Chapter 1 Poverty
After changing his five-franc piece Georges Duroy left the restaurant. He twisted his mustache in military style and cast a rapid, sweeping glance upon the diners, among whom were three saleswomen, an untidy music-teacher of uncertain age, and two women with their husbands.
When he reached the sidewalk, he paused to consider what route he should take. It was the twenty-eighth of June and he had only three francs in his pocket to last him the remainder of the month. That meant two dinners and no lunches, or two lunches and no dinners, according to choice. As he pondered upon this unpleasant state of affairs, he sauntered down Rue Notre Dame de Lorette, preserving his military air and carriage, and rudely jostled the people upon the streets in order to clear a path for himself. He appeared to be hostile to the passers-by, and even to the houses, the entire city.
Tall, well-built, fair, with blue eyes, a curled mustache, hair naturally wavy and parted in the middle, he recalled the hero of the popular romances.
It was one of those sultry, Parisian evenings when not a breath of air is stirring; the sewers exhaled poisonous gases and the restaurants the disagreeable odors of cooking and of kindred smells. Porters in their shirt-sleeves, astride their chairs, smoked their pipes at the carriage gates, and pedestrians strolled leisurely along, hats in hand.
When Georges Duroy reached the boulevard he halted again, undecided as to which road to choose. Finally he turned toward the Madeleine and followed the tide of people.
The large, well-patronized cafes tempted Duroy, but were he to drink only two glasses of beer in an evening, farewell to the meager supper the following night! Yet he said to himself: “I will take a glass at the Americain. By Jove, I am thirsty.”
He glanced at men seated at the tables, men who could afford to slake their thirst, and he scowled at them. “Rascals!” he muttered. If he could have caught one of them at a corner in the dark he would have choked him without a scruple! He recalled the two years spent in Africa, and the manner in which he had extorted money from the Arabs. A smile hovered about his lips at the recollection of an escapade which had cost three men their lives, a foray which had given his two comrades and himself seventy fowls, two sheep, money, and something to laugh about for six months. The culprits were never found; indeed, they were not sought for, the Arab being looked upon as the soldier’s prey.
But in Paris it was different; there one could not commit such deeds with impunity. He regretted that he had not remained where he was; but he had hoped to improve his condition — and for that reason he was in Paris!
He passed the Vaudeville and stopped at the Cafe Americain, debating as to whether he should take that “glass.” Before deciding, he glanced at a clock; it was a quarter past nine. He knew that when the beer was placed in front of him, he would drink it; and then what would he do at eleven o’clock? So he walked on, intending to go as far as the Madeleine and return.
When he reached the Place de l’Opera, a tall, young man passed him, whose face he fancied was familiar. He followed him, repeating: “Where the deuce have I seen that fellow?”
For a time he racked his brain in vain; then suddenly he saw the same man, but not so corpulent and more youthful, attired in the uniform of a Hussar. He exclaimed: “Wait, Forestier!” and hastening up to him, laid his hand upon the man’s shoulder. The latter turned, looked at him, and said: “What do you want, sir?”
Duroy began to laugh: “Don’t you remember me?”
“No.”
“Not remember Georges Duroy of the Sixth Hussars.”
Forestier extended both hands.
“Ah, my dear fellow, how are you?”
“Very well. And how are you?”
“Oh, I am not very well. I cough six months out of the twelve as a result of bronchitis contracted at Bougival, about the time of my return to Paris four years ago.”
“But you look well.”
Forestier, taking his former comrade’s arm, told him of his malady, of the consultations, the opinions and the advice of the doctors and of the difficulty of following their advice in his position. They ordered him to spend the winter in the south, but how could he? He was married and was a journalist in a responsible editorial position.
“I manage the political department on ‘La Vie Francaise’; I report the doings of the Senate for ‘Le Salut,’ and from time to time I write for ‘La Planete.’ That is what I am doing.”
Duroy, in surprise, glanced at him. He was very much changed. Formerly Forestier had been thin, giddy, noisy, and always in good spirits. But three years of life in Paris had made another man of him; now he was stout and serious, and his hair was gray on his temples although he could not number more than twenty-seven years.
Forestier asked: “Where are you going?”
Duroy replied: “Nowhere in particular.”
“Very well, will you accompany me to the ‘Vie Francaise’ where I have some proofs to correct; and afterward take a drink with me?”
“Yes, gladly.”
They walked along arm-in-arm with that familiarity which exists between schoolmates and brother-officers.
“What are you doing in Paris?” asked Forestier, Duroy shrugged his shoulders.
“Dying of hunger, simply. When my time was up, I came hither to make my fortune, or rather to live in Paris — and for six months I have been employed in a railroad office at fifteen hundred francs a year.”
Forestier murmured: “That is not very much.”
“But what can I do?” answered Duroy. “I am alone, I know no one, I have no recommendations. The spirit is not lacking, but the means are.”
His companion looked at him from head to foot like a practical man who is examining a subject; then he said, in a tone of conviction: “You see, my dear fellow, all depends on assurance, here. A shrewd, observing man can sometimes become a minister. You must obtrude yourself and yet not ask anything. But how is it you have not found anything better than a clerkship at the station?”
Duroy replied: “I hunted everywhere and found nothing else. But I know where I can get three thousand francs at least — as riding- master at the Pellerin school.”
Forestier stopped him: “Don’t do it, for you can earn ten thousand francs. You will ruin your prospects at once. In your office at least no one knows you; you can leave it if you wish to at any time. But when you are once a riding-master all will be over. You might as well be a butler in a house to which all Paris comes to dine. When you have given riding lessons to men of the world or to their sons, they will no longer consider you their equal.”
He paused, reflected several seconds and then asked:
“Are you a bachelor?”
“Yes, though I have been smitten several times.”
“That makes no difference. If Cicero and Tiberius were mentioned would you know who they were?”
“Yes.”
“Good, no one knows any more except about a score of fools. It is not difficult to pass for being learned. The secret is not to betray your ignorance. Just maneuver, avoid the quicksands and obstacles, and the rest can be found in a dictionary.”
He spoke like one who understood human nature, and he smiled as the crowd passed them by. Suddenly he began to cough and stopped to allow the paroxysm to spend itself; then he said in a discouraged tone:
“Isn’t it tiresome not to be able to get rid of this bronchitis? And here is midsummer! This winter I shall go to Mentone. Health before everything.”
They reached the Boulevarde Poissoniere; behind a large glass door an open paper was affixed; three people were reading it. Above the door was printed the legend, “La Vie Francaise.”
Forestier pushed open the door and said: “Come in.” Duroy entered; they ascended the stairs, passed through an antechamber in which two clerks greeted their comrade, and then entered a kind of waiting- room.
“Sit down,” said Forestier, “I shall be back in five minutes,” and he disappeared.
Duroy remained where he was; from time to time men passed him by, entering by one door and going out by another before he had time to glance at them.
Now they were young men, very young, with a busy air, holding sheets of paper in their hands; now compositors, their shirts spotted with ink — carefully carrying what were evidently fresh proofs. Occasionally a gentleman entered, fashionably dressed, some reporter bringing news.
Forestier reappeared arm-in-arm with a tall, thin man of thirty or forty, dressed in a black coat, with a white cravat, a dark complexion, and an insolent, self-satisfied air. Forestier said to him: “Adieu, my dear sir,” and the other pressed his hand with: “Au revoir, my friend.” Then he descended the stairs whistling, his cane under his arm.
Duroy asked his name.
“That is Jacques Rival, the celebrated writer and duelist. He came to correct his proofs. Garin, Montel and he are the best witty and realistic writers we have in Paris. He earns thirty thousand francs a year for two articles a week.”
As they went downstairs, they met a stout, little man with long hair, who was ascending the stairs whistling. Forestier bowed low.
“Norbert de Varenne,” said he, “the poet, the author of ‘Les Soleils Morts,’— a very expensive man. Every poem he gives us costs three hundred francs and the longest has not two hundred lines. But let us go into the Napolitain, I am getting thirsty.”
When they were seated at a table, Forestier ordered two glasses of beer. He emptied his at a single draught, while Duroy sipped his beer slowly as if it were something rare and precious. Suddenly his companion asked, “Why don’t you try journalism?”
Duroy looked at him in surprise and said: “Because I have never written anything.”
“Bah, we all have to make a beginning. I could employ you myself by sending you to obtain information. At first you would only get two hundred and fifty francs a month but your cab fare would be paid. Shall I speak to the manager?”
“If you will.”
“Well, then come and dine with me to-morrow; I will only ask five or six to meet you; the manager, M. Walter, his wife, with Jacques Rival, and Norbert de Varenne whom you have just seen, and also a friend of Mme. Forestier, Will you come?”
Duroy hesitated, blushing and perplexed. Finally he, murmured: “I have no suitable clothes.”
Forestier was amazed. “You have no dress suit? Egad, that is indispensable. In Paris, it is better to have no bed than no clothes.” Then, fumbling in his vest-pocket, he drew from it two louis, placed them before his companion, and said kindly: “You can repay me when it is convenient. Buy yourself what you need and pay an installment on it. And come and dine with us at half past seven, at 17 Rue Fontaine.”
In confusion Duroy picked up the money and stammered: “You are very kind — I am much obliged — be sure I shall not forget.”
Forestier interrupted him: “That’s all right, take another glass of beer. Waiter, two more glasses!” When he had paid the score, the journalist asked: “Would you like a stroll for an hour?”
“Certainly.”
They turned toward the Madeleine. “What shall we do?” asked Forestier. “They say that in Paris an idler can always find amusement, but it is not true. A turn in the Bois is only enjoyable if you have a lady with you, and that is a rare occurrence. The cafe concerts may divert my tailor and his wife, but they do not interest me. So what can we do? Nothing! There ought to be a summer garden here, open at night, where a man could listen to good music while drinking beneath the trees. It would be a pleasant lounging place. You could walk in alleys bright with electric light and seat yourself where you pleased to hear the music. It would be charming. Where would you like to go?”
Duroy did not know what to reply; finally he said: “I have never been to the Folies Bergeres. I should like to go there.”
His companion exclaimed: “The Folies Bergeres! Very well!”
They turned and walked toward the Faubourg Montmartre. The brilliantly illuminated building loomed up before them. Forestier entered, Duroy stopped him. “We forgot to pass through the gate.”
The other replied in a consequential tone: “I never pay,” and approached the box-office.
“Have you a good box?”
“Certainly, M. Forestier.”
He took the ticket handed him, pushed open the door, and they were within the hall. A cloud of tobacco smoke almost hid the stage and the opposite side of the theater. In the spacious foyer which led to the circular promenade, brilliantly dressed women mingled with black-coated men.
Forestier forced his way rapidly through the throng and accosted an usher.
“Box 17?”
“This way, sir.”
The friends were shown into a tiny box, hung and carpeted in red, with four chairs upholstered in the same color. They seated themselves. To their right and left were similar boxes. On the stage three men were performing on trapezes. But Duroy paid no heed to them, his eyes finding more to interest them in the grand promenade. Forestier remarked upon the motley appearance of the throng, but Duroy did not listen to him. A woman, leaning her arms upon the edge of her loge, was staring at him. She was a tall, voluptuous brunette, her face whitened with enamel, her black eyes penciled, and her lips painted. With a movement of her head, she summoned a friend who was passing, a blonde with auburn hair, likewise inclined to embonpoint, and said to her in a whisper intended to be heard; “There is a nice fellow!”
Forestier heard it, and said to Duroy with a smile: “You are lucky, my dear boy. My congratulations!”
The ci-devant soldier blushed and mechanically fingered the two pieces of gold in his pocket.
The curtain fell — the orchestra played a valse — and Duroy said:
“Shall we walk around the gallery?”
“If you like.”
Soon they were carried along in the current of promenaders. Duroy drank in with delight the air, vitiated as it was by tobacco and cheap perfume, but Forestier perspired, panted, and coughed.
“Let us go into the garden,” he said. Turning to the left, they entered a kind of covered garden in which two large fountains were playing. Under the yews, men and women sat at tables drinking.
“Another glass of beer?” asked Forestier.
“Gladly.”
They took their seats and watched the promenaders. Occasionally a woman would stop and ask with a coarse smile: “What have you to offer, sir?”
Forestier’s invariable answer was: “A glass of water from the fountain.” And the woman would mutter, “Go along,” and walk away.
At last the brunette reappeared, arm-in-arm with the blonde. They made a handsome couple. The former smiled on perceiving Duroy, and taking a chair she calmly seated herself in front of him, and said in a clear voice: “Waiter, two glasses.”
In astonishment, Forestier exclaimed: “You are not at all bashful!”
She replied: “Your friend has bewitched me; he is such a fine fellow. I believe he has turned my head.”
Duroy said nothing.
The waiter brought the beer, which the women swallowed rapidly; then they rose, and the brunette, nodding her head and tapping Duroy’s arm with her fan, said to him: “Thank you, my dear! However, you are not very talkative.”
As they disappeared, Forestier laughed and said: “Tell, me, old man, did you know that you had a charm for the weaker sex? You must be careful.”
Without replying, Duroy smiled. His friend asked: “Shall you remain any longer? I am going; I have had enough.”
Georges murmured: “Yes, I will stay a little longer: it is not late.”
Forestier arose: “Very well, then, good-bye until to-morrow. Do not forget: 17 Rue Fontaine at seven thirty.”
“I shall not forget. Thank you.”
The friends shook hands and the journalist left Duroy to his own devices.
Forestier once out of sight, Duroy felt free, and again he joyously touched the gold pieces in his pocket; then rising, he mingled with the crowd.
He soon discovered the blonde and the brunette. He went toward them, but when near them dared not address them.
The brunette called out to him: “Have you found your tongue?”
He stammered: “Zounds!” too bashful to say another word. A pause ensued, during which the brunette took his arm and together they left the hall.
　　乔治•杜洛瓦递给女出纳一枚一百苏的硬币①，接过对方找回的零钱，他也就迈开大步，向餐馆的门边走了过去。
　　他相貌英俊，身材修长，又当了两年士官生，更有一种军人的气质。有鉴于此，他不由地挺了挺胸，以军人的熟练动作抚了抚嘴角的那两撇胡髭，同时向那些仍滞留于餐桌用餐的客人迅速地扫了一眼。这像渔网一样撒向四周的目光，正是他这英俊少年所擅长的。
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　　①苏，法国辅币名，一个苏等于二十分之一法郎，因此一百苏也就是五法郎。
　　女客们果然已抬起头来，向他这边注视着。其中有三个青年女工，两个随同丈夫前来就餐的女眷，及一位已进入不惑之年的音乐教师。女教师衣履不整，邋里邋遢，身上的衣裙从来都是那样歪歪扭扭，帽子上总也覆盖着一层厚厚的灰尘。她们都是这家大众化餐馆的常客。
　　走到餐馆门外，杜洛瓦停下了脚步，心中在思忖着自己下一步该怎么办。今天是六月二十八日，要把这个月过完，他身上只剩下三法郎四十苏了。问题明摆着：剩下的两天，要么只吃晚饭而不吃午饭，要么只吃午饭而不吃晚饭，二者只能择其一。他想，一餐午饭是二十二个苏，而一餐晚饭则要三十苏。如果他只吃午饭，将可省出一法郎二十生丁。用省下的这点钱，他不仅可以在每天的晚餐时分买个夹有香肠的面包来充饥，而且可在大街上喝杯啤酒。须知喝啤酒是他在晚间的一大开销，也是他最难以割舍的一种癖好。这样一想，他也就沿着洛莱特圣母院街的下坡走了下去。
　　他走在街上，一如当年戎马倥偬、穿着一身骑兵服的时候，不仅胸膛高高挺起，两腿也微微张开，好像刚刚跳下马鞍一样。街上行人如织，他横冲直撞地往前走着，时而碰了一行人的肩头，时而又将另一个挡道的人一把推开。他把头上那顶已经很旧的高筒礼帽往脑袋一边压了压，脚后跟走在石板地上发出嗵嗵的声响。那神气简直像是在同什么人斗气，恰似一个仪表堂堂的大兵，在他忽然告别军旅生涯而回到市井之中后，对周围的一切——行人、房屋乃至整个城市——都感到格格不入。
　　虽然穿了一套仅值六十法郎的衣装，他那身令人刮目的帅气却依然如故。不错，这种“帅气”，未免有点流于一般，但却是货真价实，没有半点虚假。他身材颀长，体格匀称，稍带红棕的金黄色头发天然卷曲，在头顶中央一分为二。上唇两撇胡髭微微向上翘起，仿佛在鼻翼下方“浮起”一堆泡沫。一对蓝色的眼睛显得分外明亮，但镶嵌在眼眶内的瞳子却很小很小。这副模样，同通俗小说中的“坏人”实在毫无二致。
　　巴黎的夏夜，天气闷热异常，整个城市像是一间热气蒸腾的浴池。用花岗岩砌成的阴沟口不时溢出阵阵腐臭。设在地下室的伙房，临街窗口刚刚高出地面，从窗口不断飘出的泔水味和残羹剩菜的馊味也令人窒息。
　　街道两边的门洞里，早已脱去外套的守门人嘴上叼着烟斗，正骑坐在带有草垫的椅子上纳凉。街上行人已将头上的帽子摘下拿在手里，一个个神色疲惫，无精打采。
　　走到圣母院街尽头的林荫大道后，乔治•杜洛瓦又停了下来，不知道自己该往哪里去。他很想取道香榭丽舍大街，到布洛涅林苑的树下去凉快凉快，可是心中又激荡着另一种欲望：希望能在不意中交上一个可心的女友。
　　这艳遇何时方会出现？他不得而知。三个月来，他朝思暮想，无时无刻不在默默期待着。这期间，虽然他凭借其漂亮的面庞和魅人的仪表，已经博得不止一个女人的青睐，但皆不理想，他总希望能找个称心如意的。
　　因此，他虽然囊空如洗，但心头的欲望却分外炽烈。每当他碰到在街头徜徉的姑娘向他进言：“漂亮的小伙子，去我家坐坐？”，他便热血沸腾，难以自制。但他终究还是不敢贸然前往，因为他身无分文。况且他所企盼的是另一种情味别具、不太庸俗的亲吻。
　　不过他喜爱光顾妓女出没的场所，如她们常去的舞场、咖啡馆及她们踯躅待客的街头。他喜欢在她们身边消磨时光，同她们拉扯几句，亲昵地对她们以“你”相称；喜欢闻一闻她们身上那荡人心魄的异香，喜欢在她们身边盘桓终日。因为她们毕竟是女人，即能够让人消魂的女人。他不像那些出身高贵的子弟，对她们有一种天生的蔑视。
　　他转了个弯，跟着因热浪的裹挟而精神萎靡的人流，向玛德莱纳教堂走了过去。各大咖啡馆全部爆满，不但如此，在强烈耀眼的灯光下，各咖啡馆门前的人行道上也摆起了一排排桌椅，坐满不耐暑热的客人。在一张张方形或圆形小桌上，客人面前的玻璃杯内盛着的饮料呈现出各种各样的颜色，有红的、黄的，绿的以及深褐色的。长颈大肚瓶内，清澈的饮水中漂浮着硕大的圆柱体透明冰块。
　　杜洛瓦不觉放慢了脚步，因为喉间这时已升起一种干渴之感。
　　夏日之夜出现的这种干渴，现已弄得他五内沸然，心中不由地想着现在若能有杯清凉的饮料滋润丹田，该是多么惬意。可是他今晚那怕只要喝上两杯啤酒，明晚再简单不过的面包夹香肠也就吃不上了。每逢月底便如此捉襟见肘，个中滋味他可真是尝够了。
　　因此他强忍着在心中嘀咕道：“他妈的，这口渴竟是这样地难熬！不过我无论如何也得等到十点钟才到那家叫做‘美洲人’的咖啡馆去喝上一杯。”他不觉又向那些坐在路边小桌旁随意畅饮的客人看了看，一边迈着轻快的步伐，若无其事地从一家家咖啡馆门前走过，一边以目光就客人们的神色和衣着对他们身上会带有多少钱做了一番估量。这样一想，面对那些正悠然自得地坐在那里的客人，一股无名火不禁涌上他的心头：他们的衣兜里一定装看金巾和银币，平均算来每人至少有两个路易。而一家咖啡馆至少有上百号客人，加起来就是四千法郎！“这些混蛋！”他低声骂了一句，依旧带着一副倜傥不羁的神情，悠悠晃晃地继续向前走着。要是此时他在哪条街的昏暗角落遇上其中一个，他定会毫不手软地扭断他的脖颈，如同他在部队举行大规模演习时对待农民的鸡鸭那样。
　　这样，他又想起了在非洲的两年军旅生涯，想起了他驻守南部哨卡时如何勒索阿拉伯人的情景。一天，他与几个同伴偷偷逃出哨卡，去乌莱德—阿拉纳部落走了一趟，在那里抢了二十只鸡、两只羊及一些金银财宝，并杀了三个人。同伴们对这次肆无忌惮的放荡行为足足笑了半年之久。现在，一想起当年的情景，他的嘴角又浮起了一丝凶狠而又快乐的微笑。
　　他们从未被人抓着过，况且也没有人认真查究：阿拉伯人横遭士兵的掠夺，这早已成为司空见惯的事了。
　　可是巴黎的情况就不同了。腰间挎着刺刀，手上握着短枪，毫无顾忌地抢劫他人的钱财而不受到法律的制裁，能够逍遥自在，这是不可能的了。他感到自己天生有一种下级军官在被征服的国度里为所欲为的狂放禀性，因此对大漠的两年军旅生涯未免有点留恋之情。他未能在那边留下来，实在是一件憾事。然而他之所以回来，还不是为了能够有个理想的前程？
　　现在呢……他此刻的处境可真是一言难尽！
　　他把舌头往上颚舔了舔，微微地发出一声咯嗒声，仿佛想看看自己是否真的是那样干渴。
　　四周行人个个疲惫不堪，步履缓慢。他在心里又骂了一句：“这些畜生，别看他们蠢得要命，衣袋里可定会装着钱！”接着便嘴上哼起欢快的小调，又在人群中横冲直撞起来。几位被挤撞的男士回过头来，向他发出低声埋怨，女人们则大声嚷道：“这家伙是怎么啦？竟然如此无礼！”
　　走过滑稽歌舞剧场，他在“美洲人咖啡馆”门前停了下来，不知道是否现在就应把自己已经决定开销的那杯啤酒喝掉，因为他实在渴得有点受不了了。他没有马上走上前去，而是举目向耸立在街头的明亮大钟看了看：此时才九点一刻。他知道，现在只要有满满一杯啤酒放在他面前，他立刻就会一饮而尽。问题是下面的时间还很长，要是再渴怎么办？
　　他因而还是怏怏走开了，心中想道：“我不如姑且走到玛德莱纳教堂再说，然后再慢慢走回来。”
　　到达歌剧院广场的拐角处，迎面走来一个胖胖的年轻人。
　　他依稀记得此人他似乎在哪儿见过。
　　他于是跟了上去，一边努力思索，一边不停地嘀咕道：“见鬼！此人我分明认识，怎么就想不起来是在哪儿见过的呢？”
　　他搜尽枯肠，仍一无所获。不想就在这时，他心中忽然一亮：这不就是当年在骑兵团服役的弗雷斯蒂埃吗？没有想到他现在已是一副大腹便便的样子了。杜洛瓦于是跨上一步，拍了拍他的肩头，向他喊了一声：
　　“喂，弗雷斯蒂埃！”
　　对方转过身，直视着他，半晌说道：
　　“先生叫我，不知有何贵干？”
　　杜洛瓦笑了起来：
　　“怎么啦，你不认识我了？”
　　“不认识。”
　　“我是骑兵六营的乔治•杜洛瓦。”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃向他伸出两手：
　　“哎呀，原来是你！过得好吗？”
　　“很好，你呢？”
　　“啊，我可不太好。你知道，我的肺部现在相当糟糕，一年之中总有半年咳嗽不止。回巴黎那年，我在布吉瓦尔得了气管炎，四年来一直未能治愈。”
　　“是吗？不过你看上去倒还不错。”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃于是挽起他这位旧友的手臂，向他谈了谈自己的病情，包括他如何求医问药，医生们提出了哪些看法和建议。可是鉴于他目前的处境，这些建议他又不便采纳。比如医生劝他去南方过冬，但他走得了吗？须知他现在已经有了妻室，又当了个记者，混得很有点名堂了。
　　“我现在负责《法兰西生活报》的政治栏目，并为《救国报》采写有关参议院的新闻；此外，隔三岔五还要给《行星报》的文学专栏撰稿。你看，我已经混出个样子来了。”
　　杜洛瓦带着惊异的目光看着他。他显然变多了，也显得相当成熟了。从他的衣着和言谈举止可以看出，他已成为一个老成持重、充满自信的男子汉，而且已显出一副大腹便便的样子，说明平素的饮食很是不错。想当初，他是那样干瘦，完全是个细高条，但为人机灵好动，又常常丢三拉四，成天叽叽喳喳，总是一副乐呵呵的样子。在巴黎呆了短短三年，他竟已变了个人，不但身体发福，言谈稳重，鬓角也出现了几许白发，可是他今年还不到二十七岁呢！
　　弗雷斯蒂埃随后向他问道：
　　“你此刻要去哪里？”
　　杜洛瓦答道：
　　“哪儿也不去，只是在回去睡觉之前随便走走。”
　　“既然如此，你不妨陪我去《法兰西生活报》走一趟，我有几份校样要看一下，然后我们便去喝杯啤酒，你看怎样？”
　　“可以，我跟你走。”
　　他们于是手挽着手，带着今日在同窗学友和在同一团队服役的兵士之间仍可见到的那种一触即发的热呼劲，迈开了大步。
　　“你现在在巴黎做什么？”弗雷斯蒂埃问了一句。
　　杜洛瓦耸了耸肩：
　　“不怕你笑话，我现在已到了饿饭的地步。服役期一满，我便想到这儿来……碰碰运气，说得确切一点，来尝尝巴黎的生活滋味。这样，六个月前，我在北方铁路局找了个差事，年薪一千五百法郎，除此之外，什么外快也没有。”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃叹了一声：
　　“天哪，这点钱能够得上什么？”
