Bel Ami (A Ladies' Man)

by Guy de Maupassant

  VII

  Charles's absence gave Duroy increased importance in the editorialdepartment of the _Vie Francaise_. He signed several leaders besides his"Echoes," for the governor insisted on everyone assuming theresponsibility of his "copy." He became engaged in several newspapercontroversies, in which he acquitted himself creditably, and hisconstant relations with different statesmen were gradually preparing himto become in his turn a clever and perspicuous political editor. Therewas only one cloud on his horizon. It came from a little free-lancenewspaper, which continually assailed him, or rather in him assailed thechief writer of "Echoes" in the _Vie Francaise_, the chief of "MonsieurWalter's startlers," as it was put by the anonymous writer of the_Plume_. Day by day cutting paragraphs, insinuations of every kind,appeared in it.

  One day Jacques Rival said to Duroy: "You are very patient."

  Duroy replied: "What can I do, there is no direct attack?"

  But one afternoon, as he entered the editor's room, Boisrenard held outthe current number of the _Plume_, saying: "Here's another spiteful digat you."

  "Ah! what about?"

  "Oh! a mere nothing--the arrest of a Madame Aubert by the police."

  George took the paper, and read, under the heading, "Duroy's Latest":

  "The illustrious reporter of the _Vie Francaise_ to-day informs us thatMadame Aubert, whose arrest by a police agent belonging to the odious_brigade des moeurs_ we announced, exists only in our imagination. Nowthe person in question lives at 18 Rue de l'Ecureuil, Montmartre. Weunderstand only too well, however, the interest the agents of Walter'sbank have in supporting those of the Prefect of Police, who toleratestheir commerce. As to the reporter of whom it is a question, he would dobetter to give us one of those good sensational bits of news of which hehas the secret--news of deaths contradicted the following day, news ofbattles which have never taken place, announcements of importantutterances by sovereigns who have not said anything--all the news, inshort, which constitutes Walter's profits, or even one of those littleindiscretions concerning entertainments given by would-be fashionableladies, or the excellence of certain articles of consumption which areof such resource to some of our compeers."

  The young fellow was more astonished than annoyed, only understandingthat there was something very disagreeable for him in all this.

  Boisrenard went on: "Who gave you this 'Echo'?"

  Duroy thought for a moment, having forgotten. Then all at once therecollection occurred to him, "Saint-Potin." He re-read the paragraph inthe _Plume_ and reddened, roused by the accusation of venality. Heexclaimed: "What! do they mean to assert that I am paid--"

  Boisrenard interrupted him: "They do, though. It is very annoying foryou. The governor is very strict about that sort of thing. It mighthappen so often in the 'Echoes.'"

  Saint-Potin came in at that moment. Duroy hastened to him. "Have youseen the paragraph in the _Plume_?"

  "Yes, and I have just come from Madame Aubert. She does exist, but shewas not arrested. That much of the report has no foundation."

  Duroy hastened to the room of the governor, whom he found somewhat cool,and with a look of suspicion in his eye. After having listened to thestatement of the case, Monsieur Walter said: "Go and see the womanyourself, and contradict the paragraph in such terms as will put a stopto such things being written about you any more. I mean the latter partof the paragraph. It is very annoying for the paper, for yourself, andfor me. A journalist should no more be suspected than Caesar's wife."

  Duroy got into a cab, with Saint-Potin as his guide, and called out tothe driver: "Number 18 Rue de l'Ecureuil, Montmartre."

  It was a huge house, in which they had to go up six flights of stairs.An old woman in a woolen jacket opened the door to them. "What is it youwant with me now?" said she, on catching sight of Saint-Potin.

  He replied: "I have brought this gentleman, who is an inspector ofpolice, and who would like to hear your story."

  Then she let him in, saying: "Two more have been here since you, forsome paper or other, I don't know which," and turning towards Duroy,added: "So this gentleman wants to know about it?"

  "Yes. Were you arrested by an _agent des moeurs_?"

