curious began to assemble; at 
 eleven o'clock, detachment*; of officers came to dis-
 
 2o8 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 perse the crowd. Soon after, the first guests arrived ; 
 they were followed by others, women in rich cos- 
 tumes, men, grave and dignified. The church slowly 
 began to fill. Norbert de Varenne espied Jacques 
 Rival, and joined him. 
 
 "Well," said he, "sharpers always succeed." 
 
 His companion, who was not envious, replied : 
 "So much the better for him. His fortune is made." 
 
 Rival asked: "Do you know what has become 
 of his wife ?" 
 
 The poet smiled. "Yes and no — she lives a very 
 retired life, I have been told, in the Montmartre 
 quarter. But — there is a but — for some time I have 
 read political articles in 'La Plume,' which resemble 
 those of Forestier and Du Roy. They are supposed 
 to be written by a Jean Le Dol, a young, intelligent, 
 handsome man — something like our friend Georges 
 — who has become acquainted with Mme. Forestier. 
 From that I have concluded that she likes beginners 
 and that they like her. She is, moreover, rich ; 
 Vaudrec and Laroche-Mathieu were not attentive to 
 her for nothing. " 
 
 Rival asked : "Tell me, is it true that Mme. Wal- 
 ter and Du Roy do not speak?" 
 
 "Yes. She did not wish to give him her daugh- 
 ter's hand. But he threatened the old man with 
 shocking revelations. Walter remembered Laroche- 
 Mathieu's fate and yielded at once ; but his wife, ob- 
 stinate like all women, vowed that she would never 
 address a word to her son-in-law. It is comical to 
 see them together ! She looks like the statue of 
 vengeance, and he is very uncomfortable, ahhough he 
 tries to appear at his ease. "
 
 BEL-AMI 
 
 209 
 
 Suddenly the beadle struck the floor three times 
 with his staff. All the people turned to see what 
 was coming, and the young bride appeared in the 
 doorway leaning upon her father's arm. She looked 
 like a beautiful doll, crowned with a wreath of orange 
 blossoms. She advanced with bowed head. The 
 ladies smiled and murmured as she passed them. 
 The men whispered: 
 
 "Exquisite, adorable!" 
 
 M. Walter walked by her side with exaggerated 
 Jignity. Behind them came four maids of honor 
 dressed in pink and forming a charming court for so 
 dainty a queen. 
 
 Mme. Walter followed on the arm of Count de 
 Latour-lvelin's aged father. She did not walk; she 
 dragged herself along, ready to faint at every step. 
 She had aged and grown thinner. 
 
 Next came Georges du Roy with an old lady, a 
 stranger. He held his head proudly erect and wore 
 upon his coat, like a drop of blood, the red ribbon 
 of the Legion of Honor. 
 
 He was followed by the relatives: Rose, who had 
 been married six weeks, with a senator; Count de 
 Latour-lvelin with Viscountess de Percemur. Follow- 
 ing them was a motley procession of associates and 
 friends of Du Roy, country cousins of Mme. Walter's, 
 and guests invited by her husband. 
 
 The tones of the organ filled the church; the large 
 doors at the entrance were closed, and Georges 
 kneeled beside his bride in the choir. The new 
 bishop of Tangiers, cross in hand, miter on head, 
 entered from the sacristy, to unite them in the name 
 of the Almighty. He asked the usual questions, rings 
 
 7 G. de M,— 14
 
 210 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 were exchanged, words pronounced which bound 
 them forever, and then he delivered an address to the 
 newly married couple. 
 
 The sound of stifled sobs caused several to turn 
 their heads. Mme. Walter was weeping, her face 
 buried in her hands. She had been obliged to yield; 
 but since the day on which she had told Du Roy: 
 "You are the vilest man I know: never speak to me 
 again, for I will not answer you," she had suffered 
 intolerable anguish. She hated Suzanne bitterly; her 
 hatred was caused by unnatural jealousy. The bishop 
 was marrying a daughter to her mother's lover, befoie 
 her and two thousand persons, and she could say 
 nothing; she could not stop him. She could not cry: 
 "He is mine, that man is my lover. That union you 
 are blessing is infamous." 
 
 Several ladies, touched by her apparent grief, mur- 
 mured: "How affected that poor mother is!" 
 
 The bishop said: "You are among the favored ones 
 of the earth. You, sir, who are raised above others 
 by your talent — you who write, instruct, counsel, 
 guide the people, have a grand mission to fulfill — a 
 fine example to set." 
 
 Du Roy listened to him proudly. A prelate of the 
 Roman Church spoke thus to him A number of il- 
 lustrious people had come thither on his account, it 
 seemed to him that an invisible power was impelling 
 him on. He would become one of the masters of the 
 country — he, the son of the poor peasants of Can- 
 teleu. He had given his parents five thousand francs 
 of Count de Vaudrec's fortune and he intended send- 
 ing them fifty thousand more; then they could buy a 
 small estate and live happily.
 
 BEL- AMI 211 
 
 The bishop had finished his harangue, a priest 
 ascended the altar, and the organ pealed forth. Sud- 
 denly the vibrating tones melted into delicate, melo- 
 dious ones, like the songs of birds; then again they 
 swelled into deep, full tones and human voices chanted 
 over their bowed heads. Vauri and Landeck of the 
 Opera were singing. 
 
 Bel-Ami, kneeling beside Suzanne, bowed his head. 
 At that moment he felt almost pious, for he was 
 filled with gratitude for the blessings showered upon 
 him. Without knowing just whom he was address- 
 ing, he offered up thanks for his success. When the 
 ceremony was over, he rose, and, giving his arm to 
 his wife, they passed into the sacristy. A stream of 
 people entered. Georges fancied himself a king whom 
 the people were coming to greet. He shook hands, 
 uttered words which signified nothing, and replied to 
 congratulations with the words: "You are very kind." 
 
 Suddenly he saw Mme. de Marelle, and the recol- 
 lection of all the kisses he had given her and which 
 she had returned, of all their caresses, of the sound 
 of her voice, possessed him with the mad desire to 
 regain her. She was so pretty, with her bright eyes 
 and roguish air! She advanced somewhat timidly 
 and offered him her hand. He took, retained, and 
 pressed it as if to say: "I shall love you always, I 
 am yours." 
 
 Their eyes met, smiling, bright, full of love. She 
 murmured in her soft tones: "Until we meet again, 
 sir!" and he gaily repeated her words. 
 
 Others approached, and she passed on. Finally the 
 throng dispersed. Georges placed Suzanne's hand 
 upon his arm to pass through the church with net.
 
 212 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 It was filled with people, for all had resumed their 
 seats in order to see them leave the sacred edifice to- 
 gether. He walked along slowly, with a firm step, 
 his head erect. He saw no one. He only thought 
 of himself. 
 
 When they reached the threshold he saw a crowd 
 gathered outside, come to gaze at him, Georges du 
 Roy. The people of Paris envied him. Raising his 
 eyes, he saw beyond the Place de la Concorde, the 
 chamber of deputies, and it seemed to him that 
 it was only a stone's throw from the portico of the 
 Madeleine to that of the Palais Bourbon. 
 
 Leisurely they descended the steps between two 
 rows of spectators, but Georges did not see them; 
 his thoughts had returned to the past, and before his 
 eyes, dazzled by the bright sunlight, floated the im^ 
 age of Mme. de Marelle, rearranging the curly locks 
 upon her temples before the mirror in their apart- 
 ments.
 
 AFTER. THE ORIGINAL DRAWING BY FERDINAND BAC 
 
 Leiaurely they descended the steps.
 
 'lf^,fi<^n>^//.Wjl.3/iy. U'th'^frV,,
 
 YVETTE 
 
 (1)
 
 YVETTE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 The Initiation of Saval 
 
 s THEY were leaving the Cafe Riche, 
 Jean de Servigny said to Leon Sa- 
 val: "If you don't object, let us 
 walk. The weather is too fine to take 
 a cab." 
 
 His friend answered: "1 would 
 like nothing better." 
 
 Jean replied: "It is hardly eleven 
 o'clock. We shall arrive much before 
 midnight, so let us go slowly." 
 restless crowd was moving along the 
 boulevard, that throng peculiar to summer 
 nights, drinking, chatting, and flowing like 
 ^^ a river, filled with a sense of comfort and joy. 
 / Here and there a cafe threw a flood of light 
 upon a knot of patrons drinking at little tables on 
 the sidewalk, which were covered with bottles 
 and glasses, hindering the passing of the hurrying 
 multitude. On the pavement the cabs with their red, 
 
 (3)
 
 A WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 blue, or green lights dashed by, showing for a sec- 
 ond, in the glimmer, the thin shadow of the horse, 
 the raised profile of the coachman, and the dark 
 box of the carriage. The cabs of the Urbaine Com- 
 pany made clear and rapid spots when their yellow 
 panels were struck by the light. 
 
 The two friends walked with slow steps, cigars 
 in their mouths, in evening dress and overcoats on 
 their arms, with a flower in the>ir buttonholes, and 
 their hats a trifle on one side, as men will carelessly 
 wear them sometimes, after they have dined well 
 and the air is mild. 
 
 They had been linked together since their college 
 days by a close, devoted, and firm affection. Jean de 
 Servigny, small, slender, a trifle bald, rather frail, with 
 elegance of mien, curled mustache, bright eyes, and 
 fine lips, was a man who seemed born and bred 
 upon the boulevard. He was tireless in spite of his 
 languid air, strong in spite of his pallor, one of those 
 slight Parisians to whom gymnastic exercise, fencing, 
 cold shower and hot baths give a nervous, artificial 
 strength. He was known by his marriage as well as 
 by his wit, his fortune, his connections, and by that 
 sociability, amiability, and fashionable gallantry peculiar 
 to certain men. 
 
 A true Parisian, furthermore, light, sceptical, 
 changeable, captivating, energetic, and irresolute, 
 capable of everything and of nothing; selfish by 
 principle and generous on occasion, he lived mod- 
 erately upon his income, and amused himself with 
 hygiene. Indifferent and passionate, he gave himself 
 rein and drew back constantly, impelled by conflict- 
 ing instincts, yielding to all. and then obeying, in
 
 YVETTE 5 
 
 the end, his own shrewd man-about-town judgment, 
 whose weather-vane logic consisted in following the 
 wind and drawing profit from circumstances without 
 taking the trouble to originate them. 
 
 His companion, Leon Saval, rich also, was one of 
 those superb and colossal figures who make women 
 turn around in the streets to look at them. He gave 
 the idea of a statue turned into a man, a type of a 
 race, like those sculptured forms which are sent to 
 the Salons. Too handsome, too tall, too big, too 
 strong, he sinned a little from the excess of every- 
 thing, the excess of his qualities. He had on hand 
 countless affairs of passion. 
 
 As they reached the Vaudeville theater, he asked: 
 "Have you warned that lady that you are going to 
 take me to her house to see her?" 
 
 Servigny began to laugh: "Forewarn the Mar- 
 quise Obardi! Do you warn an omnibus driver that 
 you shall enter his stage at the corner of the boule- 
 vard?" 
 
 Saval, a little perplexed, inquired: "What sort of 
 person is this lady?" 
 
 His friend replied: "An upstart, a charming 
 hussy, who came from no one knows where, who 
 made her appearance one day, nobody knows how, 
 among the adventuresses of Paris, knowing perfectly 
 well how to take care of herself. Besides, what dif- 
 ference does it make to us ? They say that her real 
 name, her maiden name — for she still has every claim 
 to the title of maiden except that of innocence — is 
 Octavia Bardin, from which she constructs the name 
 Obardi by prefixing the first letter of her first name 
 and dropping the last letter of the last name.
 
 6 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "Moreover, she is a lovable woman, and you, 
 from your physique, are inevitably bound to become 
 her lover. Hercules is not introduced into Messalina's 
 home without making some disturbance. Neverthe- 
 less 1 make bold to add that if there is free entrance 
 to this house, just as there is in bazaars, you are not 
 exactly compelled to buy what is for sale. Love and 
 cards are on the programme, but nobody compels 
 you to take up with either. And the exit is as free 
 as the entrance. 
 
 "She settled down in the Etoile district, a suspi- 
 cious neighborhood, three years ago, and opened her 
 drawing-room to that froth of the continents which 
 comes to Paris to practice its various formidable and 
 criminal talents. 
 
 "I don't remember just how 1 went to her house. 
 I went as we all go, because there is card playing, 
 because the women are compliant, and the men dis- 
 honest. I love that social mob of buccaneers with 
 decorations of all sorts of orders, all titled, and all 
 entirely unknown at their embassies, except to the 
 spies. They are always dragging in the subject of 
 honor, quoting the list of their ancestors on the 
 slightest provocation, and telling the story of their 
 life at every opportunity, braggarts, liars, sharpers, 
 dangerous as their cards, false as their names, brave 
 because they have to be, like the assassins who can 
 not pluck their victims except by exposing their 
 own lives. In a word, it is the aristocracy of the 
 bagnio. 
 
 "1 like them. They are interesting to fathom and 
 to know, amusing to listen to, often witty, never 
 commonplace as the ordinary French guests. Their
 
 YVETTE 7 
 
 women are always pretty, with a little flavor of tor- 
 eign knavery, with the mystery of their past exist- 
 ence, half of which, perhaps, spent in a House of 
 Correction. They generally have fine eyes and glo- 
 rious hair, the true physique of the profession, an 
 intoxicating grace, a seductiveness which drives men 
 to folly, an unwholesome, irresistible charm! They 
 conquer like the highwaymen of old. They are ra- 
 pacious creatures, true birds of prey. I like them, 
 too. 
 
 "The Marquise Obardi is one of the type of these 
 elegant good-for-nothings. Ripe and pretty, with a 
 feline charm, you can see that she is vicious to the 
 marrow. Everybody has a good time at her house, 
 with cards, dancing, and suppers; in fact there is 
 everything which goes to make up the pleasures of 
 fashionable society life." 
 
 "Have you ever been or are you now her lover?" 
 Leon Saval asked. 
 
 "I have not been her lover, I am not now, and I 
 never shall be. 1 only go to the house to see her 
 daughter." 
 
 "Ah! She has a daughter, then?" 
 
 "A daughter! A marvel, my dear man. She is 
 the principal attraction of the den to-day. Tall, mag- 
 nificent, just ripe, eighteen years old, as fair as her 
 mother is dark, always merry, always ready for an 
 entertainment, always laughing, and ready to dance 
 like mad. Who will be the lucky man to capture 
 her, or who has already done so ? Nobody can tell 
 that. She has ten of us in her train, all hoping. 
 
 "Such a daughter in the hands of a woman like 
 the Marquise is a fortune. And they play the game
 
 8 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 together, the two charmers. No one knows just what 
 they are planning. Perhaps they are waiting for a 
 better bargain than 1 should prove. But I tell you 
 that I shall close the bargain if I ever get a chance. 
 
 "That girl Yvette absolutely baffles me, moreover. 
 She is a mystery, if she is not the most complete 
 monster of astuteness and perversity that I have ever 
 seen, she certainly is the most marvelous phenome- 
 non of innocence that can be imagined. She lives in 
 that atmosphere of infamy with a calm and triumph- 
 ing ease which is either wonderfully profligate or en- 
 tirely artless. Strange scion of an adventuress, cast 
 upon the muck-heap of that set, like a magnificent 
 plant nurtured upon corruption, or rather like the 
 daughter of some noble race, of some great artist, or 
 of some grand lord, of some prince or dethroned 
 king, tossed some evening into her mother's arms, no- 
 body can make out what she is nor what she thinks. 
 But you are going to see her." 
 
 Saval began to laugh and said: "You are in love 
 with her." 
 
 "No. 1 am on the list, which is not precisely the 
 same thing. I will introduce you to my most serious 
 rivals. But the chances are in my favor. 1 am in 
 the lead, and some little distinction is shown to me." 
 
 "You are in love," Saval repeated. 
 
 "No. She disquiets me, seduces and disturbs me, 
 attracts and frightens me away. I mistrust her as I 
 would a trap, and I long for her as I long for a sher- 
 bet when I am thirsty. I yield to her charm, and I 
 only approach her with the apprehension that I would 
 feel concerning a man who was known to be a skill- 
 ful thief, in her presence I have an irrational impulse
 
 YVETTE g 
 
 toward belief in her possible purity and a very reason- 
 able mistrust of her not less probable trickery. 1 feel 
 myself in contact with an abnormal being, beyond 
 the pale of natural laws, an exquisite or detestable 
 creature — I don't know which." 
 
 For the third time Saval said: "1 tell you that 
 you are in love. You speak of her with the mag- 
 niloquence of a poet and the feeling of a troubadour. 
 Come, search your heart, and confess." 
 
 Servigny walked a few steps without answering. 
 Then he replied: 
 
 "That is possible, after all. In any case, she fills 
 my mind almost continually. Yes, perhaps I am in 
 love. 1 dream about her too much. I think of her 
 when I am asleep and when I awake — that is surely 
 a grave indication. Her face follows me, accompanies 
 me ceaselessly, ever before me, around me, with me. 
 Is this love, this physical infatuation ? Her features 
 are so stamped upon my vision that I see her the 
 moment I shut my eyes. My heart beats quickly 
 every time 1 look at her, I don't deny it. 
 
 "So I am in love with her, but in a queer fash- 
 ion. I have the strongest desire for her, and yet the 
 idea of making her my wife would seem to me a 
 folly, a piece of stupidity, a monstrous thing. And I 
 have a little fear of her, as well, the fear which a 
 bird feels over which a hawk is hovering. 
 
 •'And again I am jealous of her, jealous of all of 
 which I am ignorant in her incomprehensible heart. 
 I am always wondering: Ms she a charming young- 
 ster or a wretched jade?' She says things that would 
 make an army shudder; but so does a parrot. She is 
 at times so indiscreet and yet modest that 1 am forced
 
 10 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 to believe in her spotless purity, and again so in- 
 credibly artless that I must suspect that she has never 
 been chaste. She allures me, excites me, like a woman 
 of a certain category, and at the same time acts like 
 an impeccable virgin. She seems to love me and yet 
 makes fun of me; she deports herself in public as if 
 she were my mistress and treats me in private as if 
 1 were her brother or footman. 
 
 "There are times when 1 fancy that she has as 
 many lovers as her mother. And at other times I 
 imagine that she suspects absolutely nothing of that 
 sort of life, you understand. Furthermore, she is a 
 great novel reader, I am at present, while awaiting 
 something better, her book purveyor. She calls me 
 her 'librarian.' Every week the New Book Store 
 sends her, on my orders, everything new that has 
 appeared, and 1 believe that she reads everything at 
 random. It must make a strange sort of mixture in 
 her head. 
 
