 Chapter 5 Part 2 of Bellamy or the history of a scoundrel. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Giesen. Bellamy or the history of a scoundrel by Guy de Moupasson. Translator unknown. Chapter 5 The First Intrigue. Part 2 He was somewhat nervous the following day, as he ascended Madame 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. Duhois felt reassured and asked, Is Madame de Marelle? 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 appearance he presented. He was readjusting his cravat when he saw in the mirror the young woman standing 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 towards her, crying, How I love you! He clasped her to his breast. She 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 Lorraine to lunch with a friend. He sighed, and kissing her wrist 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. Durois 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 servant came and went without seeming to notice anything. When the meal was finished they returned to the drawing-room, and resumed their seats on the couch side by side. Suddenly he drew nearer her, and tried to embrace her. Be careful, someone might come in. He whispered, When can I see you alone to tell you how I love you? She leaned towards him and said softly, I will pay you a visit one of these days. He coloured. My rooms are very modest. She smiled, That makes no difference, I 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 besought 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, Tomorrow, say, Tomorrow. Finally she consented. Yes, tomorrow 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 Lorraine. The child entered, paused in surprise, then ran towards Durois, clapping her hands, delighted to see him, and crying, Ah, bella me! Madame de Marelle laughed, Bella me! Lorraine has christened you. It is a pretty name. I shall call you bella me, too. He took the child upon his knee. At twenty minutes of three he rose to go to the office. At the half-open door he whispered, Tomorrow, 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 apartment's more fit to receive his expected visitor. He was well satisfied with the results of his efforts, and retired, lulled to rest by the whistling of the trains. Early the next morning he bought a cake and a bottle of Madeira. He spread the collation 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 Rio 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 cab-man started up his horse she cried, Adieu bella me! After the old coupé rumbled off. For three weeks Durois received Madame de Marrelle 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 howling about? A woman's voice replied, Nicola has been tripped up on the landing-place by the journalist's sweetheart. Durois retreated, for he heard the rustling of skirts. Soon there was a knock at his door, which he opened, and Madame de Marrelle rushed in, crying, Did you hear? Jacques feigned ignorance of the matter. Know what? How they insulted me! Who? Those miserable people below! Why know what is it? Tell me! She sobbed and could not speak. She was forced to place her upon his bed, and to lay a damp cloth upon her temples. When she grew calmer, anger succeeded her agitation. She wanted Durois to go downstairs 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 tomorrow morning. She called a telegram a little blue. She smiled with delight at her plans, which she would not reveal. She was, however, very much affected 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. Durois opened it and read, Come at five o'clock to rue de Constantinople, number 127, ask for the room rented by Madame Durois. Clue At five o'clock precisely he entered a large furnished house, and asked the janitor, Has Madame Durois hired a room here? Yes, sir, will you show it to me, 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 Monsieur Durois? Certainly. He opened a small suite, comprising two rooms on the ground floor. Durois 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 seeing 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 centre of the room. Opening it, she took out a tablet of soap, a bottle of Luban's extract, a sponge, a box of hairpins, a buttonhook, and curling tongs. Then she amused herself by finding places in which to put them. She talked incessantly as she opened the drawers. I 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. I 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. He made a pretense of being angry. I cannot permit that. She laid her hand upon his shoulder, and said in a supplicatory tone, Charles, 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, anyway. Several days later he received a telegram, which read, My husband is coming home this evening. We shall therefore not meet for a week. What a bore, my dearest! Diois was startled. He had not realised the fact that Madame de Marais was married. He impatiently awaited her husband's departure. One morning he received the following telegram. Five o'clock, clue. When they met, she rushed into 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-merchants, where meals were also served. Clotilde's entrance caused a sensation 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 to his side. In fifteen minutes her curiosity was satisfied, and he conducted her home. Then followed a series of visits to all sorts of places of amusement. Durois soon began to tire of these expeditions, for he had exhausted all his resources and all means of obtaining money. In addition to that, he owed Forrestier a hundred francs, Jacques Rival 300, and he was hampered with innumerable petty debts, ranging from twenty francs to one hundred soons. End of chapter five, part two. Recording by Martin Giesen in Hazelmere, Surrey. Chapter five, part three, of Bellamy, or the history of a scoundrel. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Giesen. Bellamy, or the history of a scoundrel, by Guy de Mopasson. Translator unknown. Chapter five, the first intrigue, part three. On the fourteenth of December, he was left without a sue 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 Madame de Machel, saying, shall we dine together and afterward have a frolic? He replied at once, impossible to dine. Then he added, but I 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, Foucault, I have left my purse at home, and I have to dine at the Luxembourg, lend me fifty sews to pay for my cab. The man handed him three francs, and asked, is that enough? Yes, thank you. Taking the coins, Durois rushed down the staircase and dined at a cook-shop. At nine o'clock Madame de Machel, whom he awaited in the tiny salon, arrived. She wished to take a walk, and he objected. His opposition irritated 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. I have been annoyed by business matters. Somewhat appeased, but still vexed, she replied. That does not concern me. I will not be the but for your ill humour. 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 reason. If you will not go with me, I shall go alone, adieu. She disengaged herself from his embrace, and fled to the door. He followed her. Listen, Clue, my little Clue, 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 it? He coloured, and in order to avoid a rupture, confessed in accents of despair. I have no money. She would not believe him until he had turned all his pockets inside out, to prove his words. Then she 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 straightened 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 I 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 tomorrow? Certainly, at the same time. Yes, my darling. They parted. When Durois opened his bedroom door, and fumbled in his vest pocket for a match, he was amazed to find in it a piece of money, a twenty-frank piece. At first he wondered by what miracle it had got there. Suddenly it occurred to him that Madame de Marrelle had given him arms. 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, I shall lunch upon Clotilde's twenty francs. That will not hinder me from returning the money to-morrow. He ate his lunch, for which he paid two francs fifty, and on entering the office of la vie française, 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 Madame de Marrelle 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 Madame de Marrelle had a number of engagements. Durois 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 a count of all that he received in order to pay it back some day. One evening Madame de Marrelle said to him, Would you believe that I have never been to the Folly-Barchère? Will you take me there? He hesitated, fearing a meeting with Rachelle. Then he thought, I am not married after all. If she should see me, she would take in 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 the seats. Madame de Marrelle did not look at the stage. She was interested in watching the women who were promenading, and she felt an irresistible desire to touch them, to see of what those beings were made. Suddenly 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 Rachelle, with anger in her eyes, and violent words upon her lips. Durois had passed her when he and Madame de Marrelle entered, and she had said to him, Good evening, in a low voice, and with a wink which said, I understand. But he had not replied. For fear of being seen by his sweetheart, he passed her coldly, disdainfully. The woman, her jealousy aroused, followed the couple, and said in a louder key, Good evening, Jarge. He paid no heed to her. Then she was determined to be recognised, and she remained near their box, awaiting a favourable moment. When she saw that she was observed by Madame de Marrelle, she touched Durois' shoulder with the tip of her finger, and said, Good evening, how are you? But Jarge 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 Durois then exclaimed, How dare you accost me? Go along, or I will have you arrested. With flaming eyes she cried, Ah, is that so? Because you are with another, is no reason that you cannot recognise 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, Madame de Marrelle, in a fright, opened the door of the box, and fled through the crowd, seeking an exit. Durois rushed after her. Rachelle, seeing him disappear, cried, Stop her, she has stolen my lover. Two men seized the fugitive by the shoulder, but Durois, who had caught up with her, bade them desist, and together he and Clotilde reached the street. They entered a cab. The cabman asked, Where shall I drive to? Durois replied, Where you will? Clotilde sobbed hysterically. Durois did not know what to say or do. At length he stammered, Listen, Clotilde, my dearest Clotilde, let me explain. It is not my fault. I knew that woman long ago. She raised her head, and with the fury of a betrayed woman, she cried disconnectedly. Ah, you miserable fellow! What a rascal you are! Is it possible? What disgrace! Oh, my God! You gave her my money! Did you not? I gave him the money, but 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. Charche was about to follow her, but she commanded. I forbid you to follow me! In a voice so loud that the passes by crowded around her, and Durois dared not 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 Riboursaux at Batignol! The crowd applauded. One man said, Bravo, little one! And the cab moved on, followed by the jeers of the bystanders. End of Chapter 5 Part 3 Recording by Martin Geeson in Hazelmere Surrey Chapter 6 Part 1 of Bellamy, or the history of a scoundrel. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Geeson. Bellamy, or the history of a scoundrel, by Guy de Moupasson. Translator unknown. Chapter 6 A Step Upward Part 1 The next morning, Georges Durois arose, dressed himself, and determined to have money. He sought for estier. His friend received him in his study. What made you rise so early? he asked. A very serious matter. I have a debt of honour. A gaming debt. He hesitated, then repeated. A gaming debt. Is it large? Five hundred francs. He only needed two hundred and eighty. For estier asked skeptically. To whom do you owe that amount? Durois did not reply at once. To a monsieur de Carleville. Ah, where does he live? For estier laughed. I know the gentlemen. If you want twenty francs, you can have them. But no more. Durois 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. I 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 Folly Bercher in search of Rachele. But the woman was implacable, and heaped coarse insults upon him, until he felt his cheeks tingle, and he left the hall. For estier, out of health and feeble, made Durois's existence at the office insupportable. The latter did not reply to his rude remarks, but determined to be avenged. He called upon madame for estier. He found her reclining upon a couch, reading. She held out her hand without rising, and said, Good morning, Bellamy. Why do you call me by that name? She replied with a smile. I saw madame de Morel last week, and I know what they have christened 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, I did not come because it was for the best. How? Why? Why, can you not guess? No. Because I loved you, a little, only a little. And I did not wish 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 intercourse with people who love me, or pretend to. Firstly, because they bore me, and secondly, because I look upon them with dread, as I 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 I 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? Yes. Call upon madame 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 guardian angel. As he took his leave he asked again, are we friends? Is it settled? It is. Having observed the effect of his last compliment, he said, if you ever become a widow, I have put in my application. Then he left the room hastily, in order to find a woman like you, he left the room hastily, in order not to allow her time to be angry. Durois did not like to call on madame 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 favour to call at his house? One day, therefore, he repaired to the market and bought twenty-five pairs. Having carefully arranged them in a basket, to make them appear as if they came from a distance, he took them to madame Walter's door with his card, on which was inscribed. George Durois begs madame 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 madame Walter's card, on which was written, madame Walter thanks monsieur George Durois very much, and is at home on Saturdays. The next Saturday he called. Monsieur Walter lived on Boulevard Malzerbe, in a double house which he owned. The reception rooms were on the first floor. In the anti-chamber were two footmen. One took Durois' overcoat, the other his cane, put it aside, opened a door, and announced the visitor's name. In the large mirror in the apartment, Durois could see the reflection 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 into contact with so many noted personages, Durois felt abashed. He stammered, madame, I took the liberty. The mistress of the house extended her hand and said to him, You are very kind, monsieur Durois, to come to see me. She pointed to a chair. The ladies chatted on. Visitors came and went. Madame Walther noticed that Durois said nothing, that no one addressed him, that he seemed disconcerted, and she drew him into the conversation, which dealt with the admission of a certain monsieur ligné to the academy. When Durois had taken his leave, one of the ladies said, How odd he is! Who is he? Madame Walther 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, Durois walked gaily down Boulevard Malzerbe. The following week he was appointed editor of the Echos, and invited to dine at Madame Walther's. The Echos were, monsieur Walther 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 the 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. Durois was just the man for the place. He was enjoying the fact of his promotion, when he received an engraved card, which read, Monsieur and Madame Walther request the pleasure of Monsieur George Durois's company at dinner, on Thursday, January the 20th. 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 important question of his salary. At first, 1200 francs were allowed Durois, 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 Boire-Renaire, 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 Madame de Marelles. He felt his cheeks glow, and his heart throb. He crossed the street in order to see the lady's face. He was mistaken, and breathed more freely. He had often wondered 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 Durois entered his ronds, 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. Occasionally he wrote home, and his letters always delighted 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, I shall soon give a dinner which has never been equaled. Then he recalled his old home, 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 sapped. He thought, I will go to see them some day. His toilette completed, he extinguished his light, and descended the stairs. End of chapter 6, part 1. Recording by Martin Giesen in Hazelmere Surrey. Chapter 6, part 2, of Bellamy, or the history of a scoundrel. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Giesen. Bellamy, or the history of a scoundrel, by Guy de Moupasson. Translator unknown. Chapter 6. A Step Upward. Part 2. On reaching his destination, he boldly entered the anti-chamber, lighted by Bronn's lamps, and gave his cane and his overcoat to the two lackeys who approached him. All the salons were lighted. Madame Walter received in the second the largest. She greeted Durois with a charming smile, and he shook hands with the two men who arrived after him, Monsieur Firmin and Monsieur Laroche Mathieu. The latter had his special 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 du Varenne and Jacques Rival came together. The door opened at the end of the room, and Monsieur Walter entered with two tall young girls of 16 and 17. One plain, the other pretty. Durois knew that the manager was a patta familias, but he was astonished. He had thought of the manager's daughters as one thinks of a distant country one will never see. Then, too, he had fancied them children, 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. Durois happening to glance at the walls. Monsieur 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 landscapes by Guillemets, a visit to the hospital by Gervais, a widow by Bougorot, an execution by Jean-Paul Laurent, and many others. Durois exclaimed, charming, charming, charming, but stopped short on hearing behind him the voice of Madame de Marelle, who had just entered. Monsieur Walter continued to exhibit and explain his pictures, but Durois saw nothing, heard without comprehending. Madame 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? 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 in disposition and return home. The pictures had all been exhibited. Monsieur Walter placed the lamp on the table and greeted the last arrival. While Durois recommended a loan and examination of the canvas, as if he could not tear himself away. What should he do? He heard their voices and their conversation. Madame Forestier called him. He hastened towards 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 l'habit français. 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, bella me, do 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 murmured, I have had a great deal to do, Madame, a great deal to do. Monsieur 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, d'écolté with red arms, red cheeks, and attired in gay colours. As she was received with effusion, Durois asked Madame Forestier, Who is that person? Vaicant est de persmure, whose nom de plume is Pat Blanche. He was surprised, and with difficulty restrained a burst of laughter. Pat Blanche, I fancied her a young woman like you. Is that Pat Blanche? Ah, she is handsome, very handsome. A servant appeared at the door, and announced, Madame is served. Durois was placed between the manager's plain daughter, Mademoiselle Rose, and Madame de Marrelle. The proximity of the latter embarrassed him somewhat, although she appeared at ease and unconversed with her usual spirit. Gradually, however, his assurance returned, 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 what she should say. At Monsieur Walter's right sat Vaicant est de persmure, and Durois, looking at her with a smile, asked Madame de Marrelle 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 toilette of the same period. When the guests returned to the drawing-room, Durois asked Madame de Marrelle, May I escort you home? No, why not? Because Monsieur la Roche Mathieu, who is my neighbour, leaves me at my door every time that I dine here. When shall I see you again? Lunch with me tomorrow. They parted without another word. Durois 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 Durois. The streets were almost deserted that night. At first the two men did not speak. Then Durois, in order to make some remark, said, that Monsieur la Roche 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 Durois said with a smile, You are gloomy tonight, sir. The poet replied, I always am, my child. You will be two 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 ascending, 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. Durois laughed, hey, God, you make me shudder. Norbert de Varen continued, you do not understand me now, but later on you will remember what I have told you. We breathe, sleep, drink, eat, work, and then die. The end of life is death. What do you 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 Durois 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. I am a lonely old man. I have neither father, mother, brother, sister, wife, children, nor God. I 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 Rida Bourgogne, the poet halted before a high house, rang the bell, pressed Durois' hand, and said, Forget what I have said to you, young man, and live according to your age. Adieu. With those words he disappeared in the dark corridor. Durois felt somewhat depressed on leaving Varenne, but on his way a perfumed damsel passed by him, and recalled to his mind his reconciliation with Mme de Marrelle. How delightful was the realisation of one's hopes. The next morning he arrived at his lady-loves 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 beloved. I 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 Marrelle. I have already spoken of you to him. Durois 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, I will have the foyer-stier, though I do not like to receive company at home. On Monday, as he ascended M. de Marrelle's staircase, he felt strangely troubled. Not that he disliked 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 sannot, and he waited as usual. Then the door opened, and a tall man with a white beard, grave and precise, advanced towards him, and said courteously, My wife has often