"Monsieur Forestier, if you please?"
"Third floor, the door on the left," the concierge had replied, in a
voice the amiable tone of which betokened a certain consideration for
the tenant, and George Duroy ascended the stairs.
He felt somewhat abashed, awkward, and ill at ease. He was wearing a
dress suit for the first time in his life, and was uneasy about the
general effect of his toilet. He felt it was altogether defective, from
his boots, which were not of patent leather, though neat, for he was
naturally smart about his foot-gear, to his shirt, which he had bought
that very morning for four franc fifty centimes at the Masgasin du
Louvre, and the limp front of which was already rumpled. His everyday
shirts were all more or less damaged, so that he had not been able to
make use of even the least worn of them.
His trousers, rather too loose, set off his leg badly, seeming to flap
about the calf with that creased appearance which second-hand clothes
present. The coat alone did not look bad, being by chance almost a
perfect fit.
He was slowly ascending the stairs with beating heart and anxious mind,
tortured above all by the fear of appearing ridiculous, when suddenly he
saw in front of him a gentleman in full dress looking at him. They were
so close to one another that Duroy took a step back and then remained
stupefied; it was himself, reflected by a tall mirror on the first-floor
landing. A thrill of pleasure shot through him to find himself so much
more presentable than he had imagined.
Only having a small shaving-glass in his room, he had not been able to
see himself all at once, and as he had only an imperfect glimpse of the
various items of his improvised toilet, he had mentally exaggerated its
imperfections, and harped to himself on the idea of appearing grotesque.
But on suddenly coming upon his reflection in the mirror, he had not
even recognized himself; he had taken himself for someone else, for a
gentleman whom at the first glance he had thought very well dressed and
fashionable looking. And now, looking at himself carefully, he
recognized that really the general effect was satisfactory.
He studied himself as actors do when learning their parts. He smiled,
held out his hand, made gestures, expressed sentiments of astonishment,
pleasure, and approbation, and essayed smiles and glances, with a view
of displaying his gallantry towards the ladies, and making them
understand that they were admired and desired.
A door opened somewhere. He was afraid of being caught, and hurried
upstairs, filled with the fear of having been seen grimacing thus by one
of his friend's guests.
On reaching the second story he noticed another mirror, and slackened
his pace to view himself in it as he went by. His bearing seemed to him
really graceful. He walked well. And now he was filled with an unbounded
confidence in himself. Certainly he must be successful with such an
appearance, his wish to succeed, his native resolution, and his
independence of mind. He wanted to run, to jump, as he ascended the last
flight of stairs. He stopped in front of the third mirror, twirled his
moustache as he had a trick of doing, took off his hat to run his
fingers through his hair, and muttered half-aloud as he often did: "What
a capital notion." Then raising his hand to the bell handle, he rang.
The door opened almost at once, and he found himself face to face with a
man-servant out of livery, serious, clean-shaven, and so perfect in his
get-up that Duroy became uneasy again without understanding the reason
of his vague emotion, due, perhaps, to an unwitting comparison of the
cut of their respective garments. The man-servant, who had
patent-leather shoes, asked, as he took the overcoat which Duroy had
carried on his arm, to avoid exposing the stains on it: "Whom shall I
announce?"
And he announced the name through a door with a looped-back draping
leading into a drawing-room.
But Duroy, suddenly losing his assurance, felt himself breathless and
paralyzed by terror. He was about to take his first step in the world he
had looked forward to and longed for. He advanced, nevertheless. A fair
young woman, quite alone, was standing awaiting him in a large room,
well lit up and full of plants as a greenhouse.
He stopped short, quite disconcerted. Who was this lady who was smiling
at him? Then he remembered that Forestier was married, and the thought
that this pretty and elegant blonde must be his friend's wife completed
his alarm.