　　“说的是呀，可是我能有什么办法？我在这里举目无亲，一个人也不认识，什么门路也没有。我连做梦都在想着能找点事做做，可是无人引荐。”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃从头到脚向他打量了一眼，那样子简直像是一个注重实际的人在审视一个外乡来客。接着，他以十分肯定的语气说道：
　　“老弟，你难道没有看出来，这里一切全靠自己去闯。一个人只要脑子灵活一点，便完全可以当个部长，岂止是区区科长的问题？因此重要的是自己找上门去，而不是求人推荐。像你这样一个人，怎么就找不到比在北方铁路局供职更好的差事呢？”
　　杜洛瓦答道：
　　“我哪儿都去了，但处处碰壁。不过最近总算有了个像样的机会，佩勒兰驯马场正需要一名骑术教官，有人推荐我去，每年至少可有三千法郎的收入。”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃突然停下脚步：
　　“这一行可不是你干的，你不能去，即使能挣一万法郎你也别去。否则你的前程将会彻底葬送。你现在呆在办公室里，至少不必抛头露面，谁也不认识你。如果你有能耐，随时可以离开，去另寻高就。而一旦当上骑术教官，你也就完了。这同你到一家餐馆去当个领班一样，这种地方巴黎什么样的人都会光顾。你要是给上流社会那些阔佬或其子弟上骑术课，久而久之，他们是不会以平等眼光来看待你的。”
　　说到这里，他停了下来，思考片刻后又向他问道：
　　“中学毕业会考你通过了吗？”
　　“没有，我考了两次皆未通过。”
　　“这没关系，不管怎样，该学的课程你都学完了。要是有人同你谈起西塞罗①或蒂贝尔②，你能接人家的话茬说上几句吗？”
　　--------
　　①西塞罗（公元前一○六—前四三），古罗马政治家，哲学家和杰出演说家。
　　②蒂贝尔，公元前四二年至公元三七年的古罗马皇帝。
　　“可以，大概说上几句总还是可以的。”
　　“很好。对于这两个人，除了二十来个只知钻故纸堆、毫无生活常识的冬烘先生外，谁也说不出更多的东西。所以，要让人认为你知识渊博，并不是什么难事，关键在于自己的无知别让人当场识破。要是碰上什么难题或自己所不了解的，要善于用点心计，设法绕开。而对于别人，则应借助字典旁证博引，把他难住。别以为人家有多强，其实人人都蠢得要命，知识少得可怜。”
　　他慢条斯理，侃侃而谈，俨然是一副城府很深、洞穿一切的腔调。接着，他微微一笑，抬头自身边的过往行人看了看。不想这时他忽然咳了起来，只好停下脚步，待这猛烈的阵咳过去。随后，他又说道，语气中带着沮丧：
　　“我这劳什子病总也好不了，真够烦人的。现在是盛夏，今年冬天我可要到芒通去好好治一治。其他的事只好暂且搁下了，身体第一嘛。”
　　他们此时已走到普瓦索尼埃大街的一扇大玻璃门前，玻璃门背面贴着一份打开的报纸。有三个人正站在那里阅读。
　　玻璃门上方是一排由煤气灯光焰组成的几个大字——《法兰西生活报》，十分引人注目。行人一走进这几个耀眼的大字所照亮的地方，立刻像是往白天一样，整个身体显得那样清楚、明晰、一目了然，随后便又回到了黑暗中。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃推开门，向杜洛瓦说了声“请进”。杜洛瓦进去后，随即登上一个从街上可看得一清二楚、建造考究但肮脏不堪的楼梯，接着便到了一间大厅里，两个练习生向弗雷斯蒂埃道了声晚安。最后，他们在一间类似候见室的房间里停了下来。房内陈设相当破旧，到处布满灰尘，绿色的仿天鹅绒帷幔已经褪色发黄，而且污迹斑斑，许多地方已烂成一个个窟窿，像被老鼠咬过似的。
　　“请在此坐一会儿，我马上就来，”弗雷斯蒂埃说。
　　此房间有三扇门与外边相通。说着，他从其中一扇走了出去。
　　房间里弥漫着一种难以描述的奇异气味——编辑部所特有的气味。杜洛瓦一动不动地坐在那里，心中未免有点胆怯，但更多的是惊奇。不时有人带着小跑从他身边走过。他们从一扇门进来，在他还未看清他们的面孔之前便已从另一扇门边消失了。
　　在这些来来往往的人中，有的是乳臭未干的年轻后生，一副忙碌不堪的样子，手上拿着的纸片因其步履迅疾而微微飘动；有的是排字工人，身上用作工装的长外套墨迹斑斑，但里边的雪白衬衣领却清晰可见，下身则穿着呢料裤子，同上流社会所见相仿。他们小心翼翼地捧着一摞摞印好的纸张及一些墨迹未干的校样。除这两种人外，还有一位身材矮小、穿着入时的男士进入房内；由于追求时髦，其上身套着的外套是那样紧，下身的两条裤管也是瘦得紧紧地绑在身上，脚上的皮鞋更是尖得出奇。这显然是某个负责采访社交场合的记者，赶回来提供当晚的有关新闻了。
　　除此之外，还有一些人进入这间房内。他们神态庄重，气度不凡，头上戴着一顶高筒宽边礼帽，仿佛要将自己同众人区别开来。
　　这时，弗雷斯蒂埃走了进来，手上挽着一位身材颀长的先生，此人约四十来岁光景，身穿黑礼服，胸前系着白色的领带，头发呈红棕色，嘴角的两撇卷曲的胡髭高高翘起，一副自以为是、傲视一切的神态。
　　只听弗雷斯蒂埃向他说道：
　　“那就再见了，先生。”
　　对方握了握他的手，说道：
　　“再见，亲爱的。”接着便臂膊挂着手杖，嘴上吹着口哨下楼去了。
　　杜洛瓦于是问道：
　　“此人是谁？”
　　“这就是大名鼎鼎的专栏作家、喜爱决斗的雅克•里瓦尔，他刚刚看完一篇校样。他同加兰、蒙泰尔合称当今巴黎三个最为出色的专栏作家。其文章妙趣横生，饱含时代风尚。他每周撰写两篇专稿，一年所得为三万法郎。”
　　说着，两位旧友开始向外走去。这时，从楼下上来一位又矮又胖的先生，只见他衣履不整，蓄着长发，一副气喘吁吁的样子。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃低声向他打了个招呼，然后说道：
　　“他叫诺贝尔•德•瓦伦，是个诗人，长诗《死亡的太阳》就是他写的。他也是一个一字值千金的家伙。报馆每收到他一篇小东西，便要付他三百法郎，而且每篇最长不过二百行。我们还是快到‘那不勒斯咖啡馆’去喝一杯吧，我已经渴得不行了。”
　　在咖啡馆一落座，弗雷斯蒂埃便向堂倌喊了一声：
　　“请来两杯啤酒。”
　　待啤酒一送上来，他立刻便将自己的那杯一饮而尽。杜洛瓦则在那里小口小口地啜饮着，似乎在品尝珍贵无比的琼浆玉液。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃一言未发，好像在思考着什么，随后，他突然问道：
　　“你何不试试记者这一行呢？”
　　杜洛瓦瞠目以对，半晌说道：
　　“可是……因为……我一篇东西也未写过。”
　　“这有什么？万事总有个开头嘛。我想，我可以聘请你作我的帮手，为我去各处走走，拜访一些人，搜集点资料。你在开始的时候每月可有二百五十法郎薪酬，车费由报馆支付。你若愿意，我便去找经理谈谈。”
　　“我当然愿意啦。”
　　“这样的话，你明晚先到我家来吃餐便饭。客人不多，不过五六个人。有我的老板瓦尔特先生和他太太，以及你刚才见到的雅克•里瓦尔和诺贝尔•德•瓦伦，再就是我妻子的一位女友。你觉得怎样？”
　　杜洛瓦面红耳赤，神慌意乱，迟疑良久，终于说道：
　　“叫我怎么说呢？……我连一件像样的衣服也没有。”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃惊愕不已，说道：
　　“是吗？他妈的，这可非同小可。你注意到没有，在巴黎即使没有栖身之地，也不能没有一套像样的衣服。”
　　说着，他把手伸进里边背心的衣袋，取出数枚金币，挑了两个金路易，放到杜洛瓦面前，然后带着一股古道热肠、侠义感人的腔调向他说道：
　　“这钱你先拿去，以后什么时候方便，什么时候还我。你姑且去租一套，或者以分期付款的方式去买一套，以应急需。抓紧时间去办吧。明天的晚饭定在七点半，请准时来。我家就住在泉水街十七号。”
　　杜洛瓦激动不已，一边拿起桌上的钱，一边结结巴巴地说道：
　　“非常感谢，你对我真是没得说。对于你的仗义相助，我是不会忘怀的……”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃立刻打断了他：
　　“瞧你，别说了。要不要再来一杯？”
　　接着，他转过头喊了一声：
　　“堂倌，请再来两杯啤酒。”
　　待这两杯啤酒喝完后，弗雷斯蒂埃问道：
　　“咱们到外面去走走，你看怎样？”
　　“好的。”
　　他们于是出了咖啡馆，向玛德莱纳教堂走了过去。
　　“咱们到哪儿去呢？”弗雷斯蒂埃问道。“有人说，巴黎人散步都有着明确的目的，这可不对。我就不是这样，我每晚出来散步，就不知道往哪儿走。如果有个女人陪伴，去布洛涅林苑转上一圈倒也有点意思，可是不会每次都能遂愿。我常去买药的那家药房老板和他的妻子，喜欢光顾音乐茶座，我可没有这种兴致。我们现在去哪儿呢？实在没有什么地方可去。附近有个花园，叫蒙梭公园，夏天夜间开放。人们可以坐在树下，一边喝着清凉的饮料，一边听着悠扬的乐曲。不过此公园可不是个娱乐场所，而是供清闲之辈消遣漫步的地方，因此门票很贵，以便招徕美貌的女士。人们既可以在闪耀着电灯光的沙土小径徜徉，也可以或远或近地坐下来听听音乐。我们过去在缪萨尔也有个类似场所，不过格调太低，舞曲太多，且地方不大，也没有多少浓荫和幽暗的角落。只有大的花园方有这种条件，那才荡人心魄呢！你说咱们去哪儿呢？”
　　杜洛瓦诚惶诚恐，一时竟无言以对。但后来终于还是嘣出一句：
　　“‘风流牧羊女娱乐场’我至今尚未去过，我想去那边看看。”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃不禁叫了起来：
　　“‘风流牧羊女娱乐场’，天哪，现在去那儿还不会烤成肉饼？行，就去那儿。那地方总还有点意思。”
　　两人于是转过身，向蒙玛特关厢街走去。
　　在强烈的灯光下，戏园的门面一片明亮，把在此交汇的四条街映照得如同白昼。出口处排着一长排出租马车。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃径直往里走去，杜洛瓦从后面拉了他一把：
　　“我们还没有买票。”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃郑重其事地答道：
　　“不必，我来这儿从来不用买票。”
　　走到检票处，三个检票员向他欠了欠身。站在中间的一位并将手向他伸了过来。我们这位记者就便向他问道：
　　“有没有位置较好的包厢？”
　　“当然有，弗雷斯蒂埃先生。”
　　接过对方递过来的包厢号，他也就推开包着绒垫并装有铜闩的门，同杜洛瓦一起进到了剧场里。
　　场内烟雾缭绕，使得舞台和入口部分及较远的地方似乎笼罩在一片薄雾之中。座位上的人几乎都在吸烟，有的抽雪茄，有的抽香烟，从这些雪茄和香烟升起的一缕缕细小烟柱，近于白色，薄如蝉翼，轻飘飘直达天花板顶部，聚集于宽大的拱顶下方、吊灯周围和坐满观众的二层看台上面，形成灰蒙蒙一片。
　　剧场四周是个圆形甬道，入口处尤其宽敞，平素是打扮得花枝招展的姑娘们在黑压压的男士间川流不息的地方。墙边立着三个柜台，每个柜台里边都站着一个青春已谢但依然浓妆艳抹的女人，她们在出售饮料的同时也兼售色相。现在，其中一个柜台前正站着一群姑娘在等候来客。
　　她们的身后立着几面高大的镜子，从镜子里可以看到她们的袒露背脊和过往男士的面孔。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃分开众人，快步往前走着，俨然一副非同寻常人物的神态。
　　只见他走到一位女招待身边，向她问道：
　　“请问十七号包厢在哪里？”
　　“请随我来，先生。”
　　他们很快被带到一间用木板围成的包厢里，包厢很小，没有顶篷，地上铺着红色的地毯，四把座椅也是红色的，彼此间间隔很小，客人刚好从中通过。两位异地相逢的好友于是坐了下来。左右两边，沿着一条直达舞台的弧线，立着一连串类似的木格子，每个格子里也都坐了人，但只能看到其脑袋和胸部。
　　台上此时有三个年轻男子在轮流作吊杠表演，其中一高一矮，另一个为中等身材。他们都穿着紧身运动衫。
　　接着，个儿最高者迈着细小而又迅疾的步伐，首先走到台前。他微微一笑，向观众挥了一下手臂，好似投去一个飞吻。
　　紧身衣下，其胳膊和腿上的肌肉清晰可见。他挺了挺胸，以便把太为凸出的腹部往里缩缩。他看去很像一个年轻的理发师，因为头上的头发在正中央截然分明地一分为二。只见他纵身一跃握住吊杠，然后以两手悬在上面，将整个身体像迅速转动的车轮一样，围着吊杠翻转。随后，他两臂绷紧，身躯笔直，一动不动地在空中作了个平卧势，完全靠两只手的腕力握住吊杠。
　　从杠上下来后，他在前排观众的掌声中微笑着再度向众人致意，接着便走到布幕边站着，每走一步都要显示一下他那腿部的发达肌肉。
　　现在轮到第二个人，即个儿比前者要矮，但身体更为粗壮的人了。他走到前台，作了同样的表演。第三个人也做的是同样的动作，但观众的掌声却要更为热烈。
　　不过台上的表演，杜洛瓦并没有怎么看，他不时回转头，向身后的回廊张望着，因为那里站满了男士和姑娘们。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃向他说道：
　　“你看看池座，里面全是些带着老婆孩子专门来看表演的市井之徒，一些十足的蠢货。包厢里坐的是爱逛剧院的人，内中也有几个搞艺术的，还有几个二流妓女。而我们身后，则是巴黎最耐人寻味的乌合之众。他们都是些什么人呢？你好好看看吧。真是什么人都有，各行各业，哪个阶层都有，但地痞无赖占压倒多数。比如有银行职员、商店店员、政府各部的办事人员，以及外勤记者，妓院老鸨、穿着便服的军官和衣冠楚楚的绔绔子弟。他们有的刚在饭馆吃过晚饭，有的刚刚看完一场歌剧，马上还要去意大利剧场。其余的人便属于不三不四、行踪诡谲一类的了，一眼就可看出。至于那些女人，则清一色都是晚间在‘美洲人咖啡馆’打尖的那种人。这些女人只需一两个路易便可跟你走，因此整天在接肯出五路易的外乡来客，同时一有空便会通知老主顾前来相会。她们在这一带操此营生已有六年之久，一年之中除了有时在圣拉扎或卢西纳医院接受治疗，每天晚上都出没于同样的地方。”
　　杜洛瓦对他的这些话已经没有心思听了，因为此时已有一个这样的妓女将胳肘靠在他们的包厢上，正在目不转睛地看着他。这是一个胖胖的褐发女人，脸部因抹了一层脂粉而显得很白，在两条描得很粗的浓眉下有一双黑黑的眼睛，眼角也描得长长的，显得更为突出。两只丰满的乳房，把深色的丝绸长裙在胸前高高隆起。涂了口红的双唇酷似鲜血淋漓的伤口，显示出一种过分热烈的野性，但却能唤起人们心头的欲望。
　　她向一位由身边经过的女友——一个把金发染成红色、也长得很胖的女人——点头示意，把她叫了过来，以谁都能听得见的声音向她说道：
　　“瞧，一个好漂亮的小伙子。他若肯出十路易要我，我是不会拒绝的。”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃回过头来，微笑着在杜洛瓦的大腿上拍了一下：
　　“这话是说给你听的，她已看上你了。亲爱的，请接受我的祝贺。”
　　杜洛瓦顿时满脸通红，下意识地用手指摸了摸放有背心口袋里的两枚金币。
　　台上的大幕已经落下，乐队奏起了华尔兹舞曲。
　　杜洛瓦乘机向弗雷斯蒂埃说道：
　　“咱们要不要出去过过风儿？”
　　“走。”
　　他们于是出了包厢，立刻卷进了走廊里的滚滚人流中。他们被人推着，挤着，身边一点回旋的余地也没有，忽而往东忽而往西。眼前所见是男人们戴着的清一色高筒礼帽。至于那些妓女，她们则两个两个地贴着男人们的胳肘、胸膛和背脊，在他们当中穿过来穿过去，无拘无束，随心所欲，如同在自己家里一样。她们的步履是那样地轻盈、敏捷，酷似水中的游鱼，在这股由男士汇集而成的激流中时隐时现。
　　杜洛瓦心神荡漾，任凭自己随着人流往前走着。周围的空气已被烟草味、汗酸味和女人们身上的香水味弄得污浊不堪，但杜洛瓦吸入体内，竟是那样地如痴如醉。然而弗雷斯蒂埃已经不行了，只见他大汗淋漓，气喘吁吁，且又咳了起来，只得说道：
　　“咱们快到外面去吧！”
　　他们向左一拐，到了一个搭有凉篷的院落中，两个设计粗糙的大水池，使得院内的空气显得格外清爽宜人。花盆里栽着紫杉和侧柏，近旁的小桌边已坐了一些男女。
　　“再来一杯啤酒？”弗雷斯蒂埃问道。
　　“好的。”
　　他们坐了下来，两眼看着三三两两的人从身边走过。
　　不时有个在院内游荡的女人走近前来，笑容可掬地向他们问道：
　　“先生，能让我也喝点什么吗？”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃答道：
　　“可以，一杯水池里的清水。”
　　“去你的，真是没有教养。”搭讪的姑娘嘟哝着悻悻走开了。
　　刚才依偎在他们包厢后面的褐发女人这时又走了过来。她手上挽着那个肥胖的金发女友，目光中透出傲慢的神情。这两人可真是天生的一对，无论哪一方面都十分般配。
　　见到杜洛瓦，她嫣然一笑。刹那间，两人的眼神似乎已将各自的内心隐秘告知对方。她拉过一把椅子，安然地在他对面坐了下来。与此同时，她让身边的女友也坐了下来。接着，她以清脆的嗓音喊了一声：
　　“堂倌，请来两杯石榴露。”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃不免一惊，说道：
　　“你怎么这样放肆？”
　　“我所倾心的是你的这位朋友，他可真是仪表堂堂。为了他，我恐怕什么事都做得出来！”
　　杜洛瓦怯生生地坐在那里，一句话也说不出来。他一脸憨笑，抚了抚嘴角卷曲的胡髭。
　　堂倌此时将她刚才要的两杯果子露送了来，她们俩随即一饮而尽。然后，她们站了起来，只见那个金发女人向杜洛瓦亲切地微微点了一下头，用扇子在他手臂上轻轻打了一下，对他说道：
　　“谢谢，我的小猫咪，你可真是金口难开呀。”
　　说完之后，她们便扭着身腰，一步三摇地走了。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃发出一阵哈哈大笑：
　　“老弟，看到没有，你对于女人有一种天生的魅力，望你好自为之，日后定会大有好处。”
　　说到这里，他停了片刻，接着又若有所思地自言自语道：“一个人要想平步青云，通过她们才是最为省力的捷径。”
　　见杜洛瓦一直笑而不语，他又说道：
　　“你是不是再呆一会儿？我可是不想再呆，这就回去了。”
　　杜洛瓦喃喃地应道：
　　“好吧，我再坐一会儿，时间还早。”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃站了起来：
　　“这样的话，就恕不奉陪了。明晚的事可别忘了，泉水街十七号，时间是七点半。”
　　“一言为定，明天见，谢谢。”
　　他们握了握手，弗雷斯蒂埃于是扬长而去。
　　他一走，杜洛瓦顿时感到，自己现在是无所羁绊了。他再度兴致勃勃地摸了摸口袋里的两枚金路易，随即站起身，走进人群，用目光在四周不停地搜索着。
　　不久，刚才那两个女人终于被他找到。她们仍带着傲慢的神色，在拥挤不堪的男人堆里挤来挤去，希望能找到一个遂愿的嫖客。
　　他径直向她们走了过去，但及至到了跟前，他又胆怯了。
　　褐发女人首先开言：
　　“你现在能开口了吗？”
　　“当然，”他结结巴巴地应了一句，此后便一句话也说不出来。
　　他们三人站在那里，既不得前进，又堵住了走廊里的人流，身边因而很快聚集起一大帮人。
　　褐发女人乘机突然向他问道：
　　“想去我家坐坐吗？”
　　垂涎已久的他现在是五内沸然，难以自制了，因而不假思索地答道：
　　“想倒是想，不过我身上只有一路易。”
　　她漫不经心地笑了笑：
　　“这没关系。”
　　说着，她伸过手来挽上杜洛瓦的胳臂，表示他今晚是她的人了。
　　他们于是往外走去。杜洛瓦心里在想，用所剩的二十法郎为明晚的约会租一套晚礼服，是绝无问题的。
Chapter 2 Madame Forestier
“Where does M. Forestier live?”
“Third floor on the left,” said the porter pleasantly, on learning Duroy’s destination.
Georges ascended the staircase. He was somewhat embarrassed and ill- at-ease. He had on a new suit but he was uncomfortable. He felt that it was defective; his boots were not glossy, he had bought his shirt that same evening at the Louvre for four francs fifty, his trousers were too wide and betrayed their cheapness in their fit, or rather, misfit, and his coat was too tight.
Slowly he ascended the stairs, his heart beating, his mind anxious. Suddenly before him stood a well-dressed gentleman staring at him. The person resembled Duroy so close that the latter retreated, then stopped, and saw that it was his own image reflected in a pier- glass! Not having anything but a small mirror at home, he had not been able to see himself entirely, and had exaggerated the imperfections of his toilette. When he saw his reflection in the glass, he did not even recognize himself; he took himself for some one else, for a man-of-the-world, and was really satisfied with his general appearance. Smiling to himself, Duroy extended his hand and expressed his astonishment, pleasure, and approbation. A door opened on the staircase, He was afraid of being surprised and began to ascend more rapidly, fearing that he might have been seen posing there by some of his friend’s invited guests.
On reaching the second floor, he saw another mirror, and once more slackened his pace to look at himself. He likewise paused before the third glass, twirled his mustache, took off his hat to arrange his hair, and murmured half aloud, a habit of his: “Hall mirrors are most convenient.”
Then he rang the bell. The door opened almost immediately, and before him stood a servant in a black coat, with a grave, shaven face, so perfect in his appearance that Duroy again became confused as he compared the cut of their garments.
The lackey asked:
“Whom shall I announce, Monsieur?” He raised a portiere and pronounced the name.
Duroy lost his self-possession upon being ushered into a world as yet strange to him. However, he advanced. A young, fair woman received him alone in a large, well-lighted room. He paused, disconcerted. Who was that smiling lady? He remembered that Forestier was married, and the thought that the handsome blonde was his friend’s wife rendered him awkward and ill-at-ease. He stammered out:
“Madame, I am —”
She held out her hand. “I know, Monsieur — Charles told me of your meeting last night, and I am very glad that he asked you to dine with us to-day.”
Duroy blushed to the roots of his hair, not knowing how to reply; he felt that he was being inspected from his head to his feet. He half thought of excusing himself, of inventing an explanation of the carelessness of his toilette, but he did not know how to touch upon that delicate subject.
He seated himself upon a chair she pointed out to him, and as he sank into its luxurious depths, it seemed to him that he was entering a new and charming life, that he would make his mark in the world, that he was saved. He glanced at Mme. Forestier. She wore a gown of pale blue cashmere which clung gracefully to her supple form and rounded outlines; her arms and throat rose in, lily-white purity from the mass of lace which ornamented the corsage and short sleeves. Her hair was dressed high and curled on the nape of her neck.
Duroy grew more at his ease under her glance, which recalled to him, he knew not why, that of the girl he had met the preceding evening at the Folies-Bergeres. Mme. Forestier had gray eyes, a small nose, full lips, and a rather heavy chin, an irregular, attractive face, full of gentleness and yet of malice.
After a short silence, she asked: “Have you been in Paris a long time?”
Gradually regaining his self-possession, he replied: “a few months, Madame. I am in the railroad employ, but my friend Forestier has encouraged me to hope that, thanks to him, I can enter into journalism.”
She smiled kindly and murmured in a low voice: “I know.”
The bell rang again and the servant announced: “Mme. de Marelle.” She was a dainty brunette, attired in a simple, dark robe; a red rose in her black tresses seemed to accentuate her special character, and a young girl, or rather a child, for such she was, followed her.
Mme. Forestier said: “Good evening, Clotilde.”
“Good evening, Madeleine.”
They embraced each other, then the child offered her forehead with the assurance of an adult, saying:
“Good evening, cousin.”
Mme. Forestier kissed her, and then made the introductions:
“M. Georges Duroy, an old friend of Charles. Mme. de Marelle, my friend, a relative in fact.” She added: “Here, you know, we do not stand on ceremony.”
Duroy bowed. The door opened again and a short man entered, upon his arm a tall, handsome woman, taller than he and much younger, with distinguished manners and a dignified carriage. It was M. Walter, deputy, financier, a moneyed man, and a man of business, manager of “La Vie Francaise,” with his wife, nee Basile Ravalade, daughter of the banker of that name.
Then came Jacques Rival, very elegant, followed by Norbert de Varenne. The latter advanced with the grace of the old school and taking Mme. Forestier’s hand kissed it; his long hair falling upon his hostess’s bare arm as he did so.
Forestier now entered, apologizing for being late; he had been detained.
The servant announced dinner, and they entered the dining-room. Duroy was placed between Mme. de Marelle and her daughter. He was again rendered uncomfortable for fear of committing some error in the conventional management of his fork, his spoon, or his glasses, of which he had four. Nothing was said during the soup; then Norbert de Varenne asked a general question: “Have you read the Gauthier case? How droll it was!”
Then followed a discussion of the subject in which the ladies joined. Then a duel was mentioned and Jacques Rival led the conversation; that was his province. Duroy did not venture a remark, but occasionally glanced at his neighbor. A diamond upon a slight, golden thread depended from her ear; from time to time she uttered a remark which evoked a smile upon his lips. Duroy sought vainly for some compliment to pay her; he busied himself with her daughter, filled her glass, waited upon her, and the child, more dignified than her mother, thanked him gravely saying, “You are very kind, Monsieur,” while she listened to the conversation with a reflective air. The dinner was excellent and everyone was delighted with it.
The conversation returned to the colonization of Algeria. M. Walter uttered several jocose remarks; Forestier alluded to the article he had prepared for the morrow; Jacques Rival declared himself in favor of a military government with grants of land to all the officers after thirty years of colonial service.
“In that way,” said he, “you can establish a strong colony, familiar with and liking the country, knowing its language and able to cope with all those local yet grave questions which invariably confront newcomers.”
Norbert de Varenne interrupted: “Yes, they would know everything, except agriculture. They would speak Arabic, but they would not know how to transplant beet-root, and how to sow wheat. They would be strong in fencing, but weak in the art of farming. On the contrary, the new country should be opened to everyone. Intelligent men would make positions for themselves; the others would succumb. It is a natural law.”
A pause ensued. Everyone smiled. Georges Duroy, startled at the sound of his own voice, as if he had never heard it, said:
“What is needed the most down there is good soil. Really fertile land costs as much as it does in France and is bought by wealthy Parisians. The real colonists, the poor, are generally cast out into the desert, where nothing grows for lack of water.”
All eyes turned upon him. He colored. M. Walter asked: “Do you know Algeria, sir?”
He replied: “Yes, sir, I was there twenty-eight months.” Leaving the subject of colonization, Norbert de Varenne questioned him as to some of the Algerian customs. Georges spoke with animation; excited by the wine and the desire to please, he related anecdotes of the regiment, of Arabian life, and of the war.
Mme. Walter murmured to him in her soft tones: “You could write a series of charming articles.”
Forestier took advantage of the situation to say to M. Walter: “My dear sir, I spoke to you a short while since of M. Georges Duroy and asked you to permit me to include him on the staff of political reporters. Since Marambot has left us, I have had no one to take urgent and confidential reports, and the paper is suffering by it.”
M. Walter put on his spectacles in order to examine Duroy. Then he said: “I am convinced that M. Duroy is original, and if he will call upon me tomorrow at three o’clock, we will arrange matters.” After a pause, turning to the young man, he said: “You may write us a short sketch on Algeria, M. Duroy. Simply relate your experiences; I am sure they will interest our readers. But you must do it quickly.”
Mme. Walter added with her customary, serious grace: “You will have a charming title: ‘Souvenirs of a Soldier in Africa.’ Will he not, M. Norbert?”
The old poet, who had attained renown late in life, disliked and mistrusted newcomers. He replied dryly: “Yes, excellent, provided that it is written in the right key, for there lies the great difficulty.”
Mme. Forestier cast upon Duroy a protecting and smiling glance which seemed to say: “You shall succeed.” The servant filled the glasses with wine, and Forestier proposed the toast: “To the long prosperity of ‘La Vie Francaise.’” Duroy felt superhuman strength within him, infinite hope, and invincible resolution. He was at his ease now among these people; his eyes rested upon their faces with renewed assurance, and for the first time he ventured to address his neighbor:
“You have the most beautiful earrings I have ever seen.”
She turned toward him with a smile: “It is a fancy of mine to wear diamonds like this, simply on a thread.”
He murmured in reply, trembling at his audacity: “It is charming — but the ear increases the beauty of the ornament.”
She thanked him with a glance. As he turned his head, he met Mme. Forestier’s eyes, in which he fancied he saw a mingled expression of gaiety, malice, and encouragement. All the men were talking at the same time; their discussion was animated.
When the party left the dining-room, Duroy offered his arm to the little girl. She thanked him gravely and stood upon tiptoe in order to lay her hand upon his arm. Upon entering the drawing-room, the young man carefully surveyed it. It was not a large room; but there were no bright colors, and one felt at ease; it was restful. The walls were draped with violet hangings covered with tiny embroidered flowers of yellow silk. The portieres were of a grayish blue and the chairs were of all shapes, of all sizes; scattered about the room were couches and large and small easy-chairs, all covered with Louis XVI. brocade, or Utrecht velvet, a cream colored ground with garnet flowers.
“Do you take coffee, M. Duroy?” Mme. Forestier offered him a cup, with the smile that was always upon her lips.
“Yes, Madame, thank you.” He took the cup, and as he did so, the young woman whispered to him: “Pay Mme. Walter some attention.” Then she vanished before he could reply.
First he drank his coffee, which he feared he should let fall upon the carpet; then he sought a pretext for approaching the manager’s wife and commencing a conversation. Suddenly he perceived that she held an empty cup in her hand, and as she was not near a table, she did not know where to put it. He rushed toward her:
“Allow me, Madame.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He took away the cup and returned: “If you, but knew, Madame, what pleasant moments ‘La Vie Francaise’ afforded me, when I was in the desert! It is indeed the only paper one cares to read outside of France; it contains everything.”
She smiled with amiable indifference as she replied: “M. Walter had a great deal of trouble in producing the kind of journal which was required.”
