Bel Ami (A Ladies' Man)

by Guy de Maupassant

  XI

  On reaching the office next day, Du Roy sought out Boisrenard.

  "My dear fellow," said he, "I have a service to ask of you. It has beenthought funny for some time past to call me Forestier. I begin to findit very stupid. Will you have the kindness to quietly let our friendsknow that I will smack the face of the first that starts the joke again?It will be for them to reflect whether it is worth risking a swordthrust for. I address myself to you because you are a calm-mindedfellow, who can hinder matters from coming to painful extremities, andalso because you were my second."

  Boisrenard undertook the commission. Du Roy went out on business, andreturned an hour later. No one called him Forestier.

  When he reached home he heard ladies' voices in the drawing-room, andasked, "Who is there?"

  "Madame Walter and Madame de Marelle," replied the servant.

  His heart beat fast for a moment, and then he said to himself, "Well,let's see," and opened the door.

  Clotilde was beside the fireplace, full in a ray of light from thewindow. It seemed to George that she grew slightly paler on perceivinghim. Having first bowed to Madame Walter and her two daughters, seatedlike two sentinels on each side of their mother, he turned towards hislate mistress. She held out her hand, and he took it and pressed itmeaningly, as though to say, "I still love you." She responded to thispressure.

  He inquired: "How have you been during the century that has elapsedsince our last meeting?"

  She replied with perfect ease: "Quite well; and you, Pretty-boy?" andturning to Madeleine, added: "You will allow me to call him Pretty-boystill?"

  "Certainly, dear; I will allow whatever you please."

  A shade of irony seemed hidden in these words.

  Madame Walter spoke of an entertainment that was going to be given by

  Jacques Rival at his residence, a grand assault-at-arms, at which ladiesof fashion were to be present, saying: "It will be very interesting. ButI am so vexed we have no one to take us there, my husband being obligedto be away at that time."

  Du Roy at once offered his services. She accepted, saying: "My daughtersand I will be very much obliged to you."

  He looked at the younger daughter, and thought: "She is not at all badlooking, this little Susan; not at all." She resembled a fair, fragile

  doll, too short but slender, with a small waist and fairly developedhips and bust, a face like a miniature, grayish-blue, enamel-like eyes,which seemed shaded by a careful yet fanciful painter, a polished,colorless skin, too white and too smooth, and fluffy, curly hair, in acharming aureola, like, indeed the hair of the pretty and expensivedolls we see in the arms of children much smaller than their plaything.

  The elder sister, Rose, was ugly, dull-looking, and insignificant; oneof those girls whom you do not notice, do not speak to, and do not talkabout.

  The mother rose, and, turning to George, said:

  "Then I may reckon upon you for next Thursday, two o'clock?"

  "You may reckon upon me, madame," he replied.

  As soon as she had taken her departure, Madame de Marelle rose in turn,saying: "Good afternoon, Pretty-boy."

  It was she who then clasped his hand firmly and for some time, and hefelt moved by this silent avowal, struck again with a sudden caprice forthis good-natured little, respectable Bohemian of a woman, who reallyloved him, perhaps.

  As soon as he was alone with his wife, Madeleine broke out into a laugh,a frank, gay laugh, and, looking him fair in the face, said, "You knowthat Madame Walter is smitten with you."

  "Nonsense," he answered, incredulously.

  "It is so, I tell you; she spoke to me about you with wild enthusiasm.It is strange on her part. She would like to find two husbands such asyou for her daughters. Fortunately, as regards her such things are of nomoment."

  He did not understand what she meant, and inquired, "How of no moment?"

  She replied with the conviction of a woman certain of the soundness ofher judgment, "Oh! Madame Walter is one of those who have never even hada whisper about them, never, you know, never. She is unassailable inevery respect. Her husband you know as well as I do. But with her it isquite another thing. She has suffered enough through marrying a Jew, butshe has remained faithful to him. She is an honest woman."

  Du Roy was surprised. "I thought her a Jewess, too," said he.

  "She, not at all. She is a lady patroness of all the good works of theChurch of Madeleine. Her marriage, even, was celebrated religiously. Ido not know whether there was a dummy baptism as regards the governor,or whether the Church winked at it."

  George murmured: "Ah! so she fancied me."

