CHAPTER V.
THE FIRST INTRIGUE
Two months elapsed. It was September. The fortune which Duroy had hopedto make so rapidly seemed to him slow in coming. Above all he wasdissatisfied with the mediocrity of his position; he was appreciated,but was treated according to his rank. Forestier himself no longerinvited him to dinner, and treated him as an inferior. Often he hadthought of making Mme. Forestier a visit, but the remembrance of theirlast meeting restrained him. Mme. de Marelle had invited him to call,saying: "I am always at home about three o'clock." So one afternoon,when he had nothing to do, he proceeded toward her house. She lived onRue Verneuil, on the fourth floor. A maid answered his summons, andsaid: "Yes, Madame is at home, but I do not know whether she hasrisen." She conducted Duroy into the drawing-room, which was large,poorly furnished, and somewhat untidy. The shabby, threadbare chairswere ranged along the walls according to the servant's fancy, for therewas not a trace visible of the care of a woman who loves her home.Duroy took a seat and waited some time. Then a door opened and Mme. deMarelle entered hastily, clad in a Japanese dressing-gown. Sheexclaimed:
"How kind of you to come to see me. I was positive you had forgottenme." She held out her hand to him with a gesture of delight; and Duroy,quite at his ease in that shabby apartment, kissed it as he had seenNorbert de Varenne do.
Examining him from head to foot, she cried: "How you have changed!Well; tell me the news."
They began to chat at once as if they were old acquaintances, and infive minutes an intimacy, a mutual understanding, was establishedbetween those two beings alike in character and kind. Suddenly theyoung woman said in surprise: "It is astonishing how I feel with you.It seems to me as if I had known you ten years. We shall undoubtedlybecome good friends; would that please you?"
He replied: "Certainly," with a smile more expressive than words. Hethought her very bewitching in her pretty gown. When near Mme.Forestier, whose impassive, gracious smile attracted yet held at adistance, and seemed to say: "I like you, yet take care," he felt adesire to cast himself at her feet, or to kiss the hem of her garment.When near Mme. de Marelle, he felt a more passionate desire.
A gentle rap came at the door through which Mme. de Marelle hadentered, and she cried: "You may come in, my darling."
The child entered, advanced to Duroy and offered him her hand. Theastonished mother murmured: "That is a conquest." The young man, havingkissed the child, seated her by his side, and with a serious airquestioned her as to what she had done since they last met. She repliedin a flute-like voice and with the manner of a woman. The clock struckthree; the journalist rose.
"Come often," said Mme. de Marelle; "it has been a pleasant causerie. Ishall always be glad to welcome you. Why do I never meet you at theForestiers?"
"For no particular reason. I am very busy. I hope, however, that weshall meet there one of these days."
In the course of a few days he paid another visit to the enchantress.The maid ushered him into the drawing-room and Laurine soon entered;she offered him not her hand but her forehead, and said: "Mamma wishesme to ask you to wait for her about fifteen minutes, for she is notdressed. I will keep you company."
Duroy, who was amused at the child's ceremonious manner, replied:"Indeed, Mademoiselle, I shall be enchanted to spend a quarter of anhour with you." When the mother entered they were in the midst of anexciting game, and Mme. de Marelle paused in amazement, crying:"Laurine playing? You are a sorcerer, sir!" He placed the child, whomhe had caught in his arms, upon the floor, kissed the lady's hand, andthey seated themselves, the child between them. They tried to converse,but Laurine, usually so silent, monopolized the conversation, and hermother was compelled to send her to her room.
When they were alone, Mme. de Marelle lowered her voice and said: "Ihave a great project. It is this: As I dine every week at theForesters', I return it from time to time by inviting them to arestaurant. I do not like to have company at home; I am not so situatedthat I can have any. I know nothing about housekeeping or cooking. Iprefer a life free from care; therefore I invite them to the cafeoccasionally; but it is not lively when we are only three. I am tellingyou this in order to explain such an informal gathering. I should likeyou to be present at our Saturdays at the Cafe Riche at seven-thirty.Do you know the house?"
Duroy accepted gladly. He left her in a transport of delight andimpatiently awaited the day of the dinner. He was the first to arriveat the place appointed and was shown into a small private room, inwhich the table was laid for four; that table looked very inviting withits colored glasses, silver, and candelabra.
Duroy seated himself upon a low bench. Forestier entered and shookhands with him with a cordiality he never evinced at the office.
"The two ladies will come together," said he. "These dinners are trulydelightful."