They talked of Paris, the suburbs, the Seine, the delights of summer, of everything they could think of. Finally M. Norbert de Varenne advanced, a glass of liqueur in his hand, and Duroy discreetly withdrew. Mme. de Marelle, who was chatting with her hostess, called him: “So, sir,” she said bluntly, “you are going to try journalism?” That question led to a renewal of the interrupted conversation with Mme. Walter. In her turn Mme. de Marelle related anecdotes, and becoming familiar, laid her hand upon Duroy’s arm. He felt that he would like to devote himself to her, to protect her — and the slowness with which he replied to her questions indicated his preoccupation. Suddenly, without any cause, Mme. de Marelle called: “Laurine!” and the girl came to her. “Sit down here, my child, you will be cold near the window.”
Duroy was seized with an eager desire to embrace the child, as if part of that embrace would revert to the mother. He asked in a gallant, yet paternal tone: “Will you permit me to kiss you, Mademoiselle?” The child raised her eyes with an air of surprise. Mme. de Marelle said with a smile: “Reply.”
“I will allow you to-day, Monsieur, but not all the time.”
Seating himself, Duroy took Laurine upon his knee, and kissed her lips and her fine wavy hair. Her mother was surprised: “Well, that is strange! Ordinarily she only allows ladies to caress her. You are irresistible, Monsieur!”
Duroy colored, but did not reply.
When Mme. Forestier joined them, a cry of astonishment escaped her: “Well, Laurine has become sociable; what a miracle!”
The young man rose to take his leave, fearing he might spoil his conquest by some awkward word. He bowed to the ladies, clasped and gently pressed their hands, and then shook hands with the men. He observed that Jacques Rival’s was dry and warm and responded cordially to his pressure; Norbert de Varenne’s was moist and cold and slipped through his fingers; Walter’s was cold and soft, without life, expressionless; Forestier’s fat and warm.
His friend whispered to him: “To-morrow at three o’clock; do not forget.”
“Never fear!”
When he reached the staircase, he felt like running down, his joy was so great; he went down two steps at a time, but suddenly on the second floor, in the large mirror, he saw a gentleman hurrying on, and he slackened his pace, as much ashamed as if he had been surprised in a crime.
He surveyed himself some time with a complacent smile; then taking leave of his image, he bowed low, ceremoniously, as if saluting some grand personage.
　　“请问弗雷斯蒂埃先生住在这儿吗？”
　　“四楼左边那家。”
　　看门人说话的语气十分和蔼，显示出他对这位房客很是敬重。乔治•杜洛瓦于是登上了楼梯。
　　他有点局促不安，心里慌慌的，感到不太自在。今天穿这样隆重的礼服，在他可是生平头一回。然而这一套衣装，效果究竟如何，他总有点不放心，因为处处皆不遂愿。他的脚不大，现在这双靴子倒也纤巧瘦削，可惜不是漆皮的。里面的衬衫是他今天早上花四个半法郎在卢浮宫附近买的，然而布料太薄，前胸已经出现裂缝。平素穿的那些衬衣糟糕透了，即使保存较好的也无法穿出来应客。
　　下身这条裤子未免太肥，显不出腿部的轮廓，好像裹在腿肚上似的。此外，外表也皱巴巴的，一看便知是随便套在身上的旧玩意儿。只有上装总算说得过去，因为同他的身材大体相宜。
　　就这样，他带着忐忑不安、忧心忡忡的心情，慢慢地拾级而上，心中尤其担心的是，怕会落人耻笑。突然间，他看到一位衣冠楚楚的先生正站在对面看着他。二人相距如此之近，他不由地倒退了一步。但随后却是一片惊呆：站在他面前的这个人不就是他自己吗？原来二楼楼梯口装了一面大的落地镜，他刚才见到的先生，正是镜中的他。此外，从镜中还可以看到整个的二楼长廊。他不禁一阵窃喜，因为他这套装束分明比自己原先所想像的要好得多。
　　他的住所只有一面刮胡子用的小镜子，因而在来这儿之前未能照一照全身，加之他对这套临时配齐的衣装多有不满，因而对有关缺陷过于夸大了。想到自己如此沉不住气，他不禁为自己的失态感到恼怒。
　　刚才在镜子里忽然看到这身装束，他简直认不出自己了。他把镜中人当成了另一个人，而且是一个上流社会的人士。一眼看去，他的体态是那样合度，那样潇洒。
　　现在，他又对着镜子仔细端详了一番，觉得自己这身打扮确实无可挑剔。
　　这样，如同演员琢磨其所要扮演的角色一样，他又对着镜子就自己的一举一动细加揣摩了起来。只见他忽而微微一笑，忽而伸出手去或是作了个动作，忽而又在脸上作出诸如惊讶、快乐和赞同的种种表情，努力揣度着自己在向女士们献殷勤或向她们表达其赞美和爱慕时，每一个微笑，每一个眼神所应达到的火候。
　　这时，楼梯边的一扇门突然打开，他怕自己会被人撞见，因而快步走了上去。想到自己刚才的做作说不定已被弗雷斯蒂埃的哪位客人看见，心中很是惶惶不安。
　　到达三楼，发现这里也有一面镜子，他放慢了脚步，以便看看自己从镜前走过的身影。他觉得自己确实仪表堂堂，举手投足都恰到好处，因而心花怒放，信心百倍。毋庸置疑，凭着他这副长相及其出人头地的欲望，加上他不达目的誓不罢休的决心和遇事自有主张的脾性，他是定会成功的。剩下的最后一层楼梯，他真想跑着、跳着走上去。到第三面镜子前，他停了下来，以其熟练的动作抚了抚嘴角的胡髭，把帽子摘下来，整理了一下头发，并像自己所常有的那样，轻声嘀咕了一句：“这个主意实在不错，”然后，他伸手按了按门铃。
　　门几乎立刻就开了。他面前站着一位穿着黑色华丽制服的听差，神态庄重，脸上的胡子刮得净光。见这位听差穿戴得如此整齐，他不禁又有点慌乱无主了，不明白自己为何总这样心神不宁。原因大概就在于，他在无意之中将自己的这套寒酸衣装同听差的那套剪裁别致的制服作了一下对比。这时，这位脚上穿着漆皮皮鞋的仆人，把他由于担心露出上面的斑斑污迹而有意搭在手臂上的那件大衣接了过去，一面向他问道：
　　“请问先生尊姓大名？”
　　随后，他隔着身后业已掀起的门帘向里边的客厅大声通报了一下。
　　不想这时，杜洛瓦却突然失去了镇静，心中七上八下，慌乱如麻，简直挪不开脚步了。这也难怪，他眼看就要迈步进入自己多年来盼望已久、朝思暮想的另一个世界了。不过他仍然向前走了过去。一个年轻的金发女人正站在那里等候他的光临。房间很大，灯火通明，到处摆满各类奇花异草，简直同温室无异。
　　他猛地停下脚步，一副张皇失措的样子：这笑容可掬的女人会是谁呢？啊，他想起来，弗雷斯蒂埃已经成家了。这个金发女人是这样的妖艳柔媚，仪态万方，想到她应是弗雷斯蒂埃的妻子，他现在是惊愕得一句话也说不出来。
　　半晌，他终于结结巴巴地说了一句：“夫人，我是……”
　　对方将手向杜洛瓦伸了过来：
　　“我已经知道，先生。你们昨晚的不期而遇，查理已经对我讲了。我感到高兴的是，他能想到邀请你今晚来家中便宴。”
　　他顿时满脸通红，慌乱得不知说什么好。他感到对方在看着他，从头到脚地对他作一番打量、端详和审视。
　　他想表示一点歉意，找个理由对自己的衣履不整作点说明。可是什么理由也想不出来，况且他也不敢触及这一难以启齿的话题。
　　他在她指给他的一张扶手椅上坐了下来。椅子上的天鹅绒贴面软柔而富有弹性，身子一坐下去便感到绒面在往下陷，同时身体也往下陷，但很快就被托住。此外，坐在这舒适的扶手椅上，他感到自己像是被什么东西软软地包住似的，因为椅子的靠背和扶手也装有柔软的衬垫。此时此刻，他觉得自己仿佛开始了一种美好的新生活；觉得眼前的一切是这样的温馨，令人魂酥骨软；觉得自己已终于从逆境中走出，成了个非同寻常的人物。他看了看弗雷斯蒂埃夫人，对方的目光一直没有离开他。
　　她穿了件淡蓝色开司米连衣裙，将那苗条的身姿和丰满的胸脯惟妙惟肖地显现了出来。
　　她的臂膊和前胸袒露着，只有胸前领口和短袖袖口上淡淡地镶了一层洁白的花边。她金发高耸，呈波浪形垂于脑后，在脖颈上方形成一片飘拂不定的金色云霞。
　　不知怎地，杜洛瓦感到她的目光同他昨晚在“风流牧羊女娱乐场”遇到的姑娘相仿。因此在这目光的注视下，他反倒很快镇定了下来。她那一对明睁中嵌了两只灰而带蓝的瞳子，使得眼内所显露的表情分外特别。此外，她的鼻子生得十分小巧，两唇却很肥厚，下颏也稍嫌丰腴，因而面部轮廓不太齐整，但却富于柔情和娇媚，其风骚迷人自不在话下。应当说，她是这样一个女人：脸上的每一根线条都显示出独特的风韵，好似具有明确的蕴涵；一颦一笑无不像是在表露什么或掩饰什么。
　　沉默片刻后，她开口向他问道：
　　“你来巴黎已经很久了吗？”
　　杜洛瓦已逐渐镇定下来，答道：
　　“不过几个月，夫人。我现在在铁路部门任职，可是弗雷斯蒂埃对我说，他可帮助我进入新闻界。”
　　她嫣然一笑，神情也更为和蔼。接着，她压低嗓音，轻轻说道：
　　“这我知道。”
　　门铃此时又响了，随后是听差的通报：
　　“德•马莱尔夫人到！”
　　来客是一位个儿不高的褐发女人，即人们通常所说的“褐发小姐”。
　　她迈着轻盈的步伐走了进来，通身上下紧紧地裹了一件极其普通的深色连衣裙，没有多少惊人之处。
　　只是乌黑的秀发上插着一朵红玫瑰，显得格外醒目。这朵红玫瑰不仅对她那张秀丽的面庞起了烘托作用，而且把她那与众不同的个性也突出地显现了出来，使人一眼便对她产生强烈的印象。
　　她身后跟着一个穿着短裙的小女孩。弗雷斯蒂埃夫人抢步迎了上去：
　　“你好，克洛蒂尔德。”
　　“你好，玛德莱娜。”
　　他们互相拥抱，亲吻。随后，那个小女孩也像个大人似的，不慌不忙地把她的脸颊向弗雷斯蒂埃夫人伸了过去：
　　“你好，姨妈。”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人在她的小脸上亲了一下，接着对其宾客分别加以介绍：
　　“这位是乔治•杜洛瓦先生，查理的一位好友。”
　　“这位是德•马莱尔夫人，我的朋友，同时也是我的一个远亲。”
　　介绍完毕，她又说了一句：
　　“我说大家来我这里应当随便一些才好，不要拘于礼节，更不用客套。你们说好吗？”
　　杜洛瓦欠了欠身，表示客随主便。
　　这时候，门又开了。一个又矮又胖、五短三粗的男士挽着一个身材高高的丽人走了进来。这就是《法兰西生活报》经理瓦尔特先生。他是个原籍南方的犹太富商和金融巨子，同时也是国会议员。他身边的那个举止端庄、雍容华贵的贵妇，则是他的妻子。她也出身银行世家，父亲名叫巴洛尔•拉瓦洛。
　　这之后，风度翩翩的雅克•里瓦尔和长发垂肩的诺贝尔•德•瓦伦也一个跟着一个来了。德•瓦伦的衣领已被那垂肩长发蹭得油光锃亮，上面并落了些白色的头屑。
　　他胸前的领带歪歪扭扭，不像是来此赴约之前才系上的。虽然年华已逝，他那优雅的举止仍不减当年。只见的走到弗雷斯蒂埃夫人面前，拿起她的手，在手腕处亲了一下。不想在他俯身行此大礼时，他那满头长发像一盆水，在这位少妇裸露的臂膀上洒落了一片。
　　接着，弗雷斯蒂埃也到了。他一进门，便对自己回来太晚，连声向大家表示歉意，说他是因为莫雷尔的事而在报馆耽搁了。莫雷尔是激进派议员。他最近就内阁为在阿尔及利亚推行殖民政策而要求批准拨款一事，向内阁提出了质询。
　　仆人这时高声禀报：
　　“夫人，晚饭准备好了！”
　　众人于是向饭厅走去。
　　杜洛瓦被安排在德•马莱尔夫人和她女儿之间。他现在又因不谙刀叉酒杯等餐具的使用，担心因而出丑而惶惶不安了。比如他面前放了四个酒杯，这只淡蓝色杯子是作什么用的，他就一无所知。
　　第一道菜汤上来后，席间无人说话。后来，诺贝尔•德•瓦伦向众人问道：
　　“报上有关戈蒂埃一案的报道，你们读了没有？这个案子实在有意思。”
　　大家于是对这带有讹诈成分的通奸案，七嘴八舌地议论开了。不过他们在谈论此案时，可没有分毫家庭内部谈论报上所载社会新闻的样子，而是像医生之间谈论某种疾病或菜贩之间谈论某种蔬菜一样。因此对所谈论的事既无惊讶，也无愤怒，而是带着职业性的好奇和对罪行本身的无动于衷，努力发掘深刻的内在原因，试图把事件的根由弄个一清二楚，并阐明导致悲剧发生的种种思想活动，从科学上说明它是某种特定精神状态的必然产物。在座的女士对这种探究和分析，也备感兴趣。接着，他们还以新闻贩子和按行数出售各类“人间喜剧”的记者所具有的那种讲求实际的眼光和对待问题的特殊看法，对最近发生的其他事件从各个方面进行了研究和分析，并对每一个事件的价值作了评估，同商人们在将其商品推向市场之前对这些商品翻来覆去所进行的查看、比较和斟酌一样。
　　这之后，话题又转到了一场决斗上。现在是雅克•里瓦尔说话了。这是他的专长，谈论这种事谁也没有他在行。
　　杜洛瓦一句嘴也不敢插。他只是偶尔瞟一眼邻座德•马莱尔夫人，觉得她那白皙的脖颈生得十分魅人。她耳朵下方挂了个用金线固定的钻石，宛如一滴晶莹的水珠，就要滴到她那细腻的肌肤上。她间或也发表一点看法，且每一开言，嘴角必浮起一丝笑意。她的想法既奇特又可爱，常常出人意料，很像一个已有相当阅历但仍稚气未泯的孩子，对什么事都是一副满不在乎的样子，其判断虽略带怀疑，但却充满善意。
　　杜洛瓦想恭维她两句，但一句话也想不出来。既然如此，他索性将注意力转向她女儿，为她倒饮料，端盘子，忙这忙那。女孩的性情显然要比她母亲严肃，每当杜洛瓦给他做点什么，她总要微微点一点头，表示谢意，并郑重其事地说上一句：“难为你了，先生。”然后带着一副凝神沉思的小样儿，继续听大人讲话。
　　菜肴十分丰盛。为了一饱口福，每个人都忙得不亦乐乎。瓦尔特先生只是没命地吃，几乎一言未发。每当仆人送上一道菜来，他总要目光向下，从眼镜下方先行打量一番。比之于他，诺贝尔•德•瓦伦的兴致也毫不逊色：胸前衬衣滴了许多菜汁，也不去管它。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃时而满面笑容，时而神情庄重，一直在冷眼注视着眼前的一切，并不时同妻子交换彼此心照不宣的眼色，如同两位朋友在合伙做一件困难重重的事情，而这件事现在却进展顺利。
　　客人们个个红光满面，说话的声音也越来越高昂了。仆人不时走到客人身边，附耳低语：“是要科尔通酒还是拉罗兹堡酒”①。
　　--------
　　①科尔通和拉罗兹堡：法国葡萄酒著名产地。
　　杜洛瓦觉得科尔通葡萄酒很合自己的口味，每次都让仆人把酒杯斟得满满的。他感到周身涌动着一种美不可言的快感：一股股热呼呼的暖流从丹田直冲脑际，接着向四肢扩展，很快遍及全身。他感到遍体舒畅，从思想到生命，从灵魂到肉体无不酣畅淋漓，痛快之至。
　　现在，他要说话了。他要引起别人的注意，要人家听他讲，欣赏他的议论。有这么一些人，他们的一言半语都会被人们津津乐道、回味无穷，他也要像这些人一样，受到人家的欣赏和重视。
　　可是谈话仍在不停地延续着，各种各样的思想互相牵扯在一起，只要一句话，一件微不足道的小事，正在谈论的话题马上就会转向另一个，现在，在将当天发生的各类事件都谈了个够并稍带着还触及到其他许许多多的问题后，人们又回到莫雷尔先生就阿尔及利亚的殖民化问题所提出的质询上来了。
　　瓦尔特先生是个哲学上的怀疑论者，说话从来毫无顾忌，利用等候上菜的点儿，他给大家讲了几则笑话。弗雷斯蒂埃谈了谈他第二天要见报的文章。雅克•里瓦尔则主张建立军人政府，把土地分给在殖民地服役三十年以上的军人。他说：
　　“这样一来，那边将可建立起一个有条不紊的社会。因为经过漫长的岁月，这些人已经学会应当如何了解和热爱这块土地。此外，他们还掌握了当地的语言，对新来者必会遇到的各类重大问题了如指掌。”
　　诺贝尔•德•瓦伦这时打断了他：
　　“不错……他们什么都懂，可就是不懂农事。他们会讲阿拉伯语，然而对如何移植甜菜和播种小麦却一窍不通。他们可能精通剑术，但对于施肥，却是个道地的门外汉。因此我倒认为，不妨毫无保留地把这块土地向所有人开放。精明强干者将会在那里谋得一席之地，毫无建树者终将淘汰，这是社会法则。”
　　听了这番话，谁也没有接茬，只是笑了笑。
　　乔治•杜洛瓦于是开口讲话了，这声音连他自己也感到惊讶，好像他有生以来从未听过自己说话似的。只见他说道：
　　“那边所缺少的，是出产丰盛的土地。因此真正肥沃的地块同法国一样昂贵，而且已被富有的巴黎人作为一种投资买走。真正的移民，都是些为了谋生而不得不离乡背井的穷人，他们只能在干旱缺水、寸草不生的沙漠里觅得一块栖身之地。”
　　众人都在看着他，他感到自己面红耳赤。
　　瓦尔特先生这时问了一句：
　　“您看来很了解阿尔及利亚，先生。”
　　他答道：
　　“是的，先生。我在那里呆了两年零四个月，到过三个地区。”
　　诺贝尔•德•瓦伦将莫雷尔的质询丢在一边，突然向他提了个有关当地风情的问题，他这还是从一军官口中听来的。他说的是撒哈拉腹地那个炎热的不毛之地所存在的一个奇特的阿拉伯小共和国——姆扎布。
　　杜洛瓦曾两次去过姆扎布。他于是向大家讲起了这罕见小国的风土人情，说那里滴水贵如金；社会公务由全体居民分担；生意人非常讲求信用，远远胜过文明国家。
　　他侃侃而谈。为了博得众人的欢心，同时也借着酒兴，他把自己所在团队的趣闻逸事、阿拉伯人的生活习性及战斗中的一些惊险遭遇，添枝加叶地说得天花乱坠。他甚至想出一些别开生面的词句，把那终年烈日横空、黄沙漫野的不毛之地，着实渲染了一番。
　　女士们的目光都已集中在他身上。瓦尔特夫人低声慢语地说道：“把你这些珍贵的回忆写出来，可是一组妙不可言的文章。”瓦尔特此时也抬起头来，从眼镜上方对这个年轻人仔细端详了良久。这是他的习惯，每当他打量一个人时，目光总是从镜片的上方射出，而在察看仆人送来的菜肴时，那目光便从镜片的下方射出。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃立即乘机说道：
　　“老板，关于这位乔治•杜洛瓦先生，我今天已同您谈过。我想让他作我的帮手，替我收集一点政治方面的材料，希望您能同意。自从马朗波走了之后，我一直苦于无人收集急需的内幕消息，报纸也因而受到损失。”
　　老头随即露出一副郑重其事的神色，索性摘掉眼镜，面对面又认真地看了看杜洛瓦，然后说道：
　　“杜洛瓦先生看来确有相当的才华。如果他愿意，可在明天午后三时来同我谈谈。这件事，我们届时再谈。”
　　说完之后，他停了片刻，接着又转过身对着杜洛瓦说道：
　　“你不妨马上动起笔来，先给我们写一组有关阿尔及利亚的随笔。有关的回忆当然要写，但须把殖民化问题也揉进去，就像我们大家刚才所说的那样。这有着非常重要的现实意义，我敢说，我们的读者定会喜欢这样的文章。所以要快！议会即将就此问题展开辩论，我必须在明天或后天就能拿到你第一篇文章，以便为读者提供导向。”
　　瓦尔特夫人平素对人对事一贯严肃认真而又不失其妩媚，她的话因而总使人感到亲切。她这时加了一句：
　　“你的文章可采用这样引人入胜的标题：《非洲服役散记》。诺贝尔先生，你说呢？”
　　这位年迈的诗人是很晚才成名的，他对后起之秀一向深为厌恶，甚至怀有畏惧心理。他冷冷地答了一句：
　　“好当然好，不过后面的文章能否合拍？要做到这一点，可是一件非常困难的事。这种合拍也就是音乐上所说的基调。”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人以保护人和行家的身份，向杜洛瓦深深瞥了一眼，那样子好似在说：“别怕，你能做到。”德•马莱尔夫人则几次转过头来看了看他，弄得耳朵下方的那个钻石耳坠晃动不停，好像这颗闪亮的水珠就要滴落下来似的。
　　小女孩脑袋俯向面前的碟子，依然神情严肃，一动不动地坐在那里。
　　这当儿，仆人正围着桌子，给客人们面前的蓝色酒杯斟上约翰内斯堡所产葡萄酒。弗雷斯蒂埃举起杯来向瓦尔特先生祝酒：“愿《法兰西生活报》永远兴旺发达！”
　　举座都站了起来，向这位笑容可掬的老板躬身致意。杜洛瓦踌躇满志，把杯内的酒一饮而尽。他觉得，如果现在有一桶酒，他也能喝干。他甚至可以吃掉一头牛，杀死一头狮子。他感到浑身有一股非凡的力气，胸中充满必胜的信念和无限的希望。他觉得自己现在在这些人中已完全自如，他已在他们当中赢得一席之地，占据了自己的位置。他带着过去不曾有的把握，向举座看了看，并自落座以来头一回敢于向身旁的德•马莱尔夫人说了一句：
　　“夫人，您这副耳坠真是漂亮极了，我从未见过这样的耳坠。”
　　德•马莱尔夫人转过身来，笑道：
　　“把钻石只用一根线挂在耳朵下方，是我自己的主意。这很像是一滴露珠，不是吗？”
　　杜洛瓦低声说道：
　　“确实好看……不过，要不是戴在您身上，耳坠再好也会黯然无光。”
　　话一出口，他不禁为自己的大胆感到一阵慌乱，担心自己说了句蠢话。
　　德•马莱尔夫人向他瞥了一眼，以表谢意。这明亮的目光正是女性所擅长的，它可以洞穿对方的心底。
　　他掉转头来，又与弗雷斯蒂埃夫人的目光不期而遇。这目光依然是那样亲切，但他觉得似乎从中看到一身更为明显的欢乐，以及狡黠的戏弄和鼓励。
　　几位男士此刻都在说话，不但声音洪亮，而且指手划脚。他们在谈论拟议中的地下铁道宏伟工程。这个话题一直持续到吃完甜食才告结束，因为一谈起巴黎交通的不尽人意，每个人都对有轨电车的诸多不便、公共马车所带来的烦恼和出租马车车夫的粗野待客牢骚满腹。
　　接着是喝咖啡，大家于是离开餐厅。杜洛瓦这时开了个玩笑，把胳臂向小姑娘伸了过去，不想小姑娘却一本正经地向他说了声谢谢，然后踮起脚尖，把手放到她这位邻座的胳臂上。
　　进入客厅后，杜洛瓦再度感到像是走进一间花房一样。客厅四角摆着枝叶婆娑的高大棕榈树，其挺拔的躯干一直延伸到房顶，宽阔的叶片则像喷泉一样漫向四周。
　　壁炉两边各立着一颗粗如立柱的橡胶树，长长的深绿色叶片重重叠叠。钢琴上也放了两盆盆景，里面各有一株外观呈圆形的不知名小树。树上花朵累累，一株为粉色，一株为白色。那真假难辨的样子，看去酷似人工制作，因为太好看，反而使人觉得不像是真的。
　　客厅里空气清新，并隐约伴有一缕缕沁人心脾、难以名状的暗香。
　　镇定自若的杜洛瓦，于是将这个房间仔细打量了一番。房间面积不大，除上述花草外，没有什么特别的陈设和鲜艳的色彩引起客人的注意。但呆在这里却可使人心中油然升起一种悠闲自在、安详闲适的感觉；你仿佛置身于一柔媚的天地中，不仅心恬意适，整个躯体也像是受到某种爱抚一样。
　　墙壁挂着灰色的帷慢，上面用丝线绣着一朵朵蜜蜂般大小的黄花。由于年代已久，帷幔的颜色已经暗淡了。
　　门帘是用淡青色军用呢做的，上面用红丝线绣了几朵石竹花，一直垂到地面。各式各样的座椅，大小不一，散布于房内各处。不论是长椅，大小扶手椅，还是用软垫做的圆墩或一般木凳，全都蒙着一层座套。这些座套，有的是丝绸织物，用的是路易十六时代的式样，有的则是来自乌特勒支①的华贵天鹅绒，在乳白色绒面上印着石榴红图案。
　　--------
　　①乌特勒支，荷兰一地名。
　　“喝点咖啡吗，杜洛瓦先生？”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人这时给他端来满满一杯咖啡，嘴角始终浮着一丝亲切的微笑。
　　“好的，夫人，谢谢。”
　　他们杯子接了过来。当他用银夹子俯身在小姑娘捧着的糖罐里小心翼翼夹起一块糖块时，这位女主人在他耳边低声说了一句：
　　“去同瓦尔特夫人客套两句。”
　　接着，未等杜洛瓦开口，她便转身走开了。
　　由于担心会将咖啡洒在地毯上，他赶紧先把咖啡喝了。这方面的顾虑既已消除，他也就开始寻找机会，去接近他这个未来上司的太太，同她攀谈两句。
　　他忽然发现，她杯中的咖啡已经喝完，由于离桌子较远，此时正不知将杯子往哪儿放。他抢步走了过去：
　　“夫人，请把杯子给我吧。”
　　“谢谢，先生。”
　　他把杯子送到桌上，随即又走了回来：
　　“夫人，您知道吗，我在荒漠服役的那些日子，是常以《法兰西生活报》打发时光的。它是我们在海外所能看到的唯一一份名副其实的刊物，因为它生动活泼，趣味盎然，比其他刊物更能给人以启迪和美的享受。人们从中可以得到所期望的一切。”
　　她淡淡地笑了笑，目光中透出友好的神情，然后郑重其事地答道：
　　“为创办这符合时代要求的刊物，瓦尔特先生确实费了不少心血。”
　　接着，他们聊了起来。杜洛瓦口若悬河，虽然所谈内容淡而无味，但两眼神采飞扬，声音娓娓动听，上唇两撇漂亮的短髭更具有令人不可抗拒的魅力。它起于嘴角，天生卷曲，金黄中略带赭红，末梢部分则颜色稍淡。
　　他们谈到巴黎和巴黎近郊，谈到塞纳河沿岸的风光和一些依水而建的城市以及夏天的种种游乐场所，总之是一些可以谈论终日而不会感到疲倦的日常琐事。
　　这当儿，见诺贝尔•德•瓦伦端着一杯酒走了过来，杜洛瓦知趣地走开了。
　　刚同弗雷斯蒂埃夫人聊完的德•马莱尔夫人，把他叫了过去，突然说道：
　　“先生，这么说，您是要试试记者这一行喽？”
　　他大致谈了谈自己的设想，然后又同她重新谈起了刚才同瓦尔特夫人已经谈过的话题。不过，由于他对所谈内容已经非常熟悉，因而谈笑自如，把他刚才听来的话当作自己的东西又复述了一遍。不但如此，他一面谈着，一面还目不转睛地看着对方，好像这样可给自己的谈话增加一点深刻的含义。
　　德•马莱尔夫人也和所有自命不凡、时时想显示其诙谐风趣的女人一样，滔滔不绝地给他讲了些趣闻逸事。她显出一副亲密的样子，压低嗓音，把手搭在他的手臂上，好像要同他讲点私房话，结果却是些鸡毛蒜皮的小事。同这个对他深表关心的女人比肩而立，杜洛瓦不禁心潮澎湃，不能自已，恨不得马上就向她表示自己的忠心，随时保卫她，让她看看他是一个怎样的人。就这样，他深深地沉陷于自己的思绪中，对她的话久久未能作答。
　　不想这时，德•马莱尔夫人突然莫名其妙地喊了一声：
　　“洛琳娜！”
　　小姑娘应声跑了过来。
　　“孩子，坐到这儿来，站在窗口会着凉的。”
　　杜洛瓦突发奇想，想亲一下小女孩，好像这吻能多多少少传到她母亲身上。
　　于是，他以长辈的口吻，亲热地向孩子问道：
　　“小姑娘，能让我亲你一下吗？”
　　女孩抬起眼来怔怔地看着他。德•马莱尔夫人笑着说：“你就对他说：可以，先生。不过只是今天这一回，以后可不行。”
　　杜洛瓦随即坐了下来，将洛琳娜一把抱起，放在腿上，然后用嘴唇在她那波浪起伏的秀发上轻轻地碰了一下。
　　孩子的母亲惊讶不已：
　　“瞧，她没有逃走，这可真是怪事儿。要知道，她平常是只让女人亲的。杜洛瓦先生，您的魅力真是叫人没法抗拒。”
　　杜洛瓦满脸通红，一言未发，只是轻轻地把小家伙在腿上来回摇晃。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人走过来，发出一声惊叹：
　　“哎呀，洛琳娜已变得多乖，这可实在少有！”
　　雅克•里瓦尔嘴上叼着雪茄，也走了过来。杜洛瓦站起身，准备告辞，因为他觉得今天这场约会虽然艰难，但总算对付过去了，不要因为自己的一言不慎而断送已经开始的大好前程。
　　他欠了欠身，轻轻地握了握女士们伸过来的一只只纤纤细手，而对男士们伸过来的手则拿起来使劲摇了摇。他发现，雅克•里瓦尔的手虽然干瘪，但热乎乎的，便也怀着一片热诚，使劲握了握；诺贝尔•德•瓦伦的手则又湿又凉，且很快便从他的手中抽走了；瓦尔特老头的手就更是冷若冰霜，虚于应付了，没有作出任何热情的表示。只有弗雷斯蒂埃的手不但厚实而且温暖。他低声向杜洛瓦叮嘱了一句：
　　“明天下午三点，别忘了。”
　　“忘不了，请放心。”
　　当他重新走到刚才走过的那个楼梯前时，他真想一口气冲下去，因为事情如此顺利，他太高兴了。他于是迈开大步，每两级楼梯一步向下走去，不想快到三楼时，他忽然从楼梯口的镜中发现，一位先生正急匆匆地往上走来，他随即停了下来，好像做了什么见不得人的事被当场抓住似的。
　　随后，他对着镜子端详良久，为自己确实长得一表人材而洋洋自得，欣慰地向自己笑了笑。接着弯下腰，像对待什么大人物似的，向镜中的这位美男子郑重其事地行了个大礼，不无遗憾地走下楼去。
Chapter 3 First Attempts
When Georges Duroy reached the street, he hesitated as to what he should do. He felt inclined to stroll along, dreaming of the future and inhaling the soft night air; but the thought of the series of articles ordered by M. Walter occurred to him, and he decided to return home at once and begin work. He walked rapidly along until he came to Rue Boursault. The tenement in which he lived was occupied by twenty families — families of workingmen — and as he mounted the staircase he experienced a sensation of disgust and a desire to live as wealthy men do. Duroy’s room was on the fifth floor. He entered it, opened his window, and looked out: the view was anything but prepossessing.