  "Positively and thoroughly. If you were not bespoken, I should adviseyou to ask for the hand of--Susan, eh? rather than that of Rose."

  He replied, twisting his moustache: "Hum; their mother is not yet out ofdate."

  Madeleine, somewhat out of patience, answered:

  "Their mother! I wish you may get her, dear. But I am not alarmed onthat score. It is not at her age that a woman is guilty of a firstfault. One must set about it earlier."

  George was reflecting: "If it were true, though, that I could havemarried Susan." Then he shrugged his shoulders. "Bah! it is absurd. Asif her father would have ever have accepted me as a suitor."

  He promised himself, though, to keep a more careful watch in the futureover Madame Walter's bearing towards him, without asking whether hemight ever derive any advantage from this. All the evening he washaunted by the recollection of his love passages with Clotilde,recollections at once tender and sensual. He recalled her drolleries,her pretty ways, and their adventures together. He repeated to himself,"She is really very charming. Yes, I will go and see her to-morrow."

  As soon as he had lunched the next morning he indeed set out for theRue de Verneuil. The same servant opened the door, and with thefamiliarity of servants of the middle-class, asked: "Are you quite well,sir?"

  "Yes, thanks, my girl," he replied, and entered the drawing-room, inwhich an unskilled hand could be heard practicing scales on the piano.It was Laurine. He thought that she would throw her arms round his neck.But she rose gravely, bowed ceremoniously like a grown-up person, andwithdrew with dignity. She had so much the bearing of an insulted womanthat he remained in surprise. Her mother came in, and he took and kissedher hands.

  "How I have thought of you," said he.

  "And I," she replied.

  They sat down and smiled at one another, looking into each other's eyeswith a longing to kiss.

  "My dear little Clo, I do love you."

  "I love you, too."

  "Then--then--you have not been so very angry with me?"

  "Yes, and no. It hurt me a great deal, but I understood your reasons,and said to myself, 'He will come back to me some fine day or other.'"

  "I dared not come back. I asked myself how I should be received. I didnot dare, but I dearly wanted to. By the way, tell me what is the matterwith Laurine. She scarcely said good-morning to me, and went out lookingfurious."

  "I do not know. But we cannot speak of you to her since your marriage. Ireally believe she is jealous."

  "Nonsense."

  "It is so, dear. She no longer calls you Pretty-boy, but MonsieurForestier."

  Du Roy reddened, and then drawing close to her said:

  "Kiss me."

  She did so.

  "Where can we meet again?" said he.

  "Rue de Constantinople."

  "Ah! the rooms are not let, then?"

  "No, I kept them on."

  "You kept them on?"

  "Yes, I thought you would come back again."

  A gush of joyful pride swelled his bosom. She loved him then, thiswoman, with a real, deep, constant love.

  He murmured, "I love you," and then inquired, "Is your husband quitewell?"

  "Yes, very well. He has been spending a month at home, and was off againthe day before yesterday."

  Du Roy could not help laughing. "How lucky," said he.

 
She replied simply: "Yes, it is very lucky. But, all the same, he is nottroublesome when he is here. You know that."

  "That is true. Besides, he is a very nice fellow."

  "And you," she asked, "how do you like your new life?"

  "Not much one way or the other. My wife is a companion, a partner."

  "Nothing more?"

  "Nothing more. As to the heart--"

  "I understand. She is pretty, though."

  "Yes, but I do not put myself out about her."

  He drew closer to Clotilde, and whispered. "When shall we see oneanother again?"

  "To-morrow, if you like."

  "Yes, to-morrow at two o'clock."

  "Two o'clock."

  He rose to take leave, and then stammered, with some embarrassment: "Youknow I shall take on the rooms in the Rue de Constantinople myself. Imean it. A nice thing for the rent to be paid by you."

  It was she who kissed his hands adoringly, murmuring: "Do as you like.It is enough for me to have kept them for us to meet again there."

  Du Roy went away, his soul filled with satisfaction. As he passed by aphotographer's, the portrait of a tall woman with large eyes remindedhim of Madame Walter. "All the same," he said to himself, "she must bestill worth looking at. How is it that I never noticed it? I want to seehow she will receive me on Thursday?"