  She lifted her arms into the air. "Never in my life, sir, never in mylife. This is what it is all about. I have a butcher who sells goodmeat, but who gives bad weight. I have often noticed it without sayinganything; but the other day, when I asked him for two pounds of chops,as I had my daughter and my son-in-law to dinner, I caught him weighingin bits of trimmings--trimmings of chops, it is true, but not of mine. Icould have made a stew of them, it is true, as well, but when I ask forchops it is not to get other people's trimmings. I refused to take them,and he calls me an old shark. I called him an old rogue, and from onething to another we picked up such a row that there were over a hundredpeople round the shop, some of them laughing fit to split. So that atlast a police agent came up and asked us to settle it before thecommissary. We went, and he dismissed the case. Since then I get my meatelsewhere, and don't even pass his door, in order to avoid hisslanders."

  She ceased talking, and Duroy asked: "Is that all?"

  "It is the whole truth, sir," and having offered him a glass of cordial,which he declined, the old woman insisted on the short weight of thebutcher being spoken of in the report.

  On his return to the office, Duroy wrote his reply:

  "An anonymous scribbler in the _Plume_ seeks to pick a quarrel with me on the subject of an old woman whom he states was arrested by an _agent des moeurs_, which fact I deny. I have myself seen Madame Aubert--who is at least sixty years of age--and she told me in detail her quarrel with the butcher over the weighing of some chops, which led to an explanation before the commissary of police. This is the whole truth. As to the other insinuations of the writer in the _Plume_, I despise them. Besides, a man does not reply to such things when they are written under a mask.

  "GEORGE DUROY."

  Monsieur Walter and Jacques Rival, who had come in, thought this notesatisfactory, and it was settled that it should go in at once.

  Duroy went home early, somewhat agitated and slightly uneasy. What replywould the other man make? Who was he? Why this brutal attack? With thebrusque manners of journalists this affair might go very far. He sleptbadly. When he read his reply in the paper next morning, it seemed tohim more aggressive in print than in manuscript. He might, it seemed tohim, have softened certain phrases. He felt feverish all day, and sleptbadly again at night. He rose at dawn to get the number of the _Plume_that must contain a reply to him.

  The weather had turned cold again, it was freezing hard. The gutters,frozen while still flowing, showed like two ribbons of ice alongside thepavement. The morning papers had not yet come in, and Duroy recalled theday of his first article, "The Recollections of a Chasseur d'Afrique."His hands and feet getting numbed, grew painful, especially the tips ofhis fingers, and he began to trot round the glazed kiosque in which thenewspaper seller, squatting over her foot warmer, only showed throughthe little window a red nose and a pair of cheeks to match in a woolenhood. At length the newspaper porter passed the expected parcel throughthe opening, and the woman held out to Duroy an unfolded copy of the_Plume_.

  He glanced through it in search of his name, and at first saw nothing.He was breathing again, when he saw between two dashes:

  "Monsieur Duroy, of the _Vie Francaise_, contradicts us, and in contradicting us, lies. He admits, however, that there is a Madame Aubert, and that an agent took her before the commissary of police. It only remains, therefore, to add two words, '_des moeurs_,' after the word 'agent,' and he is right. But the conscience of certain journalists is on a level with their talent. And I sign,

  "LOUIS LANGREMONT."

  George's heart began to beat violently, and he went home to dresswithout being too well aware of what he was doing. So he had beeninsulted, and in such a way that no hesitation was possible. And why?For nothing at al
l. On account of an old woman who had quarreled withher butcher.

  He dressed quickly and went to see Monsieur Walter, although it wasbarely eight o'clock. Monsieur Walter, already up, was reading the_Plume_. "Well," said he, with a grave face, on seeing Duroy, "youcannot draw back now." The young fellow did not answer, and the otherwent on: "Go at once and see Rival, who will act for you."

  Duroy stammered a few vague words, and went out in quest of thedescriptive writer, who was still asleep. He jumped out of bed, and,having read the paragraph, said: "By Jove, you must go out. Whom do youthink of for the other second?"

  "I really don't know."

  "Boisrenard? What do you think?"

  "Yes. Boisrenard."

  "Are you a good swordsman?"

  "Not at all."

  "The devil! And with the pistol?"

  "I can shoot a little."

  "Good. You shall practice while I look after everything else. Wait forme a moment."