Very soon the door opened and Mesdames Forestier and De Marelleappeared, heavily veiled, surrounded by the charming mystery necessaryto a rendezvous in a place so public. As Duroy greeted the former, shetook him to task for not having been to see her; then she added with asmile: "Ah, you prefer Mme. de Marelle; the time passes more pleasantlywith her."
When the waiter handed the wine-list to Forestier, Mme. de Marelleexclaimed: "Bring the gentle-men whatever they want; as for us, we wantnothing but champagne."
Forestier, who seemed not to have heard her, asked: "Do you object tomy closing the window? My cough has troubled me for several days."
"Not at all."
His wife did not speak. The various courses were duly served and thenthe guests began to chat. They discussed a scandal which was beingcirculated about a society belle. Forestier was very much amused by it.Duroy said with a smile: "How many would abandon themselves to acaprice, a dream of love, if they did not fear that they would pay fora brief happiness with tears and an irremediable scandal?"
Both women glanced at him approvingly. Forestier cried with a scepticallaugh: "The poor husbands!" Then they talked of love. Duroy said: "WhenI love a woman, everything else in the world is forgotten."
Mme. Forestier murmured: "There is no happiness comparable to thatfirst clasp of the hand, when one asks: 'Do you love me?' and the otherreplies: 'Yes, I love you.'" Mme. de Marelle cried gaily as she drank aglass of champagne: "I am less Platonic."
Forestier, lying upon the couch, said in serious tone: "That franknessdoes you honor and proves you to be a practical woman. But might oneask, what is M. de Marelle's opinion?"
She shrugged her shoulders disdainfully and said: "M. de Marelle has noopinion on that subject."
The conversation grew slow. Mme. de Marelle seemed to offer provocationby her remarks, while Mme. Forestier's charming reserve, the modesty inher voice, in her smile, all seemed to extenuate the bold sallies whichissued from her lips. The dessert came and then followed the coffee.The hostess and her guests lighted cigarettes, but Forestier suddenlybegan to cough. When the attack was over, he growled angrily: "Theseparties are not good for me; they are stupid. Let us go home."
Mme. de Marelle summoned the waiter and asked for her bill. She triedto read it, but the figures danced before her eyes; she handed thepaper to Duroy.
"Here, pay it for me; I cannot see." At the same time, she put herpurse in his hand.
The total was one hundred and thirty francs. Duroy glanced at the billand when it was settled, whispered: "How much shall I give the waiter?"
"Whatever you like; I do not know."
He laid five francs upon the plate and handed the purse to its owner,saying: "Shall I escort you home?"
"Certainly; I am unable to find the house."
They shook hands with the Forestiers and were soon rolling along in acab side by side. Duroy could think of nothing to say; he felt impelledto clasp her in his arms. "If I should dare, what would she do?"thought he. The recollection of their conversation at dinneremboldened, but the fear of scandal restrained him. Mme. de Marellereclined silently in her corner. He would have thought her asleep, hadhe not seen her eyes glisten wh
enever a ray of light penetrated thedark recesses of the carriage. Of what was she thinking? Suddenly shemoved her foot, nervously, impatiently. That movement caused him totremble, and turning quickly, he cast himself upon her, seeking herlips with his. She uttered a cry, attempted to repulse him and thenyielded to his caresses as if she had not the strength to resist.
The carriage stopped at her door, but she did not rise; she did notmove, stunned by what had just taken place. Fearing that the cabmanwould mistrust something, Duroy alighted from the cab first and offeredhis hand to the young woman. Finally she got out, but in silence.Georges rang the bell, and when the door was opened, he asked timidly:"When shall I see you again?"
She whispered so low that he could barely hear her: "Come and lunchwith me to-morrow." With those words she disappeared.
Duroy gave the cabman a five-franc piece, and turned away with atriumphant, joyful air. He had at last conquered a married woman! Awoman of the world! A Parisian! How easy it had been!
He was somewhat nervous the following day as he ascended Mme. deMarelle's staircase. How would she receive him? Suppose she forbade himto enter her house? If she had told--but no, she could not tellanything without telling the whole truth! He was master of thesituation!
The little maid-servant opened the door. She was as pleasant as usual.Duroy felt reassured and asked: "Is Madame well?"