  He rubbed his hands as he walked along with secret pleasure, thepleasure of success in every shape, the egotistical joy of the cleverman who is successful, the subtle pleasure made up of flattered vanityand satisfied sensuality conferred by woman's affection.

  On the Thursday he said to Madeleine: "Are you not coming to theassault-at-arms at Rival's?"

  "No. It would not interest me. I shall go to the Chamber of Deputies."

  He went to call for Madame Walter in an open landau, for the weather wasdelightful. He experienced a surprise on seeing her, so handsome andyoung-looking did he find her. She wore a light-colored dress, thesomewhat open bodice of which allowed the fullness of her bosom to bedivined beneath the blonde lace. She had never seemed to him sowell-looking. He thought her really desirable. She wore her calm andladylike manner, a certain matronly bearing that caused her to passalmost unnoticed before the eyes of gallants. She scarcely spokebesides, save on well-known, suitable, and respectable topics, her ideasbeing proper, methodical, well ordered, and void of all extravagance.

  Her daughter, Susan, in pink, looked like a newly-varnished Watteau,while her elder sister seemed the governess entrusted with the care ofthis pretty doll of a girl.

  Before Rival's door a line of carriages were drawn up. Du Roy offeredMadame Walter his arm, and they went in.

  The assault-at-arms was given under the patronage of the wives of allthe senators and deputies connected with the _Vie Francaise_, for thebenefit of the orphans of the Sixth Arrondissement of Paris. MadameWalter had promised to come with her daughters, while refusing theposition of lady patroness, for she only aided with her name worksundertaken by the clergy. Not that she was very devout, but her marriagewith a Jew obliged her, in her own opinion, to observe a certainreligious attitude, and the gathering organized by the journalist had aspecies of Republican import that might be construed as anti-clerical.

  In papers of every shade of opinion, during the past three weeks,paragraphs had appeared such as: "Our eminent colleague, Jacques Rival,has conceived the idea, as ingenious as it is generous, of organizingfor the benefit of the orphans of the Sixth Arrondissement of Paris agrand assault-at-arms in the pretty fencing-room attached to hisapartments. The invitations will be sent out by Mesdames Laloigue,Remontel, and Rissolin, wives of the senators bearing these names, andby Mesdames Laroche-Mathieu, Percerol, and Firmin, wives of thewell-known deputies. A collection will take place during the interval,and the amount will at once be placed in the hands of the mayor of theSixth Arrondissement, or of his representative."

  It was a gigantic advertisement that the clever journalist had devisedto his own advantage.

  Jacques Rival received all-comers in the hall of his dwelling, where arefreshment buffet had been fitted up, the cost of which was to bededucted from the receipts. He indicated with an amiable gesture thelittle staircase leading to the cellar, saying: "Downstairs, ladies,downstairs; the assault will take place in the basement."

  He darted forward to meet the wife of the manager, and then shaking DuRoy by the hand, said: "How are you, Pretty-boy?"

  His friend was surprised, and exclaimed: "Who told you that--"

  Rival interrupted him with: "Madame Walter, here, who thinks thenickname a very nice one."

  Madame Walter blushed, saying: "Yes, I will admit that, if I knew youbetter, I would do like little Laurine and call you Pretty-boy, too. Thename suits you very well."

  Du Roy laughed, as he replied: "But I beg of you, madame, to do so."

  She had lowered her eyes, and remarked: "No. We are not sufficientlyintimate."

  He murmured: "Will you allow me the hope that we shall be more so?"

  "Well, we will see then," said she.

  He drew on one side to let her precede him at the beginning of thenarrow stairs lit by a gas jet. The abrupt transition from daylight tothis yellow gleam had something depressing about it. A cellar-like odorrose up this winding staircase, a smell of damp heat and of moldy wallswiped down for the occasion, and also whiffs of incense recalling sacredoffices and feminine emanations of vervain, orris root, and violets. Aloud murmur of voices and the quivering thrill of an agitated crowdcould also be heard down this hole.