  He went into his dressing-room, and soon reappeared washed, shaved,correct-looking.

  "Come with me," said he.

  He lived on the ground floor of a small house, and he led Duroy to thecellar, an enormous cellar, converted into a fencing-room and shootinggallery, all the openings on the street being closed. After having lit arow of gas jets running the whole length of a second cellar, at theend of which was an iron man painted red and blue; he placed on atable two pairs of breech-loading pistols, and began to give the wordof command in a sharp tone, as though on the ground: "Ready?Fire--one--two--three."

  Duroy, dumbfounded, obeyed, raising his arm, aiming and firing, and ashe often hit the mark fair on the body, having frequently made use of anold horse pistol of his father's when a boy, against the birds, JacquesRival, well satisfied, exclaimed: "Good--very good--very good--you willdo--you will do."

  Then he left George, saying: "Go on shooting till noon; here is plentyof ammunition, don't be afraid to use it. I will come back to take youto lunch and tell you how things are going."

  Left to himself, Duroy fired a few more shots, and then sat down andbegan to reflect. How absurd these things were, all the same! What did aduel prove? Was a rascal less of a rascal after going out? What did anhonest man, who had been insulted, gain by risking his life against ascoundrel? And his mind, gloomily inclined, recalled the words ofNorbert de Varenne.

  Then he felt thirsty, and having heard the sound of water droppingbehind him, found that there was a hydrant serving as a douche bath, anddrank from the nozzle of the hose. Then he began to think again. It wasgloomy in this cellar, as gloomy as a tomb. The dull and distant rollingof vehicles sounded like the rumblings of a far-off storm. What o'clockcould it be? The hours passed by there as they must pass in prisons,without anything to indicate or mark them save the visits of the warder.He waited a long time. Then all at once he heard footsteps and voices,and Jacques Rival reappeared, accompanied by Boisrenard. He called outas soon as he saw Duroy: "It's all settled."

  The latter thought the matter terminated by a letter of apology, hisheart beat, and he stammered: "Ah! thanks."

  The descriptive writer continued: "That fellow Langremont is verysquare; he accepted all our conditions. Twenty-five paces, one shot, atthe word of command raising the pistol. The hand is much steadier thatway than bringing it down. See here, Boisrenard, what I told you."

  And taking a pistol he began to fire, pointed out how much better onekept the line by raising the arm. Then he said: "Now let's go and lunch;it is past twelve o'clock."

  They went to a neighboring restaurant. Duroy scarcely spoke. He ate inorder not to appear afraid, and then, in course of the afternoon,accompanied Boisrenard to the office, where he got through his work inan abstracted and mechanical fashion. They thought him plucky. JacquesRival dropped in in the course of the afternoon, and it was settled thathis seconds should call for him in a landau at seven o'clock the nextmorning, and drive to the Bois de Vesinet, where the meeting was to takeplace. All this had been done so unexpectedly, without his taking partin it, without his saying a word, without his giving his opinion,without accepting or refusing, and with such rapidity, too, that he wasbewildered, scared, and scarcely able to understand what was going on.

  He found himself at home at nine o'clock, after having dined withBoisrenard, who, out of self-devotion, had not left him all day. As soonas he was alone he strode quickly up and down his room for severalminutes. He was too uneasy to think about anything. One solitary ideafilled his mind, that of a duel on the morrow, without this ideaawakening in him anything else save a powerful emotion. He had been asoldier, he had been engaged with the Arabs, without much danger tohimself though, any more than when one hunts a wild boar.

  To reckon things up, he had done his duty. He had shown himself what heshould be. He would be talked of, approved of, and congratulated. Thenhe said aloud, as one does under powerful impressions: "What a brute ofa fellow."

  He sat down and began to reflect. He had thrown upon his little tableone of his adversary's cards, given him by Rival in order to retain hisaddress. He read, as he had already done a score of times during theday: "Louis Langremont, 176 Rue Montmartre." Nothing more. He examinedthese assembled letters, which seemed to him mysterious and full of somedisturbing import. Louis Langremont. Who was this man? What was his age,his height, his appearance? Was it not disgusting that a stranger, anunknown, should thus come and suddenly disturb one's existence withoutcause and from sheer caprice, on account of an old woman who had had aquarrel with her butcher. He again repeated aloud: "What a brute."