 "That kind of literary hasty-pudding accounts 
 perhaps for some of the girl's peculiar ways. When 
 a young woman looks at existence through the me- 
 dium of fifteen thousand novels, she must see it in a 
 strange light, and construct queer ideas about mat- 
 ters and things in general. As for me, I am waiting. 
 It is certain at any rate that 1 never have had for any 
 other woman the devotion which I have had for her. 
 And still it is quite certain that I shall never marry 
 her. So if she has had numbers, I shall swell the 
 number. And if she has not, 1 shall take the first 
 ticket, just as I would do for a street car. 
 
 "The case is very simple. Of course, she will 
 never marry. Who in the world would marry the
 
 YVETTE 1 1 
 
 Marquise Obardi's daughter, the child of Octavia Bar- 
 din ? Nobody, for a thousand reasons. Where would 
 they ever find a husband for her? In society? 
 Never. The mother's house is a sort of Hberty-hall 
 whose patronage is attracted by the daughter. Girls 
 don't get married under those conditions. 
 
 "Would she find a husband among the trades- 
 people ? Still less would that be possible. And be- 
 sides the Marquise is not the woman to make a bad 
 bargain; she will give Yvette only to a man of high 
 position, and that man she will never discover. 
 
 "Then perhaps she will look among the common 
 people. Still less likely. There is no solution of the 
 problem, then. This young lady belongs neither to 
 society, nor to the tradesmen's class, nor to the com- 
 mon people, and she can never enter any of these 
 ranks by marriage. 
 
 "She belongs through her mother, her birth, her 
 education, her inheritance, her manners, and her cus- 
 toms, to the vortex of the most rapid life of Paris. 
 She can never escape it, save by becoming a nun, 
 which is not at all probable with her manners and 
 tastes. She has only one possible career, a life of 
 pleasure. She will come to it sooner or later, if in- 
 deed she has not already begun to tread its primrose 
 path. She cannot escape her fate. From being a 
 young girl she will take the inevitable step, quite 
 simply. And I would like to be the pivot of this 
 transformation. 
 
 "I am waiting. There are many lovers. You 
 will see among them a Frenchman, Monsieur de Bel- 
 vigne; a Russian, called Prince Kravalow, and an 
 Italian, Chevalier Valreali, who have all announced
 
 12 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 their candidacies and who are consequently maneu- 
 vering to the best of their abihty. In addition to 
 these there are several freebooters of less importance. 
 The Marquise waits and watches. But I think that 
 she has views about me. She knows that I am very 
 rich, and she makes less of the others. 
 
 " Her drawing-room is, moreover, the most as- 
 tounding that I know of, in such exhibitions. You 
 even meet very decent men there, like ourselves. As 
 for the women, she has culled the best there is from 
 the basket of pickpockets. Nobody knows where 
 she found them. It is a set apart from Bohemia, 
 apart from everything. She has had one inspiration 
 showing genius, and that is the knack of selecting 
 especially those adventuresses who have children, 
 generally girls. So that a fool might believe that in 
 her house he was among respectable women!" 
 
 They had reached the avenue of the Champs- 
 Elysees. A gentle breeze softly stirred the leaves and 
 touched the faces of passers-by, like the breaths of a 
 giant fan, waving somewhere in the sky. Silent 
 shadows wandered beneath the trees; others, on 
 benches, made a dark spot. And these shadows 
 spoke very low, as if they were telling each other 
 important or shameful secrets. 
 
 "You can't imagine what a collection of fictitious 
 titles are met in this lair," said Servigny. "By the 
 way, I shall present you by the name of Count 
 Saval; plain Saval would not do at all." 
 
 "Oh, no, indeed!" cried his friend; "I would not 
 have anyone think me capable of borrowing a title, 
 even for an evening, even among those people. 
 Ah, no!"
 
 YVETTE 
 
 13 
 
 Servigny began to laugh. 
 
 "How stupid you are! Why, in that set they 
 call me the Duke de Servigny. 1 don't know how 
 nor why. But at any rate the Duke de Servigny 1 
 am and shall remain, without complaining or pro- 
 testing. It does not worry me. I should have no 
 footing there whatever without a title." 
 
 But Saval would not be convinced. 
 
 "Well, you are of rank, and so you may remain. 
 But, as for me, no. 1 shall be the only common 
 person in the drawing-room. So much the worse, 
 or, so much the better. It will be my mark of dis- 
 tinction and superiority." 
 
 Servigny was obstinate. 
 
 "I tell you that it is not possible. Why, it would 
 almost seem monstrous. You would have the effect 
 of a ragman at a meeting of emperors. Let me do 
 as I like. I shall introduce you as the Vice-Roi du 
 'Haut-Mississippi,' and no one will be at all aston- 
 ished. When a man takes on greatness, he can't 
 take too much." 
 
 "Once more, no, I do not wish it." 
 
 "Very well, have your way. But, in fact, I am 
 very foolish to try to convince you. I defy you to 
 get in without some one giving you a title, just as 
 they give a bunch of violets to the ladies at the en- 
 trance to certain stores." 
 
 They turned to the right in the Rue de Barrie, 
 mounted one flight of stairs in a fine modern house, 
 and gave their overcoats and canes into the hands of 
 four servants in knee-breeches. A warm odor, as of 
 a festival assembly, filled the air, an odor of flowers, 
 perfumes, and women; and a composed and contin- 
 
 7 G. de M. — 15
 
 M 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 uous murmur came from the adjoining rooms, which 
 were filled with people. 
 
 A kind of master of ceremonies, tall, erect, wide 
 of girth, serious, his face framed in white whiskers, 
 approached the newcomers, asking with a short and 
 haughty bow: "Whom shall I announce?" 
 
 "Monsieur Saval," Servigny replied. 
 
 Then with a loud voice, the man opening the 
 door cried out to the crowd of guests: 
 
 "Monsieur the Duke de Servigny. 
 
 "Monsieur the Baron Saval." 
 
 The first drawing-room was filled with women. 
 The first thing which attracted attention was the dis- 
 play of bare shoulders, above a flood of brilliant 
 gowns. 
 
 The mistress of the house who stood talking with 
 three friends, turned and came forward with a majes- 
 tic step, with grace in her mien and a smile on her 
 lips. Her forehead was narrow and very low, and 
 was covered with a mass of glossy black hair, en- 
 croaching a little upon the temples. 
 
 She was tall, a trifle too large, a little too stout, 
 over ripe, but very pretty, with a heavy, warm, potent 
 beauty. Beneath that mass of hair, full of dreams 
 and smiles, rendering her mysteriously captivating, 
 were enormous black eyes. Her nose was a little 
 narrow, her mouth large and infinitely seductive, 
 made to speak and to conquer. 
 
 Her greatest charm was in her voice. It came 
 from that mouth as water from a spring, so natural, 
 so light, so well modulated, so clear, that there was 
 a physical pleasure in listening to it. It was a joy 
 for the ear to hear the flexible words flow with the
 
 YVETTE , ^ 
 
 grace of a babbling brook, and it was a joy for the 
 eyes to see those pretty lips, a trifle too red, open as 
 the words rippled forth. 
 
 She gave one hand to Servigny, who kissed it, 
 and dropping her fan on its little gold chain, she gave 
 the other to Saval, saying to him: "You are wel- 
 come, Baron, all the Duke's friends are at home 
 here." 
 
 Then she fixed her brilliant eyes upon the Colossus 
 who had just been introduced to her. She had just 
 the slightest down on her upper lip, a suspicion of a 
 mustache, which seemed darker when she spoke. 
 There was a pleasant odor about her, pervading, in- 
 toxicating, som.e perfume of America or of the Indies, 
 Other people came in, marquesses, counts or princes. 
 She said to Servigny, with the graciousness of a 
 mother: "You will find my daughter in the other 
 parlor. Have a good time, gentlemen, the house is 
 yours." 
 
 And she left them to go to those who had come 
 later, throwing at Saval that smiling and fleeting 
 glance which women use to show that they are 
 pleased. Servigny grasped his friend's arm. 
 
 "1 will pilot you," said he. "In this parlor 
 where we now are, women, the temples of the 
 fleshly, fresh or otherwise. Bargains as good as 
 new, even better, for sale or on lease. At the right, 
 gaming, the temple of money. You understand all 
 about that. At the lower end, dancing, the temple 
 of innocence, the sanctuary, the market for young 
 girls. They are shown off there in every light. 
 Even legitimate marriages are tolerated. It is the 
 future, the hope, of our evenings. And the most
 
 l6 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 curious part of this museum of moral diseases are 
 these young girls whose souls are out of joint, just 
 like the limbs of the little clowns born of mounte- 
 banks. Come and look at them." 
 
 He bowed, right and left, courteously, a compli- 
 ment on his lips, sweeping each low-gowned woman 
 whom he knew with the look of an expert. 
 
 The musicians, at the end of the second parlor, 
 were playing a waltz; and the two friends stopped 
 ' at the door to look at them. A score of couples 
 were whirling — the men with a serious expression, 
 and the women with a fixed smile on their lips. 
 They displayed a good deal of shoulder, like their 
 mothers; and the bodices of some were only held in 
 place by a slender ribbon, disclosing at times more 
 than is generally shown. 
 
 Suddenly from the end of the room a tall girl 
 darted forward, gliding through the crowd, brushing 
 against the dancers, and holding her long train in 
 her left hand. She ran with quick little steps as 
 women do in crowds, and called out: "Ah! How 
 is Muscade.^ How do you do, Muscade?" 
 
 Her features wore an expression of the bloom oi 
 life, the illumination of happiness. Her white flesh 
 seemed to shine, the golden-white flesh which goes 
 with red hair. The mass of her tresses, twisted on 
 her head, fiery, flaming locks, nestled against her 
 supple neck, which was still a little thin. 
 
 She seemed to move just as her mother was 
 made to speak, so natural, noble, and simple were 
 her gestures. A person felt a moral joy and physical 
 pleasure in seeing her walk, stir about, bend her 
 head, or lift her arm.
 
 YVETTE 
 
 n 
 
 "Ah! Muscade, how do you do, Muscade?" she 
 repeated. 
 
 Servigny shook her hand violently, as he would a 
 man's, and said: "Mademoiselle Yvette, my friend, 
 Baron Saval." 
 
 " Good evening, Monsieur. Are you always as 
 tall as that?" 
 
 Servigny replied in that bantering tone which he 
 always used with her, in order to conceal his mis- 
 trust and his uncertainty: 
 
 "No, Mam'zelle. He has put on his greatest di- 
 mensions to please your mother, who loves a co- 
 lossus." 
 
 And the young girl remarked with a comic seri- 
 ousness: "Very well! But when you come to see 
 me you must diminish a little if you please. I prefer 
 the medium height. Now Muscade has just the pro- 
 portions which I like." 
 
 And she gave her hand to the newcomer. Then 
 she asked: "Do you dance, Muscade? Come, let us 
 waltz." Without replying, with a quick movement, 
 passionately, Servigny clasped her waist and they dis- 
 appeared with the fury of a whirlwind. 
 
 They danced more rapidly than any of the others, 
 whirled and whirled, and turned madly, so close to- 
 gether that they seemed but one, and with the form 
 erect, the legs almost motionless, as if some invisible 
 mechanism, concealed beneath their feet, caused them 
 to twirl. They appeared tireless. The other dancers 
 stopped from time to time. They still danced on, 
 alone. They seemed not to know where they were 
 nor what they were doing, as if they had gone far 
 away from the ball, in an ecstasy. The musicians
 
 l8 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 continued to play, with their looks fixed upon this 
 mad couple; all the guests gazed at them, and when 
 finally they did stop dancing, everyone applauded 
 them. 
 
 She was a little flushed, with strange eyes, ardent 
 and timid, less daring than a moment before, troubled 
 eyes, blue, yet with a pupil so black that they seemed 
 hardly natural. Servigny appeared giddy. He leaned 
 against a door to regain his composure. 
 
 "You have no head, my poor Muscade, I am 
 steadier than you," said Yvette to Servigny. 
 
 He smiled nervously, and devoured her with a 
 look. His animal feelings revealed themselves in his 
 eyes and in the curl of his lips. She stood beside 
 him looking down, and her bosom rose and fell in 
 short gasps as he looked at her. 
 
 Then she said softly: "Really, there are times 
 when you are like a tiger about to spring upon his 
 prey. Come, give me your arm, and let us find 
 your friend." 
 
 Silently he offered her his arm and they went 
 down the long drawing-room together. 
 
 Saval was not alone, for the Marquise Obardi had 
 rejoined him. She conversed with him on ordinary 
 and fashionable subjects with a seductiveness in her 
 tones which intoxicated him. And, looking at her 
 with his mental eye, it seemed to him that her lips 
 uttered words far different from those which they 
 formed. When she saw Servigny her face immedi- 
 ately lighted up, and turning toward him she said: 
 
 "You know, my dear Duke, that 1 have just 
 leased a villa at Bougival for two months, and I 
 count upon vour coming to see me there, and upon
 
 YVETTE 
 
 19 
 
 your friend also. Listen. We take possession next 
 Monday, and shall expect both of you to dinner the 
 following Saturday. We shall keep you over Sunday.'" 
 
 Perfectly serene and tranquil Yvette smiled, saying 
 with a decision which swept away hesitation on his 
 part : 
 
 "Of course Muscade will come to dinner on Sat- 
 urday. We have only to ask him, for he and I in- 
 tend to commit a lot of follies in the country." 
 
 He thought he divined the birth of a promise in 
 her smile, and in her voice he heard what he thought 
 was invitation. 
 
 Then the Marquise turned her big, black eyes 
 upon Saval: "And you will, of course, come, Baron r*" 
 
 With a smile that forbade doubt, he bent toward 
 her, saying, "I shall be only too charmed, Madame." 
 
 Then Yvette murmured with malice that was either 
 naive or traitorous: "We will set all the world by 
 the ears down there, won't we, Muscade, and make my 
 regiment of admirers fairly mad." And with a look, 
 she pointed out a group of men who were looking 
 at them from a little distance. 
 
 Said Servigny to her: "As many follies as you 
 may please, Mam'zelle." 
 
 In speaking to Yvette, Servigny never used the 
 word "Mademoiselle," by reason of his close and long 
 intimacy with her. 
 
 Then Saval asked: "Why does Mademoiselle al- 
 ways call my friend Servigny ' Muscade ' ? " 
 
 Yvette assumed a very frank air and said: 
 
 "I will tell you: It is because he always slips 
 through my hands. Now 1 think I have him, and 
 then I find I have not."
 
 20 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 The Marquise, with her eyes upon Saval, and evi- 
 dently preoccupied, said in a careless tone: "You 
 children are very funny." 
 
 But Yvette bridled up: "I do not intend to be 
 funny; I am simply frank. Muscade pleases me, 
 and is always deserting me, and that is what annoys 
 me." 
 
 Servigny bowed profoundly, saying: "I will never 
 leave you any more, Mam'zelle, neither day nor night." 
 
 She made a gesture of horror : 
 
 "My goodness! no — what do you mean? You 
 are all right during the day, but at night you might 
 embarrass me." 
 
 With an air of impertinence he asked: "And 
 why?" 
 
 Yvette responded calmly and audaciously, "Be- 
 cause you would not look well en deshabille." 
 
 The Marquise, without appearing at all disturbed, 
 said: "What extraordinary subjects for conversation. 
 One would think that you were not at all ignorant of 
 such things." 
 
 And Servigny jokingly added: "That is also my 
 opinion, Marquise." 
 
 Yvette turned her eyes upon him, and in a haughty, 
 yet wounded, tone said: "You are becoming very 
 vulgar — just as you have been several times lately." 
 And turning quickly she appealed to an individual 
 standing by: 
 
 "Chevalier, come and defend me from insult." 
 
 A thin, brown man, with an easy carriage, came 
 forward. 
 
 "Who Is the culprit?" said he, with a constrained 
 smile.
 
 YVETTE 31 
 
 Yvette pointed out Servigny with a nod of her 
 head : 
 
 "There he is, but I like him better than I do you, 
 because he is less of a bore." 
 
 The Chevalier Valreali bowed: 
 
 "I do what I can, Mademoiselle. I may have less 
 ability, but not less devotion." 
 
 A gentleman came forward, tall and stout, with 
 gray whiskers, saying in loud tones: "Mademoiselle 
 Yvette, I am your most devoted slave." 
 
 Yvette cried: "Ah, Monsieur de Belvigne." Then 
 turning toward Saval, she introduced him. 
 
 "My last adorer — big, fat, rich, and stupid. Those 
 are the kind 1 like. A veritable drum-major — but of 
 the table d'hote. But see, you are still bigger than 
 he. How shall 1 nickname you? Good! I have it. 
 I shall call you ' M. Colossus of Rhodes, Junior,' from 
 the Colossus who certainly was your father. But you 
 two ought to have very interesting things to say to 
 each other up there, above the heads of us all — so, 
 by-bye." 
 
 And she left them quickly, going to the orchestra 
 to make the musicians strike up a quadrille. 
 
 Madame Obardi seemed preoccupied. In a soft 
 voice she said to Servigny: 
 
 "You are always teasing her. You will warp her 
 character and bring out many bad traits." 
 
 Servigny replies: "Why, haven't you finished her 
 education?" 
 
 She appeared not to understand, and continued 
 talking in a friendly way. But she noticed a solemn 
 looking man, wearing a perfect constellation of crosses 
 and orders, standing near her, and she ran to him:
 
 2.2 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "Ah! Prince, Prince, wiiat good fortune!" 
 
 Servigny took Saval's arm and drew him away: 
 
 "That is the latest serious suitor, Prince Krava- 
 low. Isn't she superb?" 
 
 "To my mind they are both superb. The mother 
 would suffice for me perfectly," answered Saval, 
 
 Servigny nodded and said: "At your disposal, my 
 dear boy." 
 
 The dancers elbowed them aside, as they were 
 forming for a quadrille. 
 
 "Now let us go and see the sharpers," said Ser- 
 vigny. And they entered the gambling-room. 
 
 Around each table stood a group of men, looking 
 on. There was very little conversation. At times the 
 clink of gold coins, tossed upon the green cloth or 
 hastily seized, added its sound to the murmur of the 
 players, just as if the money was putting in its word 
 among the human voices. 
 
 All the men were decorated with various orders, 
 and odd ribbons, and they all wore the same severe 
 expression, with different countenances. The espe- 
 cially distinguishing feature was the beard. 
 
 The stiff American with his horseshoe, the haughty 
 Hnglishman with his f^m-beard open on his breast, 
 the Spaniard with his black fleece reaching to the 
 eyes, the Roman with that huge mustache which 
 Italy copied from Victor Emmanuel, the Austrian with 
 his whiskers and shaved chin, a Russian general 
 whose lip seemed armed with two twisted lances, 
 and a Frenchman with a dainty mustache, displayed 
 the fancies of all the barbers in the world. 
 