He turned away, thinking: “This won’t do. I must go to work.” So he placed his light upon the table and began to write. He dipped his pen into the ink and wrote at the head of his paper in a bold hand: “Souvenirs of a Soldier in Africa.” Then he cast about for the first phrase. He rested his head upon his hand and stared at the blank sheet before him. What should he say? Suddenly he thought: “I must begin with my departure,” and he wrote: “In 1874, about the fifteenth of May, when exhausted France was recruiting after the catastrophe of the terrible years —” Here he stopped short, not knowing how to introduce his subject. After a few minutes’ reflection, he decided to lay aside that page until the following day, and to write a description of Algiers. He began: “Algiers is a very clean city —” but he could not continue. After an effort he added: “It is inhabited partly by Arabs.” Then he threw his pen upon the table and arose. He glanced around his miserable room; mentally he rebelled against his poverty and resolved to leave the next day.
Suddenly the desire to work came on him, and he tried to begin the article again; he had vague ideas of what he wanted to say, but he could not express his thoughts in words. Convinced of his inability he arose once more, his blood coursing rapidly through his veins. He turned to the window just as the train was coming out of the tunnel, and his thoughts reverted to his parents. He saw their tiny home on the heights overlooking Rouen and the valley of the Seine. His father and mother kept an inn, La Belle-Vue, at which the citizens of the faubourgs took their lunches on Sundays. They had wished to make a “gentleman” of their son and had sent him to college. His studies completed, he had entered the army with the intention of becoming an officer, a colonel, or a general. But becoming disgusted with military life, he determined to try his fortune in Paris. When his time of service had expired, he went thither, with what results we have seen. He awoke from his reflections as the locomotive whistled shrilly, closed his window, and began to disrobe, muttering: “Bah, I shall be able to work better to-morrow morning. My brain is not clear to-night. I have drunk a little too much. I can’t work well under such circumstances.” He extinguished his light and fell asleep.
He awoke early, and, rising, opened his window to inhale the fresh air. In a few moments he seated himself at his table, dipped his pen in the ink, rested his head upon his hand and thought — but in vain! However, he was not discouraged, but in thought reassured himself: “Bah, I am not accustomed to it! It is a profession that must be learned like all professions. Some one must help me the first time. I’ll go to Forestier. He’ll start my article for me in ten minutes.”
When he reached the street, Duroy decided that it was rather early to present himself at his friend’s house, so he strolled along under the trees on one of the boulevards for a time. On arriving at Forestier’s door, he found his friend going out.
“You here — at this hour! Can I do anything for you?”
Duroy stammered in confusion: “I— I— cannot write that article on Algeria that M. Walter wants. It is not very surprising, seeing that I have never written anything. It requires practice. I could write very rapidly, I am sure, if I could make a beginning. I have the ideas but I cannot express them.” He paused and hesitated.
Forestier smiled maliciously: “I understand that.”
Duroy continued: “Yes, anyone is liable to have that trouble at the beginning; and, well — I have come to ask you to help me. In ten minutes you can set me right. You can give me a lesson in style; without you I can do nothing.”
The other smiled gaily. He patted his companion’s arm and said to him: “Go to my wife; she will help you better than I can. I have trained her for that work. I have not time this morning or I would do it willingly.”
But Duroy hesitated: “At this hour I cannot inquire for her.”
“Oh, yes, you can; she has risen. You will find her in my study.”
“I will go, but I shall tell her you sent me!”
Forestier walked away, and Duroy slowly ascended the stairs, wondering what he should say and what kind of a reception he would receive.
The servant who opened the door said: “Monsieur has gone out.”
Duroy replied: “Ask Mme. Forestier if she will see me, and tell her that M. Forestier, whom I met on the street, sent me.”
The lackey soon returned and ushered Duroy into Madame’s presence. She was seated at a table and extended her hand to him.
“So soon?” said she. It was not a reproach, but a simple question.
He stammered: “I did not want to come up, Madame, but your husband, whom I met below, insisted — I dare scarcely tell you my errand — I worked late last night and early this morning, to write the article on Algeria which M. Walter wants — and I did not succeed — I destroyed all my attempts — I am not accustomed to the work — and I came to ask Forestier to assist me — his once.”
She interrupted with a laugh: “And he sent you to me?”
“Yes, Madame. He said you could help me better than he — but — I dared not — I did not like to.”
She rose.
“It will be delightful to work together that way. I am charmed with your idea. Wait, take my chair, for they know my handwriting on the paper — we will write a successful article.”
She took a cigarette from the mantelpiece and lighted it. “I cannot work without smoking,” she said; “what are you going to say?”
He looked at her in astonishment. “I do not know; I came here to find that out.”
She replied: “I will manage it all right. I will make the sauce but I must have the dish.” She questioned him in detail and finally said:
“Now, we will begin. First of all we will suppose that you are addressing a friend, which will allow us scope for remarks of all kinds. Begin this way: ‘My dear Henry, you wish to know something about Algeria; you shall.’”
Then followed a brilliantly worded description of Algeria and of the port of Algiers, an excursion to the province of Oran, a visit to Saida, and an adventure with a pretty Spanish maid employed in a factory.
When the article was concluded, he could find no words of thanks; he was happy to be near her, grateful for and delighted with their growing intimacy. It seemed to him that everything about him was a part of her, even to the books upon the shelves. The chairs, the furniture, the air — all were permeated with that delightful fragrance peculiar to her.
She asked bluntly: “What do you think of my friend Mme. de Marelle?”
“I think her very fascinating,” he said; and he would have liked to add: “But not as much so as you.” He had not the courage to do so.
She continued: “If you only knew how comical, original, and intelligent she is! She is a true Bohemian. It is for that reason that her husband no longer loves her. He only sees her defects and none of her good qualities.”
Duroy was surprised to hear that Mme. de Marelle was married.
“What,” he asked, “is she married? What does her husband do?”
Mme. Forestier shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, he is superintendent of a railroad. He is in Paris a week out of each month. His wife calls it ‘Holy Week.’ or ‘The week of duty.’ When you get better acquainted with her, you will see how witty she is! Come here and see her some day.”
As she spoke, the door opened noiselessly, and a gentleman entered unannounced. He halted on seeing a man. For a moment Mme. Forestier seemed confused; then she said in a natural voice, though her cheeks were tinged with a blush:
“Come in, my dear sir; allow me to present to you an old comrade of Charles, M. Georges Duroy, a future journalist.” Then in a different tone, she said: “Our best and dearest friend, Count de Vaudrec.”
The two men bowed, gazed into one another’s eyes, and then Duroy took his leave. Neither tried to detain him.
On reaching the street he felt sad and uncomfortable. Count de Vaudrec’s face was constantly before him. It seemed to him that the man was displeased at finding him tete-a-tete with Mme. Forestier, though why he should be, he could not divine.
To while away the time until three o’clock, he lunched at Duval’s, and then lounged along the boulevard. When the clock chimed the hour of his appointment, he climbed the stairs leading to the office of “La Vie Francaise.”
Duroy asked: “Is M. Walter in?”
“M. Walter is engaged,” was the reply. “Will you please take a seat?”
Duroy waited twenty minutes, then he turned to the clerk and said: “M. Walter had an appointment with me at three o’clock. At any rate, see if my friend M. Forestier is here.”
He was conducted along a corridor and ushered into a large room in which four men were writing at a table. Forestier was standing before the fireplace, smoking a cigarette. After listening to Duroy’s story he said:
“Come with me; I will take you to M. Walter, or else you might remain here until seven o’clock.”
They entered the manager’s room. Norbert de Varenne was writing an article, seated in an easychair; Jacques Rival, stretched upon a divan, was smoking a cigar. The room had the peculiar odor familiar to all journalists. When they approached M. Walter, Forestier said: “Here is my friend Duroy.”
The manager looked keenly at the young man and asked:
“Have you brought my article?”
Duroy drew the sheets of manuscript from his pocket.
“Here they are, Monsieur.”
The manager seemed delighted and said with a smile: “Very good. You are a man of your word. Need I look over it, Forestier?”
But Forestier hastened to reply: “It is not necessary, M. Walter; I helped him in order to initiate him into the profession. It is very good.” Then bending toward him, he whispered: “You know you promised to engage Duroy to replace Marambot. Will you allow me to retain him on the same terms?”
“Certainly.”
Taking his friend’s arm, the journalist drew him away, while M. Walter returned to the game of ecarte he had been engaged in when they entered. Forestier and Duroy returned to the room in which Georges had found his friend. The latter said to his new reporter:
“You must come here every day at three o’clock, and I will tell you what places to go to. First of all, I shall give you a letter of introduction to the chief of the police, who will in turn introduce you to one of his employees. You can arrange with him for all important news, official and semiofficial. For details you can apply to Saint-Potin, who is posted; you will see him to-morrow. Above all, you must learn to make your way everywhere in spite of closed doors. You will receive two hundred francs a months, two sous a line for original matter, and two sous a line for articles you are ordered to write on different subjects.”
“What shall I do to-day?” asked Duroy.
“I have no work for you to-day; you can go if you wish to.”
“And our — our article?”
“Oh, do not worry about it; I will correct the proofs. Do the rest to-morrow and come here at three o’clock as you did to-day.”
And after shaking hands, Duroy descended the staircase with a light heart.
　　到了街上，乔治•杜洛瓦有点犹豫不定，不知道自己现在该去做点什么。
　　他真想撒开两腿，痛痛快快地跑一起，又想找个地方坐下来，任凭自己的想象自由驰骋。他一边漫无目的地往前走着，一边憧憬着美好的未来，呼吸着夏夜清凉的空气。可是，瓦尔特老头要他写文章的事总在他的脑际盘旋不去，他因而决定还是立刻回去，马上就动起笔来。
　　他大步往回走着，很快便到了住所附近的环城大道，然后沿着这条大道，一直走到他所住的布尔索街，这是一幢七层楼房，里面住着二十来户人家，全都是工人和普通市民。楼内很黑，他只得以点火用的蜡绳照明。楼梯上，到处是烟头纸屑和厨房内扔出的污物，他不由地感到一阵恶心，真想明天就搬出这个鬼地方，像富人那样，住到窗明几净、铺着地毯的房子里去。不像这里，整个楼房从上到下，终日弥漫着令人窒息的混浊气味，如饭菜味、汗酸味、便池溢出的臭味，以及随处可见的陈年污物和表皮剥落的墙壁发出的积聚不散的霉味，什么样的穿堂风也不能将它吹散。
　　杜洛瓦住在六层楼上，窗外便是城西铁路距巴蒂寥尔车站不远的隧道出口。狭长的通道，两边立着高耸的石壁。俯视下方，如临深渊。杜洛瓦打开窗户，支着胳肘靠在窗前，窗上的铁栏杆早已一片锈蚀。
　　只见下方黑咕隆咚的通道深处，一动不动地闪烁着三盏红色信号灯，看去酷似伏在那里的野兽眼内发出的寒光。这灯，稍远处又是几盏；再远处还有几盏。长短不定的汽笛声不时划破夜空，有的近在咫尺，有的来自阿尼尔方向，几乎听不太清。这汽笛声同人的喊声一样，也有强弱变化。其中一声由远而近，由弱而强，呜呜咽咽，如泣如诉；不久，随着一声长鸣，黑暗中突然一道耀眼的黄光奔驰而来，但见一长串车厢带着隆隆声消失在隧道深处。
　　看到这里。杜洛瓦在心里嘀咕道：
　　“得了，该去写我的文章了。”
　　他把灯放在桌上，正打算伏案动笔，才发现他这里仅有一叠信笺。
　　管他呢，就用这信笺吧。说着，他把信笺摊开，拿起笔，在墨盒里蘸了点墨水，作为标题，在信笺上方工工整整地写了几个秀丽的大字：
　　非洲服役散记
　　接着开始考虑，这开篇第一句该如何下笔。
　　他托着腮，目光盯着面前摊开的方形白色信笺，半晌毫无动静。
　　怎么回事？刚才还绘声绘色地讲的那些趣闻和经历，怎么竟全都无影无踪，一点也想不起来了？他忽然眼睛一亮：
　　“对，这第一篇应当从我启程那天写起。”
　　于是提笔写道：
　　那是一八七四年五月十五日前后，刚刚经历了可怕
　　岁月的法国，已是百孔千疮，正处于休养生息之际……
　　写到这里，他的笔突然停住了，不知道应如何落笔，方可引出随后的经历：港口登船、海上航行及登上非洲大陆的最初激动。
　　他考虑了很长时间，依然一无所获，最后只得决定，这第一段开场白还是放到明天再写，此刻不如把阿尔及尔的市容先写出来。
　　他在另一张纸上写道：“阿尔及尔是一座洁白的城市……”再往下，又什么也写不出来了。提起阿尔及尔，他的眼前又浮现出了那座明丽而漂亮的城市。一座座低矮的平房，如同飞泻而下的瀑布，由山顶一直伸展到海边。然而无论他怎样搜尽枯肠，也依然想不出一个完整的句子，把当时的感受和所见所闻表达出来。
　　这样憋了半天，终于又想出一句：“该城一部分由阿拉伯人占据……”此后又是已经出现过的尴尬局面，依然是什么也写不出。他把笔往桌上一扔，站了起来。
　　身边那张小铁床，因他睡得久了，中间已凹下一块。他看到，床上现在扔着一堆他平素穿的衣服，不但皱皱巴巴，而且没有丝毫挺括可言，看那龌龊的样子，简直同停尸房待人认领的破衣烂衫相差无几。在一张垫着麦秸的椅子上，放着他唯一的一顶丝质礼帽，且帽筒朝天，仿佛在等待布施。
　　四壁贴着灰底蓝花的糊墙纸，斑斑驳驳，布满污渍。因为年深日久，这些污渍已说不清是怎样造成的。有的可能是按扁了的虫蚁或溅上去的油珠，有的则可能是沾了发蜡的指印或是漱洗时从脸盆里飞溅出的肥皂泡。总之，举目所见，一副破烂景象，使人备觉凄楚。在巴黎，凡带家具出租的房舍，都是这种衰败、破落的样子。看到自己住的地方如此恶劣，杜洛瓦再也沉不住气了。“搬，明天就搬，这种穷愁潦倒的生活再也不能继续下去了，”他在心里发恨道。
　　想到这里，他心中突然涌起一股跃跃欲试的劲头，决心非把这篇文章写出来不可。于是又重新在桌边坐了下来，为准确地描述出阿尔及尔这座别具风情的迷人城市，而苦苦地思索着。非洲这块诱人的、迄今尚未开垦的处女地，不仅居住着四海为家的阿拉伯人，而且居住着不为世人所知的黑人。迄今为止，人们对非洲的了解还仅限于在公园里间或可看到的那些珍禽异兽。正是这些带有神秘色彩的珍禽异兽，为人们绘声绘色地创造出的一个个神话故事，提供了取之不尽的素材。比如有野鸡的奇异变种——身躯高大的驼鸟，有超凡脱俗的山羊——动作敏捷如飞的羚羊，此外还有脖颈细长、滑稽可笑的长颈鹿、神态庄重的骆驼、力大无比的河马、步履蹒跚的犀牛，以及人类的近亲——性情凶悍的大猩猩。而阿尔及尔正是进入这神秘、广袤的非洲大陆所必经的门户。
　　杜洛瓦隐约感到，自己总算摸到一点思路了。不过这些东西，他若口头表达，恐怕倒还可以，但要写成文章，就难而又难了。他为自己力不从心而焦躁不已，接着重又站了起来，两手汗津津的，太阳穴跳个不停。
　　他的目光这时在无意中落到一张洗衣服的帐单上，这是门房当晚送上来的。屋漏偏逢倾盆雨，他蓦然感到一片绝望。转眼之间，满腔的喜悦连同他的自信和对未来的美好憧憬，已消失得无影无踪。这下完了，一切都完了。他成不了什么大事，不会有什么作为。他感到自己是如此的空虚，无能，天生是个废物，不可能有飞黄腾达的日子。
　　他又回到窗前，俯身对着窗外。恰在这时，忽然汽笛长鸣，一列火车带着隆隆的声响钻出窗下的隧道，穿过原野，向天际的海边驶去。这使他想起了远在那边的父母。
　　父母居住的小屋，离铁路仅有十几公里之遥。他仿佛又看到了这间小屋，它立于康特勒村村口，俯瞰着近在咫尺的卢昂城①和四周一望无际的塞纳河冲积平原。
　　--------
　　①卢昂，法国塞纳河下游，距英吉利海峡不远的一座大城市。
　　父母在自己居住的农舍开了一家小酒店，取名“风光酒店”。每逢星期天，卢昂城关的一些有钱人常会举家来此就餐。父母一心希望儿子能出人头地，所以让他上了中学。可是学业期满，他的毕业会考却未通过，于是抱着将来或许能当个中校或将军的心理去服兵役。然而五年的服役期刚刚过半，他已对这种单调乏味的军人生活腻烦透了，一心想到巴黎来碰碰运气。
　　父母对他的期望早已破灭，曾想把他留在身边。但他不顾父母的恳求，服役期一满，便到了巴黎。同父母当年望子成龙心切一样，他也盼望着自己能果然混个样儿来。他隐约感到，只要抓住有利时机，是定会成功的。只是这机会是什么样子，他还只有一些朦胧的感觉。他相信，到时候，他是定会努力促成，抓住不放的。
　　在团队驻守的地方，他曾一帆风顺，运气很是不错，甚至在当地的上流社会中有过几次艳遇。他曾把一税务官的女儿弄到手，姑娘为了能够跟他，曾决心扔掉一切。他还勾引过一个讼师的妻子，这女人被他遗弃后，在失望之际，曾打算投河自尽。
　　团队里的同伴在谈到他的时候，都说他“为人精明，诡谲，遇事干练而沉稳，总有办法对付”。是的，他就要让自己成为一个“精明、诡谲、遇事干练”的人。
　　在非洲这几年，他虽然天天过的是军营的刻板生活，但间或也干些杀人越货、非法买卖和尔虞我诈的勾当；平时所受教育虽然是流行于军中的荣誉观和爱国精神，但耳闻目睹却是一些人的渴慕虚荣和好大喜功，是下级官兵间流传的一些侠义故事。经过这些年的耳濡目染，他那来自娘胎的诺曼底人天性早已失去其原来的单纯了。他的脑海里如今装着的，是三教九流，无奇不有。
　　但其中最主要的，却是不惜一切向上爬的强烈欲望。
　　不知不觉中，他又想入非非起来了，这是他每天晚上孤灯独坐时所常有的。他梦想着自己一天在大街上同一位银行家或达官贵人的千金小姐萍水相逢，对方立刻为他的翩翩风度所倾倒，对他一见钟情。不久，二人遂喜结良缘，他也就一蹴而就，从此平步青云，今非昔比了。
　　不想一声尖利的汽笛声，把他从这场美梦中惊醒了过来。只见一辆机车像一只突然从窝里窜出的肥大兔子，孤零零地钻出隧道，全速向机库飞驰而去。
　　人是醒了，但那个终日梦牵魂萦的甜蜜而又不太真切的期望，却依然停留在心里。他举起手，向窗外的茫茫黑夜投了个飞吻。这飞吻既是对他期待已久的梦中美人所寄予的缠绵情思，也是对他朝思暮想的荣华富贵所给予的祝祷。接着，他关上窗户，开始宽衣上床，口中喃喃地说道：
　　“算了，今天晚上思想不太集中，明天早上肯定不会这样。再说，我今晚可能多喝了两杯，在这种情况下哪里能写出好文章？”
　　他爬上床，吹灭了灯，几乎是立刻就呼呼睡去了。
　　第二天，他醒得很早，如同心里有事或怀抱某种强烈希望的人所常见的。他跳下床，走去打开窗户，深深地吸了一口新鲜空气。
　　向前望去，宽阔的铁路通道那边的罗马街，沐浴在灿烂的晨光下，街上的房子好似刷了一层白色的彩釉，分外耀眼。而在右边，远处的阿让特山丘、萨努瓦高地和奥热蒙磨房，则笼罩在一层轻柔的淡蓝色晨雾中，仿佛天际有一块透明的纱巾在随风飘荡。
　　杜洛瓦在窗边站了一会儿，默默地遥看远处的田野，口中喃喃地说道：“天气这样好，那边的景色一定非常迷人。”接着，他想到那篇文章尚无着落，必须马上动手。于是拿出十个苏给了门房的儿子，打发他去他办公的地方给他请个病假。
　　他在桌边坐了下来，拿起笔，在墨盒里蘸了点墨水，随后又双手托着脑门，冥思苦想起来。但依然是白费劲儿，脑袋里空空的，一个完整的句子也未想出。
　　不过他并未气馁，心中嘀咕道：“哎，我对于这一行还不摸门，这也同其他行业一样，需要有一个适应过程。要写好这篇文章，看来得有个人在开始的时候给我指点一下。我这就去找弗雷斯蒂埃，他不消十分钟，便会帮我把文章的架子搭起来。”
　　说着，他穿好了衣服。
　　到了街上，他又觉得，弗雷斯蒂埃昨晚一定睡得很晚，现在去他家未免太早。他因而沿着附近那条环城大街，在树下慢慢地溜达了起来。
　　现在还刚刚九点，他信步走进蒙梭公园。因为刚洒过水，公园里的空气显得特别湿润而清凉。
　　他找了条长椅坐下，又开始想入非非起来。一衣着入时的青年男子正在他的前方来回踱着方步，显然是在等候一位女士。
　　果不其然，过了片刻，一个戴着面纱的女人急匆匆地走了过来，握了握男青年的手。然后挽着他的胳臂，双双离去了。
　　此情此景在杜洛瓦心中突然掀起了一股对于爱的追求的汹涌波涛，但他所需要的，是名门闺秀的爱，是格调高雅、别具柔情的爱。他站起身，继续向弗雷斯蒂埃家走去，心下想着，这家伙倒是福星高照，鸿运亨通！
　　不想他走到朋友家门口，正赶上他从里边出来。
　　“啊，你来啦。这个时候来找我，有什么事吗？”
　　杜洛瓦见他正要出门，未免有点难于启齿，半晌说道：
　　“我……我……我想告诉你，瓦尔特先生要我写的关于阿尔及利亚的文章，我没有写出来。这很好理解，因为我一篇东西也未写过。干哪一行都得有个熟悉过程，写文章也不例外。我相信，我会很快写出好文章来的，但开始阶段，我却有点不摸门儿。文章的意思我已想好，整篇都想好了，就是不知道怎样把它写出来。”
　　说到这里，他停了下来，一副欲言又止的样子。弗雷斯蒂埃狡黠地向他笑了笑说：
　　“这我知道。”
　　杜洛瓦于是接着说道：
　　“就是呀，不管做什么，人人在开始的时候都会这样。所以我今天来……是想求你帮个忙……我想费你几分钟时间，请件帮我把文章的架子搭起来。此外，这种文章应采用什么样的格调，遣词造句应当注意什么，也请你给我指点指点。否则，没有你的帮助，这篇文章我是交不了差的。”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃始终在那里乐呵呵地笑着。后来，他拍了拍这位老友的臂膀，向他说道：
　　“这样吧，你马上去找我妻子，她会帮你把这件事办好的，而且办得不会比我差。她那写文章的功夫，是我一手调教出来的。我今天上午没空，要不，帮你这点忙，还不是一句话？”