  The entire cellar was lit up by wreaths of gas jets and Chinese lanternshidden in the foliage, masking the walls of stone. Nothing could be seenbut green boughs. The ceiling was ornamented with ferns, the groundhidden by flowers and leaves. This was thought charming, and adelightful triumph of imagination. In the small cellar, at the end, wasa platform for the fencers, between two rows of chairs for the judges.In the remaining space the front seats, ranged by tens to the right andto the left, would accommodate about two hundred people. Four hundredhad been invited.

  In front of the platform young fellows in fencing costume, with longlimbs, erect figures, and moustaches curled up at the ends, were alreadyshowing themselves off to the spectators. People were pointing them outas notabilities of the art, professionals, and amateurs. Around themwere chatting old and young gentlemen in frock coats, who bore a familyresemblance to the fencers in fighting array. They were also seeking tobe seen, recognized, and spoken of, being masters of the sword out ofuniform, experts on foil play. Almost all the seats were occupied byladies, who kept up a loud rustling of garments and a continuous murmurof voices. They were fanning themselves as though at a theater, for itwas already as hot as an oven in this leafy grotto. A joker kept cryingfrom time to time: "Orgeat, lemonade, beer."

  Madame Walter and her daughters reached the seats reserved for them inthe front row. Du Roy, having installed them there, was about to quitthem, saying: "I am obliged to leave you; we men must not collar theseats."

  But Madame Walter remarked, in a hesitating tone: "I should very muchlike to have you with us all the same. You can tell me the names of thefencers. Come, if you stand close to the end of the seat you will not bein anyone's way." She looked at him with her large mild eyes, andpersisted, saying: "Come, stay with us, Monsieur--Pretty-boy. We haveneed of you."

  He replied: "I will obey with pleasure, madame."

  On all sides could be heard the remark: "It is very funny, this cellar;very pretty, too."

  George knew it well, this vault. He recalled the morning he had passedthere on the eve of his duel, alone in front of the little white cartontarget that had glared at him from the depths of the inner cellar like ahuge and terrible eye.

  The voice of Jacques Rival sounded from the staircase: "Just about tobegin, ladies." And six gentlemen, in very tight-fitting clothes, to setoff their chests, mounted the platform, and took their seats on thechairs reserved for the judges. Their names flew about. General deReynaldi, the pre
sident, a short man, with heavy moustaches; the

  painter, Josephin Roudet, a tall, ball-headed man, with a long beard;Mattheo de Ujar, Simon Ramoncel, Pierre de Carvin, threefashionable-looking young fellows; and Gaspard Merleron, a master. Twoplacards were hung up on the two sides of the vault. That on the rightwas inscribed "M. Crevecoeur," and that on the left "M. Plumeau."

  They were two professors, two good second-class masters. They made theirappearance, both sparely built, with military air and somewhat stiffmovements. Having gone through the salute with automatic action, theybegan to attack one another, resembling in their white costumes ofleather and duck, two soldier pierrots fighting for fun. From time totime the word "Touched" was heard, and the six judges nodded with theair of connoisseurs. The public saw nothing but two living marionettesmoving about and extending their arms; they understood nothing, but theywere satisfied. These two men seemed to them, however, not overgraceful, and vaguely ridiculous. They reminded them of the woodenwrestlers sold on the boulevards at the New Year's Fair.

  The first couple of fencers were succeeded by Monsieur Planton andMonsieur Carapin, a civilian master and a military one. Monsieur Plantonwas very little, and Monsieur Carapin immensely stout. One would havethought that the first thrust would have reduced his volume like that ofa balloon. People laughed. Monsieur Planton skipped about like a monkey:Monsieur Carapin, only moved his arm, the rest of his frame being

  paralyzed by fat. He lunged every five minutes with such heaviness andsuch effort that it seemed to need the most energetic resolution on hispart to accomplish it, and then had great difficulty in recoveringhimself. The connoisseurs pronounced his play very steady and close, andthe confiding public appreciated it as such.

  Then came Monsieur Porion and Monsieur Lapalme, a master and an amateur,who gave way to exaggerated gymnastics; charging furiously at oneanother, obliging the judges to scuttle off with their chairs, crossingand re-crossing from one end of the platform to the other, one advancingand the other retreating, with vigorous and comic leaps and bounds. Theyindulged in little jumps backwards that made the ladies laugh, and longsprings forward that caused them some emotion. This galloping assaultwas aptly criticized by some young rascal, who sang out: "Don't burstyourselves over it; it is a time job!" The spectators, shocked at thiswant of taste, cried "Ssh!" The judgment of the experts was passedaround. The fencers had shown much vigor, and played somewhat loosely.

