Duroy had not thought that the husband might be at home. He insisted,
however, saying: "Tell him that I have called on a matter requiring
immediate attention."
After waiting five minutes he was shown into the study in which he had
passed such a pleasant morning. In the chair he had occupied Forestier
was now seated writing, in a dressing-gown and slippers and with a
little Scotch bonnet on his head, while his wife in the same white gown
leant against the mantelpiece and dictated, cigarette in mouth.
Duroy, halting on the threshold, murmured: "I really beg your pardon; I
am afraid I am disturbing you."
His friend, turning his face towards him--an angry face, too--growled:
"What is it you want now? Be quick; we are pressed for time."
The intruder, taken back, stammered: "It is nothing; I beg your
pardon."
But Forestier, growing angry, exclaimed: "Come, hang it all, don't waste
time about it; you have not forced your way in just for the sake of
wishing us good-morning, I suppose?"
Then Duroy, greatly perturbed, made up his mind. "No--you see--the fact
is--I can't quite manage my article--and you were--so--so kind last
time--that I hoped--that I ventured to come--"
Forestier cut him short. "You have a pretty cheek. So you think I am
going to do your work, and that all you have to do is to call on the
cashier at the end of the month to draw your screw? No, that is too
good."
The young woman went on smoking without saying a word, smiling with a
vague smile, which seemed like an amiable mask, concealing the irony of
her thoughts.
Duroy, colored up, stammered: "Excuse me--I fancied--I thought--" then
suddenly, and in a clear voice, he went on: "I beg your pardon a
thousand times, Madame, while again thanking you most sincerely for the
charming article you produced for me yesterday." He bowed, remarked to
Charles: "I shall be at the office at three," and went out.
He walked home rapidly, grumbling: "Well, I will do it all alone, and
they shall see--"
Scarcely had he got in than, excited by anger, he began to write. He
continued the adventure began by Madame Forestier, heaping up details of
catch-penny romance, surprising incidents, and inflated descriptions,
with the style of a schoolboy and the phraseology of the barrack-room.
Within an hour he had finished an article which was a chaos of nonsense,
and took it with every assurance to the _Vie Francaise_.
The first person he met was Saint-Potin, who, grasping his hand with the
energy of an accomplice, said: "You have read my interview with the
Chinese and the Hindoo? Isn't it funny? It has amused everyone. And I
did not even get a glimpse of them."
Duroy, who had not read anything, at once took up the paper and ran his
eye over a long article headed: "India and China," while the reporter
pointed out the most interesting passages.
Forestier came in puffing, in a hurry, with a busy air, saying:
"Good; I want both of you."
And he mentioned a number of items of political information that would
have to be obtained that very afternoon.
Duroy held out his article.
"Here is the continuation about Algeria."
"Very good; hand it over; and I will give it to the governor."
That was all.
Saint-Potin led away his new colleague, and when they were in the
passage, he said to him: "Have you seen the cashier?"
"No; why?"
"Why? To draw your money. You see you should always draw a month in
advance. One never knows what may happen."
"But--I ask for nothing better."
"I will introduce you to the cashier. He will make no difficulty about
it. They pay up well here."
Duroy went and drew his two hundred francs, with twenty-eight more for
his article of the day before, which, added to what remained of his
salary from the railway company, gave him three hundred and forty
francs in his pocket. He had never owned such a sum, and thought himself
possessed of wealth for an indefinite period.
Saint-Potin then took him to have a gossip in the offices of four or
five rival papers, hoping that the news he was entrusted to obtain had
already been gleaned by others, and that he should be able to draw it
out of them--thanks to the flow and artfulness of his conversation.
When evening had come, Duroy, who had nothing more to do, thought of
going again to the Folies Bergeres, and putting a bold face on, he went
up to the box office.
"I am George Duroy, on the staff of the _Vie Francaise_. I came here the
other day with Monsieur Forestier, who promised me to see about my being
put on the free list; I do not know whether he has thought of it."
The list was referred to. His name was not entered.
However, the box office-keeper, a very affable man, at once said: "Pray,
go in all the same, sir, and write yourself to the manager, who, I am
sure, will pay attention to your letter."
He went in and almost immediately met Rachel, the woman he had gone off
with the first evening. She came up to him, saying: "Good evening,
ducky. Are you quite well?"
"Very well, thanks--and you?"
"I am all right. Do you know, I have dreamed of you twice since last
time?"