  And he stood lost in thought, his eyes fixed on the card. Anger wasaroused in him against this bit of paper, an anger with which wasblended a strange sense of uneasiness. What a stupid business it was. Hetook a pair of nail scissors which were lying about, and stuck theirpoints into the printed name, as though he was stabbing someone. So hewas to fight, and with pistols. Why had he not chosen swords? He wouldhave got off with a prick in the hand or arm, while with the pistols onenever knew the possible result. He said: "Come, I must keep my pluckup."

  The sound of his own voice made him shudder, and he glanced about him.He began to feel very nervous. He drank a glass of water and went tobed.

  As soon as he was in bed he blew out his candle and closed his eyes. Hewas warm between the sheets, though it was very cold in his room, buthe could not manage to doze off. He turned over and over, remained fiveminutes on his back, then lay on his left side, then rolled on theright. He was still thirsty, and got up to drink. Then a sense ofuneasiness assailed him. Was he going to be afraid? Why did his heartbeat wildly at each well-known sound in the room? When his clock wasgoing to strike, the faint squeak of the lever made him jump, and he hadto open his mouth for some moments in order to breathe, so oppressed didhe feel. He began to reason philosophically on the possibility of hisbeing afraid.

  No, certainly he would not be afraid, now he had made up his mind to gothrough with it to the end, since he was firmly decided to fight and notto tremble. But he felt so deeply moved that he asked himself: "Can onebe afraid in spite of one's self?" This doubt assailed him. If somepower stronger than his will overcame it, what would happen? Yes, whatwould happen? Certainly he would go on the ground, since he meant to.But suppose he shook? suppose he fainted? And he thought of hisposition, his reputation, his future.

  A strange need of getting up to look at himself in the glass suddenlyseized him. He relit the candle. When he saw his face so reflected, hescarcely recognized himself, and it seemed to him that he had never seenhimself before. His eyes appeared enormous, and he was pale; yes, he wascertainly pale, very pale. Suddenly the thought shot through his mind:"By this time to-morrow I may be dead." And his heart began to beatagain furiously. He turned towards his bed, and distinctly saw himselfstretched on his back between the same sheets as he had just left. Hehad the hollow cheeks of the dead, and the whiteness of those hands thatno longer move. Then he grew afraid of his bed, and in order to see itno longer he opened the window t
o look out. An icy coldness assailed himfrom head to foot, and he drew back breathless.

  The thought occurred to him to make a fire. He built it up slowly,without looking around. His hands shook slightly with a kind of nervoustremor when he touched anything. His head wandered, his disjointed,drifting thoughts became fleeting and painful, an intoxication invadedhis mind as though he had been drinking. And he kept asking himself:"What shall I do? What will become of me?"

  He began to walk up and down, repeating mechanically: "I must pullmyself together. I must pull myself together." Then he added: "I willwrite to my parents, in case of accident." He sat down again, took somenotepaper, and wrote: "Dear papa, dear mamma." Then, thinking thesewords rather too familiar under such tragic circumstances, he tore upthe first sheet, and began anew, "My dear father, my dear mother, I amto fight a duel at daybreak, and as it might happen that--" He did notdare write the rest, and sprang up with a jump. He was now crushed byone besetting idea. He was going to fight a duel. He could no longeravoid it. What was the matter with him, then? He meant to fight, hismind was firmly made up to do so, and yet it seemed to him that, despiteevery effort of will, he could not retain strength enough to go to theplace appointed for the meeting. From time to time his teeth absolutelychattered, and he asked himself: "Has my adversary been out before? Ishe a frequenter of the shooting galleries? Is he known and classed as ashot?" He had never heard his name mentioned. And yet, if this man wasnot a remarkably good pistol shot, he would scarcely have accepted thatdangerous weapon without discussion or hesitation.