  The first half of the entertainment was concluded by a very fine boutbetween Jacques Rival and the celebrated Belgian professor, Lebegue.Rival greatly pleased the ladies. He was really a handsome fellow, wellmade, supple, agile, and more graceful than any of those who hadpreceded him. He brought, even into his way of standing on guard andlunging, a certain fashionable elegance which pleased people, andcontrasted with the energetic, but more commonplace style of hisadversary. "One can perceive the well-bred man at once," was the remark.He scored the last hit, and was applauded.

  But for some minutes past a singular noise on the floor above haddisturbed the spectators. It was a loud trampling, accompanied by noisylaughter. The two hundred guests who had not been able to get down intothe cellar were no doubt amusing themselves in their own way. On thenarrow, winding staircase fifty men were packed. The heat down below wasgetting terrible. Cries of "More air," "Something to drink," were heard.The same joker kept on yelping in a shrill tone that rose above themurmur of conversation, "Orgeat, lemonade, beer." Rival made hisappearance, very flushed, and still in his fencing costume. "I will havesome refreshments brought," said he, and made his way to the staircase.But all communication with the ground floor was cut off. It would havebeen as easy to have pierced the ceiling as to have traversed the humanwall piled up on the stairs.

  Rival called out: "Send down some ices for the ladies." Fifty voicescalled out: "Some ices!" A tray at length made its appearance. But itonly bore empty glasses, the refreshments having been snatched on theway.

  A loud voice shouted: "We are suffocating down here. Get it over and letus be off." Another cried out: "The collection." And the whole of thepublic, gasping, but good-humored all the same, repeated: "Thecollection, the collection."

  Six ladies began to pass along between the seats, and the sound of moneyfalling into the collecting-bags could be heard.

  Du Roy pointed out the celebrities to Madame Walter. There were men offashion and journalists, those attached to the great newspapers, theold-established newspapers, which looked down upon the _Vie Francaise_with a certain reserve, the fruit of their experience. They hadwitnessed the death of so many of these politico-financial sheets,offspring of a suspicious partnership, and crushed by the fall of aministry. There were also painters and sculptors, who are generally menwith a taste for sport; a poet who was also a member of the Academy, andwho was pointed out generally, and a number of distinguished foreigners.

  Someone called out: "Good-day, my dear fellow." It was the Count deVaudrec. Making his excuses to the ladies, Du Roy hastened to shakehands with him. On returning, he remarked: "What a charming fellowVaudrec is! How thoroughly blood tells in him."

  Madame Walter did not reply. She was somewhat fatigued, and her bosomrose with an effort every time she drew breath, which caught the eye ofDu Roy. From time to time he caught her glance, a troubled, hesitatingglance, which lighted upon him, and was at once averted, and he said tohimself: "Eh! what! Have I caught her, too?"

  The ladies who had been collecting passed to their seats, their bagsfull of gold and silver, and a fresh placard was hung in front of theplatform, announcing a "surprising novelty." The judges resumed theirseats, and the public waited expectantly.

  Two women appeared, foil in hand and in fencing costume; dark tights, avery short petticoat half-way to the knee, and a plastron so paddedabove the bosom that it obliged them to keep their heads well up. Theywere both young and pretty. They smiled as they saluted the spectators,and were loudly applauded. They fell on guard, amidst murmuredgallantries and whispered jokes. An amiable smile graced the lips of thejudges, who approved the hits with a low "bravo." The public warmlyappreciated this bout, and testified this much to the two combatants,who kindled desire among the men and awakened among the women the nativetaste of the Parisian for graceful indecency, naughty elegance, musichall singers, and couplets from operettas. Every time that one of thefencers lunged a thrill of pleasure ran through the public. The one whoturned her back to the seats, a plump back, caused eyes and mouths toopen, and it was not the play of her wrist that was most closelyscanned. They were frantically applauded.