 "You won't join the game.^" asked Servigny. 
 
 "No, shall you?"
 
 YVETTE 23 
 
 "Not now. If you are ready to go, we will come 
 back some quieter day. There are too many people 
 here to-day, and we can't do anything." 
 
 "Well, let us go." 
 
 And they disappeared behind a door-curtain into 
 the hall. As soon as they were in the street Servigny 
 asked: "Well, what do you think of it?" 
 
 " it certainly is interesting, but I fancy the 
 women's side of it more than the men's." 
 
 "Indeed! Those women are the best of the tribe 
 for us. Don't you find that you breathe the odor of 
 love among them, just as you scent the perfumes at 
 a hairdresser's.^" 
 
 "Really such houses are the place for one to go. 
 And what experts, my dear fellow! What artists! 
 Have you ever eaten bakers' cakes ? They look well, 
 but they amount to nothing. The man who bakes 
 them only knows how to make bread. Well! the 
 love of a woman in ordinary society always reminds 
 me of these bake-shop trifles, while the love you 
 find at houses hke the Marquise Obardi's, don't you 
 see, is the real sweetmeat. Oh! they know how to 
 make cakes, these charming pastry-cooks. Only you 
 pay five sous, at their shops, for what costs two sous 
 elsewhere." 
 
 "Who is the master of the house just now?" 
 asked Saval. 
 
 Servigny shrugged his shoulders, signifying his 
 ignorance. 
 
 "I don't know, the latest one known was an 
 English peer, but he left three months ago. At 
 present she must live off the common herd, or the 
 gambling, perhaps, and on the gamblers, for she has
 
 24 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 her caprices. But tell me, it is understood that we 
 dine with her on Saturday at Bougival, is it not? 
 People are more free in the country, and I shall 
 succeed in finding out what ideas Yvette has in her 
 head!" 
 
 "I should like nothing better," replied Saval. "I 
 have nothing to do that day." 
 
 Passing down through the Champs-Elysees, under 
 the steps they disturbed a couple making love on one 
 of the benches, and Servigny muttered: "What 
 foolishness and what a serious matter at the same 
 time! How commonplace and amusing love is, al- 
 ways the same and always different! And the beg- 
 gar who gives his sweetheart twenty sous gets as 
 much return as I would for ten thousand francs from 
 some Obardi, no younger and no less stupid perhaps 
 than this nondescript. What nonsense!" 
 
 He said nothing for a few minutes; then he began 
 again: "All the same, it would be good to become 
 Yvette's first lover. Oh! for that 1 would give—" 
 
 He did not add what he would give, and Saval 
 said good night to him as they reached the corner of 
 the Rue Royale.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 BOUGIVAL AND LoVE 
 
 HEY had set the table on the veranda 
 which overlooked the river. The 
 Printemps villa, leased by the 
 Marquise Obardi, was halfway up 
 this hill, just at the corner of the 
 Seine, which turned before the garden 
 wall, flowing toward Marly. 
 Opposite the residence, the island 
 ' of Croissy formed a horizon of tall trees, 
 a mass of verdure, and they could see a 
 long stretch of the big river as far as the 
 Y^t floating caf6 of La Grenouillere hidden be- 
 fe; neath the foliage. 
 
 r The evening fell, one of those calm even- 
 
 ings at the waterside, full of color yet soft, one of 
 those peaceful evenings which produces a sensation of 
 pleasure. No breath of air stirred the branches, no 
 shiver of wind ruffled the smooth clear surface of the 
 Seine. It was not too warm, it was mild — good 
 weather to live in. The grateful coolness of the 
 banks of the Seine rose toward a serene sky. 
 
 The sun disappeared behind the trees to shine on
 
 26 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Other lands, and one seemed to absorb the serenity 
 of the already sleeping earth, to inhale, in the peace 
 of space, the life of the infinite. 
 
 As they left the drawing-room to seat themselves 
 at the table everyone was joyous. A softened gaiety 
 filled their hearts, they felt that it would be so de- 
 lightful to dine there in the country, with that great 
 river and that twilight for a setting, breathing that 
 pure and fragrant air. 
 
 The Marquise had taken Saval's arm, and Yvette, 
 Servigny's. The four were alone by themselves. The 
 two women seemed entirely different persons from 
 what they were at Paris, especially Yvette. She 
 talked but little, and seemed languid and grave. 
 
 Saval, hardly recognizing her in this frame of 
 mind, asked her: "What is the matter. Mademoi- 
 selle? I find you changed since last week. You 
 have become quite a serious person." 
 
 "It is the country that does that for me," she re- 
 plied. "I am not the same, I feel queer; besides 1 
 am never two days alike. To-day I have the air of a 
 mad woman, and to-morrow shall be as grave as an 
 elegy. I change with the weather, I don't know why. 
 You see, 1 am capable of anything, according to the 
 moment. There are days when 1 would like to kill 
 people,— not animals, I would never kill animals,— but 
 people, yes, and other days when I weep at a mere 
 thing. A lot of different ideas pass through my head. 
 It depends, too, a good deal on how 1 get up. 
 Every morning, on waking, I can tell just what 1 
 shall be in the evening. Perhaps it is our dreams 
 that settle it for us, and it depends on the book I 
 have just read."
 
 YVETTE 
 
 27 
 
 She was clad in a white flannel suit which deli- 
 cately enveloped her in the floating softness of the 
 material. Her bodice, with full folds, suggested, 
 without displaying and without restraining, her free 
 chest, which was firm and already ripe. And her 
 superb neck emerged from a froth of soft lace, bend- 
 ing with gentle movements, fairer than her gown, a 
 pilaster of flesh, bearmg the heavy mass of her golden 
 hair. 
 
 Servigny looked at her for a long time: "You 
 are adorable this evening, Mam'zelle," said he, "I 
 wish I could always see you like this." 
 
 "Don't make a declaration, Muscade. I should take 
 it seriously, and that might cost you dear." 
 
 The Marquise seemed happy, very happy. All in 
 black, richly dressed in a plain gown which showed 
 her strong, full lines, a bit of red at the bodice, a 
 cincture of red carnations f;illing from her waist like 
 a chain, and fastened at the hips, and a red rose in 
 her dark hair, she carried in all her person something 
 fervid, — in that simple costume, in those flowers 
 which seemed to bleed, in her look, in her slow 
 speech, in her peculiar gestures. 
 
 Saval, too, appeared serious and absorbed. From 
 time to time he stroked his pointed beard, trimmed 
 in the fashion of Henri 111., and seemed to be medi- 
 tating on the most profound subjects. 
 
 Nobody spoke for several minutes. Then as they 
 were serving the trout, Servigny remarked: 
 
 "Silence is a good thing, at times. People are 
 often nearer to each other when they are keeping 
 still than when they are talking. Isn't that so, Mar- 
 quise?"
 
 28 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 She turned a little toward him and answered: 
 
 " It is quite true. It is so sweet to think together 
 about agreeable things. 
 
 She raised her warm glance toward Saval, and 
 they continued for some seconds looking into each 
 other's eyes. A slight, almost inaudible movement 
 took place beneath the table. 
 
 Servigny resumed: "Mam'zelle Yvette, you will 
 make me believe that you are in love if you keep on 
 being as good as that. Now, with whom could you 
 be in love? Let us think together, if you will; I put 
 aside the army of vulgar sighers. I'll only take the 
 principal ones. Is it Prince Kravalow?" 
 
 At this name Yvette awoke: "My poor Muscade, 
 can you think of such a thing? Why, the Prince has 
 the air of a Russian in a wax-figure museum, who 
 has won medals in a hairdressing competition." 
 
 "Good! We'll drop the Prince. But you have 
 noticed the Viscount Pierre de Belvigne?" 
 
 This time she began to laugh, and asked: "Can 
 you imagine me hanging to the neck of 'Raisine'?" 
 She nicknamed him according to the day, Raisine, 
 Malvoisie, * Argenteuil, for she gave everybody nick- 
 names. And she would murmur to his face: "My 
 dear little Pierre," or "My divine Pedro, darling 
 Pierrot, give your bow-wow's head to your dear little 
 girl, who wants to kiss it." 
 
 "Scratch out number two. There still remains 
 the Chevalier Valreali whom the Marquise seems to 
 favor," continued Servigny. 
 
 Yvette regained all her gaiety: "* Teardrop'? 
 
 •Preserved grapes and pears, malmsey, — a poor wine.
 
 YVETTE 
 
 29 
 
 Why he weeps like a Magdalene. He goes to all the 
 first-class funerals. I imagine myself dead every time 
 he looks at me." 
 
 "That settles the third. So the lightning will 
 strike Baron Saval, here." 
 
 "Monsieur the Colossus of Rhodes, Junior? No. 
 He is too strong. It would seem to me as if I were 
 in love with the triumphal arch of L'Etoile." 
 
 "Then Mam'zelle, it is beyond doubt that you are 
 in love with me, for I am the only one of your 
 adorers of whom we have not yet spoken. I left 
 myself for the last through modesty and through dis- 
 cretion. It remains for me to thank you." 
 
 She replied with happy grace: " In love with 
 you, Muscade ? Ah! no. 1 like you. but I don't love 
 you. Wait — I — I don't want to discourage you. I 
 don't love you — yet. You have a chance — perhaps. 
 Persevere, Muscade, be devoted, ardent, submissive, 
 full of little attentions and considerations, docile to 
 my slightest caprices, ready for anything to please 
 me, and we shall see — later." 
 
 "But, Mam'zelle, I would rather furnish all you 
 demand afterward than beforehand, if it be the same 
 to you." 
 
 She asked with an artless air: "After what, Mus- 
 cade?" 
 
 "After you have shown me that you love me, by 
 Jove I" 
 
 "Well, act as if I loved you, and believe it, if you 
 wish." 
 
 "But you — " 
 
 "Be quiet, Muscade; enough on the subject." 
 
 The sun had sunk behind the island, but the 
 
 7 G. de M.— 16
 
 30 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 whole sky still flamed like a fire, and the peaceful 
 water of the river seemed changed to blood. The 
 reflections from the horizon reddened houses, objects, 
 and persons. The scarlet rose in the Marquise's hair 
 had the appearance of a splash of purple fallen from 
 the clouds upon her head. 
 
 As Yvette looked on from her end, the Marquise 
 rested, as if by carelessness, her bare hand upon 
 Savai's hand; but the young girl made a motion and 
 the Marquise withdrew her hand with a quick ges- 
 ture, pretending to readjust something in the folds 
 of her corsage. 
 
 Servigny, who was looking at them, said: 
 
 " If you like, Mam'zelle, we will take a walk on 
 the island after dinner." 
 
 "Oh, yes! That will be delightful. We will go 
 all alone, won't we, Muscade?" 
 
 "Yes, all alone, Mam'zelle!" 
 
 The vast silence of the horizon, the sleepy tran- 
 quillity of the evening captured heart, body, and voice. 
 There are peaceful, chosen hours when it becomes 
 almost impossible to talk. 
 
 The servants waited on them noiselessly. The 
 firmamental conflagration faded away, and the soft 
 night spread its shadows over the earth. 
 
 "Are you going to stay long in this place?" 
 asked Saval. 
 
 And the Marquise answered, dwelling on each 
 word: "Yes, as long as I am happy." 
 
 As it was too dark to see, lamps were brought. 
 They cast upon the table a strange, pale gleam be- 
 neath the great obscurity of space; and very soon a 
 shower of gnats fell upon the tablecloth — the tiny
 
 YVETTE 
 
 31 
 
 gnats which immolate themselves by passing over 
 the glass chimneys, and, with wings and legs scorched, 
 powder the table-linen, dishes, and cups with a kind 
 of gray and hopping dust. 
 
 They swallowed them in the wine, they ate them 
 in the sauces, they saw them moving on the bread, 
 and had their faces and hands tickled by the count- 
 less swarm of these tiny insects. They were contin- 
 ually compelled to throw away the beverages, to 
 cover the plates, and while eating to shield the food 
 with infinite precautions. 
 
 It amused Yvette. Servigny took care to shelter 
 what she bore to her mouth, to guard her glass, to 
 hold his handkerchief stretched out over her head 
 /ike a roof. But the Marquise, disgusted, became 
 nervous, and the end of the dinner came quickly. 
 Yvette, who had not forgotten Servigny's proposition, 
 said to him: 
 
 "Now we'll go to the island." 
 
 Her mother cautioned her in a languid tone: 
 "Don't be late, above all things. We will escort you 
 to the ferry." 
 
 And they started in couples, the young girl and 
 her admirer walking in front, on the road to the 
 shore. They heard, behind them, the Marquise and 
 Saval speaking very rapidly in low tones. All was 
 dark, with a thick, inky darkness. But the sky 
 swarmed with grains of fire, and seemed to sow them 
 in the river, for the black water was flecked with 
 stars. 
 
 The frogs were croaking monotonously upon the 
 bank, and numerous nightingales were uttering their 
 low, sweet song in the calm and peaceful air.
 
 32 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Yvette suddenly said: "Gracious! They are not 
 walking behind us any more, where are they?" And 
 she called out: "Mamma!" No voice replied. The 
 young girl resumed: "At any rate, they can't be far 
 away, for I heard them just now." 
 
 Servigny murmured: "They must have gone back. 
 Your mother was cold, perhaps." And he drew her 
 along. 
 
 Before them a light gleamed. It was the tavern 
 of Martinet, restaurant-keeper and fisherman. At their 
 call a man came out of the house, and they got into 
 a large boat which was moored among the weeds of 
 the shore. 
 
 The ferryman took his oars, and the unwieldy 
 barge, as it advanced, disturbed the sleeping stars 
 upon the water and set them into a mad dance, 
 which gradually calmed down after they had passed. 
 They touched the other shore and disembarked be- 
 neath the great trees. A cool freshness of damp 
 earth permeated the air under the lofty and clustered 
 branches, where there seemed to be as many night- 
 ingales as there were leaves. A distant piano began 
 to play a popular waltz. 
 
 Servigny took Yvette's arm and very gently 
 slipped his hand around her waist and gave her a 
 slight hug. 
 
 "What are you thinking about?" he said. 
 
 "I? About nothing at all. I am very happy!" 
 
 "Then you don't love me?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, Muscade, I love you, I love you a great 
 deal; only leave me alone. It is too beautiful here to 
 listen to your nonsense." 
 
 He drew her toward him, although she tried, by
 
 YVETTE 
 
 33 
 
 little pushes, to extricate herself, and through her soft 
 flannel gown he felt the warmth of her flesh. He 
 stammered: 
 
 "Yvette!" 
 
 "Well, what?" 
 
 " 1 do love you! " 
 
 "But you are not in earnest, Muscade." 
 
 "Oh, yes 1 am. I have loved you for a long 
 time." 
 
 She continually kept trying to separate herself from 
 him, trying to release the arm crushed between their 
 bodies. They walked with difficulty, trammeled by 
 this bond and by these movements, and went zig- 
 zagging along like drunken folk. 
 
 He knew not what to say to her, feeling that he 
 could not talk to a young girl as he would to a 
 woman. He was perplexed, thinking what he ought 
 to do, wondering if she consented or did not under- 
 stand, and curbing his spirit to find just the right, 
 tender, and decisive words. He kept saying every 
 second: 
 
 "Yvette! Speak! Yvette!" 
 
 Then, suddenly, risking all, he kissed her on the 
 cheek. She gave a little start aside, and said with a 
 vexed air: 
 
 "Oh! you are absurd. Are you going to let me 
 alone?" 
 
 The tone of her voice did not at all reveal her 
 thoughts nor her wishes ; and, not seeing her too 
 angry, he applied his lips to the beginning of her 
 neck, just beneath the golden hair, that charming 
 spot which he had so often coveted. 
 
 Then she made great efforts to free herself. But
 
 34 V/ORRS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 he held her strongly, and placing his other hand on 
 her shoulder, he compelled her to turn her head to- 
 ward him and gave her a fond, passionate kiss, 
 squarely on the mouth. 
 
 She slipped from his arms by a quick undulation 
 of the body, and. free from his grasp, she disap- 
 peared into the darkness with a great swishing of 
 skirts, like the whir of a bird as it flies away. 
 
 He stood motionless a moment, surprised by her 
 suppleness and her disappearance, then hearing noth- 
 ing, he called gently: "Yvette!" 
 
 She did not reply. He began to walk forward, 
 peering through the shadows, looking in the under- 
 brush for the white spot her dress should make. AH 
 was dark. He cried out more loudly: 
 
 "Mam'zelle Yvette! Mam'zelle Yvette!" 
 
 Nothing stirred. He stopped and listened. The 
 whole island was still; there was scarcely a rustle of 
 leaves over his head. The frogs alone continued their 
 deep croakings on the shores. Then he wandered 
 from thicket to thicket, going where the banks were 
 steep and bushy and returning to places where they 
 were flat and bare as a dead man's arm. He pro- 
 ceeded until he was opposite Bougival and reached 
 the establishment of La Grenouillere, groping the 
 clumps of trees, calling out continually: 
 
 "Mam'zelle Yvette, where are you? Answer. !t 
 is ridiculous! Come, answer! Don't keep me hunt- 
 ing like this." 
 
 A distant clock began to strike. He counted the 
 hours: twelve. He had been searching through the 
 island for two hours. Then he thought that perhaps 
 she had gone home; and he went back very anx-
 
 YVETTE ^5 
 
 iously, this time by way of the bridge. A servant 
 dozing on a chair was waiting in the hall. 
 
 Servigny awakened him and asked: "Is it long 
 since Mademoiselle Yvette came home ? 1 left her at 
 the foot of the place because I had a call to make." 
 
 And the valet replied: "Oh! yes, Monsieur, Ma- 
 demoiselle came in before ten o'clock." 
 
 He proceeded to his room and went to bed. But 
 he could not close his eyes. That stolen kiss had 
 stirred him to the soul. He kept wondering what 
 she thought and what she knew. How pretty and 
 attractive she was! 
 
 His desires, somewhat wearied by the life he led, 
 by all his procession of sweethearts, by all his explo- 
 rations in the kingdom of love, awoke before this sin- 
 gular child, so fresh, irritating, and inexplicable. He 
 heard one o'clock strike, then two. He could not 
 sleep at all. He was warm, he felt his heart beat 
 and his temples throb, and he rose to open the win- 
 dow, A breath of fresh air came in, which he in- 
 haled deeply. The thick darkness was silent, black, 
 motionless. But suddenly he perceived before him, 
 in the shadows of the garden, a shining point; it 
 seemed a little red coal. 
 
 "Well, a cigar!" he said to himself. "It must 
 be Saval," and he called softly: "Leon!" 
 
 "Is it you, Jean?" 
 