  Then Duroy pictured to himself their meeting, his own attitude, and thebearing of his opponent. He wearied himself in imagining the slightestdetails of the duel, and all at once saw in front of him the littleround black hole in the barrel from which the ball was about to issue.He was suddenly seized with a fit of terrible despair. His whole bodyquivered, shaken by short, sharp shudderings. He clenched his teeth toavoid crying out, and was assailed by a wild desire to roll on theground, to tear something to pieces, to bite. But he caught sight of aglass on the mantelpiece, and remembered that there was in the cupboarda bottle of brandy almost full, for he had kept up a military habit of amorning dram. He seized the bottle and greedily drank from its mouth inlong gulps. He only put it down when his breath failed him. It was athird empty. A warmth like that of flame soon kindled within his body,and spreading through his limbs, buoyed up his mind by deadening histhoughts. He said to himself: "I have hit upon the right plan." And ashis skin now seemed burning he reopened the window.

  Day was breaking, calm and icy cold. On high the stars seemed dying awayin the brightening sky, and in the deep cutting of the railway, the red,green, and white signal lamps were paling. The first locomotives wereleaving the engine shed, and went off whistling, to be coupled to thefirst trains. Others, in the distance, gave vent to shrill and repeatedscreeches, their awakening cries, like cocks of the country. Duroythought: "Perhaps I shall never see all this again." But as he felt thathe was going again to be moved by the prospect of his own fate, hefought against it strongly, saying: "Come, I must not think of anythingtill the moment of the meeting; it is the only way to keep up my pluck."

  And he set about his toilet. He had another moment of weakness whileshaving, in thinking that it was perhaps the last time he should see hisface. But he swallowed another mouthful of brandy, and finisheddressing. The hour which followed was difficult to get through. Hewalked up and down, trying to keep from thinking. When he heard a knockat the door he almost dropped, so violent was the shock to him. It washis seconds. Already!

  They were wrapped up in furs, and Rival, after shaking his principal'shand, said: "It is as cold as Siberia." Then he added: "Well, how goesit?"

  "Very well."

  "You are quite steady?"

  "Quite."

  "That's it; we shall get on all right. Have you had something to eat anddrink?"

  "Yes; I don't need anything."

  Boisrenard, in honor of the occasion, sported a foreign order, yellowand green, that Duroy had never seen him display before.

  They went downstairs. A gentleman was awaiting them in the carriage.Rival introduced him as "Doctor Le Brument." Duroy shook hands, saying,"I am very much obliged to you," and sought to take his place on thefront seat. He sat down on something hard that made him spring up again,as though impelled by a spring. It was the pistol case.

  Rival observed: "No, the back seat for the doctor and the principal, theback seat."

  Duroy ended by understanding him, and sank down beside the doctor. Thetwo seconds got in in their turn, and the driver started. He knew whereto go. But the pistol case was in the way of everyone, above all ofDuroy, who would have preferred it out of sight. They tried to put it atthe back of the seat and it hurt their own; they stuck it uprightbetween Rival and Boisrenard, and it kept falling all the time. Theyfinished by stowing it away under their feet. Conversation languished,although the doctor related some anecdotes. Rival alone replied to him.Duroy would have liked to have given a proof of presence of mind, but hewas afraid of losing the thread of his ideas, of showing the troubledstate of his mind, and was haunted, too, by the disturbing fear ofbeginning to tremble.

  The carriage was soon right out in the country. It was about nineo'clock. It was one of those sharp winter mornings when everything is asbright and brittle as glass. The trees, coated with hoar frost, seemedto have been sweating ice; the earth rang under a footstep, the dry aircarried the slightest sound to a distance, the blue sky seemed to shinelike a mirror, and the sun, dazzling and cold itself, shed upon thefrozen universe rays which did not warm anything.

  Rival observed to Duroy: "I got the pistols at Gastine Renette's. Heloaded them himself. The box is sealed. We shall toss up, besides,whether we use them or those of our adversary."

  Duroy mechanically replied: "I am very much obliged to you."

  Then Rival gave him a series of circumstantial recommendations, for hewas anxious that his principal should not make any mistake. Heemphasized each point several times, saying: "When they say, 'Are youready, gentlemen?' you must answer 'Yes' in a loud tone. When they givethe word 'Fire!' you must raise your arm quickly, and you must firebefore they have finished counting 'One, two, three.'"