  A bout with swords followed, but no one looked at it, for the attentionof all was occupied by what was going on overhead. For some minutes theyhad heard the noise of furniture being dragged across the floor, asthough moving was in progress. Then all at once the notes of a pianowere heard, and the rhythmic beat of feet moving in cadence wasdistinctly audible. The people above had treated themselves to a danceto make up for not being able to see anything. A loud laugh broke out atfirst among the public in the fencing saloon, and then a wish for adance being aroused among the ladies, they ceased to pay attention towhat was taking place on the platform, and began to chatter out loud.This notion of a ball got up by the late-comers struck them as comical.They must be amusing themselves nicely, and it must be much better upthere.

  But two new combatants had saluted each other and fell on guard in suchmasterly style that all eyes followed their movements. They lunged andrecovered themselves with such easy grace, such measured strength, suchcertainty, such sobriety in action, such correctness in attitude, suchmeasure in their play, that even the ignorant were surprised andcharmed. Their calm promptness, their skilled suppleness, their rapidmotions, so nicely timed that they appeared slow, attracted andcaptivated the eye by their power of perfection. The public felt thatthey were looking at something good and rare; that two great artists intheir own profession were showing them their best, all of skill,cunning, thought-out science and physical ability that it was possiblefor
two masters to put forth. No one spoke now, so closely were theywatched. Then, when they shook hands after the last hit, shouts ofbravoes broke out. People stamped and yelled. Everyone knew theirnames--they were Sergent and Ravignac.

  The excitable grew quarrelsome. Men looked at their neighbors withlongings for a row. They would have challenged one another on account ofa smile. Those who had never held a foil in their hand sketched attacksand parries with their canes.

  But by degrees the crowd worked up the little staircase. At last theywould be able to get something to drink. There was an outburst ofindignation when they found that those who had got up the ball hadstripped the refreshment buffet, and had then gone away declaring thatit was very impolite to bring together two hundred people and not showthem anything. There was not a cake, not a drop of champagne, syrup, orbeer left; not a sweetmeat, not a fruit--nothing. They had sacked,pillaged, swept away everything. These details were related by theservants, who pulled long faces to hide their impulse to laugh rightout. "The ladies were worse than the gentlemen," they asserted, "andate and drank enough to make themselves ill." It was like the story ofthe survivors after the sack of a captured town.

  There was nothing left but to depart. Gentlemen openly regretted thetwenty francs given at the collection; they were indignant that thoseupstairs should have feasted without paying anything. The ladypatronesses had collected upwards of three thousand francs. All expensespaid, there remained two hundred and twenty for the orphans of the SixthArrondissement.

  Du Roy, escorting the Walter family, waited for his landau. As he droveback with them, seated in face of Madame Walter, he again caught hercaressing and fugitive glance, which seemed uneasy. He thought: "Hang itall! I fancy she is nibbling," and smiled to recognize that he wasreally very lucky as regarded women, for Madame de Marelle, since therecommencement of their amour, seemed frantically in love with him.

  He returned home joyously. Madeleine was waiting for him in thedrawing-room.

  "I have some news," said she. "The Morocco business is getting into acomplication. France may very likely send out an expeditionary forcewithin a few months. At all events, the opportunity will be taken of itto upset the Ministry, and Laroche-Mathieu will profit by this to gethold of the portfolio of foreign affairs."

  Du Roy, to tease his wife, pretended not to believe anything of thekind. They would never be mad enough to recommence the Tunisian bungleover again. But she shrugged her shoulders impatiently, saying: "But Itell you yes, I tell you yes. You don't understand that it is a matterof money. Now-a-days, in political complications we must not ask: 'Whois the woman?' but 'What is the business?'"

  He murmured "Bah!" in a contemptuous tone, in order to excite her, andshe, growing irritated, exclaimed: "You are just as stupid asForestier."

  She wished to wound him, and expected an outburst of anger. But hesmiled, and replied: "As that cuckold of a Forestier?"

  She was shocked, and murmured: "Oh, George!"

  He wore an insolent and chaffing air as he said: "Well, what? Did younot admit to me the other evening that Forestier was a cuckold?" And headded: "Poor devil!" in a tone of pity.