"Yes, sir; as well as she always is," was the reply, and he was usheredinto the salon. He walked to the mantelpiece to see what kind of anappearance he presented: he was readjusting his cravat when he saw inthe mirror the young woman standing on the threshold looking at him. Hepretended not to have seen her, and for several moments they gazed atone another in the mirror. Then he turned. She had not moved; sheseemed to be waiting. He rushed toward her crying: "How I love you!" Heclasped her to his breast. He thought: "It is easier than I thought itwould be. All is well." He looked at her with a smile, without utteringa word, trying to put into his glance a wealth of love. She too smiledand murmured: "We are alone. I sent Laurine to lunch with a friend."
He sighed, and kissing her wrists said: "Thanks; I adore you." She tookhis arm as if he had been her husband, and led him to a couch, uponwhich they seated themselves side by side. Duroy stammered,incoherently: "You do not care for me."
She laid her hand upon his lips. "Be silent!"
"How I love you!" said he.
She repeated: "Be silent!"
They could hear the servant laying the table in the dining-room. Herose: "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 theywere eating. The servant came and went without seeming to noticeanything. When the meal was finished, they returned to the drawing-roomand resumed their seats on the couch side by side. Gradually he drewnearer her and tried to embrace her.
"Be careful, some one might come in."
He whispered: "When can I see you alone to tell you how I love you?"
She leaned toward him and said softly: "I will pay you a visit one ofthese days."
He colored. "My rooms--are--are--very modest."
She smiled: "That makes no difference. I shall come to see you and notyour rooms."
He urged her to tell him when she would come. She fixed a day in thefollowing week, while he besought her with glowing eyes to hasten theday. She was amused to see him implore so ardently and yielded a day ata time. He repeated: "To-morrow, say--to-morrow." Finally sheconsented. "Yes, to-morrow at five o'clock."
He drew a deep breath; then they chatted together as calmly as if theyhad known one another for twenty years. A ring caused them to start;they separated. She murmured: "It is Laurine."
The child entered, paused in surprise, then ran toward Duroy clappingher hands, delighted to see him, and crying: "Ah, 'Bel-Ami!'"
Mme. de Marelle laughed. "Bel-Ami! Laurine has christened you. It is apretty name. I shall call you Bel-Ami, too!"
He took the child upon his knee. At twenty minutes of three he rose togo to the office; at the half-open door he whispered: "To-morrow, fiveo'clock." The young woman replied: "Yes," with a smile and disappeared.
After he had finished his journalistic work, he tried to render hisapartments more fit to receive his expected visitor. He was wellsatisfied with the results of his efforts and retired, lulled to restby the whistling of the trains. Early the next morning he bought a cakeand a bottle of Madeira. He spread the collation on his dressing-tablewhich was covered with a napkin. Then he waited. She came at a quarterpast five and exclaimed as she entered: "Why, it is nice here. Butthere were a great many people on the stairs."
He took her in his arms and kissed her hair. An hour and a half laterhe escorted her to a cab-stand on the Rue de Rome. When she was seatedin the cab, he whispered: "Tuesday, at the same hour."
She repeated his words, and as it was night, she kissed him. Then asthe cabman started up his horse, she cried: "Adieu, Bel-Ami!" and theold coupe rumbled off.
For three weeks Duroy received Mme. de Marelle every two or three days,sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the evening.
As he was awaiting her one afternoon, a noise on the staircase drew himto his door. A child screamed. A man's angry voice cried: "What is thebrat howling about?"
A woman's voice replied: "Nicolas has been tripped up on thelanding-place by the journalist's sweetheart."
Duroy retreated, for he heard the rustling of skirts. Soon there was aknock at his door, which he opened, and Mme. de Marelle rushed in,crying: "Did you hear?" Georges feigned ignorance of the matter.
"No; what?"
"How they insulted me?"
"Who?"
"Those miserable people below."
"Why, no; what is it? Tell me."
She sobbed and could not speak. He was forced to place her upon his bedand to lay a damp cloth upon her temples. When she grew calmer, angersucceeded her agitation. She wanted Duroy to go downstairs at once, tofight them, to kill them.
He replied: "They are working-people. Just think, it would be necessaryto go to court where you would be recognized; one must not compromiseoneself 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 worryabout it. I will send you a 'little blue' to-morrow morning." Shecalled a telegram a "little blue."
She smiled with delight at her plans, which she would not reveal. Shewas, however, very much affected as she descended the staircase andleaned with all her strength upon her lover's arm. They met no one.
He was still in bed the following morning when the promised telegramwas handed him. Duroy opened it and read:
"Come at five o'clock to Rue de Constantinople, No. 127. Ask for the room rented by Mme. Duroy. CLO."