  And Duroy kept on repeating to himself: "When they give the word tofire, I must raise my arm. When they give the word to fire, I must raisemy arm." He learnt it as children learn their lessons, by murmuring themto satiety in order to fix them on their minds. "When they give the wordto fire, I must raise my arm."

  The carriage entered a wood, turned down an avenue on the right, andthen to the right again. Rival suddenly opened the door to cry to thedriver: "That way, down the narrow road." The carriage turned into arutty road between two copses, in which dead leaves fringed with icewere quivering. Duroy was still murmuring: "When they give the word tofire, I must raise my arm." And he thought how a carriage accident wouldsettle the whole affair. "Oh! if they could only upset, what luck; if hecould only break a leg."

  But he caught sight, at the further side of a clearing, of anothercarriage drawn up, and four gentlemen stamping to keep their feet warm,and he was obliged to open his mouth, so difficult did his breathingbecome.

  The seconds got out first, and then the doctor and the principal. Rivalhad taken the pistol-case and walked away with Boisrenard to meet two ofthe strangers who came towards them. Duroy watched them salute oneanother ceremoniously, and then walk up and down the clearing, lookingnow on the ground and now at the trees, as though they were looking forsomething that had fallen down or might fly away. Then they measured offa certain number of paces, and with great difficulty stuck two walkingsticks into the frozen ground. They then reassembled in a group and wentthrough the action of tossing, like children playing heads or tails.

  Doctor Le Brument said to Duroy: "Do you feel all right? Do you wantanything?"

  "No, nothing, thanks."

  It seemed to him that he was mad, that he was asleep, that he wasd
reaming, that supernatural influences enveloped him. Was he afraid?Perhaps. But he did not know. Everything about him had altered.

  Jacques Rival returned, and announced in low tones of satisfaction: "Itis all ready. Luck has favored us as regards the pistols."

  That, so far as Duroy was concerned, was a matter of profoundindifference.

  They took off his overcoat, which he let them do mechanically. They feltthe breast-pocket of his frock-coat to make certain that he had nopocketbook or papers likely to deaden a ball. He kept repeating tohimself like a prayer: "When the word is given to fire, I must raise myarm."

  They led him up to one of the sticks stuck in the ground and handed himhis pistol. Then he saw a man standing just in front of him--a short,stout, bald-headed man, wearing spectacles. It was his adversary. He sawhim very plainly, but he could only think: "When the word to fire isgiven, I must raise my arm and fire at once."

  A voice rang out in the deep silence, a voice that seemed to come from agreat distance, saying: "Are you ready, gentlemen?"

  George exclaimed "Yes."

  The same voice gave the word "Fire!"

  He heard nothing more, he saw nothing more, he took note of nothingmore, he only knew that he raised his arm, pressing strongly on thetrigger. And he heard nothing. But he saw all at once a little smoke atthe end of his pistol barrel, and as the man in front of him still stoodin the same position, he perceived, too, a little cloud of smokedrifting off over his head.

  They had both fired. It was over.

  His seconds and the doctor touched him, felt him and unbuttoned hisclothes, asking, anxiously: "Are you hit?"

  He replied at haphazard: "No, I do not think so."

  Langremont, too, was as unhurt as his enemy, and Jacques Rival murmuredin a discontented tone: "It is always so with those damned pistols; youeither miss or kill. What a filthy weapon."

  Duroy did not move, paralyzed by surprise and joy. It was over. They hadto take away his weapon, which he still had clenched in his hand. Itseemed to him now that he could have done battle with the whole world.It was over. What happiness! He felt suddenly brave enough to defy nomatter whom.

  The whole of the seconds conversed together for a few moments, making anappointment to draw up their report of the proceedings in the course ofthe day. Then they got into the carriage again, and the driver, who waslaughing on the box, started off, cracking his whip. They breakfastedtogether on the boulevards, and in chatting over the event, Duroynarrated his impressions. "I felt quite unconcerned, quite. You must,besides, have seen it yourself."

  Rival replied: "Yes, you bore yourself very well."

