Bel Ami; Or, The History of a Scoundrel. Guy de Maupassant

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СКАЧАТЬ all my attempts—I am not accustomed to the work—and I came to ask Forestier to assist me—his once."

      She interrupted with a laugh: "And he sent you to me?"

      "Yes, Madame. He said you could help me better 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. "I 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. I 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 suppose that you are addressing a friend, which will allow 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 adventure 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, grateful for and delighted with their growing intimacy. 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 Bohemian. 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 Marelle 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 acquainted 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 seeing 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 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 uncomfortable. Count de Vaudrec's face was constantly before him. It seemed to him that the man was displeased at finding him tete-a-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 boulevard. When the clock chimed the hour of his appointment, he climbed the stairs leading to the office of "La Vie Francaise."

      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 to 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 fireplace, 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 easychair; Jacques Rival, stretched upon a divan, was smoking a cigar. The room had the peculiar odor familiar to all journalists. When they approached M. Walter, Forestier said: "Here is my friend Duroy."

      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 I look over it, Forestier?"

      But Forestier hastened to reply: "It is not necessary, 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 ecarte 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 I 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 details you can apply to Saint-Potin, who is posted; 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.

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DUROY LEARNS SOMETHING

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      Georges Duroy did not sleep well, so anxious was he to see his article in print. СКАЧАТЬ