spoken of you, sir. I am charmed to make your acquaintance. Durois tried to appear cordial, and shook his host's proffered hand with exaggerated energy. M. de Marrelle put a log upon the fire, and asked, Have you been engaged in journalism a long time? Durois replied, only a few months. His embarrassment wearing off, he began to consider the situation very amusing. He gazed at M. de Marrelle, serious and dignified, and felt a desire to laugh aloud. At that moment M. de Marrelle entered, and approached Durois, who in the presence of her husband dared not kiss her hand. Lorine entered next, and offered her brow to Georges. Her mother said to her, You do not call M. de Marrelle Bellamy today. The child blushed, as if it were a gross indiscretion to reveal her secret. When the forestiers arrived, Durois 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 Thursday, at the doctor's orders. They did not stay late. After they had left, Durois said, with a shake of his head, He will not live long. M. de Marrelle replied calmly, No, he is doomed. He was a lucky man to obtain such a wife. Durois 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 wants it, and when she wants it. Oh, she is as manoeuvring as any one. She is a treasure to a man who wishes to succeed. Charles replied, She will marry very soon again, I have no doubt. Yes, I should not even be surprised if she had someone in view, a deputy. But I do not know anything about it. M. de Marrelle 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. Durois took his leave with a heavy heart. The next day he called on the forrestier, 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 Durois innumerable orders, although everything had been arranged with M. Walter. When Charles left him, he pressed his comrade's hand and said, Well, old fellow, we shall soon meet again. M. forrestier 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 Durois 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 salutation, courteously, but somewhat haughtily. On Thursday evening the forrestier's left town. End of Chapter 6 Part 2 Recording by Martin Giesen in Hazelmeyer Surrey Chapter 7 of Bellamych or the History of a Scoundrel This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Giesen Bellamych or the History of a Scoundrel by Guy de Moupasson Translator Unknown Chapter 7 A Duel with an End Charles's absence gave Durois a more important position on la vie française. Only one matter 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 française. Jacques Rival said to him one day, You are very forbearing. What should I do? It is no direct attack. But one afternoon when he entered the office, Guarnard handed him a number of la plume. Say, here is another unpleasant remark for you. Relative to what? To the arrest of one dameaubert. Jacques took the paper and read a scathing personal denunciation. Durois, it seems, had written an item claiming that dameaubert, who as the editor of la plume claimed had been put under arrest, was a myth. The latter retaliated by accusing Durois of receiving bribes and of suppressing matter that should be published. As Saint-Potin entered, Durois asked him, Have you seen the paragraph in la plume? Yes, and I have just come from dameaubert. She is no myth, but she has not been arrested. That report has no foundation. Durois went at once to Monsieur Walter's office. After hearing the case, the manager made him go to the woman's house himself, find out the details, and reply to the article. Durois 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 quarrel with me on the subject of an old woman, who he claims was arrested for disorderly conduct, which I deny. I have myself seen dameaubert, who is sixty years old at least. She told me the particulars 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, I scorn them. One never should reply to such things, moreover, when they are written under a mask. Monsieur Walter and Jacques Rival considered that sufficient, and it was decided that it should be published in that day's issue. Durois 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 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. Monsieur Durois of la vie française 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 models, and all is told. But the consciences of certain journalists are on a par with their talents. I sign myself Louis-Lan-Cremont. George'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 hesitate. Why had he been insulted? But nothing! On account of an old woman who had quarrelled with her butcher, he dressed hastily and repaired to Monsieur Walter's house, although it was scarcely eight o'clock. Monsieur Walter was reading la plume. Well, he said gravely on perceiving Durois. 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. Durois 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 insulting paragraph, said, Who would you like to have besides me? I do not know. Boire-en-art? Yes. Are you a good swordsman? No. A good shot. I have used a pistol a good deal. Gaud, come and exercise while I 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 Durois 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 Durois' use of the weapons, and told him to remain there and practice until noon, when he would return to take him to lunch, and tell him the result of his mission. Left to his own devices, Durois 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 Narber de Varen'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 footsteps, voices, and Jacques Rivalre reappeared, accompanied by Boirenaire. The former cried on perceiving Durois. All is settled. Durois thought the matter had terminated with a letter of apology. His heart gave a bound, and he stammered. Ah, thank you. Rivalre continued. Monsieur