  When the report was drawn up it was handed to Duroy, who was to insertit in the paper. He was astonished to read that he had exchanged acouple of shots with Monsieur Louis Langremont, and rather uneasilyinterrogated Rival, saying: "But we only fired once."

  The other smiled. "Yes, one shot apiece, that makes a couple of shots."

  Duroy, deeming the explanation satisfactory, did not persist. DaddyWalter embraced him, saying: "Bravo, bravo, you have defended the colorsof _Vie Francaise_; bravo!"

  George showed himself in the course of the evening at the principalnewspaper offices, and at the chief _cafes_ on the boulevards. He twiceencountered his adversary, who was also showing himself. They did notbow to one another. If one of them had been wounded they would haveshaken hands. Each of them, moreover, swore with conviction that he hadheard the whistling of the other's bullet.

  The next day, at about eleven, Duroy received a telegram. "Awfullyalarmed. Come at once. Rue de Constantinople.--Clo."

  He hastened to their meeting-place, and she threw herself into his arms,smothering him with kisses.

  "Oh, my darling! if you only knew what I felt when I saw the papers thismorning. Oh, tell me all about it! I want to know everything."

  He had to give minute details. She said: "What a dreadful night you musthave passed before the duel."

  "No, I slept very well."

  "I should not have closed an eye. And on the ground--tell me all thathappened."

  He gave a dramatic account. "When we were face to face with one anotherat twenty paces, only four times the length of this room, Jacques, afterasking if we were ready, gave the word 'Fire.' I raised my arm at once,keeping a good line, but I made the mistake of trying to aim at thehead. I had a pistol with an unusually stiff pull, and I am accustomedto very easy ones, so that the resistance of the trigger caused me tofire too high. No matter, it could not have gone very far off him. Heshoots well, too, the rascal. His bullet skimmed by my temple. I feltthe wind of it."

  She was sitting on his knees, and holding him in her arms as though toshare his dangers. She murmured: "Oh, my poor darling! my poor darling!"

  When he had finished his narration, she said: "Do you know, I cannotlive without you. I must see you, and with my husband in Paris it is noteasy. Often I could find an hour in the morning before you were up torun in and kiss you, but I won't enter that awful house of yours. Whatis to be done?"

  He suddenly had an inspiration, and asked: "What is the rent here?"

  "A hundred francs a month."

  "Well, I will take the rooms over on my own account, and live herealtogether. Mine are no longer good enough for my new position."

  She reflected a few moments, and then said: "No, I won't have that."

  He was astonished, and asked: "Why not?"

  "Because I won't."

  "That is not a reason. These rooms suit me very well. I am here, andshall remain here. Besides," he added, with a laugh, "they are taken inmy name."

  But she kept on refusing, "No, no, I won't have it."

  "Why not, then?"

  Then she whispered tenderly: "Because you would bring women here, and Iwon't have it."

  He grew indignant. "Never. I can promise you that."

  "No, you will bring them all the same."

  "I swear I won't."

  "Truly?"

  "Truly, on my word of honor. This is our place, our very own."

  She clasped him to her in an outburst of love, exclaiming: "Very well,then, darling. But you know if you once deceive me, only once, it willbe all over between us, all over for ever."

  He swore again with many protestations, and it was agreed that he shouldinstall himself there that very day, so that she could look in on him asshe passed the door. Then she said: "In any case, come and dine with uson Sunday. My husband thinks you are charming."

  He was flattered "Really!"

  "Yes, you have captivated him. And then, listen, you have told me thatyou were brought up in a country-house."

  "Yes; why?"

  "Then you must know something about agriculture?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, talk to him about gardening and the crops. He is very fond ofthat sort of thing."

  "Good; I will not forget."

  She left him, after kissing him to an indefinite extent, the duel havingstimulated her affection.

  Duroy thought, as he made his way to the office, "What a strange being.What a feather brain. Can one tell what she wants and what she caresfor? And what a strange household. What fanciful being arranged theunion of that old man and this madcap? What made the inspector marrythis giddy girl? A mystery. Who knows? Love, perhaps." And he concluded:"After all, she is a very nice little mistress, and I should be a verybig fool to let her slip away from me."