　　杜洛瓦一听，立刻露出为难的样子，犹豫半天，才怯生生地说道：
　　“我在这个时候去找她，恐怕不太合适吧？……”
　　“没关系，你尽管去好了。她已经起床，我下楼时，她已在我的书房里替我整理笔记。”
　　杜洛瓦还是不敢上去。
　　“不行……这哪儿行？”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃两手搭在他的肩头，把他的身子使劲转了过去，一边往楼梯边推搡，一边向他说道：
　　“我说你就去吧，你这个人怎么这样肉呢？我既然叫你去，总不会没有道理的。你难道一定要我再爬上四楼，领着你去见她，把你的情况向她讲一讲？”
　　杜洛瓦这才打消顾虑：
　　“那好，既然这样，我就只好从命了。我将对她说，是你一定要我上去找她的。”
　　“行，你怎么说都行。放心好了，她不会吃掉你的。最主要的是，可别忘了今天下午三点的约会。”
　　“请放心，我不会忘的。”
　　这样，弗雷斯蒂埃心急火燎地赶紧走了，站在楼梯边的杜洛瓦于是开始慢慢地拾级而上，同时心中在考虑着应当怎样说明自己的来意，仍为自己不知会受到怎样的接待而有点忐忑不安。
　　腰间系着蓝布围裙、手上拿着笤帚的仆人，来给他开了门。仆人未等他开口，先就说道：
　　“先生出去了。”
　　杜洛瓦不慌不忙地说道：
　　“请去问一下弗雷斯蒂埃夫人，看她现在能不能见我。请告诉她，我刚才已在街上见到弗雷斯蒂埃先生，是他叫我来的。”
　　仆人随即走了，杜洛瓦在门边等着。须臾，仆人回转来，打开右边一扇门，向他说道：
　　“太太请先生进去。”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人正坐有书房里的一把扶手椅上。书房不大，四壁严严实实地围着一圈高大的红木书架。一排排隔板上整齐地码放着各类图书。形形色色的精装本更是色彩纷呈，有红的、黄的、绿的、紫的和蓝的，使得本来单调乏味的小小书屋显得琳琅满目，充满勃勃生机。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人穿了一件镶着花边的晨衣。她转过身来，嘴角漾着一丝笑意，把手伸给杜洛瓦，从宽大的敞口衣袖中，露出了她那洁白的手臂。
　　“您怎么这么早就来了？”她向他问道。
　　但接着又补充道：
　　“我毫无责备的意思，只是随便问问。”
　　杜洛瓦结结巴巴地说：
　　“啊，夫人，我本不想上来，刚才在楼下见到您丈夫，是他一定要我来的。至于我为何而来，实在叫我难于启齿。”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人指了指一把椅子：
　　“请坐下说吧。”
　　她把一支鹅毛笔在指间迅速转动着，面前摊着的一大张纸，刚刚写了一半，显然是因杜洛瓦的来访而中断了。
　　她坐在办公桌前，从容不迫地处理着日常事务，好像在自己的房间里一样无拘无束。由于刚刚洗浴过，从她那披着晨衣的身上不断地散发出一缕缕令人神驰心醉的清新幽香。循着这股幽香，杜洛瓦不禁暗暗揣度起来，觉得这轻柔罗纱裹着的玉体，一定是不但青春焕发，白皙娇美，而且体态丰满，富于温馨。
　　见杜洛瓦始终一声不吭，她只得又问道：
　　“怎么样？有什么事您就照直说吧。”
　　杜洛瓦欲言又止，支支吾吾地说道：
　　“是这样的……我实在……不好意思……为了写瓦尔特先生要的那篇关于阿尔及利亚的文章……我昨晚回去后写得很晚才上床就寝……今天……一早起来又写……可是总觉得写得不像样子……我一气之下把写好的东西全都撕了……我对于这一行还有点不太习惯……所以今天来找弗雷斯蒂埃给我帮个忙……就这一次……”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人哈哈大笑，从而打断了他那结结巴巴的话语。从这笑声中可以看出，她是那样地高兴、快乐，甚至有点洋洋自得。
　　“这样他就让您来找我了……？”她接着说道，“这可真有意思……”
　　“是的，夫人。他说您要是肯帮我这个忙，一定比他强得多……可是我不好意思，哪能为这点小事来麻烦您？情况就是这样。”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人站起身，说道：
　　“您的这个想法倒触发了我的兴趣，这种合作方式一定很有意思。好吧，那就请坐到我的位置上来，因为文章如果直接由我来写，报馆里的人一下就会认出笔迹。我们这就来把您那篇文章写出来，而且定要一炮打响。”
　　杜洛瓦坐下来，在面前摊开一张纸，然后拿起笔等待着。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人站在一边，看着他做这些准备工作。随后，她走到壁炉边拿起一支香烟，点着后说道：
　　“您知道，我一干起活来就要抽烟。来，给我讲讲您打算写些什么？”
　　杜洛瓦抬起头来，不解地看着她：
　　“我也不知道。我来这儿找您就是为了这个。”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人只得说道：
　　“不错，文章可以由我来组织。但我不能做无米之炊，我所能做的是提供作料。”
　　杜洛瓦依然满脸窘态，最后只得吞吞吐吐地说道：
　　“我这篇散记，想从动身那天讲起。”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人在桌子的另一头坐了下来，同他遥遥相对，一面仍目不转睛地看着他：
　　“很好，那就从动身那天讲起来吧。请注意，就当我一个人在听您讲，可以讲得慢一点，不要遗漏任何东西。我将从中挑选所需的东西。”
　　然而真的要讲起来，他又不知从何说起了。弗雷斯蒂埃夫人只好像教堂里听人忏悔的神甫那样不断地询问他，向他提出一些具体问题，帮助他回忆当时的详情和他所遇见的、那怕只有一面之缘的人士。
　　就这样，弗雷斯蒂埃夫人逼着他讲了大约一刻钟，然后突然打断了他：
　　“咱们现在可以开始写起来了。首先，我们将以您给一位朋友谈见闻的方式来写这篇文章。这样可以随便一些，想说什么就说什么，尽量把文章写得自然而有趣。好，就这样，开始吧：
　　亲爱的亨利，你说过，想知道一些有关阿尔及利亚的情况，从今天起，我将满足你的这一要求。住在这种干打垒的小土屋中，我天天实在闲极了，因此将把我每一天，甚至每一小时的切身经历写成日记，然后便寄给你。然而这样一来，有些情况势必会未加斟酌便如实写出，因而显得相当粗糙，这我也就管不了许多了。你只要不把它拿出来给你身边的那些女士看，也就行了……
　　口授到这里，她停了下来，把已熄灭的香烟重新点着。她一停，杜洛瓦手上那支鹅毛笔在稿纸上发出的沙沙声，也立即戛然而止。
　　“咱们再往下写，”她随后说。
　　阿尔及利亚是法国的属地，面积很大，周围是人迹罕至的广大地区，即我们常说的沙漠、撒哈拉、中非等等……
　　阿尔及尔这座洁白美丽的城市，便是这奇异大陆的
　　门户。
　　要去那里，首先得坐船。这对我们大家来说，并不是人人都会顺利无虞的。你是知道的，我对于驯马很是在行，上校的那几匹烈马，就是由我驯服的。可是一个人无论怎样精通骑术，一到海上，要征服那汹涌的波涛，他也就无所施展了。我就是这样。
　　你想必还记得我们把他叫做“吐根大夫”①的桑布勒塔军医吧。在我来此地之前，每当我们认为机会到来，想到军医所那个洞天福地去松快一天的时候，我们便找个理由，到那儿去找他看病。
　　--------
　　①“吐根”，草药。其根茎呈暗黑色，可入药，有催吐作用。
　　他总穿着一条红色长裤，叉开两条粗壮的大腿坐在
　　椅子上，同时手扶膝盖，胳肘朝上，使臂膀弯成一个弓形，两只鼓鼓的眼珠转个不停，嘴里轻轻地咬着那发白的胡子。
　　你还记得吗，那千篇一律的药方是这样写的：
　　“该士兵肠胃失调，请照方发给本医师所配三号催吐剂一副，服后休息十二小时，即可痊愈。”
　　此催吐剂是那样神圣，人人不得拒绝服用。现在大夫既然开了，当然是照服不误。再说服了“吐根大夫”配制的这种催吐剂，还可享受难得的十二小时休息。
　　现在呢，亲爱的朋友，在前往非洲的途中，我们在四十小时中所经受的煎熬，形同服了另一种谁也无法逃脱的催吐剂，而这一回，这种虎狼之剂，却用的是大西洋轮船公司的配方。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人搓搓手，显然对文章的构思感到非常满意。
　　她又点燃一支烟，站起身在房间里来回踱着方步，一边抽着烟，一边继续口授。她把嘴努成一个小圆圈，烟从小圆圈喷出，先是袅袅上升，然后渐渐扩散开来，变成一条条灰白的线条，轻飘飘地在空中飘荡，看去酷似透明的薄雾，又像是蛛网般的水汽。面对这残留不去的轻柔烟霭，她时而张开手掌将其驱散，时而伸出食指，像锋利的刀刃一样，用力向下切去，然后聚精会神地看着那被切成两断、已经模糊难辨的烟缕慢慢地消失，直至无影无踪。
　　杜洛瓦早已抬起头来，目不转睛地注视着她的一举一动，及她在这漫不经心的游戏中所显现的优雅身姿和面部表情。
　　她此刻正在为铺陈途中插曲而冥思苦想，把她凭空臆造的几个旅伴勾划得活灵活现，并虚构了一段他与一位去非洲和丈夫团聚的陆军上尉的妻子，一见钟情的风流韵事。
　　这之后，她坐下来，向杜洛瓦问了问有关阿尔及利亚的地形走向，因为她对此还一无所知。现在，经过寥寥数语，她对这方面的了解已同杜洛瓦相差无几了。接着，她用短短几笔，对这块殖民地的政治情况作了一番描绘，好让读者有个准备，将来能够明了作者在随后要发表的几篇文章中所提出的各个严峻问题。
　　随后，她又施展其惊人的想象，凭空编造了一次奥兰省①之行，所涉及的主要是各种各样的女人，有摩尔女人、犹太女人和西班牙女人。
　　--------
　　①奥兰省，在阿尔及利亚西部地区。
　　“要想吸引读者，还得靠这些，”她说。
　　文章最后写的是，乔治•杜洛瓦在赛伊达的短暂停留，说他这个下土在这高原脚下的小城中，同一位在艾因哈吉勒城造纸厂工作的西班牙女工萍水相逢，两人热烈地相恋着。故事虽然不长，但也曲折动人。比如他们常于夜间在寸草不生的乱石岗幽会，虽然四周怪石林立，豺狼、鬣狗和阿拉伯犬的嗥叫声此起彼伏，令人毛骨悚然，但他们却像是压根儿没有听到似的。
　　这时，弗雷斯蒂埃夫人又口授了一句，语调中透出明显的欢欣：
　　“欲知后事如何，且看明日本报。”
　　接着，她站起身说道：
　　“亲爱的杜洛瓦先生，现在您该知道了，天下的文章就是这样写出来的。请在上面签个名吧。”
　　杜洛瓦犹豫不决，难于下笔。
　　“您倒是签呀，这有什么可犹豫的！”
　　他笑了笑，于是在搞纸下方匆匆写了几个字：
　　　　　　“乔治•杜洛瓦。”
　　她嘴上抽着烟，又开始在房间里踱来踱去。杜洛瓦的目光一直没有离开她，脑海中竟找不出一句话来表达他的感激之情。他为自己能这样近地同她呆在一起而感到无比的快乐。他们之间这种初次交往便如此亲近的接触，不仅使他分外感激，周身也洋溢着一种说不出的欢快。他感到，她身边的一切都成了她身体的一部分。房内的陈发，从桌椅到堆满图书的四壁，乃至弥漫着烟草味的空气，是那样地特别，那样地柔媚、甜蜜，令人陶醉，无不同她有着密不可分的关系。
　　她突然向他问道：
　　“您觉得我的朋友德•马莱尔夫人怎么样？”
　　毫无准备的他不禁一愣，半晌答道：
　　“我……我觉得……我觉得她非常迷人。”
　　“是吗？”
　　“当然。”
　　他本想加一句：“但还比不上您。”然而终究未敢造次。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人又说：
　　“您对她还不太了解，她性格开朗，反应敏捷，可不是那种常见的女人。比如说，她这个人常会放荡不羁，完全无拘无束。因为这一点，她丈夫对她相当冷落。他只看到她的缺点，而看不到她的优点。”
　　听说德•马莱尔夫人已经结婚，杜洛瓦不禁流露出惊讶的神色，然而这却是应在料想之中的。
　　只听杜洛瓦问道：
　　“是吗？……她结婚了？那么她丈夫是干什么的？”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人扬起眉毛，轻轻地耸了耸肩，面部充满令人难以捉摸的表情，说道：
　　“他在诺尔省铁路部门任稽察，每个月来巴黎小住一星期。他妻子将这段时间对他的接待讥讽为‘强制性服务’，或是‘一周苦役’，再或是‘神圣的一周’。其实等您对她有了进一步的了解，您将会发现，她是一个非常乖巧而又随和的女人。因此这两天，您不妨找个时间去看看她。”
　　杜洛瓦已经不想走了，他好像要一直呆下去，觉得他此刻是在自己家里。
　　然而这时，客厅的门忽然轻轻打开，一位身材高大的男士未经通报便走了进来。
　　看到房内有个男人，他停了下来。刹那间，弗雷斯蒂埃夫人似乎有点不知所措，从肩头到面庞出现一阵红晕。但她很快便恢复了常态，十分平静地说道：
　　“进来呀，亲爱的。我来给你介绍一下，这位是乔治•杜洛瓦先生，查理的一位好友，未来的新闻记者。”
　　接着，她又以另一种腔调向杜洛瓦说道：
　　“他是我们亲密无间、最为要好的相知，德•沃德雷克伯爵。”
　　两位男士，各自盯着对方看了一眼，并彬彬有礼地互相欠了欠身。见有客人到来，杜洛瓦立即退了出来。
　　谁也没有挽留他。他喃喃地说了两句感谢的话语，握了握弗雷斯蒂埃夫人伸过来的手。新来的客人面容冷漠而又严肃，一副上流社会的绅士派头。杜洛瓦再度向他欠了欠身，带着神不守舍的慌乱心情，一径走了出来，好像自己刚才做了什么蠢事似的。
　　到了街上，他依然是一副垂头丧气、闷闷不乐的样子，心头隐约笼罩着一种说不出所以然的哀愁。他漫无目的地往前走着，不明白自己为何会在突然间这样地无精打采。他想了想，但什么原因也未找到。不过德•沃德雷克伯爵的严肃面容总不断地浮现在他的眼前。伯爵虽然已显出一点老相，头发已经花白，但脸上依然是一副悠闲自在、傲视一切的神情，只有腰缠万贯、对自己信心十足的富有者才会这样。
　　杜洛瓦忽然发现，他同弗雷斯蒂埃夫人的促膝而谈，是那样地自然，那样地无拘无束，不想这位不速之客的到来把它打断了，这就不能不使他像是被人浇了盆冷水似的，心中顿时产生一种丧魂落魄的失落感。类似的情况常会发生：人们只要听到一句不如意的话语，看见一件不遂心的事情，有时哪怕很不起眼，但却会立刻勾起深深的不快。
　　此外，他似乎感到，这位伯爵一见到他在那里，脸上便露出了不悦之色。原因何在，他一直未弄明白。
　　那篇要命的文章既已写好，到下午三时赴约之前，他已没有任何事情要做。而现在，才刚刚十二点。他摸了摸衣兜，身上还有六法郎五十生丁。他于是走进一家叫做“杜瓦尔”的大众化餐馆吃了餐便饭。然后在街上闲逛了一阵。到钟打三点，他终于登上了《法兰西生活报》的那个兼作广告的楼梯。
　　几个杂役双臂抱在胸前，正坐在一条长凳上待命。同时在一张类似校用讲坛的小桌后面，一个负责传达工作的人，在忙着将刚收到的邮件一一归类。总之秩序井然，完美无缺，今来访者不由得肃然起敬。不但如此，他们个个举止庄重，敛声静气，那气宇轩昂、潇洒自如的仪表，完全是一副大报馆接待人员的派头。
　　杜洛瓦于是走上前去，向传达问道：
　　“请问瓦尔特先生在吗？”
　　传达彬彬有礼地答道：
　　“经理正在开会。您若想见他，请到那边稍坐片刻。”
　　说着，他向杜洛瓦指了指里面已挤满了人的候见厅。
　　坐在候见厅的客人，有的神态庄重，胸前挂着勋章，一副自命不凡的样子；有的则不修边幅，连里面的衬衣领也未翻出来，身上那套扣子一直系到脖颈的大礼服，更是污渍斑斑，酷似地图上边缘参差不齐的陆地和海洋，来客中还夹杂着三位女士。其中一位容貌姣好，楚楚动人，且通身浓妆艳抹，同妓女一般。另一位就坐在她的身旁，只是容颜憔悴，满脸皱纹，但也认真打扮了一番，很像那些昔日普在舞台上一展风采的女演员，到了人老珠黄之际，常常仍要不惜一切地把自己打扮成百媚千娇的少女，但一眼便会被人识破行藏，到头来，不过是矫揉造作，空劳无益而已。
　　那第三个女人，则通身缟素，默默地枯坐在角落里，样子像个命途多舛的寡妇。杜洛瓦心想，这个女人一定是来祈求周济的。
　　这当儿，二十多分钟已经过去，可是仍没有一人被传唤进去。
　　杜洛瓦于是想了个主意，只见他返身回到入口处，向那位传达说道：
　　“是瓦尔特先生约我下午三点来这里见他的。既然他此刻没空，不知弗雷斯蒂埃先生在不在，他是我的朋友，我希望能见他一见。”
　　传达于是领着他，走过一条长长的过道，来到一间大厅里。四位男士，正围坐在一张又宽又长、漆成绿色的桌子旁伏案忙碌。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃嘴上叼着香烟，正在壁炉前玩接木球游戏①。由于手脚灵巧，他玩这种游戏真是得心应手，每次都能用木棒尖端把抛向空中的黄杨木大木球稳稳接住。
　　--------
　　①此游戏为一种个人玩的游戏。木球由一根细绳连在一端削尖的木棒上。球上有孔，玩的人把球抛向空中，待球落下时，用棒尖戳进球孔，把球接住。
　　他一面玩，一面还在那里数着：
　　“二十二、二十三、二十四、二十五。”
　　杜洛瓦接着他数的数，帮他喊了一声：
　　“二十六！”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃向他抬了抬眼皮，但仍在一下一下地挥动他的手臂：
　　“啊，你来啦！……我昨天一连气玩了五十七下。要说玩这玩艺儿，这里只有圣波坦比我强。见着经理了吗？老家伙诺贝尔要是玩起这木球来，那样子才叫滑稽哩。他总张着大嘴，好像要把球吞到肚里去。”
　　一个正在伏案看稿的编辑，这时转过头来，向他说道：“喂，弗雷斯蒂埃，我知道有个球现正等待买主，球是用安的列斯群岛上等木料做的，东西甭提多好。据说此球是从宫里弄出来的，西班牙王后曾经玩过。人家开价六十法郎，倒也不算太贵。”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃问道：
　　“东西现在在哪儿？”
　　然而恰在这时，到第三十七下，他未把球接住，于是就势收场，打开一个木柜，把球放回原处。杜洛瓦看见柜内放着二十来个做工精湛的木球，而且一个个都编了号，像是价值连城的古玩一样。
　　关上柜门后，弗雷斯蒂埃又问道：
　　“我说那球此刻在哪儿？”
　　那位编辑答道：
　　“在滑稽歌剧院一售票员手里。你若感兴趣，我明天带来给你看看。”
　　“好的，一言为定。要是东西真好，我便把它买下。这玩艺儿，总是多多益善。”
　　交待完毕，他转向杜洛瓦说道：
　　“请随我来，我这就带你去见经理。否则你要等到晚上七点钟，才能见到他。”
　　穿过候见厅时，杜洛瓦看到刚才那些人，还在原来的位置上坐着。一见弗雷斯蒂埃到来，那个年轻女人和另一位很像当过演员的老女人立即站起身，向他迎了上来。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃随即把她们俩领到窗边去了。他们的谈话虽然有意压得很低，杜洛瓦仍听到弗雷斯蒂埃对她们以“你”相称，关系显然非同一般。
　　随后，走过两道包着软垫的门，他们终于到了经理的房间里。
　　一个多小时以来，经理哪里是在开会，原来是在同几位戴着平顶帽的男士玩纸牌。还有两人，杜洛瓦头天晚上已在弗雷斯蒂埃家见过。
　　瓦尔特先生手上拿着牌，正聚精会神地玩着，动作十分老练。对方显然也是一名赌场老手，一把花花绿绿的薄纸片在他手上，或是打出去，或是拿起来，再或是轻轻摆弄，是那样地灵巧、熟练，得心应手。诺贝尔•德•瓦伦坐在经理的椅子上，在赶写一篇文章，雅克•里瓦尔则嘴上叼着雪茄，躺在一张长沙发上闭目养神。
　　房间里因久不通风而空气浑浊，并掺杂着房内陈设的皮革味，存放多日的烟草味和印刷品散发的油墨味。此外，还弥漫着一种编辑部所独有的气味，每个报馆同仁都深为熟悉。
　　镶嵌着铜质装饰的红木桌上，杂乱无章地放的全是纸张，有信件、明信片、报纸、杂志、供货商发货票以及各种各样的印刷品。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃同站在玩牌人身后的几位看客握了握手，然后一声未吭，站在那里观看牌局。待瓦尔特老头赢了后，才上前一步，向他说道：
　　“我的朋友杜洛瓦来了。”
　　老头的目光从镜片的上方投过来，向年轻人端详良久，随后问道：
　　“我要的那篇文章带来了吗？围绕莫雷尔质询的辩论已经开始，这篇文章若能与有关发言同时见报，效果一定不错。”
　　杜洛瓦立即从衣袋里抽出几张折成四叠的纸片：
　　“带来了，先生。”
　　经理满脸喜悦，微笑道：
　　“太好了，太好了。您果然言而有信。弗雷斯蒂埃，是不是劳你的驾，帮我看一看？”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃急忙答道：
　　“我看这就不必了，瓦尔特先生。为了帮他熟习我们这一行，这篇文章是我同他一起写的，写得很好。”
　　现在是一位身材瘦长的先生，即一位中左议员发牌，经理一边接过牌，一边漫不经心地又说了一句：
　　“既然如此，那就听你的。”
　　趁新的一局尚未开始，弗雷斯蒂埃随即俯下身来，凑近他耳边低声说道：
　　“顺便提醒您一下，您答应过我，让杜洛瓦来接替马朗波。
　　您看我可否现在就把他留下，待遇相同？”
　　“可以，就这样。”
　　经理话音刚落，弗雷斯蒂埃拉着杜洛瓦，拔腿就把他带了出来，瓦尔特先生则带着他那浓厚的赌兴，又玩了起来。
　　他们离开房间时，诺贝尔•德•瓦伦眼皮抬也没抬，对于杜洛瓦的出现，似乎压根儿未加留意，或没有将他认出来。雅克•里瓦尔则不同，他拉起杜洛瓦的手，带着分外的热情使劲握了握，一副古道热肠、助人为乐的神情。
　　在往外走的路上，他们又到了候见厅里。众人一见他们到来，都抬起了头。弗雷斯蒂埃立刻向那年轻的女人打了个招呼，声音特别响亮，显然是要让所有在此等候的人都能听见：
　　“经理一会儿就见您。他此刻正在同预算委员会的两个人商量事情。”
　　说着，他疾步往外走去，满脸身居要职、忙碌不堪的样子，似乎马上要去赶写一份十万火急的电讯稿。
　　一回到刚才那个编辑室，弗雷斯蒂埃径直走到木柜前，拿出他心爱的木球又玩了起来，并一面数着数，一面每抛出一球，便乘机向杜洛瓦交待两句：
　　“就这样吧。以后你每天下午三点来这儿找我，我会告诉你该跑哪些地方，采访哪些人，是当时就去，还是晚上去，再或是第二天早上去……一。……首先，我将给你开一封介绍信，去拜访一下警察局一处处长……二。……他会指定一位下属同你联系。对于该处所提供的重要新闻，当然是可以公开或基本上可以公开的……三。……将由你同这个下属商量有关采访事宜。具体事项，你可问圣波坦，他对这方面的情况了如指掌……四。……你一会儿或明天去见他一下。特别需要注意的是，你应学会应付各种各样的局面，想方设法从我派你去采访的那些人口中，得到自己所需要的东西……五。……任何地方，不管门禁多么森严，最终都要能进得去……六。……你干这项工作，每月固定薪俸是二百法郎，如果你独辟蹊径，利用采访所得，写一些有趣的花絮，则文章见报后以每行两个苏计酬……七。……如果文章是有人按既定的题目约你写的，则每行也以两个苏计酬……八。”
　　说完，他的注意力便全集中到手上的木球上去了，只见他继续不慌不忙地数着：
　　“……九。……十。……十一。……十二。……十三。”
　　到第十四下，他没有接着，不禁骂了起来：
　　“又是他妈的十三！我总过不了这个坎儿。看来我将来定会死在同十三有关的数字上。”
　　一个编辑忙完了手头的活，也到柜子里拿个木球玩了起来。他身材矮小，看去简直像个孩子，其实他已经三十五岁了。这时又走进几位记者，他们一进来，便纷纷到柜内寻找自己的球。所以现在是六个人，肩并肩，背对着墙，周而复始地以同样的动作，把球一次次抛向空中。这些球因木质而异，有红的，黄的和黑的。大家你追我赶，看谁接得多，两个还在埋头工作的编辑这时站了起来，替他们作裁判。
　　结果弗雷斯蒂埃得了十一分，而那个一脸孩子气的矮个儿男子则输了。他走去按了一下铃，向连忙赶来的听差吩咐道：
　　“去拿九杯啤酒来。”
　　在等候饮料的当儿，大家又玩了起来。
　　杜洛瓦因而同他的这些新同事一起，喝了一杯啤酒。随后，他向弗雷斯蒂埃问道：
　　“有我能做的事吗？”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃答道：
　　“今天没你的事了，你要想走，可以走了。”
　　“那……我们那篇……稿子……，是否今天晚上就付印？”
　　“是的。不过，这件事你就不用管了。排出的校样，由我来看。你现在要做的事情是，继续下去，把明天要用的稿子写出来。明天下午三点你把稿子带来，像今天一样。”
　　杜洛瓦于是和所有在场的人握了握手，虽然他连他们的姓名还一无所知。然后他带着轻松愉快的心情，沿着那个漂亮的楼梯走了下去。
Chapter 4 Duroy Learns Something
Georges Duroy did not sleep well, so anxious was he to see his article in print. He rose at daybreak, and was on the street long before the newsboys. When he secured a paper and saw his name at the end of a column in large letters, he became very much excited. He felt inclined to enact the part of a newsboy and cry out to the hurrying throng: “Buy this! it contains an article by me!” He strolled along to a cafe and seated himself in order to read the article through; that done he decided to go to the railroad office, draw his salary, and hand in his resignation.
With great pomposity he informed the chief clerk that he was on the staff of “La Vie Francaise,” and by that means was avenged for many petty insults which had been offered him. He then had some cards written with his new calling beneath his name, made several purchases, and repaired to the office of “La Vie Francaise.” Forestier received him loftily as one would an inferior.
“Ah, here you are! Very well; I have several things for you to do. Just wait ten minutes till I finish this work.” He continued writing.
At the other end of the table sat a short, pale man, very stout and bald. Forestier asked him, when his letter was completed, “Saint- Potin, at what time shall you interview those people?”
“At four o’clock.”
“Take Duroy, who is here, with you and initiate him into the business.”
“Very well.”
Then turning to his friend, Forestier added: “Have you brought the other paper on Algeria? The article this morning was very successful.”
Duroy stammered: “No, I thought I should have time this afternoon. I had so much to do — I could not.”
The other shrugged his shoulders. “If you are not more careful, you will spoil your future. M. Walter counted on your copy. I will tell him it will be ready to-morrow. If you think you will be paid for doing nothing, you are mistaken.” After a pause, he added: “You should strike while the iron is hot.”
Saint-Potin rose: “I am ready,” said he.
Forestier turned around in his chair and said, to Duroy: “Listen. The Chinese general Li-Theng-Fao, stopping at the Continental, and Rajah Taposahib Ramaderao Pali, stopping at Hotel Bishop, have been in Paris two days. You must interview them.” Addressing Saint-Potin, he said: “Do not forget the principal points I indicated to you. Ask the general and the rajah their opinions on the dealings of England in the extreme East, their ideas of their system of colonization and government, their hopes relative to the intervention of Europe and of France in particular.” To Duroy he said: “Observe what Saint- Potin says; he is an excellent reporter, and try to learn how to draw out a man in five minutes.” Then he resumed his work.
The two men walked down the boulevard together, while Saint-Potin gave Duroy a sketch of all the officials connected with the paper, sparing no one in his criticism. When he mentioned Forestier, he said: “As for him, he was fortunate in marrying his wife.”
Duroy asked: “What about his wife?”
Saint-Potin rubbed his hands. “Oh, she is beloved by an old fellow named Vaudrec — he dotes upon her.”
Duroy felt as if he would like to box Saint-Potin’s ears. To change the subject he said: “It seems to me that it is late, and we have two noble lords to call upon!”
Saint-Potin laughed: “You are very innocent! Do you think that I am going to interview that Chinese and that Indian? As if I did not know better than they do what they should think to please the readers of ‘La Vie Francaise’! I have interviewed five hundred Chinese, Prussians, Hindoos, Chilians, and Japanese. They all say the same thing. I need only copy my article on the last comer, word for word, changing the heading, names, titles, and ages: in that there must be no error, or I shall be hauled over the coals by the ‘Figaro’ or ‘Gaulois.’ But on that subject the porter of the hotels will post me in five minutes. We will smoke our cigars and stroll in that direction. Total — one hundred sous for cabfare. That is the way, my dear fellow.”
When they arrived at the Madeleine, Saint-Potin said to his companion: “If you have anything to do, I do not need you.”
Duroy shook hands with him and walked away. The thought of the article he had to write that evening haunted him. Mentally he collected the material as he wended his way to the cafe at which he dined. Then he returned home and seated himself at his table to work. Before his eyes was the sheet of blank paper, but all the material he had amassed had escaped him. After trying for an hour, and after filling five pages with sentences which had no connection one with the other, he said: “I am not yet familiar with the work. I must take another lesson.”
At ten o’clock the following morning he rang the bell, at his friend’s house. The servant who opened the door, said: “Monsieur is busy.”
Duroy had not expected to find Forestier at home. However he said: “Tell him it is M. Duroy on important business.”
In the course of five minutes he was ushered into the room in which he had spent so happy a morning. In the place Mme. Forestier had occupied, her husband was seated writing, while Mme. Forestier stood by the mantelpiece and dictated to him, a cigarette between her lips.
Duroy paused upon the threshold and murmured: “I beg your pardon, I am interrupting you.”
His friend growled angrily: “What do you want again? Make haste; we are busy.”
Georges stammered: “It is nothing.”
But Forestier persisted: “Come, we are losing time; you did not force your way into the house for the pleasure of bidding us good morning.”