At five o'clock precisely he entered a large furnished house and askedthe janitor: "Has Mme. Duroy hired a room here?"
"Yes, sir."
"Will you show me to it, if you please?"
The man, accustomed no doubt to situations in which it was necessary tobe prudent, looked him straight in the eyes; then selecting a key, heasked: "Are you M. Duroy?"
"Certainly."
He opened a small suite, comprising two rooms on the ground floor.
Duroy thought uneasily: "This will cost a fortune. I shall have to runinto debt. She has done a very foolish thing."
The door opened and Clotilde rushed in. She was enchanted. "Is it notfine? There are no stairs to climb; it is on the ground floor! Onecould come and go through the window without the porter seeing one."
He embraced her nervously, not daring to ask the question that hoveredupon his lips. She had placed a large package on the stand in thecenter of the room. Opening it she took out a tablet of soap, a bottleof Lubin's extract, a sponge, a box
of hairpins, a button-hook, andcurling-tongs. Then she amused herself by finding places in which toput them.
She talked incessantly as she opened the drawers: "I must bring somelinen in order to have a change. We shall each have a key, besides theone at the lodge, in case we should forget ours. I rented theapartments for three months--in your name, of course, for I could notgive 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:"Georges, it will give me pleasure to have the nest mine. Say that youdo not care, dear Georges," and he yielded. When she had left him, hemurmured: "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!"
"YOUR CLO."
Duroy was startled; he had not realized the fact that Mme. de Marellewas married. He impatiently awaited her husband's departure. Onemorning he received the following telegram:
"Five o'clock.--CLO."
When they met, she rushed into his arms, kissed him passionately, andasked: "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 theworking-classes."
They repaired to a wine merchant's where meals were also served.Clotilde's entrance caused a sensation on account of the elegance ofher dress. They partook of a ragout of mutton and left that place toenter a ball-room in which she pressed more closely to his side. Infifteen minutes her curiosity was satisfied and he conducted her home.Then followed a series of visits to all sorts of places of amusement.Duroy soon began to tire of those expeditions, for he had exhausted allhis resources and all means of obtaining money. In addition to that heowed Forestier a hundred francs, Jacques Rival three hundred, and hewas hampered with innumerable petty debts ranging from twenty francs toone hundred sous.
On the fourteenth of December, he was left without a sou in his pocket.As he had often done before, he did not lunch, and spent the afternoonworking at the office. At four o'clock he received a telegram from Mme.de Marelle, saying: "Shall we dine together and afterward have afrolic?"
He replied at once: "Impossible to dine," then he added: "But I willexpect you at our apartments at nine o'clock." Having sent a boy withthe note in order to save the money for a telegram, he tried to thinkof some way by which he could obtain his evening meal. He waited untilall of his associates had gone and when he was alone, he rang for theporter, put his hand in his pocket and said: "Foucart, I have left mypurse at home and I have to dine at the Luxembourg. Lend me fifty sousto pay for my cab."
The man handed him three francs and asked:
"Is that enough?"
"Yes, thank you." Taking the coins, Duroy rushed down the staircase anddined at a cookshop.
At nine o'clock, Mme. de Marelle, whom he awaited in the tiny salon,arrived. She wished to take a walk and he objected. His oppositionirritated her.
"I shall go alone, then. Adieu!"
Seeing that the situation was becoming grave, he seized her hands andkissed them, saying:
"Pardon me, darling; I am nervous and out of sorts this evening. I havebeen annoyed by business matters."
Somewhat appeased but still, vexed, she replied:
"That does not concern me; I will not be the butt for your ill humor."
He clasped her in his arms and murmured his apologies. Still shepersisted 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. Hefollowed her:
"Listen Clo, my little Clo, listen to me--"
She shook her head, evaded his caresses and tried to escape from hisencircling arms.
"I have a reason--"
Looking him in the face, she said: "You lie! What is it?"
He colored, and in order to avoid a rupture, confessed in accents ofdespair: "I have no money!"
She would not believe him until he had turned all his pockets insideout, to prove his words. Then she fell upon his breast: "Oh, my poordarling! Had I known! How did it happen?"
He invented a touching story to this effect: That his father was instraitened 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 notmention that again; it wounds me."
She murmured: "You will never know how much I love you." On takingleave of him, she asked: "Shall we meet again the day after to-morrow?"
"Certainly."
"At the same time?"
"Yes, my darling."
They parted.
