on her way to an unknown land at the other side of the world.
In that vessel which nothing could stay, that vessel which she soon would see no more, was her son, her poor son. And she felt as though half her heart had gone with him; she felt, too, as if her life were ended; yes, and she felt as though she would never see the child again.
"Why are you crying?" asked her husband, "when you know he will be back again within a month."
She stammered out: "I don't know; I cry because I am hurt."
When they had landed, Beausire at once took leave of them to go to breakfast with a friend. Then Jean led the way with Mme. Rosemilly, and Roland said to his wife:
"A very fine fellow, all the same, is our Jean."
"Yes," replied the mother.
And her mind being too much bewildered to think of what she was saying, she went on:
"I am very glad that he is to marry Mme. Rosemilly."
The worthy man was astounded.
"Heh? What? He is to marry Mme. Rosemilly?"
"Yes, we meant to ask your opinion about it this very day."
"Bless me! And has this engagement been long in the wind?"
"Oh, no, only a very few days. Jean wished to make sure that she would accept him before consulting you."
Roland rubbed his hands.
"Very good. Very good. It is capital. I entirely approve."
As they were about to turn off from the quay down the Boulevard Francois, his wife once more looked back to cast a last look at the high seas, but she could see nothing now but a puff of gray smoke, so far away, so faint that it looked like a film of haze.
BEL AMI OR THE HISTORY OF A SCOUNDREL
A NOVEL BY GUY DE MAUPASSANT
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. POVERTY
CHAPTER II. MADAME FORESTIER
CHAPTER III. FIRST ATTEMPTS
CHAPTER IV. DUROY LEARNS SOMETHING
CHAPTER V. THE FIRST INTRIGUE
CHAPTER VI. A STEP UPWARD
CHAPTER VII. A DUEL WITH AN END
CHAPTER VIII. DEATH AND A PROPOSAL
CHAPTER IX. MARRIAGE
CHAPTER X. JEALOUSY
CHAPTER XI. MADAME WALTER TAKES A HAND
CHAPTER XII. A MEETING AND THE RESULT
CHAPTER XIII. MADAME MARELLE
CHAPTER XIV. THE WILL
CHAPTER XV. SUZANNE
CHAPTER XVI. DIVORCE
CHAPTER XVII. THE FINAL PLOT
CHAPTER XVIII. ATTAINMENT
BEL-AMI
CHAPTER I.
POVERTY
After changing his five-franc piece Georges Duroy left the restaurant. He twisted his mustache in military style and cast a rapid, sweeping glance upon the diners, among whom were three saleswomen, 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 take. It was the twenty-eighth of June and 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 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 mustache, 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 cafes 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: "I will take a glass at the Americain. By Jove, I 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 escapade which had cost three men their lives, a foray which had given his two comrades and himself seventy fowls, two sheep, money, and something to laugh about for six months. The culprits were never 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 Madeleine and return.
When he reached the Place de l'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 suddenly he saw the same man, but not so corpulent and more youthful, attired in the uniform of a Hussar. He exclaimed: "Wait, Forestier!" and hastening 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 Hussars."
Forestier extended both hands.