Duroy, in confusion, replied: “No, it is this: I cannot complete my article, and you were — so — so kind the last time that I hoped — that I dared to come —”
Forestier interrupted with: “So you think I will do your work and that you have only to take the money. Well, that is fine!” His wife smoked on without interfering.
Duroy hesitated: “Excuse me. I believed — I— thought —” Then, in a clear voice, he said: “I beg a thousand pardons, Madame, and thank you very much for the charming article you wrote for me yesterday.” Then he bowed, and said to Charles: “I will be at the office at three o’clock.”
He returned home saying to himself: “Very well, I will write it alone and they shall see.” Scarcely had he entered than he began to write, anger spurring him on. In an hour he had finished an article, which was a chaos of absurd matter, and took it boldly to the office. Duroy handed Forestier his manuscript. “Here is the rest of Algeria.”
“Very well, I will hand it to the manager. That will do.”
When Duroy and Saint-Potin, who had some political information to look up, were in the hall, the latter asked: “Have you been to the cashier’s room?”
“No, why?”
“Why? To get your pay? You should always get your salary a month in advance. One cannot tell what might happen. I will introduce you to the cashier.”
Duroy drew his two hundred francs together with twenty-eight francs for his article of the preceding day, which, in addition to what remained to him of his salary from the railroad office, left him three hundred and forty francs. He had never had so much, and he thought himself rich for an indefinite time. Saint-Potin took him to the offices of four or five rival papers, hoping that the news he had been commissioned to obtain had been already received by them and that he could obtain it by means of his diplomacy.
When evening came, Duroy, who had nothing more to do, turned toward the Folies-Bergeres, and walking up to the office, he said: “My name is Georges Duroy. I am on the staff of ‘La Vie Francaise.’ I was here the other night with M. Forestier, who promised to get me a pass. I do not know if he remembered it.”
The register was consulted, but his name was not inscribed upon it. However, the cashier, a very affable man, said to him: “Come in, M. Duroy, and speak to the manager yourself; he will see that everything is all right.”
He entered and almost at once came upon Rachel, the woman he had seen there before. She approached him: “Good evening, my dear; are you well?”
“Very well; how are you?”
“I am not ill. I have dreamed of you twice since the other night.”
Duroy smiled. “What does that mean?”
“That means that I like you”; she raised her eyes to the young man’s face, took his arm and leaning upon it, said: “Let us drink a glass of wine and then take a walk. I should like to go to the opera like this, with you, to show you off.”
* * * * * * *
At daybreak he again sallied forth to obtain a “Vie Francaise.” He opened the paper feverishly; his article was not there. On entering the office several hours later, he said to M. Walter: “I was very much surprised this morning not to see my second article on Algeria.”
The manager raised his head and said sharply: “I gave it to your friend, Forestier, and asked him to read it; he was dissatisfied with it; it will have to be done over.”
Without a word, Duroy left the room, and entering his friend’s office, brusquely asked: “Why did not my article appear this morning?”
The journalist, who was smoking a cigar, said calmly: “The manager did not consider it good, and bade me return it to you to be revised. There it is.” Duroy revised it several times, only to have it rejected. He said nothing more of his “souvenirs,” but gave his whole attention to reporting. He became acquainted behind the scenes at the theaters, and in the halls and corridors of the chamber of deputies; he knew all the cabinet ministers, generals, police agents, princes, ambassadors, men of the world, Greeks, cabmen, waiters at cafes, and many others. In short he soon became a remarkable reporter, of great value to the paper, so M. Walter said. But as he only received ten centimes a line in addition to his fixed salary of two hundred francs and as his expenses were large, he never had a sou. When he saw certain of his associates with their pockets full of money, he wondered what secret means they employed in order to obtain it. He determined to penetrate that mystery, to enter into the association, to obtrude himself upon his comrades, and make them share with him. Often at evening, as he watched the trains pass his window, he dreamed of the conduct he might pursue.
　　乔治•杜洛瓦夜来没有睡好，想到自己的文章就要在报上发表，他辗转反侧，难以成眠。所以天刚亮，他就下了床，在大街上四处转悠起来。然而这时候，连给各报亭分送当天报纸的搬运工都还没有出现呢。
　　不过他知道，《法兰西生活报》每天总是先送到圣拉扎车站，然后才会送到他所住街区，因此立即赶到了车站那边。由于天色依然很早，他只得在店铺门前再等一等。
　　终于，他看到一个卖报的女人走到自己的铺子前，把装着玻璃的店门打了开来。接着，他看见一个男人，头上正顶着一摞折成对折的报纸，于是抢步迎上去看了看。不想这一摞报纸中，只有《费加罗报》、《吉尔•布拉斯报》、《高卢人报》、《要闻报》及另外两三种晨报，而没有《法兰西生活报》。
　　他不禁心虚起来：
　　“我那篇《非洲服役散记》会不会改在明天见报？瓦尔特老头会不会对这篇东西不太满意，在最后一刻将它撤了下来？”
　　他只得再去报亭看看，发现那里已在出售《法兰西生活报》，不知道是什么时候送来的。他于是连忙凑上前去，扔下三个苏，慌慌张张打开一份，将头版各篇标题匆匆浏览了一遍。结果没有找到。他的心怦怦直跳，赶忙翻开一页，只见一篇文章的末尾赫然印着一行黑体字：乔治•杜洛瓦。他激动不已，心中的喜悦难以言喻。事情竟如此顺利！
　　他迈开脚步向前走着，手上拿着报纸，头上的帽子滑落到一边，脑子里什么也没有去想，恨不得拦住身边的行人，对他们说：“你们都快来买呀，快来头呀，这上面有我的一篇文章！”他真想像那些晚间在街头常见的报贩那样，扯开稀子，大声喊叫：“请看《法兰西生活报》，请看乔治•杜洛瓦的文章：《非洲服役散记》。”他心中突然涌起一股强烈的欲望：由他先来把这篇文章从头至尾读上一遍，而且要到公共场所，即人人都看得见的地方去读，比如咖啡馆就很好。于是开始寻找已有顾客光顾的咖啡馆。这样不得不走了很久，最后在一家小酒馆里坐了下来，里面已坐了几位黎明即起的客人。他要了一杯罗姆酒而不是苦艾酒，一点没有想到，现在天还这样早，根本不是喝这种酒的时候。随后，他喊了一声：
　　“堂倌，给我拿一份《法兰西生活报》来。”
　　一个系着白色围裙的堂倌跑了过来：
　　“先生，本店没有您要的报纸，我们只订了《回声报》、《世纪报》、《路灯报》和《小巴黎人报》。”
　　杜洛瓦一听，不禁火冒三丈：
　　“你们这地方也太闭塞了，哪里像个酒馆？还不快去给我买一份来！”
　　侍者二话没说，忙去给他买来一份。杜洛瓦于是大模大样地读起他那篇文章来。为了引起邻座客人的注意，使大家都想看看今天这份报纸究竟登了什么好文章，他一面读，一面还不止一次地有意发出大声赞叹：
　　“这文章写得可真好。”
　　随后，他把报纸留在桌上，起身离去。酒店老板发现他未将报纸带走，跟在后面喊道：
　　“先生，先生，您的报纸！”
　　杜洛瓦答道：
　　“留给你们看吧，我已看过了。那上面今天可有一篇很有意思的文章。”
　　他未指明究竟是哪篇文章。但他往外走的时候，看到邻座的一位客人把他留在桌上的那份《法兰西生活报》立刻拿了过去。
　　他想：“我现在该去做点什么呢？”
　　寻思片刻，他决定还是到他办公的地方先去领取当月的工资，并将这份可怜巴巴的工作辞了。科长和同事们听说他要辞职，定会惊讶得半天说不出话来。一想到这里，他便高兴得浑身直打颤。特别叫他高兴的是，定可看到科长那副泥塑木雕的样子。
　　他走得很慢，以便在九点半左右到达。因为财务部门要到十点才开始办公。
　　他办公的房间很大，但采光不好，到了冬天几乎要整天点着煤气灯。窗外有个小院子，对面也是一些办公室。房内有八个人办公。此外，还在一个角落里放了张屏风，屏风后面是副科长办公的地方。
　　他先去把他那一百一十八法郎二十五生丁的工资领了。钱装在一只黄色的信封里，出纳员从抽屉里取出，给了他。工资既已到手，他也就带着一副不可一世的神情，缓步来到他已在那里度过许多时光的宽大房间里。
　　他一进门，副科长波泰尔先生便喊住了他：
　　“啊，是你，杜洛瓦先生！科长已数次问到你。你应当知道，一连两天病假而没有医生证明，他是不会通融的。”
　　杜洛瓦站在房间中央，一边收拾自己的东西，一边大声答道：
　　“那又怎样？我才不管这些规定呢。”
　　房间里一阵骚动，同事们个个惊呆了。好似待在囚笼里的波泰尔先生，也从屏风上方露出了他那张惊愕不已的面庞。
　　他平素总把自己关在这密不透风的地方，是因为患有风湿病，害怕穿堂风，为了能时时监视其属下的一举一动，他特意在屏风上挖了两个洞。
　　房间里静得可以听到苍蝇飞的声音。这样过了一会儿，副科长才半信半疑地问道：
　　“你刚才说什么？”
　　“我说，我才不管这些规定呢。我今天是来辞职的。我已经被《法兰西生活报》聘为编辑，月薪五百法郎，稿酬另计。今天早上，我已开始在那边上班。”
　　他本想不把这一情况马上就和盘托出，以便慢慢地体味一下他们那种窘态，不想最后还是禁不住此乐趣的诱惑，一古脑儿把什么都说了出来。
　　然而不管怎样，他的话还是产生了预期的效果。因为一个个都目瞪口呆地僵在那里，动也不动。
　　杜洛瓦乘机说道：
　　“我这就去向佩蒂伊先生辞职，然后回来向诸位告别。”
　　说着，他一径走了出去。科长佩蒂伊先生一见到他，便大声嚷了起来：
　　“啊，你来了。你应当知道，我是不……”
　　杜洛瓦没有让他说下去：
　　“请稳重一点好不好？不要这样大喊大叫……”
　　身体肥胖、脸色红如鸡冠的佩蒂伊先生，被他呛得一句话也说不出来。
　　杜洛瓦接着说道：
　　“这个鬼地方，我早已呆够了。今天早上，我已开始在一家报馆工作，待遇很是不错。现在是特意来向您辞职的。”
　　说完，他扭头便走了出去。心头积压多日的恨，今天总算得以痛痛快快地发泄出来。
　　他回到大房间，同昔日的同事握手话别，但这些同事生怕影响自己的前程，谁也不敢和他说话。因为他刚才进入科长的房间后，门一直开着，二人之间后来的谈话，他们听得一清二楚。
　　口袋里装着刚领到的工资，他又到了大街上，先去他经常光顾、饭菜既可口价钱又便宜的餐馆，美美地饱餐一顿。不但如此，他还又买了一份《法兰西生活报》，特意留在他用餐的饭桌上。此后，他逛了几家商店，买了些零碎物品。不过他买这些东西，并不是因为急用，而纯粹是为了叫个店伙计把东西送家去，并因而让人知道他的大名：乔治•杜洛瓦。
　　说过自己的名字后，他还加了一句：
　　“我是《法兰西生活报》的编辑。”
　　接着，他向店伙说了说其住地的所在街道和门牌号码，并特意叮嘱道：
　　“交给门房就行了。”
　　由于时间还充裕，他又到一家专制名片、立等可取的铺子里，让人立刻给自己印了一百张名片。当然，他不会忘记，在名字的下方写上其新任职务。
　　在将这一切都办妥之后，他这才去报馆上班。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃见到他，已完全是一副上司的派头，装腔作势地向他说道：
　　“啊，你来了，很好。我这里正有几件事要你去办，你先等我一会儿，我手边的事马上就完。”
　　说完便埋下头去，继续写一封信。
　　长桌另一头坐着一位身材矮小的男子。他面色苍白，肥胖的身躯几近胖肿，光秃秃的脑袋油光可鉴。他正伏在那里写着什么，由于高度近视，鼻尖几乎贴在纸上。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃这时向他问道：
　　“喂，圣波坦，你几点钟去采访我们说的那些人？”
　　“四点。”
　　“到时候，把我们这位新来的年轻人杜洛瓦也带去，让他学学做记者的门道。”
　　“好的。”
　　随后，弗雷斯蒂埃又转向杜洛瓦问道：
　　“关于阿尔及利亚的第二篇文章，你带来没有？今天早上与读者见面的第一篇反映很好。”
　　杜洛瓦被问得张口结舌，停了半天，才结结巴巴地说道：
　　“没有带来……我本来以为午饭之后会有时间把它写出来……可是总有那么多事情要做……所以没有……”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃不满地耸了耸肩：
　　“你要是总这样不守时，最后必将砸掉自己的饭碗。瓦尔特老头还在等着你的稿子呢。我只好去告诉他，明天再说吧。
　　你如果认为可以光拿钱不做事，那可错了。”
　　停了一会儿，他又说道：
　　“这样的事本应趁热打铁才是，你这叫什么事儿！”
　　圣波坦这时从座位上站了起来：
　　“我准备走了。”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃身子往椅背上一靠，神情庄重地摆出一副训示的样子，转过身来对杜洛瓦说道：
　　“是这样的，两天前，巴黎来了两个人：一个是中国将军李登发，住在大陆酒家；一个是印度王公塔波萨希卜•拉马德拉奥，住在布对斯托尔饭店。你们现在要去采访的，就是这两人。”
　　接着，他又转向圣波坦说道：
　　“采访要点我已对你讲过，可别忘了。你去问问这两个人，他们对英国在远东的活动及其殖民统治持何看法，是否希望由欧洲，特别是法国，出面干预。”
　　他停了一会儿，然后以同内部人员谈话的语气继续说道：
　　“公众舆论目前非常关心这些问题。如果我们能在这个时候，对中国和印度这两个国家有关这些问题的看法同时加以报道，我们的读者将受益非浅。”
　　接着又向杜洛瓦叮嘱道：
　　“你今天去，要仔细留意圣波坦如何行事，他是一位出色的外勤记者。一个记者，要能够在五分钟内让人家把心里话都掏出来，你应当努力学会这种本领。”
　　说完之后，他又一本正经地写起他的信来，那神气显然是要同下属保持一定的距离，让杜洛瓦他这个以前的军中伙伴和今日的同事，时时记住自己的命份，不要太为随便。
　　一走出房门，圣波坦便哈哈大笑，并一边笑，一边对杜洛瓦说道：
　　“这家伙今天的话怎么这样多，居然对我们指手划脚起来，好像我们是他的忠实读者，能听他没完没了的说教。”
　　到了街上，圣波坦问道：
　　“要不要喝点什么？”
　　“好啊，今天天气真热。”
　　他们于是走进一家咖啡馆，要了点冷饮。两人刚刚落座，圣波坦的话匣子也就打开了。他毫无顾忌地把报馆里的人都数落了一遍，真是滔滔不绝，不厌其详。
　　“你知道老板是什么人吗？一个道道地地的犹太人！而犹太人都是些什么样的人，你大概不会不知道，他们不论走到哪里都是一样的货色。”
　　接着，他以大量令人难以置信的事例，把这些以色列子孙如何悭吝成性着实描绘了一番，说他们常常连十个铜子也舍不得花，买起东西来总像见识浅薄的妇道人家，厚着脸皮没完没了地讨价还价，直到一切遂其心愿；与此同时，他们又是发放高利贷和抵押贷款的老手，并因其手段高明而自成一家。
　　“这也罢了。问题是，我们这位老板还千真万确是一位毫无廉耻的家伙，对什么人都骗。他创办的这份报纸，对所有派别都敞开大门，无论是官方消息，还是反映天主教会、自由派、共和派或奥尔良派观点的文章，一律照登不误，完全成了个杂货铺。其实他的目的只有一个，这就是确保其股票交易及其他各类交易生意兴隆。他在这方面确实很有办法，仅靠几家资本不到四个苏的公司，便赚了好几百万……”
　　就这样，圣波坦始终谈兴不减，并不时称杜洛瓦为他“亲爱的朋友”。
　　“这个守财奴，他说起话来，简直同巴尔扎克笔下的人物一样。下面给你讲个故事。
　　一天，我正在他的办公室里。房内除我而外，还有那老不死的诺贝尔和长得像堂•吉诃德的里瓦尔。报馆行政科长蒙特兰这时忽然走了进来，腋下夹着当今巴黎流行的羊皮公文包。瓦尔特仰起脸来向他问道：
　　“有事吗？”
　　蒙特兰如实相告：
　　“我刚刚把我们欠纸厂的一万六千法郎还了。”
　　老板腾的一下站了起来，把我们弄得莫名其妙。
　　“你说什么？”
　　“我把欠佩里瓦先生的那笔款子还给他了。”
　　“简直乱弹琴！”
　　“怎么啦？”
　　“怎么啦……怎么啦……怎么啦……”
　　他摘下眼镜擦了擦，脸上露出一丝令人不解的微笑。
　　这在他是常有的。每当他要说出什么恶毒伤人的话语时，那厚实的腮帮上总要掠过一丝这样的微笑。只见他以嘲讽而又自信的口吻说道：
　　“怎么啦！……因为我们本来可以少还他四五千法
　　郎。”
　　蒙特兰大惑不解，说道：
　　“经理先生，这一笔笔帐目并无差错，不但我复核过，而且你也已签字确认……”
　　老板此时已恢复他那道貌岸然的常态：
　　“你的天真实在天下少有，我的蒙特兰先生。你怎么就没有想到，如果我们欠得他多了，他势必会作出一些让步，让我们少还一部分？”
　　说到这里，圣波坦一副深知其人的神态，无可奈何地摇了摇头，说道：
　　“怎么样？你说这家伙像不像巴尔扎克笔下的人物？”
　　巴尔扎克的小说虽然一本也未读过，杜洛瓦却坚信不疑地附和道：
　　“一点不错。”
　　接着，圣波坦又谈起了其他几人，说瓦尔特夫人是个十足的蠢货；诺贝尔•德•瓦伦由于年迈，已经不中用了；而里瓦尔则是个来自费尔瓦克的破落子弟。话题最后转到弗雷斯蒂埃身上：
　　“至于这一位，他能有今天，完全是因为娶了现在这个太太。别的也就没有多少好说的了。”
　　杜洛瓦问道：
　　“他妻子的为人究竟怎样？”
　　圣波坦搓了搓手：
　　“怎么说呢？这个女人鬼得很，脑子比谁都精明。她是老色鬼德•沃德雷克伯爵的情妇，是伯爵提供陪嫁，让她嫁给了弗雷斯蒂埃……”
　　杜洛瓦像是突然被人浇了盆冷水，周身一阵战栗。他真想走过去给这多嘴多舌的家伙狠狠一记耳光，痛骂他一顿，但终究还是克制住，只是把话题岔开，没有让他再说下去：
　　“您就叫圣波坦吗？”
　　对方不假思索地答道：
　　“不是，我叫托马斯。圣波坦是报馆里的人给我起的绰号。”
　　杜洛瓦把帐付了，说道：
　　“我看天不早了，我们还有两位大人物要采访呢。”
　　圣波坦哈哈大笑：
　　“您也未免太老实了。您难道真的以为，我会去问那中国人和印度人对英国的所作所为有何看法？在他们的看法中，有哪些符合《法兰西生活报》读者的口味，我难道不比他们更清楚？这样的中国人、波斯人、印度人、智利人、日本人等等，经我采访过的，已不下五六百之多。在我看来，他们的回答是那样地千篇一律，毫无二致。因此只须把最近一次访问记拿出来一字不差地重抄一遍，便可交差。需要更改的，只是被访者的相貌、姓名、头衔、年龄及其随从的有关情况。这方面可不能出现任何差错，否则《费加罗报》和《高卢人报》很快会毫不客气地给你指出来。不过对于这一点，你也不用担心，有关情况，布列斯托尔饭店和大陆酒家的门房不消五分钟便会给我们讲述清楚。我们可以一面抽着雪茄，一面徒步走去。结果不费吹灰之力，便可在报馆稳拿五法郎的车马费。亲爱的，一个人如讲求实际，就应这样做去。”
　　杜洛瓦问道：
　　“这样说来，当个外勤记者是很有油水的了？”
　　圣波坦故作神秘地答道：
　　“是的，不过同写社会新闻相比，也就是小巫见大巫了。因为那里面可有变相的广告收入。”
　　他们于是离开咖啡馆，沿着大街向玛德莱娜教堂走去。圣波坦突然向杜洛瓦说道：
　　“这样好不好？如果你有事，请尽管去办。这件事，我一个人足可应付。”
　　杜洛瓦同他握了握手，便离开了他。
　　一想到他晚上要写的那篇关于阿尔及利亚的文章，他心中就烦躁不已，只得现在就开始打起腹稿来，于是一边走，一边思考着，把各种各样的见解、看法、结论和轶闻都汇集起来。不知不觉中，他已来到香榭丽舍大街的尽头。举目四顾，人迹寥寥。诺大的巴黎，在此盛夏炎炎的时节，几乎已成为一座空城。
　　他在星形广场的凯旋门附近，找了家小酒馆填饱肚皮，然后沿着环城大街，慢慢地徒步走回寓所。一进门，就赶紧坐在桌边，写那篇文章。
　　可是目光一落到面前摊开的白纸上，刚才想好的那些东西，像是不翼而飞似的，转眼之间便从他的脑际消失得无影无踪。他搜尽枯肠，试图把它们重新找回，即便是一鳞半爪，也要先写下来。然而这些东西像是在同他捉迷藏，他刚要抓住，马上又溜掉了；要不就是突然乱糟糟地一齐向他涌来，使得他不知从何入手，因此无法理出头绪，分别加以装点。
　　这样经过一个多小时的苦斗，倒是已有五张白纸被他写得密密麻麻，不过全是些有头无尾的孤立语句。面对这尴尬的局面，他不由地认为：
　　“看来我对这一行还不完全摸门，必须再去请教一番。”
　　这样一来，他势必又有可能去同弗雷斯蒂埃夫人在一起呆上一上午，两个人长时间地促膝而谈，气氛是那样柔和、亲切、热诚。一想到这里，他心中便激荡着一股热望，久久不能平静。于是赶紧上床就寝，生怕自己会忽然回心转意，又去写起来，并将文章写得很好，从而使这满腔希望成为泡影。
　　第二天，他比平时起得要晚，因为他不想让这会面的快乐来得太为匆忙，而先在那里领略了一番。
　　当他到达弗雷斯蒂埃家的时候，十点已经过了。他按响了门铃。
　　前来开门的仆人对他说道：
　　“先生此刻正在工作。”
　　杜洛瓦没有料到弗雷斯蒂埃现在会在家里，但他不想就此离去，说道：
　　“请告诉他是我来了，我有急事。”
　　过了片刻，他被带到曾和弗雷斯蒂埃夫人度过一段美好时光的书房里。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃穿着睡衣，脚上套着一双拖鞋，头上戴着一顶英国小圆帽，正坐在他昨天坐过的椅子上。他妻子仍旧穿着那件洁白的晨衣，嘴上叼着香烟，身子靠在壁炉上，在给他丈夫口授什么。
　　走到书房门边，杜洛瓦停了下来，讷讷地说道：
　　“很是抱歉，看来我来的不是时候。”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃扭过头来，一脸怒气，毫不客气地向他吼道：
　　“你又有什么事？快说，我们正忙着呢。”
　　杜洛瓦一时语塞，过了一会儿，才结结巴巴地说道：
　　“没……没什么事，请原谅。”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃的火气更大了：
　　“这是哪儿的话？别绕圈子了。你在这个时候闯到我家来，难道只是为了随便走走？”
　　杜洛瓦慌乱不已，只得如实相告：
　　“那倒不是……我是想……我那篇文章……还是未能写出。上一次承蒙你……你们的关照……我于是……斗胆前来……希望……”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃没有让他再说下去：
　　“你把我当成什么人了？你以为，你的活可以由我干，而你，只需到月底去会计那儿领你的薪俸就行了？这钱是这样好拿的吗？”
　　他妻子仍在抽着烟，一言未发，脸上漾着一丝捉摸不定的微笑，似乎在掩饰她内心的想法：此情此景实在好笑。
　　杜洛瓦面红耳赤，支支吾吾道：
　　“对不起……我原来以为……我原来想……”
　　不想突然间，他以清亮的嗓音一口气说道：
　　“夫人，对于我的冒昧，万望原谅。您昨天帮我写的那篇文章实在无与伦比，特再次向您表示我诚挚的谢意。”
　　他深深鞠了一躬，接着向弗雷斯蒂埃说道：
　　“我下午三点去报馆。”
　　说完便转身走了出去。
　　走在回家的路上，他步履如飞，口中不停地嘟哝道：
　　“行呀，这篇文章看来得由我自己写了。我一定要独自把它写出来，让他们瞧瞧……”
　　一回到住处，他便带着满腔怒火，迫不及待地伏案疾书。
　　他接着弗雷斯蒂埃夫人已经给他铺设好的文章脉络，挖空心思，拼凑了一些报章上的连载小说中常可见到的那种情节离奇的故事，以中学生的蹩脚文体和军人的生硬语气，拉拉杂杂、华而不实地写了一大篇。不到一小时，这荒谬绝伦、很不像样的文章也就算是写好了。嗣后，他胸有成竹地拿着这篇东西赶往报馆。
　　他在报馆里首先遇到的是圣波坦。圣波坦一见到他，便意味深长地使劲握着他的手说：
　　“我采访中国人和印度人的那篇报道，你想必已经见到。真是滑稽透顶，整个巴黎都在津津乐道。可是我压根儿就没去见他们。”
　　当天的报纸，杜洛瓦还没看，因此赶忙找来，将这篇题为《印度与中国》的长文匆匆看了一眼，呆在一旁的圣波坦给他指了指文中特别有趣的段落。
　　恰在这时，弗雷斯蒂埃急匆匆地跑了来，上气不接下气地向他们说道：
　　“啊，你们俩在这儿，我正有事要找你们。”
　　说着，他把当晚需要弄到的几条重要政治新闻，向他们作了一番交待。
　　杜洛瓦趁便把写好的文章拿了出来。
　　“这是关于阿尔及利亚的第二篇文章。”
　　“很好，给我吧。我这就给老板送去。”
　　他们的谈话也就到此为止。
　　圣波坦于是拉着他的这位新伙伴往里走去。到了走廊里，他向杜洛瓦说道：
　　“去过会计那儿吗？”
　　“没有，干吗？”
　　“干吗？当然是领钱喽。看来你还不知道，每个月的工资总要想着提前去领，天晓得随后会出现什么情况。”
　　“这……这敢情好啊。”
　　“我带你去认认门，这不会有什么问题。这儿给钱很痛快。”
　　这样，杜洛瓦走去领了二百法郎的月薪，外加头天那篇文章的稿酬二十八法郎。昨天从铁路部门领到的那笔钱，才刚刚花去一点。二者加在一起，就是三百四十法郎。
　　这样大的数目，他可是从来没有拿到过。他觉得自己一下子阔了起来，到什么时候都不用愁了。
　　随后，圣波坦带着他去另外几家性质相同的报馆坐了坐，希望上面要他们采访的新闻别人已经弄到手。这样的话，凭他的三寸不烂之后，一定可巧妙地从那些人口中探听到有关情况。
　　到了掌灯时分，闲极无聊的杜洛瓦，不由地想起“风流牧羊女娱乐场”。于是信步走到那里，大着胆子向检票员自我介绍道：
　　“我名叫乔治•杜洛瓦，是《法兰西生活报》的编辑。前两天，我曾随弗雷斯蒂埃先生来过这里。他要我往后来看戏不用买票，不知道他向你们交待了没有。”
　　检票员翻开簿册看了看，发现簿册上并无他的名字，不过还是热情地向他说道：
　　“先生，您不妨先请进来，然后把你的情况去同经理谈一谈，他肯定会同意的。”
　　进入剧场后，他一眼就看到了那天晚上，他从这里带走的那个女人——拉歇尔。
　　拉歇尔随即向他迎了上来：
　　“晚上好，我的小猫咪。这几天过得好吗？”
　　“很好，你呢？”
　　“我也不错。知道吗？自从那天见过你后，我已有两次梦见你。”
　　杜洛瓦微微一笑，心里乐滋滋的：
　　“是吗，这说明什么呢？”
　　“大傻瓜，这说明我喜欢你呗。等你什么时候方便，咱们可以再乐他一次。”
　　“如果你愿意，今天就可以。”
　　“好的，我愿意。”
　　“很好，不过……”
　　他欲言又止，显然为自己将要说出的话感到有点难为情。
　　“我刚从俱乐部出来，身上带的钱全花光了，因此今天一个子儿也没有。”
　　拉歇尔目不转睛地盯着他的两眼。凭着她的本能和长期同各种各样机关算尽，讨价还价的男子交往的经验，她一眼看出，这分明是谎言，因此说道：
　　“你这是在说什么呢？同我来这一套，你难道不觉得，也未免太不够意思了吧？”
　　杜洛瓦尴尬地笑了笑：
　　“我身上还有十法郎，就是这些了，你看行吗？”
　　对方摆出一副出没上流社会的风流女郎一时心血来潮，往往不以金钱为重的潇洒风度，嘟哝道：
　　“那就只好这样了，亲爱的。要知道，我所喜欢的，是你这个人。”
　　她抬起一双神情迷乱的眼睛向杜洛瓦嘴角的那两撇短髭深情地看了看，挽起他的胳臂，情意缠绵地依偎在他身上，同时说道：
　　“咱们先去喝杯石榴汁，然后去转上一圈。我还想就像现在这样，同你一起去看场歌剧，让大家都瞧瞧你。这之后，我们就早早回去，你说好吗？”
　　杜洛瓦昨天晚上是在这个女人家过的夜，而且睡得很晚。今天出来时，天已大亮了。他马上想到去买份《法兰西生活报》来看看。由于分外激动，打开报纸时，他的手颤抖着。报上没有他的文章。他停立在人行道上，焦虑地把各个栏目都扫了一眼，最终仍未发现他写的那篇东西。
　　他的心情突然变得沉重起来。由于荒唐了一夜，身体本已疲惫不堪。现在又碰到这件不顺心的事情，对于疲惫不已的他，无异于是雪上加霜。
　　他终于爬上六楼，回到自己的房间。和衣倒在床上后，他几乎立刻就睡着了。
　　几小时后，当他重新走进报馆时，他立即来到瓦尔特先生的办公室，向他问道：
　　“先生，我写的那篇有关阿尔及利亚的第二篇文章，今天报上没有登载，这是怎么回事？”
　　经理抬起头，冷冷地答道：
　　“这篇文章，我交给了你的朋友弗雷斯蒂埃，请他过目。他看后觉得不妥，需要重写。”
　　杜洛瓦气愤不已，一言未发，转身便走。随后，他突然闯进弗雷斯蒂埃的房间：
　　“你为何没让我的文章今天在报上登出来？”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃嘴上叼着香烟，正四脚朝天地靠在扶手椅上，放在桌上的两只脚下，鞋后跟压着一篇刚开了个头的稿子。他不慌不忙地答了一句，懒洋洋的声音听来是那样遥远，仿佛是从洞穴深处发出来的：
　　“老板觉得这篇文章写得太糟，要我交给你重写。喏，就放在桌上。”
　　他用手指了指用条尺压着的几张摊开的稿纸。
　　杜洛瓦张口结舌，无言以对。在他将稿子放进衣袋的当儿，弗雷斯蒂埃又说道：
　　“你今天要先去一下警察局…”
　　接着，杜洛瓦有哪些地方要去跑一跑，有哪些新闻要去采访，弗雷斯蒂埃一一向他作了交待。杜洛瓦很想说句尖刻的话语回敬他，但怎么也想不出来，最后只得怏怏走开了。
　　第二天，他将稿子又送到根馆，但依然被退了回来。第三稿也遭到了同样的命运。面对这一局面，他终于意识到自己未免太性急了，没有弗雷斯蒂埃的帮助，他将寸步难行。因此对于《非洲服役散记》这劳什子文章，从今而后，他是决不再提了。既然环境要求他待人处事必须灵活而圆滑，做到八面玲珑，他决心循此做去，在更好的机会出现之前，姑且努力先把外勤记者的工作做好。
　　现在，无论是各剧院的后台，还是政坛幕后，即经常聚集各方政要的参议院前厅和各个走廊，对他来说，都已经是轻车熟路了。不但如此，他同各部门的重要人物以及终日打盹、被叫醒后面色阴沉的听差，也都混得熟透了。
　　他交游广阔，三教九流无所不有，上至王公亲贵、部长将军、上流人士、大使主教，下至门房警察、老鸨名妓、赌场老手、妓院掮客，此外还有咖啡馆伙计、公共马车车夫和来路不明的外国阔佬。表面上，他同他们打得火热，实际上，一转眼便撂在一边。由于和他们朝夕相处，时时相遇，脑子里根本忙不过来，所谈论的又都是同他干的这一行有关的问题，他对他们一律恭谨有加，一视同仁，不以贵贱论英雄。他觉得自己很像一个以品酒为业的人，由于天天接二连三地品尝各种各样的酒，久而久之，连马戈堡所产葡萄酒和阿让托所产葡萄酒的区别也都分辨不出来了。
　　他很快就成了一名出色的外勤记者，不但所得到的消息来源可靠，报道快捷，而且遇事反应敏锐，精明强干。用杰出报人瓦尔特老头的话说，他已成为报馆名副其实的栋梁。
　　可是，他的收入依然不丰，他写的文章每行仅可得十个生丁，此外便是每月二百法郎的固定薪俸。由于他至今孑然一身，经常出入咖啡馆和酒肆，耗费自然惊人，因此手头常感拮据，生活相当清苦。
　　他看到有的同事进进出出，衣袋里总装着鼓鼓的金币，但始终未弄明白，他们靠的是什么人不知鬼不觉的办法而能挣到这样多的钱，生活如此阔绰。他想，这倒是一条不应轻易放过的生财捷径。因为他在羡慕他们的同时，怀疑他们在干着不为人所知的非法勾当，替一些人效犬马之劳，彼此心照不宜，狼狈为奸。然而他必须识破其行藏，打入其秘密团体中去，方可使这些背着他大捞外快的同伴，对他刮目相看。
　　他常于夜阑人静之时，一边看着窗下飞驰而过的列车，一边苦苦思索着自己可以采用的良策。
Chapter 5 The First Intrigue
Two months elapsed. It was September. The fortune which Duroy had hoped to make so rapidly seemed to him slow in coming. Above all he was dissatisfied with the mediocrity of his position; he was appreciated, but was treated according to his rank. Forestier himself no longer invited him to dinner, and treated him as an inferior. Often he had thought of making Mme. Forestier a visit, but the remembrance of their last 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 on Rue Verneuil, on the fourth floor. A maid answered his summons, and said: “Yes, Madame is at home, but I do not know whether she has risen.” She conducted Duroy into the drawing-room, which was large, poorly furnished, and somewhat untidy. The shabby, threadbare chairs were ranged along the walls according to the servant’s fancy, for there was 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. de Marelle entered hastily, clad in a Japanese dressing-gown. She exclaimed:
“How kind of you to come to see me. I was positive you had forgotten me.” 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 seen Norbert 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 in five minutes an intimacy, a mutual understanding, was established between those two beings alike in character and kind. Suddenly the young 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 undoubtedly become good friends; would that please you?”