When Duroy opened his bedroom door and fumbled in his vest pocket for amatch, he was amazed to find in it a piece of money--a twenty-francpiece! At first he wondered by what miracle it had got there; suddenlyit occurred to him that Mme. de Marelle had given him alms! Angry andhumiliated, he determined to return it when next they met. The nextmorning it was late when he awoke; he tried to overcome his hunger. Hewent out and as he passed the restaurants he could scarcely resisttheir temptations. At noon he said: "Bah, I shall lunch upon Clotilde'stwenty francs; that will not hinder me from returning the moneyto-morrow."
He ate his lunch, for which he paid two francs fifty, and on enteringthe office of "La Vie Francaise" he repaid the porter the three francshe 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 francstwenty remained. He decided to say to Mme. de Marelle upon her arrival:
"I found the twenty-franc piece you slipped into my pocket. I will notreturn the money to-day, but I will repay you when we next meet."
When Madame came, he dared not broach the delicate subject. They spentthe evening together and appointed their next meeting for Wednesday ofthe following week, for Mme. de Marelle had a number of engagements.Duroy continued to accept money from Clotilde and quieted hisconscience by assuring himself: "I will give it back in a lump. It isnothing but borrowed money anyway." So he kept account of all that hereceived in order to pay it back some day.
One evening, Mme. de Marelle said to him: "Would you believe that Ihave never been to the Folies-Bergeres; will you take me there?"
He hesitated, fearing a meeting with Rachel. Then he thought: "Bah, Iam not married after all. If she should see me, she would take in thesituation and not accost me. Moreover, we would have a box."
When they entered the hall, it was crowded; with difficulty they madetheir way to their seats. Mme. de Marelle did not look at the stage;she was interested in watching the women who were promenading, and shefelt an irresistible desire to touch them, to see of what those beingswere made. Suddenly she said:
"There is a large brunette who stares at us all the time. I think everyminute 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 thanRachel, with anger in her eyes and violent words upon her lips.
Duroy had passed her when he and Mme. de Marelle entered and she hadsaid 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 hissweetheart he passed her coldly, disdainfully. The woman, her jealousyaroused, followed the couple and said in a louder key: "Good evening,Georges." He paid no heed to her. Then she was determined to berecognized and
she remained near their box, awaiting a favorablemoment. When she saw that she was observed by Mme. de Marelle, shetouched Duroy's shoulder with the tip of her finger, and said:
"Good evening. How are you?"
But Georges did not turn his head.
She continued: "Have you grown deaf since Thursday?"
Still he did not reply. She laughed angrily and cried:
"Are you dumb, too? Perhaps Madame has your tongue?"
With a furious glance, Duroy then exclaimed:
"How dare you accost me? Go along or I will have you arrested."
With flaming eyes, she cried: "Ah, is that so! Because you are withanother is no reason that you cannot recognize me. If you had made theleast sign of recognition when you passed me, I would not have molestedyou. You did not even say good evening to me when you met me."
During that tirade Mme. de Marelle in affright opened the door of thebox and fled through the crowd seeking an exit. Duroy rushed after her.Rachel, seeing him disappear, cried: "Stop her! she has stolen mylover!"
Two men seized the fugitive by the shoulder, but Duroy, who had caughtup with her, bade them desist, and together he and Clotilde reached thestreet.
They entered a cab. The cabman asked: "Where shall I drive to?" Duroyreplied: "Where you will!"
Clotilde sobbed hysterically. Duroy did not know what to say or do. Atlength he stammered:
"Listen Clo--my dearest Clo, let me explain. It is not my fault. I knewthat woman--long ago--"
She raised her head and with the fury of a betrayed woman, she crieddisconnectedly: "Ah, you miserable fellow--what a rascal you are! Is itpossible? What disgrace, oh, my God! You gave her my money--did younot? I gave him the money--for that woman--oh, the wretch!"
For several moments she seemed to be vainly seeking an epithet moreforcible. Suddenly leaning forward she grasped the cabman's sleeve."Stop!" she cried, and opening the door, she alighted. Georges wasabout to follow her but she commanded: "I forbid you to follow me," ina voice so loud that the passers-by crowded around her, and Duroy darednot stir for fear of a scandal.
She drew out her purse, and taking two francs fifty from it, she handedit to the cabman, saying aloud: "Here is the money for your hour. Takethat rascal to Rue Boursault at Batignolles!"
The crowd applauded; one man said: "Bravo, little one!" and the cabmoved on, followed by the jeers of the bystanders.
Bel Ami; Or, The History of a Scoundrel: A Novel Page 5