 "Yes. Wait. I'll come down." He dressed, 
 went out, and rejoining his friend who was smok- 
 ing astride an iron chair, inquired: "Whai are you 
 doing here at this hour?" 
 
 "1 am resting," Saval replied. And he began to 
 laugh.
 
 ^ WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Servigny pressed his hand: "My compliments, 
 my dear fellow. And as for me, I — am making a 
 fool of myself." 
 
 "You mean — " 
 
 "I mean that — Yvette and her mother do not 
 resemble each other." 
 
 "What has happened? Tell me." 
 
 Servigny recounted his attempts and their failure. 
 Then he resumed: 
 
 "Decidedly, that little girl worries me. Fancy 
 my not being able to sleep! What a queer thing a 
 girl is! She appears to be as simple as anything, 
 and yet you know nothing about her. A woman 
 who has lived and loved, who knows life, can be 
 quickly understood. But when it comes to a young 
 virgin, on the contrary, no one can guess anything 
 about her. At heart I begin to think that she is 
 making sport of me." 
 
 Saval tilted his chair. He said, very slowly: 
 
 "Take care, my dear fellow, she will lead you to 
 marriage. Remember those other illustrious exam- 
 ples. It was just by this same process that Made- 
 moiselle de Montijo, who was at least of good family, 
 became empress. Don't play Napoleon." 
 
 Servigny murmured: "As for that, fear nothing. 
 1 am neither a simpleton nor an emperor. A man 
 must be either one or the other to make such a move 
 as that. But tell me, are you sleepy?" 
 
 "Not a bit." 
 
 "Will you take a walk along the river?" 
 
 "Gladly." 
 
 They opened the iron gate and began to walk 
 along the river bank toward Marly.
 
 YVETTE 
 
 37 
 
 It was the quiet hour which precedes dawn, the 
 hour of deep sleep, of complete rest, of profound 
 peacefulness. Even the gentle sounds of the night 
 were hushed. The nightingales sang no longer; the 
 frogs had finished their hubbub; some kind of an 
 animal only, probably a bird, was making somewhere 
 a kind of sawing sound, feeble, monotonous, and reg- 
 ular as a machine. Servigny, who had moments of 
 poetry and of philosophy too, suddenly remarked: 
 
 "Now this girl completely puzzles me. In arith- 
 metic, one and one make two. In love one and one 
 ought to make one but they make two just the same. 
 Have you ever felt that? That need of absorbing a 
 woman in yourself or disappearing in her? I am not 
 speaking of the animal embrace, but of that moral 
 and mental eagerness to be but one with a being, to 
 open to her all one's heart and soul, and to fathom 
 her thoughts to the depths. 
 
 "And yet you can never lay bare all the fluctua- 
 tions of her wishes, desires, and opinions. You can 
 never guess, even slightly, all the unknown currents, 
 all the mystery of a soul that seems so near, a soul 
 hidden behind two eyes that look at you, clear as 
 water, transparent as if there were nothing beneath 
 a soul which talks to you by a beloved mouth, which 
 seems your very own, so greatly do you desire it; a 
 soul which throws you by words its thoughts, one 
 by one, and which, nevertheless, remains further 
 away from you than those stars are from each other, 
 and more impenetrable. Isn't it queer, all that.'^" 
 
 "I don't ask so much," Saval rejoined. "I don't 
 look behmd the eyes. I care little for the contents, 
 but much for the vessel."
 
 58 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 And Servigny replied: "What a singular person 
 Yvette is! How will she receive me this morning?" 
 
 As they reached the works at Marly they per- 
 ceived that the sky was brightening. The cocks 
 began to crow in the poultry-yards. A bird twittered 
 in a park at the left, ceaselessly reiterating a tender 
 little theme. 
 
 "It is time to go back," said Saval. 
 
 They returned, and as Servigny entered his room, 
 he saw the horizon all pink through his open win- 
 dows. 
 
 Then he shut the blinds, drew the thick, heavy 
 curtains, went back to bed and fell asleep. He 
 dreamed of Yvette all through his slumber. An odd 
 noise awoke him. He sat on the side of the bed 
 and listened, but heard nothing further. Then 
 suddenly there was a crackling against the blinds, 
 like falling hail. He jumped from the bed, ran to the 
 window, opened it, and saw Yvette standing in the 
 path and throwing handfuls of gravel at his face. 
 She was clad in pink, with a wide-brimmed straw 
 hat ornamented with a mousquetaire plume, and was 
 laughing mischievously. 
 
 "Well! Muscade, are you asleep? What could 
 you have been doing all night to make you wake so 
 late ? Have you been seeking adventures, my poor 
 Muscade ?" 
 
 He was dazzled by the bright daylight striking him 
 full in the eyes, still overwhelmed with fatigue, and 
 surprised at the jesting tranquillity of the young girl. 
 
 "I'll be down in a second, Mam'zelle," he an- 
 swered. "Just time to splash my face with water, 
 and I will join you."
 
 YVETTE 3g 
 
 "Hurry," she cried, "it is ten o'clock, and be- 
 sides I have a great plan to unfold to you, a plot we 
 are going to concoct. You know that we breakfast 
 at eleven." 
 
 He found her seated on a bench, with a book in 
 her lap, some novel or other. She took his arm in 
 a familiar and friendly way, with a frank and gay 
 manner, as if nothing had happened the night before, 
 and drew him toward the end of the garden. 
 
 "This is my plan," she said. "We will disobey 
 mamma, and you shall take me presently to La Gre- 
 nouillere restaurant. I want to see it. Mamma says 
 that decent women cannot go to the place. Now it 
 is all the same to me whether persons can go there 
 or cannot. You'll take me, won't you, Muscade? And 
 we will have a great time — with the boatmen." 
 
 She exhaled a delicious fragrance, although he 
 could not exactly define just what light and vague 
 odor enveloped her. It was not one of those heavy 
 perfumes of her mother, but a discreet breath in 
 which he fancied he could detect a suspicion of iris 
 powder, and perhaps a suggestion of vervain. 
 
 Whence emanated that indiscernible perfume ? 
 From her dress, her hair, or her skin ? He puzzled 
 over this, and as he was speaking very close to her, 
 he received full in the face her fresh breath, which 
 seemed to him just as delicious to inhale. 
 
 Then he thought that this evasive perfume which 
 he was trying to recognize was perhaps only evoked 
 by her charming eyes, and was merely a sort of 
 deceptive emanation of her young and alluring grace. 
 
 "That is agreed, isn't it, Muscade? As it will be 
 very warm after breakfast, mamma will not go out.
 
 40 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 She always feels the heat very much. We will leave 
 her with your friend, and you shall take me. They 
 will think that we have gone into the forest. If 
 you knew how much it will amuse me to see La 
 Grenouillerel 
 
 They reached the iron gate opposite the Seine. A 
 flood of sunshine fell upon the slumberous, shining 
 river. A slight heat-mist rose from it, a sort of haze 
 of evaporated water, which spread over the surface 
 of the stream a faint gleaming vapor. 
 
 From time to time, boats passed by, a quick yawl 
 or a heavy passage boat, and short or long whistles 
 could be heard, those of the trains which every Sun- 
 day poured the citizens of Paris into the suburbs, and 
 those of the steamboats signaling their approach to 
 pass the locks at Marly. 
 
 But a tiny bell sounded. Breakfast was announced, 
 and they went back into the house. The repast was 
 a silent one. A heavy July noon overwhelmed the 
 earth, and oppressed humanity. The heat seemed 
 thick, and paralyzed both mind and body. The 
 sluggish words would not leave the lips, and all 
 motion seemed laborious, as if the air had become a 
 resisting medium, difficult to traverse. Only Yvette, 
 although silent, seemed animated and nervous with 
 impatience. As soon as they had tlnished the last 
 course she said: 
 
 "If we were to go for a walk in the forest, it 
 would be deliciously cool under the trees." 
 
 The Marquise murmured with a listless air: "Are 
 you mad? Does anyone go out in such weather?" 
 
 And the young girl, delighted, rejoined: "Oh 
 wein We will leave the Baron to keep you com
 
 YVETTE 
 
 41 
 
 pany. Muscade and I will climb the hill and sit on 
 the grass and read." 
 
 And turning toward Servigny she asked: "That 
 is understood ?" 
 
 "At your service, Mam'zelle,'* he replied. 
 
 Yvette ran to get her hat. The Marquise shrugged 
 her shoulders with a sigh. "She certainly is mad." 
 she said. 
 
 Then with an indolence in her amorous and lazy 
 gestures, she gave her pretty white hand to the Baron, 
 who kissed it softly. Yvette and Servigny started. 
 They went along the river, crossed the bridge and 
 went on to the island, and then seated themselves on 
 the bank, beneath the willows, for it was too scon to 
 go to La Grenouillere. 
 
 The young girl at once drew a book from her 
 pocket and smilingly said: "Muscade, you are go- 
 ing to read to me." And she handed him the vol- 
 ume. 
 
 He made a motion as if of fright. "I, Mam'zelle ? 
 I don't know how to read!" 
 
 She replied with gravity: "'Come, no excuses, no 
 objections; you are a fine suitor, you! All for noth- 
 ing, is that it? Is that your motto?" 
 
 He took the book, opened it, and was astonished. 
 It was a treatise on entomology. A history of ants 
 by an English author. And as he remained inert, 
 believing that he was making sport of her, she said 
 with impatience: "Well, read!" 
 
 "Is it a wager, or just a simple fad?" he asked. 
 
 "No, my dear. I saw that book in a shop. They 
 told me that it was the best authority on ants and \ 
 thought that it would be interesting to learn about
 
 42 
 
 I 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 the life of these little insects while you see them run- 
 ning over the grass; so read, if you please." 
 
 She stretched herself flat upon the grass, her el- 
 bows resting upon the ground, her head betVv^een her 
 hands, her eyes fixed upon the ground. He began to 
 read as follows: 
 
 "The anthropoid apes are undoubtedly the animals which ap- 
 proach nearest to man by their anatomical structure, but if we con- 
 sider the habits of the ants, their organization into societies, their vast 
 communities, the houses and roads that they construct, their custom 
 of domesticating animals, and sometimes even of making slaves of 
 them, we are compelled to admit that they have the right to claim a 
 place near to man in the scale of intelligence." 
 
 He continued in a monotonous voice, stopping 
 from time to time to ask: "Isn't that enough?" 
 
 She shook her head, and having caught an ant on 
 the end of a severed blade of grass, she amused her- 
 self by making it go from one end to the other of 
 the sprig, which she tipped up whenever the insect 
 reached one of the ends. She listened with mute and 
 contented attention to all the wonderful details of the 
 life of these frail creatures: their subterranean homes; 
 the manner in which they seize, shut up, and feed 
 plant-lice to drink the sweet milk which they secrete, 
 as we keep cows in our barns; their custom of do- 
 mesticating little blind insects which clean the ant- 
 hills, and of going to war to capture slaves who will 
 take care of their victors with such tender solicitude 
 that the latter even lose the habit of feeding them- 
 selves. 
 
 And little by little, as if a maternal tenderness had 
 sprung up in her heart for the poor insect which was
 
 YVETTE 
 
 43 
 
 so tiny and so intelligent, Yvette made it climb on her 
 finger, looking at it with a moved expression, almost 
 wanting to embrace it. 
 
 And as Servigny read of the way in which they live 
 in communities, and play games of strength and skill 
 among themselves, the young girl grew enthusiastic 
 and sought to kiss the insect which escaped her and 
 began to crawl over her face. Then she uttered a 
 piercing cry, as if she had been threatened by a ter- 
 rible danger, and with frantic gestures tried to brush 
 it off her face. With a loud laugh Servigny caught 
 it near her tresses and imprinted on the spot where 
 he had seized it a long kiss without Yvette withdraw- 
 ing her forehead. 
 
 Then she exclaimed as she rose: "That is better 
 than a novel. Now let us go to La Grenouillere." 
 
 They reached that part of the island which is set 
 out as a park and shaded with great trees. Couples 
 were strolling beneath the lofty foliage along the 
 Seine, where the boats were gliding by. 
 
 The boats were filled with young people, working- 
 girls and their sweethearts, the latter in their shirt- 
 sleeves, with coats on their arms, tall hats tipped 
 back, and a jaded look. There were tradesmen with 
 their families, the women dressed in their best and 
 the children flocking like little chicks about their 
 parents. A distant, continuous sound of voices, a 
 heavy, scolding clamor announced the proximity of 
 the establishment so dear to the boatmen. 
 
 Suddenly they saw it. It was a huge boat, roofed 
 over, moored to the bank. On board were many 
 men and women drinking at tables, or else standing 
 up, shouting, singing, bandying words, dancing, ca-
 
 44 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 pering, to the sound of a piano which was groaning 
 — out of tune and rattling as an old kettle. 
 
 Two tall, russet-haired, half-tipsy girls, with red 
 lips, were talking coarsely. Others were dancing 
 madly with young fellows half clad, dressed like jock- 
 eys, in linen trousers and colored caps. The odors 
 of a crowd and of rice-powder were noticeable. 
 
 The drinkers around the tables were swallowing 
 white, red, yellow, and green liquids, and vociferat- 
 ing at the top of their lungs, feeling as it were, the 
 necessity of making a noise, a brutal need of having 
 their ears and brains filled with uproar. Now and 
 then a swimmer, standing on the roof, dived into the 
 water, splashing the nearest guests, who yelled like 
 
 savages. 
 
 On the stream passed the flotillas of light craft, 
 long, slender wherries, swiftly rowed by bare-armed 
 oarsmen, whose muscles played beneath their bronzed 
 skin. The women in the boats, in blue or red flan- 
 nel skirts, with umbrellas, red or blue, opened over 
 their heads and gleaming under the burning sun, 
 leaned back in their chairs at the stern of the boats, 
 and seemed almost to float upon the water, in mo- 
 tionless and slumberous pose. 
 
 The heavier boats proceeded slowly, crowded with 
 people. A collegian, wanting to show off, rowed 
 like a windmill against all the other boats, bringing 
 the curses of their oarsmen down upon his head, and 
 disappearing in dismay after almost drowning two 
 swimmers, followed by the shouts of the crowd 
 thronging in the great floating cafL 
 
 Yvette, radiantly happy, taking Servigny's arm, 
 went into the midst of this noisy mob. She seemed
 
 YVETTE 
 
 45 
 
 to enjoy the crowding, and stared at the girls with a 
 calm and gracious glance. 
 
 "Look at that one, Muscade," she said. "What 
 pretty hair she has! They seem to be having such 
 funl" 
 
 As the pianist, a boatman dressed in red with a 
 huge straw hat, began a waltz, Yvette grasped her 
 companion and they danced so long and madly that 
 everybody looked at them. The guests, standing on 
 the tables, kept time with their feet; others threw 
 glasses, and the musician, seeming to go mad, struck 
 the ivory keys with great bangs, swaying his whole 
 body and swinging his head covered with that im- 
 mense hat. Suddenly he stopped and, slipping to 
 the deck, lay flat, beneath his head-gear, as if dead 
 with fatigue. A loud laugh arose and everybody ap- 
 plauded. 
 
 Four friends rushed forward, as they do in cases 
 of accident, and lifting up their comrade, they car- 
 ried him by his four limbs, after carefully placing his 
 great hat on his stomach, A joker following them 
 intoned the "De Profundis," and a procession formed 
 and threaded the paths of the island, guests and 
 strollers and everyone they met falling into line. 
 
 Yvette darted forward, delighted, laughing with 
 her whole heart, chatting with everybody, stirred by 
 the movement and the noise. The young men gazed 
 at her, crowded against her, seeming to devour her 
 with their glances; and Servigny began to fear lest 
 the adventure should terminate badly. 
 
 The procession still kept on its way, hastening its 
 step; for the four bearers had taken a quick pace, 
 followed by the yelling crowd. But suddenly, they 
 
 7 G. d« M. — 17
 
 46 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 turned toward the shore, stopped short as they 
 reached the bank, swung their comrade for a mo- 
 ment, and then, all four acting together, flung him 
 mto the river. 
 
 A great shout of joy rang out from all mouths, 
 while the poor pianist, bewildered, paddled, swore, 
 coughed, and spluttered, and though sticking in the 
 mud managed to get to the shore. His hat which 
 floated down the stream was picked up by a boat. 
 
 Yvette danced with joy, clapping and repeating. 
 "Oh! Muscade, what fun! what fun!" 
 
 Servigny looked on, having become serious, a lit- 
 tle disturbed, a little chilled to see her so much at 
 her ease in this common place. A sort of instinct 
 revolted in him, that instinct of the proper, which a 
 well-born man always preserves even when he casts 
 himself loose, that instinct which avoids too common 
 familiarities and too degrading contacts. Astoni-shed^ 
 he muttered to himself: 
 
 "Egad! Then you are at home here, /are you?" 
 And he wanted to speak familiarly to her, as a man 
 does to certain women the first time he meets them. 
 He no longer distinguished her from the russet-haired, 
 hoarse^voiced creatures who brushed against them. 
 The language of the crowd was not at all choice, but 
 nobody seemed shocked or surprised. Yvette did 
 not even appear to notice it. 
 
 "Muscade, I want to go in bathing," she said. 
 "We'll go into the river together." 
 
 "At your service," said he. 
 
 They went to the bath-office to get bathing-suits. 
 She was ready the first, and stood on the bank 
 waiting for him, smiling on everyone who looked at
 
 YVETTE 
 
 47 
 
 her. Then side by side they went into the luke- 
 warm water. 
 
 She swam with pleasure, with intoxication, ca- 
 ressed by the wave, throbbing with a sensual de- 
 light, raising herself at each stroke as if she were 
 going to spring from the water. He followed her 
 with difficulty, breathless, and vexed to feel himself 
 mediocre at the sport. 
 
 But she slackened her pace, and then, turning 
 over suddenly, she floated, with her arms folded and 
 her eyes wide open to the blue sky. He observed, 
 thus stretched out on the surface of the river, the 
 undulating lines of her form, her firm neck and 
 shoulders, her slightly submerged hips, and bare 
 ankles, gleaming in the water, and the tiny foot that 
 emerged. 
 
 He saw her thus exhibiting herself, as if she were 
 doing it on purpose, to lure him on, or again to 
 make sport of him. And he began to long for her 
 with a passionate ardor and an exasperating impa- 
 tience. Suddenly she turned, looked at him, and burst 
 into laughter. 
 
 "You have a fine head," she said. 
 
 He was annoyed at this bantering, possessed with 
 the anger of a baffled lover. Then yielding brusquely 
 to a half felt desire for retaliation, a desire to avenge 
 himself, to wound her, he said: 
 
 "Well, does this sort of life suit you?" 
 
 She asked with an artless air: "What do you 
 mean ?" 
 
 "Oh, come, don't make game of me. You know 
 well enough what I mean!" 
 