He replied: “Certainly,” with a smile more expressive than words. He thought her very bewitching in her pretty gown. When near Mme. Forestier, whose impassive, gracious smile attracted yet held at a distance, and seemed to say: “I like you, yet take care,” he felt a desire 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 had entered, and she cried: “You may come in, my darling.”
The child entered, advanced to Duroy and offered him her hand. The astonished mother murmured: “That is a conquest.” The young man, having kissed the child, seated her by his side, and with a serious air questioned her as to what she had done since they last met. She replied in a flute-like voice and with the manner of a woman. The clock struck three; the journalist rose.
“Come often,” said Mme. de Marelle; “it has been a pleasant causerie. I shall always be glad to welcome you. Why do I never meet you at the Forestiers?”
“For no particular reason. I am very busy. I hope, however, that we shall 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 wishes me to ask you to wait for her about fifteen minutes, for she is not dressed. 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 an hour with you.” When the mother entered they were in the midst of an exciting game, and Mme. de Marelle paused in amazement, crying: “Laurine playing? You are a sorcerer, sir!” He placed the child, whom he had caught in his arms, upon the floor, kissed the lady’s hand, and they seated themselves, the child between them. They tried to converse, but Laurine, usually so silent, monopolized the conversation, and her mother was compelled to send her to her room.
When they were alone, Mme. de Marelle lowered her voice and said: “I have a great project. It is this: As I dine every week at the Foresters’, I return it from time to time by inviting them to a restaurant. I do not like to have company at home; I am not so situated that I can have any. I know nothing about housekeeping or cooking. I prefer a life free from care; therefore I invite them to the cafe occasionally; but it is not lively when we are only three. I am telling you this in order to explain such an informal gathering. I should like you 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 and impatiently awaited the day of the dinner. He was the first to arrive at the place appointed and was shown into a small private room, in which the table was laid for four; that table looked very inviting with its colored glasses, silver, and candelabra.
Duroy seated himself upon a low bench. Forestier entered and shook hands with him with a cordiality he never evinced at the office.
“The two ladies will come together,” said he. “These dinners are truly delightful.”
Very soon the door opened and Mesdames Forestier and De Marelle appeared, heavily veiled, surrounded by the charming mystery necessary to a rendezvous in a place so public. As Duroy greeted the former, she took him to task for not having been to see her; then she added with a smile: “Ah, you prefer Mme. de Marelle; the time passes more pleasantly with her.”
When the waiter handed the wine-list to Forestier, Mme. de Marelle exclaimed: “Bring the gentle-men whatever they want; as for us, we want nothing but champagne.”
Forestier, who seemed not to have heard her, asked: “Do you object to my 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 then the guests began to chat. They discussed a scandal which was being circulated about a society belle. Forestier was very much amused by it. Duroy said with a smile: “How many would abandon themselves to a caprice, a dream of love, if they did not fear that they would pay for a brief happiness with tears and an irremediable scandal?”
Both women glanced at him approvingly. Forestier cried with a sceptical laugh: “The poor husbands!” Then they talked of love. Duroy said: “When I love a woman, everything else in the world is forgotten.”
Mme. Forestier murmured:, “There is no happiness comparable to that first clasp of the hand, when one asks: ‘Do you love me?’ and the other replies: ‘Yes, I love you.’” Mme. de Marelle cried gaily as she drank a glass of champagne: “I am less Platonic.”
Forestier, lying upon the couch, said in serious tone: “That frankness does you honor and proves you to be a practical woman. But might one ask, what is M. de Marelle’s opinion?”
She shrugged her shoulders disdainfully and said: “M. de Marelle has no opinion on that subject.”
The conversation grew slow. Mme. de Marelle seemed to offer provocation by her remarks, while Mme. Forestier’s charming reserve, the modesty in her voice, in her smile, all seemed to extenuate the bold sallies which issued from her lips. The dessert came and then followed the coffee. The hostess and her guests lighted cigarettes, but Forestier suddenly began to cough. When the attack was over, he growled angrily: “These parties are not good for me; they are stupid. Let us go home.”
Mme. de Marelle summoned the waiter and asked for her bill. She tried to read it, but the figures danced before her eyes; she handed the paper to Duroy.
“Here, pay it for me; I cannot see.” At the same time, she put her purse in his hand.
The total was one hundred and thirty francs. Duroy glanced at the bill and 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 a cab side by side. Duroy could think of nothing to say; he felt impelled to clasp her in his arms. “If I should dare, what would she do?” thought he. The recollection of their conversation at dinner emboldened, but the fear of scandal restrained him. Mme. de Marelle reclined silently in her corner. He would have thought her asleep, had he not seen her eyes glisten whenever a ray of light penetrated the dark recesses of the carriage. Of what was she thinking? Suddenly she moved her foot, nervously, impatiently. That movement caused him to tremble, and turning quickly, he cast himself upon her, seeking her lips with his. She uttered a cry, attempted to repulse him and then yielded 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 not move, stunned by what had just taken place. Fearing that the cabman would mistrust something, Duroy alighted from the cab first and offered his 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 lunch with me to-morrow.” With those words she disappeared.
Duroy gave the cabman a five-franc piece, and turned away with a triumphant, joyful air. He had at last conquered a married woman! A woman of the world! A Parisian! How easy it had been!
He was somewhat nervous the following day as he ascended Mme. 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. Duroy felt reassured and asked: “Is Madame well?”
“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 toward her crying: “How I love you!” He clasped her to his breast. He 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 Laurine to lunch with a friend.”
He sighed, and kissing her wrists 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. 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. 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. Gradually he drew nearer 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 of these days.”
He colored. “My rooms — are — 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: “To-morrow, say — to-morrow.” Finally she consented. “Yes, to-morrow 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 Laurine.”
The child entered, paused in surprise, then ran toward Duroy clapping her hands, delighted to see him, and crying: “Ah, ‘Bel- Ami!’”
Mme. de Marelle laughed. “Bel-Ami! Laurine has christened you. It is a pretty name. I shall call you Bel-Ami, 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: “To-morrow, 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 apartments 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 Rue 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 cabman started up his horse, she cried:” Adieu, Bel-Ami!” and the old 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 him to his door. A child screamed. A man’s angry voice cried: “What is the brat howling about?”
A woman’s voice replied: “Nicolas has been tripped up on the landing-place by the journalist’s sweetheart.”
Duroy retreated, for he heard the rustling of skirts. Soon there was a knock 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 bed and to lay a damp cloth upon her temples. When she grew calmer, anger succeeded her agitation. She wanted Duroy 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’ to-morrow 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. 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 asked the 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 to be prudent, looked him straight in the eyes; then selecting a key, he asked: “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 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 center of the room. Opening it she took out a tablet of soap, a bottle of Lubin’s extract, a sponge, a box of hairpins, a button- hook, 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: “Georges, 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!”
“YOUR CLO.”
Duroy was startled; he had not realized the fact that Mme. de Marelle was married. He impatiently awaited her husband’s departure. One morning he received the following telegram:
“Five o’clock.— CLO.”
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 merchant’s 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. Duroy soon began to tire of those expeditions, for he had exhausted all his resources and all means of obtaining money. In addition to that he owed Forestier a hundred francs, Jacques Rival three hundred, and he was hampered with innumerable petty debts ranging from twenty francs to one 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 afternoon working at the office. At four o’clock he received a telegram from Mme. de Marelle, 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: “Foucart, I have left my purse at home and I have to dine at the Luxembourg. Lend me fifty sous to 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 and dined 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 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 butt for your ill humor.”
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 Clo, my little Clo, 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 colored, 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 straitened 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 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 a match, he was amazed to find in it a piece of money — a twenty- franc piece! At first he wondered by what miracle it had got there; suddenly it occurred to him that Mme. de Marelle had given him alms! 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: “Bah, 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 Francaise” 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 Mme. de Marelle 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 Mme. de Marelle had a number of engagements. Duroy 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 account of all that he received in order to pay it back some day.
One evening, Mme. de Marelle said to him: “Would you believe that I have never been to the Folies-Bergeres; will you take me there?”
He hesitated, fearing a meeting with Rachel. Then he thought: “Bah, 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 their seats. Mme. de Marelle 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 Rachel, with anger in her eyes and violent words upon her lips.
Duroy had passed her when he and Mme. de Marelle 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, Georges.” He paid no heed to her. Then she was determined to be recognized and she remained near their box, awaiting a favorable moment. When she saw that she was observed by Mme. de Marelle, she touched 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 with another is no reason that you cannot recognize 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 Mme. de Marelle in affright opened the door of the box and fled through the crowd seeking an exit. Duroy rushed after her. Rachel, seeing him disappear, cried: “Stop her! she has stolen my lover!”
Two men seized the fugitive by the shoulder, but Duroy, 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?” Duroy replied: “Where you will!”
Clotilde sobbed hysterically. Duroy did not know what to say or do. At length he stammered:
“Listen Clo — my dearest Clo, 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 — for 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. Georges was about to follow her but she commanded: “I forbid you to follow me,” in a voice so loud that the passers-by crowded around her, and Duroy 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 Rue Boursault at Batignolles!”
The crowd applauded; one man said: “Bravo, little one!” and the cab moved on, followed by the jeers of the bystanders.
　　光阴荏苒，转眼两个月已经过去，现在已是九月。杜洛瓦所期待的迅速发迹，依然遥遥无期。尤其让他焦心的是，他的寒微处境并无多大改变，要摆脱这种状况，登上那荣华富贵的顶峰，实在希望渺茫。因为外勤记者这一卑微职务，对他说来，现在简直成了一种累赘，终日将他紧紧束缚着，使得他永无出头之日。不错，人们对他的才华确很器重，但这种器重并未越过他所处的地位。甚至连弗雷斯蒂埃也不例外。虽然他在此期间帮了这位仁兄许多忙，但这位仁兄后来一次也没再邀请他去他家做客。尽管他依然像朋友一样对他以“你”相称，但不论在何场合总对他摆出一副上司的派头。
　　由于经常写一些有关社会新闻的小稿子，他的文笔已大有改善，思路也开阔多了，不像写第二篇关于阿尔及利亚的文章时那样僵硬，狭隘。因此隔三岔五，他已能发表一两篇短的新闻稿；交上去的稿子旋即被退回的尴尬局面，现在是再也没有了。然而话虽如此，这同随心所欲地把自己的想法写成大块文章，或就一些政治问题发表权威性评论，却有着根本的不同，这正如同样行驶于布洛涅林苑大道的马车，驾辕的车夫和坐在车内的主人属于不同的阶层一样。他尤其感到愤愤不平的是，上流社会的大门始终向他关闭着，总也进不去。换句话说，他至今尚无一个能够对他平等相待的朋友，没有一个异性知交，尽管有好几个知名女演员在见到他时常常显得分外亲热。
　　再说生活告诉他，这些女人，不管来自上流社会还是属于歌舞名媛，对他所表现的好感不过是出于一时的冲动或短暂的钟情。至于能使他飞黄腾达的女人，他一个也没碰到。他像一匹被绳索拴住的马，为自己心愿难遂而焦虑不安。
　　他一直想去看看弗雷斯蒂埃夫人。但一想到上次见面的情景，他便感到无地自容，最后只得打消此念。再说，他总觉得，她丈夫说不定会在哪天向他发出邀请。在此百无聊赖之际，他忽然想起德•马莱尔夫人，记得她曾叫他在方便时去看看她。这样，一天下午，他因实在无事可做，便信步向她家走了过去。
　　她曾对他说过：“我下午三点总在家里。”
　　他到达她家门前时，恰恰是下午二时半。
　　她住在维纳街一幢楼房的五层楼上。
　　门铃响过，前来开门的是一位女佣。她身材矮小，头发散披在肩上，一面在戴无边软帽，一面回答他的问话：
　　“太太在家，但不知道起床没有。”
　　说着，她将客厅虚掩着的门一把推开。
　　杜洛瓦走了进去。客厅相当大，但家具不多，布置也不够精心。沿墙摆着的一长列扶手椅，不但年代已久，很是破旧，且显然是女佣随便摆的，丝毫看不出喜欢家居的女主人在室内陈设上所显现的别具匠心。四周护墙板上挂着四幅蹩脚的油画，由于画框上方的绳子长短不一，每一幅都挂得歪歪扭扭。这四幅画，一幅画的是一条河，河上有条小船；另一幅画的是海，海上有一艘轮船；再一幅画的是平原，平原上有个磨房；最后一幅画的是树林，林中有个樵夫。可以看出，由于女主人的漫不经心，这些画如此歪歪斜斜地挂在那里，已经很久很久了。
　　杜洛瓦见女主人未来，只得坐下等候。过了好久之后，客厅的另一扇门总算打开，德•马莱尔夫人一阵风似的跑了进来。她穿着一件粉红色丝质日本晨衣，上面绣着金色的风景、蓝色的花朵和白色的小鸟。她大声说道：
　　“这个时候还没起床，实在不好意思。您能来看我，真不知叫我说什么好。我还以为您把我忘了。”
　　她欢欣地向他伸过两只手来。杜洛瓦见房内的陈设十分简单，心中反倒感到安然而自在。他于是握住伸过来的两只小手，并像诺贝尔•德•瓦伦那样，在她的一只手上亲了亲。
　　德•马莱尔夫人请他坐下，接着从头到脚将他打量了一番，说道：
　　“啊，您可真是变了个人，变得更有气派了。看来巴黎的环境对您非常适合。来，有什么新闻，给我讲讲。”
　　他们像两个结交多年的老友，立刻无拘无束地聊了起来。彼此之间仿佛油然升起一种亲切感，仿佛都感到有一种信任感、亲密感和倾慕感在驱使着他们。正是这种感觉常可使两个素昧平生、但意趣相投、性情相仿的人，经过片刻交谈而立即成为莫逆之交。
　　德•马莱尔夫人忽然停了下来，带着无比惊讶的神色改口道：“您说怪也不怪？今天一见到您，我就觉得我们像是交往多年的老相识似的。这样看来，我们一定会成为好友的。您愿意做我的朋友吗？”
　　“当然愿意，”杜洛瓦微笑道。但此微笑显然包含着更深的寓意。
　　在他心中，德•马莱尔夫人穿着这种颜色鲜艳、质地轻柔的晨衣，虽然没有穿着洁白晨衣的弗雷斯蒂埃夫人那样苗条，那样纤柔娇艳，但体态却更具风韵，更加撩人心魄，使人心荡神驰，不能自已。
　　他觉得，同弗雷斯蒂埃夫人单独相处时，她脸上时时浮着的一丝微笑是那样媚人，但同时也透出一股冷漠，使你既心旌摇摇，又不敢贸然造次。那样子似乎在说：“你看来对我十分倾心”，但同时又仿佛在提醒你：“请勿轻举妄动。”总之，那种表现使你摸不透她究竟是何意思。在这种情况下，杜洛瓦充其量只想伏在她的脚下，或是轻轻吻一吻她胸衣上方的秀丽花边，嗅一嗅从两只沉甸甸的乳房间散逸出来的温热馨香。和德•马莱尔夫人在一起则不同了，他感到周身激荡着一股强烈而又明确的欲望，面对她那在轻柔丝质晨衣的掩盖下线条起伏的优美身段，他不禁五内沸然，双手颤抖。
　　德•马莱尔夫人一直在侃侃而谈，每句话都显示出她是一位才智过人的女人，如同一个熟练工在众人惊讶目光的注视下，做着一件被认为难于完成的工作。
　　杜洛瓦一面听她讲，心里却一面在想：
　　“她的这些话真是别有见地。若将巴黎每天发生的事情听她来讲一讲，必可写出一篇篇绝妙的文章。”
　　这时，从她刚才进来的门上传来了两下轻轻的叩门声，德•马莱尔夫人随即喊道：
　　“你可以进来，我的小乖乖。”
　　一个小女孩出现在门边。只见她一径走向杜洛瓦，将手向他伸了过去。
　　坐在一旁的母亲惊讶不已，不由地发出一声感叹：
　　“瞧她在您面前是多么地懂事，我简直不敢相信。”
　　杜洛瓦亲了亲小女孩，然后让她在身边坐下，郑重其事地向她提了几个问题，问她自他们上次见面以来都做了些什么。小女孩声若银铃，一本正经地一一加以回答，俨然像个大人。
　　房内的挂钟敲了三下。杜洛瓦于是起身告辞。
　　“以后请常来坐坐，”德•马莱尔夫人说道，“我们可以像今天这样随便聊，什么时候来我都欢迎。对了，这些日子怎么总没在弗雷斯蒂埃家见到您。”
　　杜洛瓦答道：
　　“啊，这倒没什么，我最近一直很忙。我想，我们很快就会在他家再见面的。”
　　他一径走了出去，心中不知怎地又燃起了希望。
　　他没有将他此次的德•马莱尔夫人家之行，向弗雷斯蒂埃吐露一个字。
　　此后几天，此行一直萦绕于他的脑际而久久不能忘怀。不但如此，他的眼前仿佛总影影绰绰地浮现出这年轻女人的俏丽身影。他像被勾去了魂魄似的，心里总牵挂着那优美的身姿，总感到她身上有股暗香在他身边徘徊。他是这样地神不守舍，同人们在和一个人愉快地在一起度过几小时后常会产生的感觉一样。这感觉是那样地奇异、神秘，发自内心而又扑朔迷离，它会使你如痴如醉，坐卧不宁。
　　这样，几天后，他又到了德•马莱尔夫人家。
　　女仆把他带到客厅后，小姑娘洛琳娜立刻跑了过来。与上次不同的是，她今天没有把手伸给他，而是将前额向他伸了过去，口中一边说道：
　　“妈妈要我告诉您，请您等一会儿。她正在穿衣服，要过一会儿才能来。我先陪您坐坐吧。”
　　杜洛瓦觉得小女孩彬彬有礼的举止十分有趣，便随口说道：
　　“好极了，小姐。能和您在一起呆一会儿，我感到非常荣幸。不过我要告诉您，我可是一个坐不住的人，整天爱玩。所以我提议，如果您愿意，咱们现在可以来玩猫捉老鼠的游戏。”
　　小女孩先是一愣，然后像大人对此建议感到突然和惊异似的笑了笑，说道：
　　“在房间里可怎么玩呀？”
　　杜洛瓦答道：
　　“没关系，我到哪儿都能玩。开始吧，你来捉我。”
　　他于是围着桌子转了起来，同时向小女孩发出挑逗，小女孩脸上始终泛着微笑，出于礼貌，只得跟在他后边不紧不慢地走着，不时伸出手来作出要抓住他的样子，但并没有认真追赶。
　　杜洛瓦停下脚步，弯下身子，等她迈着犹疑不定的脚步走过来时，突然纵身往空中一跳，迅速跑到客厅的另一头。小女孩见此情景，觉得很是有趣，终于咧开嘴，咯咯地笑了起来。她兴致大增，开始小跑着在后面追赶，可是人还没追上，自己先已怯生生地发出了吃吃的欢快笑声。杜洛瓦拉过一把椅子，挡住了她，逼着她围着椅子转了一圈，然后又转而拉过另一把椅子。小女孩现在撒开腿跑起来了，原先的拘束已一扫而光。这新奇的游戏使她兴奋不已，她脸上泛着红晕，乐呵呵地使劲追赶着。然而杜洛瓦的身子是那样灵活，有的时候，他甚至故意站在那里，等着她去捉，但一闪身，仍被他逃脱了。
　　到后来，她以为这下是定能将他捉住无疑了，不想他却突然将她一把抱住，用双手将她高高地举了起来，口中大声喊道：
　　“小猫上树喽。”
　　杜洛瓦这突如其来的一招，使小姑娘高兴不已。她一面使劲扭动两腿，想挣脱他的双手，一面发出了纵情大笑。
　　这时走进房内的德•马莱尔夫人，不由地被眼前的情景惊呆了：
　　“啊……我的洛琳娜竟也玩起游戏来了……先生，你这个人可真是非同一般。”
　　杜洛瓦把小女孩放在地上，在德•马莱尔夫人伸过来的手上亲了一下。大家坐了下来，小女孩坐在他们中间。他们很想说说话，但平时寡言少语的洛琳娜，这时因余兴未消，却叽叽喳喳地说个没完。德•马莱尔夫人只得打发她回到自己的房里去。
　　小女孩两眼噙着泪花，默默地走了。
　　她一走，德•马莱尔夫人便压低声音向杜洛瓦说道：“我要告诉你一件事，我有一个正经想法，而且想到了你。事情是这样的：我每星期都应邀到弗雷斯蒂埃家吃一餐饭，同时我也隔一段时候便在馆子里面回请他们一次。你知道，我这个人不爱请客人到家里来。这种送往迎来的事我很不在行，再说我也不谙家务，烹饪料理更是一窍不通，总之是什么也不会。我喜欢把日子过得随便一些。所以我总是在饭馆里回他们的情。可是每次都是我们三个人，餐桌上的气氛总也热闹不起来，而我的朋友又同他们不是一路的，很难合得来。我同你讲这些，是想告诉你，这次宴请同往常稍有不同。我的意思你听明白了吗？我希望这次聚会，你也算一个。时间定在本星期六晚七时半，地点就在‘富人餐馆’。这地方你知道吗？”
　　杜洛瓦愉快地接受了她的邀请。
　　德•马莱尔夫人接着说道：
　　“这样一来，我们将是四个人，不多不少刚好一桌。这种小型聚会一定很有意思，特别是，我们这些女人平时很少有这样的机会。”
　　她今天穿了件深栗色连衣裙。连衣裙裁剪得体，把她的身腰、臀部和胸脯都烘托了出来，显得别具风姿，分外撩人。这通身的华光和刻意的修饰同她对家中陈设一眼便可看出的漠不关心，未免太不协调了。杜洛瓦不禁隐约感到有点纳闷，甚至有一点说不出所以然的别扭。
　　她竟是这样一个人：周身穿着的，戴着的，或与肉体直接接触的，竟是那样地精致、考究，只要能达到这一点，自己所生活的环境是无关紧要的。
　　从德•马莱尔夫人家回来后，杜洛瓦仍同上次一样，眼前总时时浮现着她的倩影，身上的各个感官总感到她好像就在眼前似的。他现在所一心盼望的，是星期六的聚会能快快到来。
　　由于手头依然不太宽裕，无力购买用于晚宴的礼服，他只得又去租了一套黑色的。这一天终于来了，他第一个早早到达，比约定时间提前了好几分钟。
　　他被堂倌带到三楼的一间不大的房间内，房内四周挂着红色的帷幔，临街的一面只有一扇窗户。
　　房间中央放着一张方桌，桌上已摆好四份刀叉。桌布白得耀眼，像是刷了层白漆似的。两个高大的烛台上点着十二支蜡烛，把桌上的玻璃器皿、银质餐具和火锅映照得习习生辉。
　　窗外有一棵树，浓密的树冠，在各单间客房明亮灯光的照射下，像是一块嫩绿的草坪展现在那里。