  Madeleine turned her back on him, disdaining to answer; and then, aftera moment's silence, resumed: "We shall have visitors on Tuesday. MadameLaroche-Mathieu is coming to dinner with the Viscountess de Percemur.Will you invite Rival and Norbert de Varenne? I will call to-morrow andask Madame Walter and Madame de Marelle. Perhaps we shall have MadameRissolin, too."

  For some time past she had been strengthening her connections, makinguse of her husband's political influence to attract to her house,willy-nilly, the wives of the senators and deputies who had need of thesupport of the _Vie Francaise_.

  George replied: "Very well. I will see about Rival and Norbert."

  He was satisfied, and rubbed his hands, for he had found a good trick toannoy his wife and gratify the obscure rancor, the undefined and gnawingjealousy born in him since their drive in the Bois. He would neverspeak of Forestier again without calling him cuckold. He felt very wellthat this would end by enraging Madeleine. And half a score of times, inthe course of the evening, he found means to mention with ironical goodhumor the name of "that cuckold of a Forestier." He was no longer angrywith the dead! he was avenging him.

  His wife pretended not to notice it, and remained smilingly indifferent.

  The next day, as she was to go and invite Madame Walter, he resolved toforestall her, in order to catch the latter alone, and see if she really

  cared for him. It amused and flattered him. And then--why not--if itwere possible?

  He arrived at the Boulevard Malesherbes about two, and was shown intothe drawing-room, where he waited till Madame Walter made herappearance, her hand outstretched with pleased eagerness, saying: "Whatgood wind brings you hither?"

  "No good wind, but the wish to see you. Some power has brought me here,I do not know why, for I have nothing to say to you. I came, here I am;will you forgive me this early visit and the frankness of thisexplanation?"

  He uttered this in a gallant and jesting tone, with a smile on his lips.She was astonished, and colored somewhat, stammering: "But really--I donot understand--you surprise me."

  He observed: "It is a declaration made to a lively tune, in order not toalarm you."

  They had sat down in front of one another. She took the matterpleasantly, saying: "A serious declaration?"

  "Yes. For a long time I have been wanting to utter it--for a very longtime. But I dared not. They say you are so strict, so rigid."

  She had recovered her assurance, and observed: "Why to-day, then?"

  "I do not know." Then lowering his voice he added: "Or rather, because Ihave been thinking of nothing but you since yesterday."

  She stammered, growing suddenly pale: "Come, enough of nonsense; let usspeak of something else."

  But he had fallen at her feet so suddenly that she was frightened. Shetried to rise, but he kept her seated by the strength of his arms passedround her waist, and repeated in a voice of passion: "Yes, it is truethat I have loved you madly for a long time past. Do not answer me. Whatwould you have? I am mad. I love you. Oh! if you knew how I love you!"

  She was suffocating, gasping, and strove to speak, without being able toutter a word. She pushed him away with her two hands, having seized himby the hair to hinder the approach of the mouth that she felt comingtowards her own. She kept turning her head from right to left and fromleft to right with a rapid motion, closing her eyes, in order no longerto see him. He touched her through her dress, handled her, pressed her,and she almost fainted under his strong and rude caress. He rosesuddenly and sought to clasp her to him, but, free for a moment, she hadmanaged to escape by throwing herself back, and she now fled from behindone chair to another. He felt that pursuit was ridiculous, and he fellinto a chair, his face hidden by his hands, feigning convulsive sobs.Then he got up, exclaimed "Farewell, farewell," and rushed away.

  He quietly took his stick in the hall and gained the street, saying tohimself: "By Jove, I believe it is all right there." And he went into atelegraph office to send a wire to Clotilde, making an appointment forthe next day.

  On returning home at his usual time, he said to his wife: "Well, haveyou secured all the people for your dinner?"

  She answered: "Yes, there is only Madame Walter, who is not quite surewhether she will be free to come. She hesitated and talked about I don'tknow what--an engagement, her conscience. In short, she seemed verystrange. No matter, I hope she will come all the same."

  He shrugged his shoulders, saying: "Oh, yes, she'll come."

  He was not certain, however, and remained anxious until the day of thedinner. That very morning Madeleine received a note from her: "I havemanaged to get free from my engagements with great difficulty, and shallbe with you this evening. But my husband cannot accompany me."

  Du Roy thought: "I did very well indeed not to go back. She has calmeddown. Attention."