 "No, 1 don't, on my word of honor."
 
 48 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "Oh, let us stop this comedy! Will you or will 
 you not?" 
 
 "1 do not understand you." 
 
 "You are not as stupid as all that; besides I told 
 you last night." 
 
 "Told me what? I have forgotten.'" 
 
 "That 1 love you." 
 
 "You?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "What nonsense!" 
 
 " 1 swear it." 
 
 " Then prove it." 
 
 "That is all I ask." 
 
 "What is?" 
 
 "To prove it." 
 
 "Well, do so." 
 
 "But you did not say so last night." 
 
 "You did not ask anything." 
 
 "What absurdity!" 
 
 "And besides it is not to me to whom you should 
 make your proposition." 
 
 "To whom, then?" 
 
 "Why, to mamma, of course." 
 
 He burst into laughter. "To your mother. No, 
 that is too much! " 
 
 She had suddenly become very grave, and looking 
 him straight in the eyes, said: 
 
 "Listen, Muscade, if you really love me enough 
 to marry me, speak to mamma first, and I will an- 
 swer you afterward." 
 
 He thought she was still making sport of him, 
 and angrily replied: "Mam'zelle, you must betaking 
 me for somebody else."
 
 YVETTE ^Q 
 
 She kept looking at him with her soft, clear eyes. 
 She hesitated and then said: 
 
 "I don't understand you at all." 
 
 Then he answered quickly with somewhat of ill 
 nature in his voice: 
 
 "Come now, Yvette, let us cease this absurd 
 comedy, which has already lasted too long. You are 
 playing the part of a simple little girl, and the role 
 does not tit you at all, believe me. You know per- 
 fectly well that there can be no question of marriage 
 between us, but merely of love. 1 have told you 
 that 1 love you. It is the truth. I repeat, 1 love 
 you. Don't pretend any longer not to understand 
 me, and don't treat me as if 1 were a fool." 
 
 They were face to face, treading water, merely 
 moving their hands a little, to steady themselves. 
 She was still for a moment, as if she could not make 
 out the meaning of his words, then she suddenly 
 blushed up to the roots of her hair. Her whole face 
 grew purple from her neck to her ears, which be- 
 came almost violet, and without answering a word 
 she fled toward the shore, swimming with all her 
 strength with hasty strokes. He could not keep 
 up with her and panted with fatigue as he fol- 
 lowed. He saw her leave the water, pick up her 
 cloak, and go to her dressing-room without looking 
 back. 
 
 It took him a long time to dress, very much per- 
 plexed as to what he ought to do, puzzled over what 
 he should say to her, and wondering whether he 
 ought to excuse himself or persevere. When he was 
 ready, she had gone away all alone. He went back 
 slowly, anxious and disturbed.
 
 50 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 The Marquise was strolling, on Saval's arm, in 
 the circular path around the lawn. As she observed 
 Servigny, she said, with that careless air which she 
 had maintained since the night before: 
 
 "1 told you not to go out in such hot weather. 
 And now Yvette has come back almost with a sun 
 stroke. She has gone to lie down. She was as red 
 as a poppy, the poor child, and she has a frightful 
 headache. You must have been walking in the full 
 sunlight, or you must have done something foolish. 
 You are as unreasonable as she." 
 
 The young gir! did not come down to dinner. 
 When they wanted to send her up something to eat 
 she called through the door that she was not hungry, 
 for she had shut herself in, and she begged that they 
 would leave her undisturbed. The two young men 
 left by the ten o'clock train, promising to return the 
 following Thursday, and the Marquise seated herself 
 at the open window to dream, hearing in the dis- 
 tance the orchestra of the boatmen's ball, with its 
 sprightly music, in the deep and solemn silence of 
 the night. 
 
 Swayed by love as a person is moved by a fond- 
 ness for horses or boating, she was subject to sudden 
 tendernesses which crept over her like a disease. 
 These passions took possession of her suddenly, pene- 
 trated her entire being, maddened her, enervated or 
 overwhelmed her, in measure as they were of an ex- 
 alted, violent, dramatic, or sentimental character. 
 
 She was one of those women who are created to 
 love and to be loved. Starting from a very low sta- 
 tion in life, she had risen in her adventurous career, 
 acting instinctively, with inborn cleverness, accept
 
 YVETTE 
 
 51 
 
 ing money and kisses, naturally, without distin- 
 guishing between them, employing her extraordinary 
 ability in an unthinking and simple fashion. From all 
 her experiences she had never known either a genuine 
 tenderness or a great repulsion. 
 
 She had had various friends, for she had to live, 
 as in traveling a person eats at many tables. But oc- 
 casionally her heart took fire, and she really fell in 
 love, which state lasted for some weeks or months, 
 according to conditions. These were the delicious 
 moments of her life, for she loved with all her soul. 
 She cast herself upon love as a person throws him- 
 self into the river to drown himself, and let herself 
 be carried away, ready to die, if need be, intoxicated, 
 maddened, infinitely happy. She imagined each time 
 that she never had experienced anything like such an 
 attachment, and she would have been greatly aston- 
 ished if some one had told her of how many men 
 she had dreamed whole nights through, looking at 
 the stars. 
 
 Saval had captivated her, body and soul. She 
 dreamed of him, lulled by his face and his memory, 
 in the calm exaltation of consummated love, of present 
 and certain happiness. 
 
 A sound behind her made her turn around. Yvette 
 had just entered, still in her daytime dress, but pale, 
 with eyes glittering, as sometimes is the case after 
 some great fatigue. She leaned on the sill of the open 
 window, facing her mother. 
 
 "I want to speak to you," she said. 
 
 The Marquise looked at her in astonishment. She 
 loved her like an egotistical mother, proud of her 
 beauty, as a person is proud of a fortune, too pretty
 
 52 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Still herself to become jealous, too indifferent to plan 
 the schemes with which they charged her, too clever, 
 nevertheless, not to have full consciousness of her 
 daughter's value. 
 
 "I am listening, my child," she said; "what is it?" 
 
 Yvette gave her a piercing look, as if to read the 
 depths of her soul and to seize all the sensations 
 which her words might awake. 
 
 " It is this. Something strange has just hap- 
 pened." 
 
 "What can it be?" 
 
 "Monsieur de Servigny has told me that he loves 
 me." 
 
 The Marquise, disturbed, waited a moment, and, 
 as Yvette said nothing more, she asked: 
 
 "How did he tell you that? Explain yourself!" 
 
 Then the young girl, sitting at her mother's feet, 
 in a coaxing attitude common with her, and clasping 
 her hands, added: 
 
 "He asked me to marry him." 
 
 Madame Obardi made a sudden gesture ot stupe- 
 faction and cried: 
 
 "Servigny! Why! you are crazy!" 
 
 Yvette had not taken her eyes off her mother's 
 face, watching her thoughts and her surprise. She 
 asked with a serious voice: 
 
 "Why am 1 crazy? Why should not Monsieur 
 de Servigny marry me?" 
 
 The Marquise, embarrassed, stammered: 
 
 "You are mistaken, it is not possible. You either 
 did not hear or did not understand. Monsieur de 
 SeiA^igny is too rich for you, and too much of a 
 Parisian to marry."
 
 YVETTE 
 
 53 
 
 Yvette rose softly. She added: " But if he loves 
 me as he says he does, mamma?" 
 
 Her mother replied, with some impatience: "I 
 thought you big enough and wise enough not to 
 have such ideas. Servigny is a man-about-town and 
 an egotist. He will never marry anyone but a woman 
 of his set and his fortune. If he asked you in mar- 
 riage, it is only that he wants — " 
 
 The Marquise, incapable of expressing her mean- 
 ing, was silent for a moment, then continued: "Come 
 now, leave me alone and go to bed." 
 
 And the young girl, as if she had learned what 
 she sought to find out, answered in a docile voice: 
 "Yes, mamma!" 
 
 She kissed her mother on the forehead and with- 
 drew with a calm step. As she reached the door, 
 the Marquise called out: "And your sunstroke?" 
 she said. 
 
 "1 did not have one at all. it was that which 
 caused everything." 
 
 The Marquise added: "We will not speak of it 
 again. Only don't stay alone with him for some time 
 from now, and be very sure that he will never marry 
 you, do you understand, and that he merely means 
 to — compromise you." 
 
 She could not find better words to express her 
 thought. Yvette went to her room. Madame Obardi 
 began to dream. Living for years in an opulent and 
 loving repose, she had carefully put aside all reflec- 
 tions which might annoy or sadden her. Never had 
 she been willing to ask herself the question — What 
 would become of Yvette ? It would be soon enough 
 to think about the difficulties when they arrived. She
 
 54 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 well knew, from her experience, that her daughter 
 could not marry a man who was rich and of good 
 society, excepting by a totally improbable chance, by 
 one of those surprises of love which place adven- 
 turesses on thrones 
 
 She had not considered it, furthermore, being too 
 much occupied with herself to make any plans which 
 did not directly concern herself. 
 
 Yvette would do as her mother, undoubtedly. She 
 would lead a gay life. Why not? But the Marquise 
 had rever dared ask when, or how. That would all 
 come about in time. 
 
 And now her daughter, all of a sudden, without 
 warning, had asked one of those questions which 
 could not be answered, forcing her to take an attitude 
 in an affair, so delicate, so dangerous in every re- 
 spect, and so disturbing to the conscience which a 
 woman is expected to show in matters concerning 
 her daughter. 
 
 Sometimes nodding but never asleep, she had too 
 much natural astuteness to be deceived a minute 
 about Servigny's intentions, for she knew men by ex- 
 perience, and especially men of that set. So at the 
 first words uttered by Yvette, she had cried almost 
 in spite of herself: "Servigny, marry you? You are 
 crazy I" 
 
 How had he come to employ that old method, he, 
 that sharp man of the world? What would he do 
 now? And she, the young girl, how should she 
 warn her more clearly and even forbid her, for she 
 might make great mistakes. Would anyone have 
 believed that this big girl had remained so artless, so 
 '11 informed, so guileless ?
 
 VVETTE 55 
 
 And the Marquise, greatly perplexed and already 
 wearied with her reflections, endeavored to make up 
 her mind what to do without finding a solution of 
 the problem, for the situation seemed to her very em- 
 barrassing. Worn out with this worry, she thought: 
 
 " I will watch them more clearly, 1 will act ac- 
 cording to circumstances. If necessary, 1 will speak 
 to Servigny, who is sharp and will take a hint." 
 
 She did not think out what she should say to 
 him, nor what he would answer, nor what sort of an 
 understanding could be established between them, 
 but happy at being relieved of this care without hav- 
 ing had to make a decision, she resumed her dreams 
 of the handsome Saval, and turning toward that misty 
 light which hovers over Paris, she threw kisses with 
 both hands toward the great city, rapid kisses which 
 she tossed into the darkness, one after the other, 
 without counting; and, very low, as if she were 
 talkmg to Saval still, she murmured: 
 
 •'I love you, I love you!"
 
 CHAPTER in. 
 
 Enlightenment 
 
 VETTE, also, could not sleep. Like 
 her mother, she leaned upon the 
 sill of the open window, and 
 tears, her first bitter tears, filled her 
 eyes. Up to this time she had lived, 
 had grown up, in the heedless and 
 ^ serene confidence of happy youth. Why 
 should she have dreamed, reflected, puz- 
 zled? Why should she not have been a 
 young girl, like all other young girls? Why 
 j^U'.rx^ should a doubt, a fear, or painful suspicion 
 ^^ ' have come to her? 
 
 She seemed posted on all topics because she 
 had a way of talking on all subjects, because she 
 had taken the tone, demeanor, and words of the people 
 who lived around her. But she really knew no more 
 than a little girl raised in a convent; her audacities 
 of speech came from her memory, from that uncon- 
 scious faculty of imitation and assimilation which 
 women possess, and not from a mind instructed and 
 emboldened. 
 
 She spoke of love as the son of a painter or a 
 musician would, at the age of ten or twelve years. 
 (56) 
 
 i-
 
 YVETTE 5y 
 
 speak of painting or music. She knew or rather 
 suspected very well what sort of mystery this word 
 concealed, — too many jokes had been whispered be- 
 fore her, for her innocence not to be a trifle enlight- 
 ened, — but how could she have drawn the conclusion 
 from all this, that all families did not resemble hers ? 
 
 They kissed her mother's hand with the sem- 
 blance of respect; all their friends had titles; they all 
 were rich or seemed to be so; they all spoke famil- 
 iarly of the princes of the royal line. Two sons of 
 kings had even come often, in the evening, to the 
 Marquise's house. How should she have known ? 
 
 And, then, she was naturally artless. She did not 
 estimate or sum up people as her mother did. She 
 lived tranquilly, too joyous in her life to worry her- 
 self about what might appear suspicious to creatures 
 more cairn, thoughtful, reserved, less cordial, and 
 sunny. 
 
 But now, all at once, Servigny, by a few words, 
 the brutality of which she felt without understanding 
 them, awakened in her a sudden disquietude, unrea- 
 soning at first, but which grew into a tormenting 
 apprehension. She had fled home, had escaped like a 
 wounded animal, wounded in fact most deeply by 
 those words which she ceaselessly repeated to get all 
 their sense and bearing: "You know very well that 
 there can be no question of marriage between us — 
 but only of love." 
 
 What did he mean? And why this insult? Was 
 she then in ignorance of something, some secret, 
 some shame? She was the only one ignorant of it, 
 no doubt. But what could she do ? She was fright- 
 ened, startled, as a person is when he discovers some
 
 58 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 hidden infamy, some treason of a beloved friend, one 
 of those heart-disasters which crush. 
 
 She dreamed, reflected, puzzled, wept, consumed 
 by fears and suspicions. Then her joyous young soul 
 reassuring itself, she began to plan an adventure, to 
 imagine an abnormal and dramatic situation, founded 
 on the recollections of all the poetical romances she 
 had read. She recalled all the moving catastrophes, 
 or sad and touching stories; she jumbled them to- 
 gether, and concocted a story of her own with which 
 she interpreted the half-understood mystery which 
 enveloped her hfe. 
 
 She was no longer cast down. She dreamed, she 
 lifted veils, she imagined unlikely comphcations, a 
 thousand singular, terrible things, seductive, neverthe- 
 less, by their very strangeness. Could she be, by 
 chance, the natural daughter of a prince ? Had her 
 poor mother, betrayed and deserted, made Marquise 
 by some king, perhaps King Victor Emmanuel, been 
 obliged to take flight before the anger of the family ? 
 Was she not rather a child abandoned by its relations, 
 who were noble and illustrious, the fruit of a clan- 
 destine love, taken in by the Marquise, who had 
 adopted and brought her up ? 
 
 Still other suppositions passed through her mind. 
 She accepted or rejected them according to the dic- 
 tates of her fancy. She was moved to pity over her 
 own case, happy at the bottom of her heart, and sad 
 also, taking a sort of satisfaction in becoming a sort 
 of a heroine of a book who must assume a noble 
 attitude, worthy of herself. 
 
 She laid out the part she must play, according to 
 events at which she guessed. She vaguely outlined
 
 YVETTE 
 
 59 
 
 this role, like one of Scribe's or of George Sand's. 
 it should be endued with devotion, self-abnegation, 
 greatness of soul, tenderness, and fine words. Her 
 pliant nature almost rejoiced in this nev/ attitude. 
 She pondered almost till evening what she should do, 
 wondering how she should manage to wrest the 
 truth from the Marquise. 
 
 And when night came, favorable to tragic situa- 
 tions, she had thought out a simple and subtile trick 
 to obtain what she wanted: it was, brusquely, to say 
 that Servigny had asked for her hand in marriage. 
 
 At this news, Madame Obardi, taken by surprise, 
 would certainly let a word escape her lips, a cry 
 which would throw light into the mind of her 
 daughter. And Yvette had accomplished her plan. 
 
 She expected an explosion of astonishment, an ex- 
 pansion of love, a confidence full of gestures and 
 tears. But, instead of this, her mother, without ap- 
 pearing stupefied or grieved, had only seemed bored; 
 and from the constrained, discontented, and worried 
 tone in which she had replied, the young girl, in 
 whom there suddenly awaked all the astuteness, 
 keenness, and sharpness of a woman, understanding 
 that she must not msist, that the mystery was of an- 
 other nature, that it would be painful to her to learn 
 it, and that she must puzzle it out all alone, had gone 
 back to her room, her heart oppressed, her soul in 
 distress, possessed now with the apprehensions of a 
 real misfortune, without knowing exactly either 
 whence or why this emotion came to her. So she 
 wept, leaning at the window. 
 
 She wept long, not dreaming of anything now, 
 not seeking to discover anything more, and little by
 
 6o WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 little, weariness overcoming her, she closed her eyes. 
 She dozed for a few minutes, with that deep sleep of 
 people who are tired out and have not the energy to 
 undress and go to bed, that heavy sleep, broken by 
 dreams, when the head nods upon the breast. 
 
 She did not go to bed until the first break of day, 
 when the cold of the morning, chilling her, compelled 
 her to leave the window. 
 
 The next day and the day after, she maintained a 
 reserved and melancholy attitude. Her thoughts were 
 busy; she was learning to spy out, to guess at con- 
 clusions, to reason. A light, still vague, seemed to 
 illumine men and things around her in a new manner; 
 she began to entertain suspicions against all, against 
 everything that she had believed, against her mother. 
 She imagined all sorts of things during these two 
 days. She considered all the possibilities, taking the 
 most extreme resolutions with the suddenness of her 
 changeable and unrestrained nature. Wednesday she 
 hit upon a plan, an entire schedule of conduct and a 
 system of spying. She rose Thursday morning with 
 the resolve to be very sharp and armed against every- 
 body. 
 
 She determined even to take for her motto these 
 two words: "Myself alone," and she pondered for more 
 than an hour how she should arrange them to pro- 
 duce a good effect engraved about her crest, on her 
 writing paper. 
 
 Saval and Servigny arrived at ten o'clock. The 
 young girl gave her hand with reserve, without em- 
 barrassment, and in a tone, familiar though grave, 
 she said: 
 
 "Good morning, Muscade, are you well?"
 
 YVETTE 6 I 
 
 "Good morning, Mam'zelle, fairly, thanks, and 
 you?" He was watching her. "What comedy will 
 she play me," he said to himself. 
 
 The Marquise having taken Saval's arm, he took 
 Yvette's, and they began to stroll about the lawn, 
 appearing and disappearing every minute, behind the 
 clumps of trees. 
 
 Yvette walked with a thoughtful air, looking at 
 the gravel of the pathway, appearing hardly to hear 
 what her companion said and scarcely answering 
 him. 
 
 Suddenly she asked: "Are you truly my friend, 
 Muscade ?" 
 
 "Why, of course, Mam'zelle." 
 