L'Encrement has accepted every condition. Twenty-five paces fire when the pistol is levelled and the order given. Then he added, Now let us lunch. It is past twelve o'clock. They repaired to a neighbouring restaurant. Durois was silent. He ate that they might not think he was frightened, and went in the afternoon with Boirenaire to the office, where he worked in an absent mechanical manner. Before leaving, Jacques Rivalre shook hands with him and warned him that he and Boirenaire would call for him in a carriage the next morning at seven o'clock to repair to the wood at Visigny, 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 Boirenaire, 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 tomorrow. He sat down and began to meditate. He had thrown upon his table his adversaries card brought him by Rivalre. He read it for the twentieth time that day. Louis Longremont, 176, Rue Montmartre. Nothing more. Who was the man? How old was he? How tall? How did he look? How odious that a total stranger should, without Rivalre reason, out of pure caprice, annoy him thus, on account of 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 uneasily. He was thirsty. He rose. He felt restless. Am I 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 tremble or lose his presence of mind? He lighted his candle and looked in the glass. He scarcely recognized his own face. It was so changed. Suddenly he thought, tomorrow 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. I 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 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 remarkable shot, he would not have accepted that dangerous weapon without hesitation. He ground his teeth to prevent his crying aloud. Suddenly he remembered that he had a bottle of brandy. He fetched it from the cupboard, and soon emptied it. Now he felt his blood core small 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? I do not need anything. They descended the stairs. A gentleman was seated in the carriage. Rival said, Dr. Le Brumon. Duas shook hands with him and stammered. Thank you, as he entered the carriage. Jacques Rival and Bois Renard followed him, and the coachman drove off. He knew where to go. The conversation flagged, although the doctor related a number of anecdotes. Rival alone replied to him. Duas tried to appear self-possessed, but he was haunted continually by the fear of showing his feelings or of losing his self-possession. Rival addressed him, saying, I took the pistols to Gastine-Renet. He loaded them. The box is sealed. Duas replied mechanically. Thank you. Then Rival proceeded to give him minute directions that he might make no mistakes. Duas repeated those directions as children learned 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 Boire-Renard alighted first, then the doctor and the combatant. Rival took the box of pistols, and with Boire-Renard approached the two strangers who were advancing towards them. Duas saw them greet one another ceremoniously, then walked through the glade together as they counted the paces. Dr Le Primois asked Duas, 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 favoured us in the drawing of the pistols. That was a matter of indifference to Duas. 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? Jacques cried, Yes! The same voice commanded, Fire! Duas 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 anxiously, Are you wounded? He replied, No, I think not. Longrement was not wounded either, and Jacques Rival muttered discontentedly. That is always the way with those cursed pistols, on either misses or kills one's opponent. Duas was paralysed with surprise and joy. All was over. He felt that he could fight the entire universe. All was over. What bliss! He felt brave enough to provoke anyone. The seconds consulted several moments, then the dualists and their friends entered the carriages and drove off. When the official report was drawn up, it was handed to Duas, who was to insert it in the echoes. He was surprised 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 Duas, satisfied with that explanation, asked no more questions. Monsieur Walter embraced him. Bravo! You have defended the colours of la vie française. Bravo! The following day, at eleven o'clock in the forenoon, Duas received a telegram. My God! I have been frightened! Come at once to read a Constantinople, that I may embrace you, my love. How brave you are! I adore you, Clos. He repaired to the place appointed, and Madame de Marrelle rushed into his arms, covering him with kisses. Oh, my darling, if you only knew how I felt when I read the morning papers. Tell me, tell me all about it. Duas was obliged to give her a detailed account. You must have had a terrible night before the duel. Why, no, I slept very well. I 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, I cannot live without you. I must see you. And with my husband in Paris, it is not very convenient. I often have an hour early in the morning, when I could come and embrace you, but I cannot 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, I 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. That is no reason. These rums suit me very well. I am here, I shall remain. He loved. 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 I do not wish you to. Indignantly he cried, Never, I promise you. You would do so in spite of your promise. I swear I will not. Truly, truly upon my word of honour, 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 forever. He protested, and it was agreed that he should settle in the rums that same day. She said to him, You must dine with us some day. 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. End of chapter seven. Recording by Martin Geeson in Hazelmere Surrey.