  He, however, awaited her appearance wit
h some slight uneasiness. Shecame, very calm, rather cool, and slightly haughty. He became humble,discreet, and submissive. Madame Laroche-Mathieu and Madame Rissolinaccompanied their husbands. The Viscountess de Percemur talked society.Madame de Marelle looked charming in a strangely fanciful toilet, aspecies of Spanish costume in black and yellow, which set off her neatfigure, her bosom, her rounded arms, and her bird-like head.

  Du Roy had Madame Walter on his right hand, and during dinner only spoketo her on serious topics, and with an exaggerated respect. From time totime he glanced at Clotilde. "She is really prettier and fresher lookingthan ever," he thought. Then his eyes returned to his wife, whom hefound not bad-looking either, although he retained towards her a hidden,tenacious, and evil anger.

  But Madame Walter excited him by the difficulty of victory and by thatnovelty always desired by man. She wanted to return home early. "I willescort you," said he.

  She refused, but he persisted, saying: "Why will not you permit me? Youwill wound me keenly. Do not let me think that you have not forgiven me.You see how quiet I am."

  She answered: "But you cannot abandon your guests like that."

  He smiled. "But I shall only be away twenty minutes. They will not evennotice it. If you refuse you will cut me to the heart."

  She murmured: "Well, then I agree."

  But as soon as they were in the carriage he seized her hand, and,kissing it passionately, exclaimed: "I love you, I love you. Let me tellyou that much. I will not touch you. I only want to repeat to you that Ilove you."

  She stammered: "Oh! after what you promised me! This is wrong, verywrong."

  He appeared to make a great effort, and then resumed in a restrainedtone: "There, you see how I master myself. And yet--But let me only tellyou that I love you, and repeat it to you every day; yes, let me come toyour house and kneel down for five minutes at your feet to utter thosethree words while gazing on your beloved face."

  She had yielded her hand to him, and replied pantingly: "No, I cannot, Iwill not. Think of what would be said, of the servants, of my daughters.No, no, it is impossible."

  He went on: "I can no longer live without seeing you. Whether at yourhouse or elsewhere, I must see you, if only for a moment, every day, totouch your hand, to breathe the air stirred by your dress, to gaze onthe outline of your form, and on your great calm eyes that madden me."

  She listened, quivering, to this commonplace love-song, and stammered:"No, it is out of the question."

  He whispered in her ear, understanding that he must capture her bydegrees, this simple woman, that he must get her to make appointmentswith him, where she would at first, where he wished afterwards. "Listen,I must see you; I shall wait for you at your door like a beggar; but Iwill see you, I will see you to-morrow."

  She repeated: "No, do not come. I shall not receive you. Think of mydaughters."

  "Then tell me where I shall meet you--in the street, no matter where, atwhatever hour you like, provided I see you. I will bow to you; I willsay 'I love you,' and I will go away."

  She hesitated, bewildered. And as the brougham entered the gateway ofher residence she murmured hurriedly: "Well, then, I shall be at theChurch of the Trinity to-morrow at half-past three." Then, havingalighted, she said to her coachman: "Drive Monsieur Du Roy back to hishouse."

  As he re-entered his home, his wife said: "Where did you get to?"

  He replied, in a low tone: "I went to the telegraph office to send off amessage."

  Madame de Marelle approached them. "You will see me home, Pretty-boy?"said she. "You know I only came such a distance to dinner on thatcondition." And turning to Madeleine, she added: "You are not jealous?"

  Madame Du Roy answered slowly: "Not over much."

  The guests were taking their leave. Madame Laroche-Mathieu looked like ahousemaid from the country. She was the daughter of a notary, and hadbeen married to the deputy when he was only a barrister of smallstanding. Madame Rissolin, old and stuck-up, gave one the idea of amidwife whose fashionable education had been acquired through acirculating library. The Viscountess de Percemur looked down upon them.Her "Lily Fingers" touched these vulgar hands with repugnance.

  Clotilde, wrapped in lace, said to Madeleine as she went out: "Yourdinner was perfection. In a little while you will have the leadingpolitical drawing-room in Paris."

  As soon as she was alone with George she clasped him in her arms,exclaiming: "Oh, my darling Pretty-boy, I love you more and more everyday!"