 "But truly, truly, now.?" 
 
 "Absolutely your friend, Mam'zelle, body and 
 soul." 
 
 "Even enough of a friend not to lie to me once, 
 just once.?" 
 
 "Even twice, if necessary." 
 
 "Even enough to tell me the absolute, exact 
 truth?" 
 
 "Yes, Mam'zelle." 
 
 "Well, what do you think, way down in your 
 heart, of the Prince of Kravalow?" 
 
 "Ah, the devil I" 
 
 "You see that you are already preparing to lie." 
 
 "Not at all, but I am seeking the words, the 
 proper words. Great Heavens, Prince Kravalow is a 
 Russian, who speaks Russian, who was born in Rus- 
 sia, who has perhaps had a passport to come to 
 France, and about whom there is nothing false but 
 his name and title." 
 
 7 G. deiVL— 18
 
 62 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 She looked him in the eyes: "You mean that he 
 
 is — ?" 
 
 "An adventurer, Mam'zelle." 
 
 "Thank you, and Chevalier Valreali is no bet- 
 ter?" 
 
 "You have hit it." 
 
 "And Monsieur de Belvigne?" 
 
 "With him it is a different thing. He is of pro- 
 vincial society, honorable up to a certain point, but 
 only a little scorched from having lived too rapidly." 
 
 "And you?" 
 
 "I am what they call a butterfly, a man of good 
 family, who had intelligence and who has squandered 
 it in making phrases, who had good health and who 
 has injured it by dissipation, who had some worth 
 perhaps and who has scattered it by doing nothing. 
 There is left to me a certain knowledge of life, a 
 complete absence of prejudice, a large contempt for 
 mankind, including women, a very deep sentiment of 
 the uselessness of my acts and a vast tolerance for 
 the mob. 
 
 "Nevertheless, at times, I can be frank, and I am 
 even capable of affection, as you could see, if you 
 would. With these defects and qualities I place my- 
 self at your orders, Mam'zelle, morally and physically, 
 to do what you please with me." 
 
 She did not laugh; she listened, weighing his 
 words and his intentions; then she resumed: 
 
 "What do you think of the Countess de Lammy?" 
 
 He replied, vivaciously: "You will permit me 
 not to give my opinion about the women." 
 "About none of them?" 
 "About none of them."
 
 YVETTE 
 
 63 
 
 "Then you must have a bad opinion of them 
 all. Come, think; won't you make a single excep- 
 tion?" 
 
 He sneered with that insolent air which he gen- 
 erally wore; and with that brutal audacity which he 
 used as a weapon,, he said: "Present company is 
 always excepted " 
 
 She blushed a little, but calmly asked: "Well, 
 what do you think of me?" 
 
 " You want me to tell. Well, so be it. I think 
 you are a young person of good sense, and practical- 
 ness, or if you prefer, of good practical sense, who 
 knows very well how to arrange her pastime, to 
 amuse people, to hide her views, to lay her snares, 
 and who, without hurrying, awaits events." 
 
 "Is that all?" she asked. 
 
 "That's all." 
 
 Then she said with a serious earnestness: "1 
 shall make you change that opinion, Muscade." 
 
 Then she joined her mother, who was proceeding 
 with short steps, her head down, with that manner 
 assumed in talking very low, while walking, of very 
 intimate and very sweet things. As she advanced she 
 drew shapes in the sand, letters perhaps, with the 
 point of her sunshade, and she spoke, without look- 
 ing at Saval, long, softly, leaning on his arm, pressed 
 against him. 
 
 Yvette suddenly fixed her eyes upon her, and a 
 suspicion, rather a feeling than a doubt, passed through 
 her mind as a shadow of a cloud driven by the wind 
 passes over the ground. 
 
 The bell rang for breakfast. It was silent and 
 almost gloomy. There was a storm in ihe air. Great
 
 64 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 soIJcl clouds rested upon the horizon, mute and heavy, 
 but charged with a tempest. As soon as they had 
 taken their coffee on the terrace, the Marquise asked: 
 
 "Well, darling, are you going to take a walk to- 
 day with your friend Servigny ? It is a good time to 
 enjoy the coolness under the trees." 
 
 Yvette gave her a quick glance. 
 
 "No, mamma, I am not going out to-day." 
 
 The Marquise appeared annoyed, and insisted. 
 "Oh, go and take a stroll, my child, it is excellent 
 for you." 
 
 Then Yvette distinctly said: "No, mamma, 1 shall 
 stay in the house to-day, and you know very well 
 why, because 1 told you the other evening." 
 
 Madame Obardi gave it no further thought, pre- 
 occupied with the thought of remaining alone with 
 Saval. She blushed and was annoyed, disturbed on 
 her own account, not knowing how she could find a 
 free hour or two. She stammered: 
 
 "It is true. I was not thinking of it. I don't 
 know where my head is." 
 
 And Yvette taking up some embroidery, which 
 she called "the public safety," and at which she 
 worked five or six times a year, on dull days, seated 
 herself on a low chair near her mother, while the 
 two young men, astride folding-chairs, smoked their 
 cigars. 
 
 The hours passed in a languid conversation. The 
 Marquise fidgety, cast longing glances at Saval, seek- 
 ing some pretext, some means, of getting rid of her 
 daughter. She finally realized that she would not 
 succeed, and not knowing what ruse to employ, she 
 said to Servigny:
 
 YVETTE 65 
 
 "You know, my dear Duke, that I am going to 
 keep you both this evening. To-morrow we shall 
 breakfast at the Fournaise restaurant, at Chaton." 
 
 He understood, smiled, and bowed: "1 am at 
 your orders, Marquise." 
 
 The day wore on slowly and painfully under the 
 threatenings of the storm. The hour for dinner 
 gradually approached. The heavy sky was filled with 
 slow and heavy clouds. There was not a breath of 
 air stirring. The evening meal was silent, too. An 
 oppression, an embarrassment, a sort of vague fear, 
 seemed to make the two men and the two women 
 mute. 
 
 When the covers were removed, they sat long 
 upon the terrace ; only speaking at long intervals. 
 Night fell, a sultry night. Suddenly the horizon was 
 torn by an immense flash of lightning, which illu- 
 mined with a dazzling and wan light the four faces 
 shrouded in darkness. Then a far-oflf sound, heavy 
 and feeble, like the rumbling of a carriage upon a 
 bridge, passed over the earth; and it seemed that the 
 heat of the atmosphere increased, that the air sud- 
 denly became more oppressive, and the silence of the 
 evening deeper. 
 
 Yvette rose. "1 am going to bed," she said, 
 "the storm makes me ill." 
 
 And she offered her brow to the Marquise, gave 
 her hand to the two young men, and withdrew. 
 
 As her room was just above the terrace, the leaves 
 of a great chestnut-tree growing before the door soon 
 gleamed with a green hue, and Servigny kept his 
 eyes fixed on this pale light in the foliage, in which 
 at times he thought he saw a shadow pass. But
 
 66 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 suddenly the light went out. Madame Obardi gave a 
 great sigh. 
 
 "My daughter has gone to bed," she said. 
 
 Servigny rose, saying: "I am going to do as 
 much, Marquise, if you will permit me," He kissed 
 the hand she held out to him and disappeared in turn. 
 
 She was left alone with Saval, in the night. In a 
 moment she was clasped in his arms. Then, 
 although he tried to prevent her, she kneeled before 
 him murmuring: "1 want to see you by the light- 
 ning flashes." 
 
 But Yvette, her candle snuffed out, had returned 
 to her balcony, barefoot, gliding like a shadow, and 
 she listened, consumed by an unhappy and confused 
 suspicion. She could not see, as she was above 
 them, on the roof of the terrace. 
 
 She heard nothing but a murmur of voices, and 
 her heart beat so fast that she could actually hear its 
 throbbing. A window closed on the floor above her. 
 Servigny, then, must have just gone up to his room. 
 Her mother was alone with the other man. 
 
 A second flash of lightning, clearing the sky, 
 lighted up for a second all the landscape she knew 
 so well, with a startling and sinister gleam, and she 
 saw the great river, with the color of melted lead, as 
 a river appears in dreams in fantastic scenes. 
 
 Just then a voice below her uttered the words: 
 "I love you!" And she heard nothing more. A 
 strange shudder passed over her body, and her soul 
 shivered in frightful distress. A heavy, infinite si- 
 lence, which seemed eternal, hung over the world. 
 She could no longer breathe, her breast oppressed by 
 something unknown and horrible. Another flash of
 
 YVETTE 
 
 67 
 
 lightning illumined space, lighting up the horizon for 
 an instant, then another almost immediately came, 
 followed by still others. And the voice, which she 
 had already heard, repeated more loudly: "Oh! how 
 1 love you! how 1 love you!" And Yvette recognized 
 the voice; it was her mother's. 
 
 A large drop of warm rain fell upon her brow, 
 and a slight and almost imperceptible motion ran 
 through the leaves, the quivering of the rain which 
 was now beginning. Then a noise came from afar, 
 a confused sound, like that of the wind in the 
 branches: it was the deluge descending in sheets on 
 earth and river and trees. In a few minutes the 
 water poured about her, covering her, drenching her 
 like a shower-bath. She did not move, thinking 
 only of what was happening on the terrace. 
 
 She heard them get up and go to their rooms. 
 Doors were closed within the house; and the young 
 girl, yielding to an irresistible desire to learn what 
 was going on, a desire which maddened and tortured 
 her, glided downstairs, softly opened the outer door, 
 and, crossing the lawn under the furious downpour, 
 ran and hid in a clump of trees, to look at the win- 
 dows. 
 
 Only one window was lighted, her mother's. 
 And suddenly two shadows appeared in the lumi- 
 nous square, two shadows, side by side. Then dis- 
 tracted, without reflection, without knowing what she 
 was doing, she screamed with all her might, in a 
 shrill voice: "Mamma!" as a person would cry out 
 to warn people in danger of death. 
 
 Her desperate cry was lost in the noise of the 
 rain, but the couple separated, disturbed. And one
 
 68 WORKS O^ GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 of the shadows disappeared, while the other tried to 
 discover something, peering through the darkness of 
 the garden. 
 
 Fearing to be surprised, or to meet her mother at 
 that moment, Yvette rushed back to the house, ran 
 upstairs, dripping wet, and shut herself in her room, 
 resolved to open her door to no one. 
 
 Without taking off her streaming dress, which 
 clung to her form, she fell on her knees, with clasped 
 hands, in her distress imploring some superhuman 
 protection, the mysterious aid of Heaven, the unknown 
 support which a person seeks in hours of tears and 
 despair. 
 
 The great lightning flashes threw for an instant 
 their livid reflections into her room, and she saw her- 
 self in the mirror of her wardrobe, with her wet and 
 disheveled hair, looking so strange that she did not 
 recognize herself. She remained there so long that 
 the storm abated without her perceiving it. The rain 
 ceased, a light filled the sky, still obscured with clouds, 
 and a mild, balmy, delicious freshness, a freshness of 
 grass and wet leaves, came in through the open win- 
 dow. 
 
 Yvette rose, took off her wet, cold garments, 
 without thinking what she was doing, and went to 
 bed. She stared with fixed eyes at the dawning 
 day. Then she wept again, and then she began to 
 think. 
 
 Her mother! A lover! What a shame! She had 
 read so many books in which women, even mothers, 
 had overstepped the bounds of propriety, to regain 
 their honor at the pages of the climax, that she was 
 not astonished beyond measure at finding herself en-
 
 YVETTE 69 
 
 veloped in a drama similar to all those of her reading. 
 The violence of her first grief, the cruel shock of 
 surprise, had already worn off a little, in the con- 
 fused remembrance of analogous situations. Her mind 
 had rambled among such tragic adventures, painted 
 by the novel-writers, that the horrible discovery 
 seemed, little by little, like the natural continuation of 
 some serial story, begun the evening before. 
 
 She said to herself: "I will save my mother." 
 And almost reassured by this heroic resolution, she 
 felt herself strengthened, ready at once for the devo- 
 tion and the struggle. She reflected on the means 
 which must be employed. A single one seemed 
 good, which was quite in keeping with her romantic 
 nature. And she rehearsed the interview which she 
 should have with the Marquise, as an actor rehearses 
 the scene which he is going to play. 
 
 The sun had risen. The servants were stirring 
 about the house. The chambermaid came with the 
 chocolate. Yvette put the tray on the table and said: 
 
 "You will say to my mother that 1 am not v/ell, 
 that I am going to stay in bed until those gentlemen 
 leave, that 1 could not sleep last night, and that 1 do 
 not want to be disturbed because I am going to try 
 to rest." 
 
 The servant, surprised, looked at the wet dress, 
 which had fallen like a rag on the carpet. 
 
 "So Mademoiselle has been out?" she said. 
 
 "Yes, I went out for a walk in the rain to re- 
 fresh myself." 
 
 The maid picked up the skirts, stockings, and wet 
 shoes; then she went away carrying on her arm, 
 with fastidious precautions, these garments, soaked
 
 70 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 as the clothes of a drowned person. And Yvette 
 waited, well knowing that her mother would come 
 to her. 
 
 The Marquise entered, having jumped from her 
 bed at the first words of the chambermaid, for a 
 suspicion had possessed her heart since that cry: 
 "Mamma!" heard in the dark. 
 
 ''What is the matter?" she said. 
 
 Yvette looked at her and stammered: "I — I — " 
 Then ovei powered by a sudden and terrible emotion, 
 she began to choke. 
 
 The Marquise, astonished, again asked: "What 
 in the world is the matter with you?" 
 
 Then, forgetting all her plans and prepared phrases, 
 the young girl hid her face in both hands and stam- 
 mered: 
 
 "Oh! mamma! Oh! mamma!" 
 
 Madame Obardi stood by the bed, too much af- 
 fected thoroughly to understand, but guessing almost 
 everything, with that subtile instinct whence she de- 
 rived her strength. As Yvette could not speak, choked 
 with tears, her mother, worn out finally and feeling 
 some Tearful explanation coming, brusquely asked: 
 
 "Come, will you tell me what the matter is?" 
 
 Yvette could hardly utter the words: "Oh! last 
 night — 1 saw — your window." 
 
 The Marquise, very pale, said: "Well? what 
 of it?" 
 
 Her daughter repeated, still sobbing: "Oh! mamma! 
 Oh! mamma!" 
 
 Madame Obardi, whose fear and embarrassment 
 turned to anger, shrugged her shoulders and turned 
 to go.
 
 YVETTE 71 
 
 **I really believe that you are crazy. When this 
 ends, you will let me know." 
 
 But the young girl, suddenly took her hands from 
 her face, which was streaming with tears. 
 
 "No, Hsten, 1 must speak to you, listen. You 
 must promise me — we must both go away, very far 
 off, into the country, and we must live like the 
 country people; and no one must know what has 
 become of us. Say you will, mamma; 1 beg you, 1 
 implore you; will you?" 
 
 The Marquise, confused, stood in the middle of 
 the room. She had in her veins the irascible blood 
 of the common people. Then a sense of shame, 
 a mother's modesty, mingled with a vague sentiment 
 of fear and the exasperation of a passionate woman 
 whose love is threatened, and she shuddered, ready 
 to ask for pardon, or to yield to some violence. 
 
 "I don't understand you," she said. 
 
 Yvette replied: 
 
 "1 saw you, mamma, last night. You cannot — 
 if you knew — we will both go away. 1 will love 
 you so much that you will forget — " 
 
 Madame Obardi said in a trembling voice: "Lis- 
 ten, my daughter, there are some things which you 
 do not yet understand. Well, don't forget — don't 
 forget — that I forbid you ever to speak to me about 
 those things." 
 
 But the young girl, brusquely taking the role of 
 savior which she had imposed upon herself, re- 
 joined: 
 
 "No, mamma, I am no longer a child, and 1 
 have the right to know. I know that we receive 
 persons of bad repute, adventurers, and 1 know that,
 
 72 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 on that account, people do not respect us. I know 
 more. Well, it must not be, any longer, do you 
 hear? I do not wish it. We will go away: you 
 will sell your jewels; we will work, if need be, and 
 we will live as honest women, somewhere very far 
 away. And if I can marry, so much the better." 
 
 She answered: "You are crazy. You will do 
 me the favor to rise and come down to breakfast 
 with all the rest." 
 
 "No, mamma. There is some one whom I shall 
 never see again, you understand me. I want him to 
 leave, or I shall leave. You shall choose between 
 him and me." 
 
 She was sitting up in bed, and she raised her 
 voice, speaking as they do on the stage, playing, 
 finally, the drama which she had dreamed, almost 
 forgetting her grief in the effort to fulfill her mis- 
 sion. 
 
 The Marquise, stupefied, again repeated: "You 
 are crazy — " not finding anything else to say. 
 
 Yvette replied with a theatrical energy: ''No, 
 mamma, that man shall leave the house, or I shall go 
 myself, for I will not weaken." 
 
 "And where will you go? What will you do?" 
 
 "I do not know, it matters little — I want you 
 to be an honest woman." 
 
 These words which recurred, aroused in the Mar- 
 quise a perfect fury,, and she cried: 
 
 "Be silent. 1 do not permit you to talk to me 
 like that. 1 am as good as anybody else, do you 
 understand ? 1 lead a certain sort of life, it is true, 
 and i am proud of it; the 'honest women' are not 
 as good as 1 am."
 
 YVETTE 
 
 13 
 
 Yvette, astonished, looked at her, and stammered: 
 "Oh! mammal" 
 
 But the Marquise, carried away with excitement, 
 continued: 
 
 "Yes, I lead a certain life — what of it? Other- 
 wise you would be a cook, as I was once, and earn 
 thirty sous a day. You would be washing dishes, 
 and your mistress would send you to market — do 
 you understand — and she would turn you out if you 
 loitered, just as you loiter now because I am — be- 
 cause I lead this life. Listen. When a person is only 
 a nursemaid, a poor girl, with fifty francs saved up, 
 she must know how to manage, if she does not want 
 to starve to death; and there are not two ways for 
 us, there are not two ways, do you understand, when 
 we are servants. We cannot make our fortune with 
 official positions, nor with stockjobbing tricks. We 
 have only one way — only one way." 
 
 She struck her breast as a penitent at the confes- 
 sional, and flushed and excited, coming toward the 
 bed, she continued: "So much the worse. A pretty 
 girl must live or suffer — she has no choice!" Then 
 returning to her former idea: ''Much they deny 
 themselves, your 'honest women.' They are worse, 
 because nothing compels them. They have money to 
 live on and amuse themselves, and they choose 
 vicious lives of their own accord. They are the bad 
 ones in reality." 
 
 She was standing near the bed of the distracted 
 Yvette, who wanted to cry out " Help," to escape. 
 Yvette wept aloud, like children who are whipped. 
 The Marquise was silent and looked at her daughter 
 and, seeing her overwhelmed with despair, felt, her-
 
 74 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 self, the pangs of grief, remorse, tenderness, and pity, 
 and throwing herself upon the bed with open arms, 
 she also began to sob and stammered: 
 
 " My poor little girl, my poor little girl, if you 
 knew how you were hurting me." And they wept 
 together, a long while. 
 
 Then the Marquise, in whom grief could not long 
 endure, softly rose, and gently said: 
 
 "Come, darling, it is unavoidable; what would 
 you have? Nothing can be changed now. We must 
 take life as it comes to us." 
 
 Yvette continued to weep. The blow had been 
 too harsh and too unexpected to permit her to reflect 
 and to recover at once. 
 
 Her mother resumed: "Now, get up and come 
 down to breakfast, so that no one will notice any- 
 thing." 
 
 The young girl shook her head as if to say, 
 "No," without being able to speak. Then she said, 
 with a slow voice full of sobs: 
 
 "No, mamma, you know what I said, I won't 
 alter my determination. I shall not leave my room 
 till they have gone. 1 never want to see one of those 
 people again, never, never. If they come back, you 
 will see no more of me." 
 
 The Marquise had dried her eyes, and wearied 
 with emotion, she murmured: 
 
 "Come, reflect, be reasonable." 
 
 Then, after a moment's silence: 
 
 "Yes, you had better rest this morning. I will 
 come up to see you this afternoon." And having 
 kissed her daughter on the forehead, she went to 
 dress herself, already calmed.
 
 YVETTE 
 
 75 
 
 Vvette, as soon as her mother had disappeared, 
 rose, and ran to bolt the door, to be alone, all alone; 
 then she began to think. The chambermaid knocked 
 about eleven o'clock, and asked through the door: 
 
 "Madame the Marquise wants to know if Made- 
 moiselle wishes anything, and what she will take for 
 her breakfast." 
 
 Yvette answered: "I am not hungry, I only ask 
 not to be disturbed." 
 
 And she remained in bed, just as if she had been 
 ill. Toward three o'clock, some one knocked again. 
 She asked: 
 
 "Who is there?" 
 
 It was her mother's voice which replied: "It is 
 I, darling, I have come to see how you are." 
 
 She hesitated what she should do. She opened 
 the door, and then went back to bed. The Marquise 
 approached, and, speaking in low tones, as people do 
 to a convalescent, said: 
 
 "Well, are you better? Won't you eat an egg?" 
 
 "No, thanks, nothing at all." 
 
 Madame Obardi sat down near the bed. They re- 
 mained without saying anything, then, finally, as her 
 daughter stayed quiet, with her hands inert upon the 
 bedclothes, she asked: 
 
 "Don't you intend to get up?" 
 
 Yvette answered: "Yes, pretty soon." 
 
 Then in a grave and slow tone she said: "I have 
 thought a great deal, mamma, and this — this is my 
 resolution. The past is the past, let us speak no 
 more of it. But the future shall be different or I 
 know what is left for me to do. Now, let us say 
 no more about it."
 
 76 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 The Marquise, who thought the explanation fin- 
 ished, felt her impatience gaining a little. It was too 
 much. This big goose of a girl ought to have known 
 about things long ago. But she did not say any- 
 thing in reply, only repeating: 
 
 "You are going to get up?" 
 
 "Yes, I am ready." 
 
 Then her mother became maid for her, bringing 
 her stockings, her corset, and her skirts. Then she 
 kissed her. 
 
 "Will you take a walk before dinner?" 
 
 "Yes, mamma." 
 
 And they took a stroll along the water, speaking 
 only of commonplace things.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 From Emotion to Philosophy 
 
 HE following day, early in the morn- 
 ing, Yvette went out alone to the 
 place where Servigny had read her 
 the history of the ants. She said to 
 herself: 
 "I am not going away from this 
 spot without having formed a resolu- 
 tion." 
 Before her, at her feet, the water flowed 
 V ij- 5 rapidly, filled with large bubbles which 
 ^\*7"^ passed in silent flight with deep whirlings. 
 She already had summed up the points of the 
 situation and the means of extricating herself 
 from it. What should she do if her mother 
 would not accept the conditions which she had im- 
 posed, would not renounce her present way of living, 
 her set of visitors — everything and go and hide with 
 her in a distant land? 
 
 She might go alone, take flight, but where, and 
 how? What would she live on? By working? At 
 what? To whom should she apply to find work? 
 And, then, the dull and humble life of working- 
 women, daughters of the people, seemed a little dis- 
 
 7 C. deM.-«9 (77) 
 
 •^ 
 
 s
 
 •;8 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 graceful, unworthy of her. She thought of becoming 
 a governess, Hke young girls in novels, and of be- 
 coming loved by the son of the house, and then 
 marrying him. But to accomplish that she must have 
 been of good birth, so that, when the exasperated 
 father should approach her with having stolen his 
 son's love, she might say in a proud voice: 
 
 "My name is Yvette Obardi." 
 
 She could not do this. And then, even that would 
 have been a trite and threadbare method. 
 
 The convent was not worth much more. Be- 
 sides, she felt no vocation for a religious life, having 
 only an intermittent and fleeting piety. No one 
 would save her by marrying her, being what she 
 was! No aid was acceptable from a man, no possible 
 issue, no definite resource. 
 
 And then she wished to do something energetic 
 and really great and strong, which should serve as an 
 example: so she resolved upon death. 
 
 She decided upon this step suddenly, but tran- 
 quilly, as if it were a journey, without reflecting, 
 without looking at death, without understanding that 
 it is the end without recommencement, the departure 
 without return, the eternal farewell to earth and to 
 this life. 
 
 She immediately settled on this extreme measure 
 with the lightness of young and excited souls, and 
 she thought of the means which she would emplo> 
 But they all seemed to her painful and hazardous, 
 and, furthermore, required a violence of action which 
 repelled her. 
 
 She quickly abandoned the poniard and revolver, 
 which might wound only, blind her or disfigure her,
 
 YVETTE 
 
 79 
 
 and which demanded a practiced and steady hand. 
 She decided against the rope; it was so conimon, 
 the poor man's way of suicide, ridiculous and ugly; 
 and against water because she knew how to swim. 
 So poison remained — but which kind? Almost all of 
 them cause suffering and incite vomitings. She did 
 not want either of these things. 
 
 Then she thought of chloroform, having read in a 
 newspaper how a young woman had managed to 
 asphyxiate herself by this process. And she felt at 
 once a sort of joy in her resolution, an inner pride, 
 a sensation of bravery. People should see what 
 she was, and what she was worth. 
 
 She returned to Bougival and went to a druggist, 
 from whom she asked a little chloroform for a tooth 
 which was aching. The man, who knew her, gave 
 her a tiny bottle of the narcotic. 
 
 Then she set out on foot for Croissy, where she 
 procured a second phial of poison. She obtained a 
 third at Chaton, a fourth at Ruril, and got home late 
 for breakfast. 
 
 As she was very hungry after this long walk, she 
 ate heartily with the pleasurable appetite of people 
 who have taken exercise. 
 
 Her mother, happy to see her so hungry, and now 
 feeling tranquil herself, said to her as they left the 
 table: 
 
 "All our friends are coming to spend Sunday with 
 us. I have invited the Prince, the Chevalier, and 
 Monsieur de Belvigne." 
 
 Yvette turned a little pale, but did not reply. She 
 went out almost immediately, reached the railway 
 station, and took a ticket for Paris. And during all
 
 8o WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 the afternoon, she went from druggist to druggist, 
 buying from each one a few drops of chloroform. 
 She came back in the evening with her pockets full 
 of little bottles. 
 
 She began the same system on the following day, 
 and by chance found a chemist who gave her, at one 
 stroke, a quarter of a liter. She did not go out on 
 Saturday; it was a lowering and sultry day; she 
 passed it entirely on the terrace, stretched on a long 
 wicker-chair. 
 
 She thought of almost nothing, very resolute and 
 very calm. She put on the next morning, a blue 
 costume which was very becoming to her, wishing 
 to look well. Then looking at herself in the glass, 
 she suddenly said: 
 
 "To-morrow, 1 shall be dead." And a peculiar 
 shudder passed over her body. "Dead! I shall speak 
 no more, think no more, no one will see me more, 
 and I shall never see anything again." 
 
 And she gazed attentively at her countenance, as 
 if she had never observed it, examining especially her 
 eyes, discovering a thousand things in herself, a 
 secret character in her physiognomy which she had not 
 known before, astonished to see herself, as if she had 
 opposite her a strange person, a new friend. 
 
 She said to herself: "It is 1, in the mirror, there. 
 How queer it is to look at oneself. But without 
 the mirror we would never know ourselves. Every- 
 body else would know how we look, and we our « 
 selves would know nothing." 
 
 She placed the heavy braids of her thick hair over 
 her breast, following with her glance all her gestures, 
 all her poses, and all her movements.
 
 YVET 8l 
 
 "How pretty 1 am!" she thought. "To-morrow 
 I shall be dead, there, upon my bed." She looked at 
 her bed, and seemed to see herself stretched out, 
 white as the sheets. 
 
 Dead! In a week she would be nothing but dust, 
 to dust returned! A horrible anguish oppressed ner 
 heart. The bright sunlight fell m floods upon the 
 fields, and the soft morning air came in at the win- 
 dow. 
 
 She sat down thinking of it. Death! It was as if 
 the world was going to disappear from her; but no, 
 since nothing would be changed in the world, not 
 even her bedroom. Yes, her room would remain just 
 the same, with the same bed, the same chairs, the 
 same toilette articles, but she would be forever gone, 
 and no one would be sorry, except her mother, per- 
 haps. 
 
 People would say: "How pretty she was! that 
 little Yvette," and nothing more. And as she looked 
 at her arm leaning on the arm of her chair, she 
 thought again, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. And 
 again a great shudder of horror ran over her whole 
 body, and she did not know how she could disappear 
 without the whole earth being blotted out, so much 
 it seemed to her that she was a part of everything, of 
 the fields, of the air, of the sunshine, of life itself. 
 
 There were bursts of laughter in the garden, a 
 great noise of voices and of calls, the bustling gaiety 
 of country house parties, and she recognized the so- 
 norous tones of M. de Belvigne, singing: 
 
 " I am underneath thy window. 
 Oh, deign to show thy face."
 
 82 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 She rose, without reflecting, and looked out. They 
 all applauded. They were all five there, with two 
 gentlemen whom she did not know. 
 
 She brusquely withdrew, annoyed by the thought 
 that these men had come to amuse themselves at her 
 mother's house, as at a public place. 
 
 The bell sounded for breakfast. "I will show 
 them how to die," she said. 
 
 She went downstairs with a firm step, with some- 
 thing of the resolution of the Christian martyrs going 
 into the circus, where the lions awaited them. 
 
 She pressed their hands, smiling in an affable but 
 rather haughty manner. Servigny asked her: 
 
 "Are you less cross to-day, Mam'zelle?" 
 
 She answered in a severe and peculiar tone: "To- 
 day, I am going to commit foUies. I am in my Paris 
 mood, look out! " 
 
 Then turning toward Monsieur de Belvigne, she 
 said: 
 
 "You shall be my escort, my little Malmsey. I 
 will take you all after breakfast to the fete at Marly." 
 
 There was, in fact, a fete at Marly. They intro- 
 duced the two newcomers to her, the Comte de 
 Tamine and the Marquis de Briquetot. 
 
 During the meal, she said nothing further, strength- 
 ening herself to be gay in the afternoon, so that no 
 one should guess anything, — so that they should be 
 all the more astonished, and should say: "Who 
 would have thought it? She seemed so happy, so 
 contented! What does take place in those heads.?" 
 
 She forced herself not to think of the evening, the 
 chosen hour, when they should all be upon the ter- 
 race.
 
 YVETTE 83 
 
 She drank as much wine as she could stand, to 
 nerve herself, and two little glasses of brandy, and 
 she was flushed as she left the table, a little bewil- 
 dered, heated in body and mind. It seemed to her 
 that she was strengthened now, and resolved for 
 everything. 
 
 "Let us start!" she cried. She took Monsieur de 
 Belvigne's arm and set the pace for the others. 
 "Come, you shall form my battalion, Servigny. I 
 choose you as sergeant; you will keep outside the 
 ranks, on the right. You will make the foreign 
 guard march in front — the two exotics, the Prince, 
 and the Chevalier — and in the rear the two recruits 
 who have enlisted to-day. Come!" 
 
 They started. And Servigny began to imitate the 
 trumpet, while the two newcomers made believe to 
 beat the drum. Monsieur de Belvigne, a little con- 
 fused, said in a low tone: 
 
 "Mademoiselle Yvette, be reasonable, you will 
 compromise yourself." 
 
 She answered: "It is you whom I am compro- 
 mising, Raising. As for me, I don't care much about 
 it. To-morrow it will not occur. So much the 
 worse for you: you ought not to go out with girls 
 like me." 
 
 They went through Bougival to the amazement of 
 the passers-by. All turned to look at them; the citi- 
 zens came to their doors; the travelers on the little 
 railway which runs from Ruril to Marly jeered at 
 them. The men on the platforms cried: 
 
 "To the water with them!" 
 
 Yvette marched with a military step, holding Bel- 
 vigne by the arm, as a prisoner is led. She did not
 
 84 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 laugh; upon her features sat a pale seriousness, a sort 
 of sinister calm. Servigny interrupted his trumpet 
 blasts only to shout orders. The Prince and the 
 Chevalier were greatly amused, finding all this very 
 funny and in good taste. The two recruits drummed 
 away continually. 
 
 When they arrived at the fete, they made a sen- 
 sation. Girls applauded ; young men jeered, and a 
 stout gentleman with his wife on his arm said envi- 
 ously: "There are some people who are full of fun." 
 
 Yvette saw the wooden horses and compelled 
 Belvigne to mount at her right, while her squad 
 scrambled upon the whirling beasts behind. When 
 the time was up she refused to dismount, constrain- 
 ing her escort to take several more rides on the back 
 of these children's animals, to the great delight of the 
 public, who shouted jokes at them. Monsieur de 
 Belvigne was livid and dizzy when he got off. 
 
 Then she began to wander among the booths. 
 She forced all her men to get weighed among a crov^d 
 of spectators. She made them buy ridiculous toys 
 which they had to carry in their hands. The Prince 
 and the Chevalier began to think the joke was being 
 carried too far. Servigny and the drummers, alone, 
 did not seem to be discouraged. 
 
 They finally came to the end of the place. Then 
 she gazed at her followers in a peculiar manner, with 
 a shy and mischievous glance, and a strange fancy 
 came to her mind. She drew them up on the bank 
 of the river. 
 
 "Let the one who loves me the most jump into 
 the water," she said. 
 
 Nobody leaped. A mob gathered behind them.
 
 YVETTE 8^ 
 
 Women in white aprons looked on in stupor. Two 
 troopers, in red breeches. laughed loudly. 
 
 She repeated: "Then there is not one of you 
 capable of jumping into the water at my desire?" 
 
 Servigny murmured: "Oh, yes, there is," and 
 leaped feet foremost into the river. His plunge cast 
 a splash over as far as Yvette's feet. A murmur of 
 astonishment and gaiety arose in the crowd. 
 
 Then the young girl picked up from the ground a 
 little piece of wood, and throwing it into the stream: 
 "Fetch it," she cried. 
 
 The young man began to swim, and seizing the 
 floating stick in his mouth, like a dog, he brought it 
 ashore, and then climbing the bank he kneeled on 
 one knee to present it. 
 
 Yvette took it. "You are handsome," said she, 
 and with a friendly stroke, she caressed his hair. 
 
 A stout woman indignantly exclaimed: "Are 
 such things possible!" 
 
 Another woman said: "Can people amuse them- 
 selves like that!" 
 
 A man remarked: "I would not take a plunge 
 for that sort of a girl." 
 
 She again took Belvigne's arm, exclaiming in his 
 face: "You are a goose, my friend; you don't know 
 what you missed." 
 
 They now returned. She cast vexed looks on the 
 passers-by. "How stupid all these people seem," 
 she said. Then raising her eyes to the countenance 
 of her companion, she added: "You, too, like all the 
 rest." 
 
 M. de Belvigne bowed. Turning around she saw 
 that the Prince and the Chevalier had disappeared.
 
 S6 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Servigny, dejected and dripping, ceased playing on 
 the trumpet, and walked with a gloomy air at the 
 side of the two wearied young men, who also had 
 stopped the drum playing. She began to laugh dryly, 
 saying: 
 
 "You seem to have had enough; nevertheless, that 
 is what you call having a good time, isn't it? You 
 came for that; I have given you your money's 
 worth." 
 
 Then she walked on, saying nothing further; and 
 suddenly Belvigne perceived that she was weeping. 
 Astounded, he inquired: 
 
 "What is the matter?" 
 
 She murmured: "Let me alone, it does not con- 
 cern you." 
 
 But he insisted, like a fool: "Oh, Mademoiselle, 
 come, what is the matter, has anyone annoyed you?" 
 
 She repeated impatiently: "Will you keep still?" 
 
 Then suddenly, no longer able to resist the de- 
 spairing sorrow which drowned her heart, she began 
 to sob so violently, that she could no longer walk. 
 She covered her face with her hands, panting for 
 breath, choked by the violence of her despair. 
 
 Belvigne stood still at her side, quite bewildered, 
 repeating: "I don't understand this at all." 
 
 But Servigny brusquely came forward: "Let us 
 go home, Mam'zelle, so that people may not see you 
 weeping in the street. Why do you perpetrate fol- 
 lies like that when they only make you sad?" 
 
 And taking her arm he drew her forward. But as 
 soon as they reached the iron gate of the villa she 
 began to run, crossed the garden, and went upstairs, 
 and shut herself in her room.
 
 YVETTE 
 
 87 
 
 She did not appear again until the dinner hour, 
 very pale and serious. Servigny had bought from a 
 country storekeeper a workingman's costume, with 
 velvet pantaloons, a flowered waistcoat and a blouse, 
 and he adopted the local dialect. Yvette was in a 
 hurry for them to finish, feeling her courage ebbing. 
 As soon as the coffee was served she went to her 
 room again. 
 
 She heard the merry voices beneath her window. 
 The Chevalier was making equivocal jokes, foreign 
 witticisms, vulgar and clumsy. She listened, in de- 
 spair. Servigny, just a bit tipsy, was imitating 
 the common workingman, calling the Marquise "the 
 Missus." And all of a sudden he said to Saval: 
 "Well, Boss.?" That caused a general laugh. 
 
 Then Yvette decided. She first took a sheet of 
 paper and wrote: 
 
 " BouGivAL, Sunday, nine o'clock in the evening. 
 " I die so that I may not become a kept woman. 
 
 "Yvette." 
 
 Then in a postscript: 
 
 "Adieu, my dear mother, pardon." 
 
 She sealed the envelope, and addressed it to the 
 Marquise Obardi. 
 
 Then she rolled her long chair near the window, 
 drew a little table within reach of her hand, and 
 placed upon it the big bottle of chloroform beside a 
 handful of wadding. 
 
 A great rose-tree covered with flowers, climbing 
 as high as her window, exhaled in the night a soft
 
 88 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 and gentle perfume, in light breaths; and she stood 
 for a moment enjoying it. The moon, in its first 
 quarter, was floating in the dark sky, a little ragged 
 at the left, and veiled at times by slight mists. 
 
 Yvette thought: "I am going to die!" And her 
 heart, swoHen with sobs, nearly bursting, almost suf- 
 focated her. She felt in her a need of asking mercy 
 from some one, of being saved, of being loved. 
 
 The voice of Servigny aroused her. He was teli- 
 mg an improper story, which was constantly inter- 
 rupted by bursts of laughter. The Marquise herself 
 laughed louder than the others. 
 
 "There is nobody like him for telling that sort of 
 thing," she said, laughing. 
 
 Yvette took the bottle, uncorked it, and poured a 
 little of the liquid on the cotton. A strong, sweet, 
 strange odor arose; and as she brought the piece of 
 cotton to her lips, the fumes entered her throat and 
 made her cough. 
 
 Then shutting her mouth, she began to inhale it. 
 She took in long breaths of this deadly vapor, closing 
 her eyes, and forcing herself to stifle in her mind all 
 thoughts, so that she might not reflect, that she 
 might know nothing more. 
 
 It seemed to her at first that her chest was grow- 
 ing larger, was expanding, and that her soul, re- 
 cently heavy and burdened with grief, was becoming 
 light, light, as if the weight which overwhelmed her 
 was lifted, wafted away. Something lively and 
 agreeable penetrated even to the extremities of hei 
 limbs, even to the tips of her toes and fingers and 
 entered her flesh, a sort of dreamy intoxication, qI 
 soft fever.
 
 YVETTE 
 
 89 
 
 She saw that the cotton was dry, and she was 
 astonished that she was not already dead. Her senses 
 seemed more acute, more subtle, more alert. She 
 heard the lowest whisper on the terrace. Prince 
 Kravalow was telling how he had killed an Austrian 
 general in a duel. 
 
 Then, further ofT, in the fields, she heard the noise 
 of the night, the occasional barkings of a dog, the 
 short cry of the frogs, the almost imperceptible rust- 
 ling of the leaves. 
 
 She took the bottle again, and saturated once 
 more the little piece of wadding; then she began to 
 breathe in the fumes again. For a few moments 
 she felt nothing; then that soft and soothing feeling 
 of comfort which she had experienced before envel- 
 oped her. 
 
 Twice she poured more chloroform upon the 
 cotton, eager now for that physical and mental sen- 
 sation, that dreamy torpor, which bewildered her 
 soul. 
 
 It seemed to her that she had no more bones, 
 flesh, legs, or arms. The drug had gently taken all 
 these away from her, without her perceiving it. The 
 chloroform had drawn away her body, leaving her 
 only her mind, more awakened, more active, larger, 
 and more free than she had ever felt it. 
 
 She recalled a thousand forgotten things, little de- 
 tails of her childhood, trifles which had given her 
 pleasure. Endowed suddenly with an awakened agil- 
 ity, her mind leaped to the most diverse ideas, ran 
 through a thousand adventures, wandered in the past, 
 and lost itself in the hoped-for events of the future. 
 And her lively and careless thoughts had a sensuous
 
 go WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 charm: she experienced a divine pleasure in dream- 
 ing thus. 
 
 She still heard the voices, but she could no longer 
 distinguish the words, which to her seemed to have a 
 different meaning. She was in a kind of strange and 
 changing fairyland. 
 
 She was on a great boat which floated through a 
 beautiful country, all covered with flowers. She saw 
 people on the shore, and these people spoke very 
 loudly; then she was again on land, without asking 
 how, and Servigny, clad as a prince, came to seek 
 her, to take her to a bull-fight. 
 
 The streets were filled with passers-by, who were 
 talking, and she heard conversations which did not 
 astonish her, as if she had known the people, for 
 through her dreamy intoxication, she still heard her 
 mother's friends laughing and talking on the ter- 
 race. 
 
 Then everything became vague. Then she awak- 
 ened, deliciously benumbed, and she could hardly re- 
 member what had happened. 
 
 So, she was not yet dead. But she felt so calm, 
 in such a state of physical comfort, that she was not 
 in haste to finish with it — she wanted to make this 
 exquisite drowsiness last forever. 
 
 She breathed slowly and looked at the moon, op- 
 posite her, above the trees. Something had changed 
 in her spirit. She no longer thought as she had 
 done just now. The chloroform quieting her body 
 and her soul had calmed her grief and lulled her de- 
 sire to die. 
 
 Why should she not live? Why should she not 
 be loved .^ Why should she not lead a happy life?
 
 YVETTE 9i 
 
 Everything appeared possible to her now, and easy 
 and certain. Everything in life was sweet, everything 
 was charming. But as she wished to dream on still, 
 she poured more of the dream-water on the cotton 
 and began to breathe it in again, stopping at times, 
 so as not to absorb too much of it and die. 
 
 She looked at the moon and saw in it a face, a 
 woman's face. She began to scorn the country in 
 the fanciful intoxication of the drug. That face 
 swung in the sky; then it sang, it sang with a well- 
 known voice the alleluia of love. 
 
 It was the Marquise, who had come in and seated 
 herself at the piano. 
 
 Yvette had wings now. She was flying through 
 a clear night, above the wood and streams. She 
 was flying with delight, opening and closing her 
 wings, borne by the wind as by a caress. She 
 moved in the air, which kissed her skin, and she 
 went so fast, so fast, that she had no time to see 
 anything beneath her, and she found herself seated 
 on the bank of a pond with a line in her hand; she 
 was fishing. 
 
 Something pulled on the cord, and when she drew 
 it out of the water, it bore a magnificent pearl neck- 
 lace, which she had longed for some time ago. She 
 was not at all astonished at this deed, and she 
 looked at Servigny, who had come to her side — ■ 
 she knew not how. He was fishing also, and drew 
 out of the river a wooden horse. 
 
 Then she had anew the feeling of awaking, and 
 she heard some one calling down stairs Her mothei 
 had said'. 
 
 "Put out the candle."
 
 92 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Then Servigny's voice rose, dear and jesting: 
 
 "Put out your candle, Mam'zeile Yvette." 
 
 And all took up the chorus: "Mam'zeile Yvette, 
 put out your candle." 
 
 She again poured chloroform on the cotton, but, 
 as she did not want to die, she placed it far enough 
 from her face to breathe the fresh air, while never- 
 theless her room was filled with the asphyxiating 
 odor of the narcotic, for she knew that some one 
 was coming, and taking a suitable posture, a pose of 
 the dead, she waited. 
 
 The Marquise said: " I am a little uneasy! That 
 foolish child has gone to sleep leaving the light on 
 her table. I will send Clemence to put it out, and to 
 shut the balcony window, which is wide open." 
 
 And soon the maid rapped on the door calling: 
 "Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle!" After a moment's 
 silence, she repeated: "Mademoiselle, Madame the 
 Marquise begs you to put out your candle and shut 
 the window." 
 
 Clemence waited a little, then knocked louder, and 
 cried: 
 
 "Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle!" 
 
 As Yvette did not reply, the servant went away 
 and reported to the Marquise: 
 
 "Mademoiselle must have gone to sleep, her door 
 is bolted, and I could not awaken her." 
 
 Madame Obardi murmured: 
 
 "But she must not stay like that." 
 
 Then, at the suggestion of Servigny, they all gath- 
 ered under the window, shouting in chorus: 
 "Hip! hip! hurrah! Mam'zeile Yvette." 
 
 Their clamor rose in the calm night, through the
 
 YVETTE 
 
 93 
 
 transparent air beneath the moon, over the sleeping 
 country; and they heard it die away in the distance 
 like the sound of a disappearing train. 
 
 As Yvette did not answer the Marquise said: "I 
 only hope that nothing has happened. I am begin- 
 ning to be afraid." 
 
 Then Servigny, plucking red roses from a big rose- 
 bush trained along the wall and buds not yet opened, 
 began to throw them into the room through the 
 window. 
 
 At the first rose that fell at her side, Yvette started 
 and almost cried out. Others fell upon her dress, 
 others upon her hair, while others going over her 
 head fell upon the bed, covermg it with a rain of 
 flowers. 
 
 The Marquise, in a choking voice, cried: "Come, 
 Yvette, answer." 
 
 Then Servigny declared: "Truly this is not nat- 
 ural; 1 am going to climb up by the balcony/' 
 
 But the Chevalier grew indignant. 
 
 "Now, let me do it," he said. "It is a great favor 
 I ask; it is too good a means, and too good a time 
 to obtain a rendezvous." 
 
 All the rest, who thought the young girl was 
 joking, cried: "We protest! He shall not climb 
 up. 
 
 But the Marquise, disturbed, repeated: "And yet 
 some one must go and see." 
 
 The Prince exclaimed with a dramatic gesture: 
 
 "She favors the Duke, we are betrayed." 
 
 "Let us toss a coin to see who shall go up," 
 said the Chevalier. He took a five-franc piece from 
 his pocket, and began with the Prince. 
 
 7 G. de M.-
 
 94 
 
 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "Tail," said he. It was head. 
 
 The Prince tossed the coin in his turn saying to 
 Saval: "Call, Monsieur." 
 
 Saval called "Head." It was tail. 
 
 The Prince then gave all the others a chance, and 
 they all lost. 
 
 Servigny, who was standing opposite him, ex- 
 claimed in his insolent way: " Parbleuf he is cheat- 
 ing!" 
 
 The Russian put his hand on his heart and held 
 out the gold piece to his rival, saying: "Toss it 
 yourself, my dear Duke." 
 
 Servigny took it and spinning it up, said: "Head." 
 It was tail. 
 
 He bowed and pointing to the pillar of the bal- 
 cony said: "Climb up. Prince." But the Prince 
 looked about him with a disturbed air. 
 
 "What are you looking for?" asked the Chev- 
 alier. 
 
 "Well, — I — would — like — a ladder." A general 
 laugh followed. 
 
 Saval, advancing, said: "We will help you." 
 
 He lifted him in his arms, as strong as those of 
 Hercules, telling him: 
 
 "Now climb to that balcony." 
 
 The Prince immediately clung to it, and Saval 
 letting him go, he swung there, suspended in the air, 
 moving his legs in empty space. 
 
 Then Servigny, seeing his struggling legs which 
 sought a resting place, pulled them downward with 
 all his strength; the hands lost their grip and the 
 Prince fell in a heap on Monsieur de Belvigne, who 
 was coming to aid him.
 
 YVETTE 95 
 
 "Whose turn next?" asked Servigny. No one 
 claimed the privilege. 
 
 "Come, Belvigne, courage!" 
 
 "Thank you, my dear boy, 1 am thinking ot my 
 bones." 
 
 "Come, Chevalier, you must be used to scahng 
 walls." 
 
 "1 give my place to you, my dear Duke." 
 
 "Ha, ha, that is just what 1 expected." 
 
 Servigny, with a keen eye, turned to the pillar. 
 Then with a leap, clinging to the balcony, he drew 
 himself up like a gymnast and climbed over the 
 balustrade. 
 
 All the spectators, gazing at him, applauded. But 
 he immediately reappeared, calling: 
 
 "Come, quick! Come, quick! Yvette is uncon- 
 scious." The Marquise uttered a loud cry, and rushed 
 for the stairs. 
 
 The young girl, her eyes closed, pretended to be 
 dead. Her mother entered distracted, and threw her- 
 self upon her. 
 
 "Tell me what is the matter with her. what is 
 the matter with her?" 
 
 Servigny picked up the bottle of chloroform which 
 had fallen upon the floor. 
 
 "She has drugged herself," said he. 
 
 He placed his ear to her heart; then he added: 
 
 "But she is not dead; we can resuscitate her. 
 Have you any ammonia?" 
 
 The maid, bewildered, repeated: "Any what, Mon- 
 sieur?" 
 
 "Any smelling-salts." 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur."
 
 ^6 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 " Bring them at once, and leave the door open to 
 make a draft of air." 
 
 The Marquise, on her knees, was sobbing: " YvetteJ 
 Yvette, my daughter, my daughter, Hsten, answer 
 me, Yvette, my child. Oh, my God! my God! what 
 has she done? " 
 
 The men, frightened, moved about without speak- 
 ing, bringing water, towels, glasses, and vinegar. 
 Some one said: "She ought to be undressed." And 
 the Marquise, who had lost her head, tried to un- 
 dress her daughter; but did not know what she was 
 doing. Her hands trembled and faltered, and she 
 groaned: 
 
 "I cannot, — 1 cannot — " 
 
 The maid had come back bringing a druggist's 
 bottle which Servigny opened and from which he 
 poured out half upon a handkerchief. Then he ap- 
 plied it to Yvette's nose, causing her to choke. 
 
 "Good, she breathes," said he. "It will be noth- 
 mg. ' 
 
 And he bathed her temples, cheeks, and neck with 
 the pungent liquid. 
 
 Then he made a sign to the maid to unlace the 
 girl, and when she had nothing more on than a skirt 
 over her chemise, he raised her in his arms and car- 
 ried her to the bed, quivering, moved by the odor 
 and contact of her flesh. Then she was placed in 
 bed. He arose very pale. 
 
 "She will come to herself," he said, "it is noth- 
 ing." For he had heard her breathe in a continuous 
 and regular way. But seeing all the men with their 
 eyes fixed on Yvette in bed, he was seized with a 
 jealous irritation, and advanced toward them.
 
 YVETTE 
 
 97 
 
 "Gentlemen," he said, "there are too many of us 
 in this room; be kind enough to leave us alone, — 
 Monsieur Saval and me — with the Marquise." 
 
 He spoke in a tone which was dry and full of 
 authority. 
 
 Madame Obardi had grasped her lover, and with 
 her head uplifted toward him she cried to him: 
 
 "Save her, oh, save her!" 
 
 But Servigny turning around saw a letter on the 
 table. He seized it with a rapid movement, and 
 read the address. He understood and thought: "Per- 
 haps it would be better if the Marquise should not 
 know of this," and tearing open the envelope, he de- 
 voured at a glance the two lines it contained: 
 
 "I die so that I may not become a kept woman. 
 
 " YVETTE. 
 
 "Adieu, my dear mother, pardon." 
 
 "The devil!" he thought, "this calls for reflec- 
 tion." And he hid the letter in his pocket. 
 
 Then he approached the bed, and immediately the 
 thought came to him that the young girl had re- 
 gained consciousness but that she dared not show it, 
 from shame, from humiliation, and from fear of ques- 
 tioning. The Marquise had fallen on her knees now. 
 and was weeping, her head on the foot of the bed. 
 Suddenly she exclaimed: 
 
 "A doctor, we must have a doctor!" 
 
 But Servigny, who had just said something in a 
 low tone to Saval, replied to her: "No, it is all 
 over. Come, go out a minute, just a minute, and 
 I promise you that she will kiss you when you 
 come back."
 
 ^ WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 And the Baron, taking Madame Obardi by the 
 arm, led her from the room. 
 
 Then Servigny, sitting by the bed, took Yvette's 
 hand and said: " Mam'zelle, listen to me." 
 
 She did not answer. She felt so well, so soft 
 and warm in bed, that she would have liked never 
 to move, never to speak, and to live like that for- 
 ever. An infinite comfort had encompassed her, a 
 comfort the like of which she had never experi- 
 enced. 
 
 The mild night air coming in by velvety breaths 
 touched her temples in an exquisite almost imper- 
 ceptible way. It was a caress like a kiss of the 
 wind, like the soft and refreshing breath of a fan 
 made of all the leaves of the trees and of all the 
 shadows of the night, of the mist of rivers, and of 
 all the flowers too, for the roses tossed up from be- 
 low into her room and upon her bed, and the roses 
 climbing at her balcony, mingled their heavy per- 
 fume with the healthful savor of the evening breeze. 
 
 She drank in this air which was so good, her 
 eyes closed, her heart reposing in the yet pervading 
 intoxication of the drug, and she had no longer at 
 all the desire to die, but a strong, imperious wish to 
 live, to be happy — no matter how — to be loved, yes, 
 to be loved. 
 
 Servigny repeated: "Mam'zelle Yvette, listen to 
 me." 
 
 And she decided to open her eyes. 
 
 He continued, as he saw her reviving: "Gomel 
 Come! what does this nonsense mean?" 
 
 She murmured: "My poor Muscade, 1 was so un- 
 happy."
 
 YVETTE 
 
 99 
 
 He squeezed her hand: "And that led you into a 
 pretty scrape! Come, you must promise me not to 
 try it again." 
 
 She did not reply, but nodded her head slightly 
 
 with an almost imperceptible smile. He drew from 
 
 his pocket the letter which he had found on the 
 
 table : 
 
 p 
 
 "Had 1 better show this to your mother?" 
 
 She shook her head, no. He knew not what 
 more to say for the situation seemed to him without 
 an outlet. So he murmured: 
 
 "My dear child, everyone has hard things to bear. 
 I understand your sorrow and I promise you — " 
 
 She stammered: "You are good." 
 
 They were silent. He looked at her. She had in 
 her glance something of tenderness, of weakness; 
 and suddenly she raised both her arms, as if she 
 would draw him to her; he bent over her, feeling 
 that she called him, and their lips met. 
 
 For a long time they remained thus, their eyes 
 closed. 
 
 But, knowing that he would lose his head, hf 
 drew away. She smiled at him now, most tenderly 
 and, with both her hands clinging to his shoulders, 
 she held him. 
 
 "1 am going to call your mother," he said. 
 
 She murmured: "Just a second more. 1 am so 
 happy." 
 
 Then after a silence, she said in a tone so low that 
 it could scarcely be heard: "Will you love me very 
 much ? Tell me!" 
 
 He kneeled beside her bed, and kissing the hand 
 she had given him, said: "I adore you "
 
 JOO WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 But some one was walking near the door. He 
 arose with a bound, and called in his ordinary voice, 
 which seemed nevertheless a little ironical: "You 
 may come in. It is all right now." 
 
 The Marquise threw herself on her daughter, with 
 both arms open, and clasped her frantically, covering 
 her countenance with tears, while Servigny with ra- 
 diant soul and quivering body went out upon the bal- 
 cony to breathe the fresh air of the night, humming 
 to himself the old couplet: 
 
 "A woman changeth oft her mind: 
 Yet fools still tiust in womankind."
 
 
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