　　杜洛瓦在一张沙发上坐了下来。同墙上挂着的帷幔一样，沙发的布面也是红色的，但里边的弹簧已经破旧不堪，杜洛瓦一坐下去，便听咕叽一声，身子深深地陷了下去。这是一家很大的餐馆，四周回荡着大餐馆里常见的那种嘈杂声，如碗碟或银质器皿的碰撞声、堂倌在铺着地毯的走廊里快速走动的沙沙声、各房间房门此起彼伏的关门声以及房门偶或开着时从房内传出的各方来客的南腔北调。弗雷斯蒂埃这时走了进来，亲热地同杜洛瓦握了握手，表情是那样真挚，这在报馆里是从来没有的。
　　“两位女士将一同前来，”他说，“这种聚会倒蛮有意思。”
　　他向桌上看了看，忽然走过去，把一盏光焰如豆的煤气灯熄灭掉，并因风很大而将窗户关了一扇，然后，他找了个拐角处坐了下来，一边说道：
　　“我现在应特别留意。这一个月来，身体倒是好多了，只是前几天又旧病复发，可能是星期二晚上去看戏时又着了凉。”
　　房门这时忽然打开，两个年轻的女人出现在门边，身后跟着一位侍者。她们都戴着面纱，把秀丽的面庞围得严严实实，一举一动是那样小心谨慎。每当在此场合出现，她们总是带着这样一种神秘兮兮的可爱神态，生怕会在不意之中遇上某个邻居或熟人。
　　杜洛瓦迎上去，向弗雷斯蒂埃夫人欠了欠身。弗雷斯蒂埃夫人佯装着一脸怒气，狠狠责备了他一通，说他为何没去看她。接着，她意味深长地微微一笑，冲着德•马莱尔夫人说道：“这不是明摆着吗？你心中显然只有她，而没有我，你去看她就有时间了？”
　　众人于是落座。侍者走过来，向弗雷斯蒂埃递上一份上面标有各色水酒的纸片。德•马莱尔夫人一见，立刻向侍者喊道：
　　“这两位先生要什么，你就给他们拿什么。至于我们俩，我们要冰镇香槟，而且要上等的。最好口味温和一点，其他什么也不要。”
　　侍者出去后，她带着不可抑制的高兴神色笑道：
　　“今晚我可要喝个痛快。今天机会难得，大家定要开怀畅饮。”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃似乎没有听到她刚才的话，这时向她问道：
　　“我去把窗户关上，你看可以吗？我这几天，老毛病又犯了。”
　　“当然可以。”
　　他于是走去把另一扇半开着的窗户关了起来，然后回到原位坐下，脸上现出安然、平静的神色。
　　他妻子始终一言未发，心里似乎有什么事情。只见她眼帘低垂，在对着面前的酒杯微笑。这淡淡的笑，好像总在那里许诺什么，但又决不会去履行。
　　侍者送来一盘奥斯唐德牡蛎①。这牡蛎既肥又嫩，像是有意放进蚌壳中的一块块嫩肉，一到嘴里就化了，同略带咸味的糖块一样。
　　--------
　　①奥斯唐德，比利时一地名，以盛产牡蛎闻名于世。
　　喝过汤以后，侍者送来一盘鲟鱼，鱼肉呈粉红色，同少女的肌肤相仿。酒过三巡，举座的谈兴也就不知不觉地放开了。
　　首先谈的是一件市井传闻，说一位上流社会的贵妇，在一家餐馆的雅座里同一位外国王公共享佳肴，不巧被她丈夫的一个朋友撞见，遂闹得满城风雨。
　　故事说完，弗雷斯蒂埃大笑不止。两位女士则对那以泄露他人隐情为乐的快嘴男子，作了同声谴责，说此人是个不谙人情世故的糊涂虫。杜洛瓦同意她们的见解，并一本正经地申言，一个男人，无论是当事人、知情者还是一般目击者，对于这类事情都应藏于心底，守口如瓶。他接着说道：
　　“要是我们每个人对于他人的隐私，都能绝对地缄默不语，互相之间存在着充分的信任，则人世间有趣的事情将会俯拾皆是。人们之所以常常——特别是女人——畏首畏尾，就是因为担心自己做的事会在哪一天被暴露于光天化日之下。”
　　说完，他又笑着说了一句：
　　“你们说，事情难道不就是这样吗？要是她们不必担心自己会因一时之快而使自己的名声被人糟践，弄得终身懊恼，只有暗暗地咽下痛苦的眼泪，则她们当中将不知有多少人对于心中突然萌发的情思或爱情上的浪漫想法，会顺其自然地完全按照自己的愿望去尽情消受，那怕欢乐的时间非常短暂！”
　　这一席话，他语调铿锵，说得振振有词，表明他对此深信不疑，也好像在表白自己，那意思分明是：
　　“你们如果同我有什么风流韵事，就不必担心会遇到这种麻烦。谓予不信，不妨试试。”
　　两位女士一直在目不转睛地看着他。这沉稳的目光，表明她们对他的话深表赞同，觉得他言之凿凿，很有道理。同时这意味深长的默然无语也是在暗暗地默认，要是各人的事确能秘而不宣，则她们这些巴黎女郎，虽然有着无比坚强的意志，也早已顶不住各式各样的诱惑了。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃几乎已躺在沙发上，一条腿环了起来，胸前的餐巾已塞进背心的领口中，以免弄脏礼服。只见他忽然一阵大笑，以一个怀疑论者确信不疑的腔调说道：
　　“此话倒也一点不假，要是这些事情果能确保秘密，谁都会跃跃欲试的。这样一来，倒霉的也就是那些可怜的丈夫了。”
　　话题又转到了爱情上。杜洛瓦认为，说爱情是一种永恒的东西，实在是无稽之谈。但他觉得爱情却可持久保持，因为它可建立起一种感情关系，使双方在温情脉脉的友好情谊中互相予以信任。肉体的结合不过是心灵结合的产物。因此他对感情一破裂便猜忌重重，甚至夫妻反目，相视如仇，成天大吵大闹，弄得鸡犬不宁的做法，十分反感。
　　杜洛瓦说完后，德•马莱尔夫人不觉长叹一声，说道：
　　“一点不错。生活中唯一美好的东西，就是爱情。正是由于我们对它要求太高，不切实际，结果常常反而把它糟蹋了。”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人手上一直拿着一把刀在摆弄着，她这时也插了一句：
　　“完全对……一个女人能有人爱，总是一件令人开心的事情。”
　　她好像想得很多，心头涌起了许多不敢与他人言的事情。
　　由于第一道正菜尚未上来，大家只得间或喝口香槟，嘴里嚼一点从小圆面包上剥落下来的脆皮。随着刚才的谈话，对于爱的思念现在正慢慢地侵入每个人的心田，渐渐地，人人都沉陷在如痴如醉、虚无缥缈的梦幻中，恰如这清醇的美酒，在它一滴滴地流过喉间后，很快便使人周身发热，神思恍惚，如坠五里雾中。
　　侍者端来了嫩而不腻的羊排，羊排下方厚厚地铺着一层砌成细块的芦笋尖。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃一见，不禁喊了起来：
　　“啊，好菜！”
　　众人于是吃了起来，细细品尝着这鲜美的羊肉和吃在口中滑腻如脂的笋尖。
　　杜洛瓦又说道：
　　“我若爱上一个女人，心中只会有她。对我来说，世间的其他一切都不会存在。”
　　他的语气是那样地斩钉截铁，仿佛在享受这美味佳肴的同时，正为自己能领略这爱情的甘美而兴奋不已。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人摆出一副若无其事的神情，喃喃地说道：“当一个人握着另一人的手，向对方问道：‘你爱我吗？’对方接着答道：‘是的，我爱你。’要说爱情带给人的幸福，没有比此时此刻更为圣洁无瑕了。”
　　德•马莱尔夫人刚刚又将一杯香槟一饮而尽，她把杯子放回桌上，带着欢快的声调说道：
　　“我对于爱情，可没有这些柏拉图式的东西。”
　　听了这句话，大家眼睛一亮，个个点头称是，于是一阵哈哈大笑。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃干脆在沙发上躺了下来，并伸开两臂，扶着座垫，十分严肃地说道：
　　“你的坦诚令人钦佩，这表明，你是个讲求实际的女人。我可否问一句，不知德•马莱尔先生对此持何看法？”
　　德•马莱尔夫人轻轻地耸了耸肩，脸上长久地流露出一种不屑理会的神情，然后一字一顿地说道：
　　“他对此问题没有看法。他对任何问题都没有……明确的态度。”
　　有关爱情的这场谈话，随即由高尚的理论探讨转而进入其具体表现的百花园中。言语虽然放荡，但仍不失其高雅。
　　因为这时候，大家的用语都非常巧妙，稍稍一点，便彼此会意，豁然开朗；但不管怎样，那类似下身裙裾的的遮羞物毕竟已经拨开，只是言词虽然大胆，但掩饰巧妙，透着百般的精明与狡诈。因此言词虽然下流，但仍惺惺作态，欲擒故纵，所谈到的分明是赤裸裸的男女隐情，但遣词造句却相当地含蓄。总之，每一句话语都能使人们的眼前和心头迅速浮现出难以言传的一切，对于这些上流社会的人来说，更可以感受到一种神秘而微妙的情爱，在他们心中油然唤起种种难于启齿、垂涎已久的贪欢场面，不禁心荡神驰，欲火如炽。侍者这时端末一盘烤小竹鸡和鹌鹑、一盘碗豆、一罐肥鹅肝及一盘沙拉。沙拉中拌有生菜，叶片参差不齐，满满地盛在一个状如脸盆的器具里，面上好似浮着一层碧绿的青苔。但这些美味佳肴，他们并没有认真品尝，而只是盲目地送进口中，因为他们的思绪仍停留在刚才所谈论的那些事情上，陶醉于爱情的氛围中。
　　两位女士现在已一扫原先的矜持，说出的话语都相当直率。德•马莱尔夫人秉性泼辣，每一句话都像是一种挑逗。弗雷斯蒂埃夫人则稍有不同，仍显得有点羞赧和持重。不过话虽如此，她的语调和声音，乃至一颦一笑，一举一动，表面上对她所说的大胆言辞起了一定的抑制，实际上却使之显得更为突出，只是没有德•马莱尔夫人那样肆无忌惮罢了。
　　已完全躺在沙发上的弗雷斯蒂埃，在不停地笑着，不停地喝着和吃着，但却不时会说出一句毫无遮掩、非常露骨的话语。两位女士表面上装出吃惊的样子，显得有点不好意思，但所持续的时间不过是两三秒钟而已。因此，每当弗雷斯蒂埃说出一句过于粗俗的淫荡言词，他总要立即追加一句：“孩子们，你们这是怎么啦？你们要总是这个样子，迟早会做出蠢事来的。”
　　正餐之后，现在是甜食。侍者接着送来了咖啡，随后是甜烧酒。几个本已兴奋不已的男女，两口烧酒一下肚，也就更加感到浑身燥热，心绪纷乱了。
　　正像她在晚宴开始时所表示的那样，德•马莱尔夫人果然已是醉眼朦胧了。她承认自己不胜酒力，但仍带着一副乐呵呵的娇媚神态，叽叽喳喳地说个不停。醉是确实有点醉了，但也还不至于如此失态，她这是为了让自己的客人心里高兴而有意装出来的。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人现在是一言不发，可能是出于谨慎，不愿再说什么。杜洛瓦感到自己正处于极度的兴奋之中，话一出口必有失言，因此也知趣地默然不语。
　　大家点着了香烟。不想弗雷斯蒂埃忽然咳了起来。
　　这一阵咳，来势如此凶猛，好像要把他的五脏六腑都撕裂似的。他满脸通红，头上挂着汗珠，只得用毛巾使劲把嘴捂住。
　　后来，他总算渐渐安静了下来，不悦地说道：
　　“这种聚会对我没有任何好处，我今天来，实在是太愚蠢了。”
　　这可怕的病显然已弄得他六神无主，刚才还谈笑风生的浓厚兴致，早已踪影全无。
　　“咱们回去吧，”他说。
　　德•马莱尔夫人按了按铃，让侍者结账。侍者立刻便将账单送了来。她接过账单看了看，但上面的数字仿佛在那里转动，怎么也看不真切，最后只得递给杜洛瓦，一边说道：
　　“咳，还是你来帮我付吧。我已醉得不行，什么也看不清楚。”
　　说着，她把自己的钱包放到他手中。
　　整个开销为一百三十法郎。杜洛瓦将账单仔细检查一遍，从钱包里抽出两张大钞，递给侍者。接过对方找回的零钱时，他低声向德•马莱尔夫人问了一句：
　　“小费给多少？”
　　“你看着办，我不知道。”
　　杜洛瓦在放钱的盘子里扔了五法郎，然后将钱包还给德•马莱尔夫人，同时向她问道：
　　“要不要我把你送到家门口？”
　　“这当然好，我现在已找不着家门了。”
　　他们俩于是和弗雷斯蒂埃夫妇握手道别。这样，杜洛瓦也就和德•马莱尔夫人同乘一辆出租马车走了。
　　现在，德•马莱尔夫人同他比肩而坐，互相靠得很近。车内一片漆黑，只有人行道上的煤气路灯所发出的光亮，不时射进来，将这小小的空间照亮一会儿。他透过衣袖，感受到德•马莱尔夫人的臂膀热呼呼的，心中蓦然激荡起一股把她搂到怀里的强烈欲望，因此脑海中现在是一片空白，找不出一句话来同她说说，什么话也没有。
　　“我要是这样做的话，”他在心里思忖道，“她会怎样？”
　　刚才大家在餐桌上就男女私情毫无顾忌地说的那些话语，又回到了他的心头，不禁使他勇气倍增，但一想起弄得不好会丢人现眼，他还是不敢轻举妄动。
　　德•马莱尔夫人也是一句话没有，只是一动不动地坐在那里。要不是借着路灯不时投入车内的光亮，看到她那炯炯有神的大眼，杜洛瓦定会以为她睡着了。
　　“她此刻在想什么呢？”杜洛瓦在心里揣度着。
　　他觉得，现在还是什么话也不要说为好，否则只消一句话，沉默将会打破，他也就一切都完了。可是他仍然不敢贸然行事，缺少那种突如其来、不顾一切的勇气。
　　他忽然感到她的脚动了一下。这干巴巴、带有神经质的动作，或许是她等得不耐烦的表示，是她对他的一种召唤。因此杜洛瓦不禁被这几乎难以觉察的表示，弄得浑身一阵战栗。他猛的一下转过身，将整个身子向她压了过去，一边在她身上乱摸，一边急切地将嘴凑近她的嘴唇。
　　她发出一声惊叫，但叫声不大。她使劲挣扎着，竭力把他推开，想直起身来。但没过多久，她还是屈服了，好像她已体力耗尽，无法再作反抗。
　　马车很快在她家门前停了下来。杜洛瓦一下愣在那里，脑海中一时竟找不出一句热情的话语对她今晚的盛请表示谢意，祝她晚安，并向她表达他对她的爱慕和感激。这当儿，德•马莱尔夫人没有站起身，她依然一动不动地坐着，似乎仍沉醉于刚才发生的一幕中。杜洛瓦担心车夫会因而引起疑心，于是首先跳下车，伸过手扶德•马莱尔夫人下来。
　　德•马莱尔夫人终于跌跌撞撞地下了车，但一言未发。杜洛瓦走去按了一下门铃，在大门打开之际战战兢兢地向她问道：
　　“什么时候能再见到你？”
　　德•马莱尔夫人向他咕哝了一句，声音低得他几乎难以听见：
　　“明天到我家来吃午饭。”
　　话一说完，她便走进门里，砰的一声把沉重的大门关上了。
　　杜洛瓦给了车夫一百苏，然后怀着满心的喜悦，得意洋洋地大步朝前走去。
　　他终于已弄到一个女人，而且是一位有夫之妇！一个上流社会，名副其实的上流社会，巴黎上流社会的女人！事情竟如此顺利，实在出乎他的料想。
　　在此之前，他一直以为，要接近和得到这样一个高不可攀的女人，必须以极大的耐心施以心计，必须百折不挠，成天温言软语、低三下四地跟在后面服侍；此外，隔三岔五还得送上一些贵重礼物，以博取其欢心。不曾想，他今晚只是稍加主动，而他今生遇到的这第一个女人，便服服贴贴地拜倒在他的脚下了，事情如此不费吹灰之力，实在叫他百思不得其解。
　　“不过她当时酒还没醒，”杜洛瓦又想，“明天未必会如此顺从。这样的话，那可太叫我伤心了。”
　　想到这里，他不禁又焦虑不安起来，但旋即又自我安慰道：
　　“管他呢，一不做二不休。她既已属于我，就别想能从我手中跑掉。”
　　接着，他陷入了悠悠遐思。他所盼望的，是自己有朝一日能身居要职，不但威名赫赫，而且富甲天下，美女如云。于是种种幻觉纷至沓来，仿佛忽然看到，如同神话传说描述的琼楼玉宇中所常见的那样，一个个年轻貌美、家中富有、出身煊赫的贵妇，排成队列，微笑着从他眼前飘然而过，消失在这金色的梦幻里。
　　这样，当天晚上睡下后，他仍做了许许多多美好的梦。
　　第二天，当他登上德•马莱尔夫人家的楼梯时，心中未免有点踌躇满志。德•马莱尔夫人会怎样待他？她会不会不接待他，连门坎也不让他跨进一步？会不会说……？这怎么可能？她只要有一点反悔的表示，立刻就会被人看出实情。因此事情的主动权，现在毋宁说是掌握在他的手中。
　　前来开门的，仍是那位身材矮小的女仆。杜洛瓦见她的神色并无异样，心中的一块石头顿时落了地，好像他早已料定，女仆一见到他，定会惊慌失措似的。
　　他随即问道：
　　“夫人好吗？”
　　“很好，先生，同早先一样，”女仆答道，一边将他领进客厅。
　　杜洛瓦径直走到壁炉前，对着镜子照了照自己的衣装和头发。他正在那里整理领带，忽从镜中瞥见年轻的德•马莱尔夫人，正袅袅娜娜地站在客厅的门边，目不转睛地看着他。
　　杜洛瓦装着没有见到她，仍旧在那里摆弄着什么。因此两个人在走到一起之前，先在镜中互相对视、端详、打量了许久。
　　杜洛瓦转过身来，德•马莱尔夫人依然一动不动地站在门边，好像在等待着什么。他一下冲过去，带着无比的激动说道：
　　“我是多么地爱你！”
　　德•马莱尔夫人张开双臂，一下扑在他的怀内。过了片刻，她抬起头来，将嘴唇向他凑了过去，两个人于是一阵长
Chapter 6 A Step Upward
The next morning Georges Duroy arose, dressed himself, and determined to have money; he sought Forestier. His friend received him in his study.
“What made you rise so early?” he asked.
“A very serious matter. I have a debt of honor.”
“A gaming debt?”
He hesitated, then repeated: “A gaming debt.”
“Is it large?”
“Five hundred francs.” He only needed two hundred and eighty.
Forestier asked sceptically: “To whom do you owe that amount?”
Duroy did not reply at once. “To — to — a — M. de Carleville.”
“Ah, where does he live?”
“Rue — Rue —”
Forestier laughed. “I know the gentleman! If you want twenty francs you can have them, but no more.”
Duroy 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 Folies Bergeres in search of Rachel; but the woman was implacable and heaped coarse insults upon him, until he felt his cheeks tingle and he left the hall.
Forestier, out of health and feeble, made Duroy’s existence at the office insupportable. The latter did not reply to his rude remarks, but determined to be avenged. He called upon Mme. Forestier. He found her reclining upon a couch, reading. She held out her hand without rising and said: “Good morning, Bel-Ami!”
“Why do you call me by that name?”
She replied with a smile: “I saw Mme. de Marelle 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 Mme. 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 not to allow her time to be angry.
Duroy did not like to call on Mme. 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 favor to call at his house? One day, therefore, he repaired to the market and bought twenty-five pears. Having carefully arranged them in a basket to make them appear as if they came from a distance he took them to Mme. Walter’s door with his card on which was inscribed:
“Georges Duroy begs Mme. 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 Mme, Walter’s card on which was written:
“Mme. Walter thanks M. Georges Duroy very much, and is at home
on Saturdays.”
The next Saturday he called. M. Walter lived on Boulevard Malesherbes in a double house which he owned. The reception-rooms were on the first floor. In the antechamber were two footmen; one took Duroy’s overcoat, the other his cane, put it aside, opened a door and announced the visitor’s name. In the large mirror in the apartment Duroy 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 in contact with so many noted personages, Duroy 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, M. Duroy, to come to see me.” She pointed to a chair. The ladies chatted on. Visitors came and went. Mme. Walter noticed that Duroy 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 M. Linet to the Academy. When Duroy had taken his leave, one of the ladies said: “How odd he is! Who is he?”
Mme. Walter 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, Duroy walked gaily down Boulevard Malesherbes.
The following week he was appointed editor of the “Echoes,” and invited to dine at Mme. Walter’s. The “Echoes” were, M. Walter 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 that 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. Duroy was just the man for the place.
He was enjoying the fact of his promotion, when he received an engraved card which read:
“M. and Mme. Walter request the pleasure of M. Georges Duroy’s
company at dinner on Thursday, January 20.”
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 twelve hundred francs were allowed Duroy, 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 Boisrenard, 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 Mme. de Marelle’s. 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 Duroy entered his rooms 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 supped. He thought: “I will go to see them some day.” His toilette completed, he extinguished his light and descended the stairs.
On reaching his destination, he boldly entered the antechamber, lighted by bronze lamps, and gave his cane and his overcoat to the two lackeys who approached him. All the salons were lighted. Mme. Walter received in the second, the largest. She greeted Duroy with a charming smile, and he shook hands with two men who arrived after him, M. Firmin and M. Laroche-Mathieu; the latter had especial 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 de Varenne and Jacques Rival came together. A door opened at the end of the room, and M. Walter entered with two tall young girls of sixteen and seventeen; one plain, the other pretty. Duroy knew that the manager was a paterfamilias, 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.
Duroy happening to glance at the walls, M. 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 Guillemet; “A Visit to the Hospital,” by Gervex; “A Widow,” by Bouguereau; “An Execution,” by Jean Paul Laurens, and many others.
Duroy exclaimed: “Charming, charming, char —” but stopped short on hearing behind him the voice of Mme. de Marelle who had just entered. M. Walter continued to exhibit and explain his pictures; but Duroy saw nothing — heard without comprehending. Mme. 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 indisposition and return home.
The pictures had all been exhibited. M. Walter placed the lamp on the table and greeted the last arrival, while Duroy recommenced alone an examination of the canvas, as if he could not tear himself away. What should he do? He heard their voices and their conversation. Mme. Forestier called him; he hastened toward 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 “La Vie Francaise.”
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, Bel-Ami; do you 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. M. 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, decollette, with red arms, red cheeks, and attired in gay colors. As she was received with effusion, Duroy asked Mme. Forestier: “Who is that person?”
“Viscountess de Percemur, whose nom de plume is ‘Patte Blanche.’”
He was surprised and with difficulty restrained a burst of laughter.
“Patte Blanche? I fancied her a young woman like you. Is that Patte Blanche? Ah, she is handsome, very handsome!”
A servant appeared at the door and announced: “Madame is served.”
Duroy was placed between the manager’s plain daughter, Mlle. Rose, and Mme. de Marelle. The proximity of the latter embarrassed him somewhat, although she appeared at ease and conversed 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 M. Walter’s right sat Viscountess de Percemur, and Duroy, looking at her with a smile, asked Mme. de Marelle 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 toilettes of the same period.”
When the guests returned to the drawing-room, Duroy asked Mme. de Marelle: “May I escort you home?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because M. Laroche-Mathieu, who is my neighbor, leaves me at my door every time that I dine here.”
“When shall I see you again?”
“Lunch with me to-morrow.”
They parted without another word. Duroy 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 Duroy.
The streets were almost deserted that night. At first the two men did not speak. Then Duroy, in order to make some remark, said: “That M. Laroche-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 Duroy said with a smile:
“You are gloomy to-night, sir!”
The poet replied: “I always am, my child; you will be too 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.”
Duroy laughed: “Egad, you make me shudder.”
Norbert de Varenne 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 Duroy 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 Rue de Bourgogne, the poet halted before a high house, rang the bell, pressed Duroy’s 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.
Duroy 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 Marelle. How delightful was the realization of one’s hopes!
The next morning he arrived at his lady-love’s 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 Marelle, I have already spoken of you to him.”
Duroy 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 Forestiers, though I do not like to receive company at home.”
On Monday as he ascended Mme. de Marelle’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 salon and he waited as usual. Then the door opened, and a tall man with a white beard, grave and precise, advanced toward him and said courteously:
“My wife has often spoken of you, sir; I am charmed to make your acquaintance.”
Duroy tried to appear cordial and shook his host’s proffered hand with exaggerated energy. M. de Marelle put a log upon the fire and asked:
“Have you been engaged in journalism a long time?”
Duroy replied: “Only a few months.” His embarrassment wearing off, he began to consider the situation very amusing. He gazed at M. de Marelle, serious and dignified, and felt a desire to laugh aloud. At that moment Mme. de Marelle entered and approached Duroy, who in the presence of her husband dared not kiss her hand. Laurine entered next, and offered her brow to Georges. Her mother said to her:
“You do not call M. Duroy Bel-Ami to-day.”
The child blushed as if it were a gross indiscretion to reveal her secret.
When the Forestiers arrived, Duroy 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, Duroy said, with a shake of his head:
“He will not live long.”
Mme. de Marelle replied calmly: “No, he is doomed! He was a lucky man to obtain such a wife.”
Duroy 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 maneuvering as anyone! She is a treasure to a man who wishes to succeed.”
Georges replied: “She will marry very soon again, I have no doubt.”
“Yes! I should not even be surprised if she had some one in view — a deputy! but I do not know anything about it.”
M. de Marelle 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.”
Duroy took his leave with a heavy heart. The next day he called on the Forestiers, 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 Duroy innumerable orders, although everything had been arranged with M. Walter. When Georges left him, he pressed his comrade’s hand and said:
“Well, old fellow, we shall soon meet again.”
Mme. Forestier 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 Duroy 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 Forestiers left town.
　　乔治•杜洛瓦第二天醒来，心里沉甸甸的。
　　他慢腾腾地穿好衣服，在窗前坐了下来，不觉陷入沉思。
　　他感到周身疼痛，仿佛头天挨了一顿棍棒。
　　想来想去，他觉得，当务之急还是设法先弄点钱来还德•马莱尔夫人，于是到了弗雷斯蒂埃家。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃正坐在书房的壁炉前烤火，见他进来，劈面向他问道：
　　“今天为何起得这样早？”
　　“有点急事儿。我欠了一笔债，这关系到我的名声。”
　　“是吗？在赌场欠下的？”
　　杜洛瓦犹豫了一下，最后答道：
　　“是的。”
　　“数目大吗？”
　　“五百法郎！”
　　实际上，他只欠德•马莱尔夫人二百八十法郎。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃哪里相信？随即问道：
　　“是欠了谁的呀？”
　　杜洛瓦一时语塞，半晌回道：
　　“……一位名叫……德•卡勒维尔的先生。”
　　“是吗？他住在何处？”
　　“住在……住在……”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃哈哈大笑：
　　“住在一条名叫‘胡编乱造’的街上吧，是不是？亲爱的，不要蒙我，我认识这位先生。你既然辛苦一趟，二十法郎倒还可以借给你，多了没有，你看行吗？”
　　杜洛瓦只得收下他递过来的一枚金币。
　　随后，他挨家挨户，到所有熟人家求了一遍，到下午五点，总算借到八十法郎。
　　可是仍缺二百法郎。他一横心，决定还是把借来的钱姑且留下，一边喃喃自语道：
　　“算了，我犯不着为还这臭婊子的钱而如此焦急，反正以后有钱还她就是了。”
　　此后半个月，他省吃俭用，过着清心寡欲、很有规律的生活，坚定的决心始终未曾动摇。不想好景不长，很快便故态复萌，又对女人害起相思病来了。他觉得自己离了女人好似已有许多年，如今一见到女人就像在海上漂泊已久而重返陆地的水手一样，心潮澎湃，不能自己。
　　这样，他在一天晚上，又到了“风流牧羊女娱乐场”，希望能在此见到拉歇尔。果然，他一进去，便瞥见了她。原因很简单，拉歇尔很少离开此地。
　　他伸出手，微笑着向她走了过去。拉歇尔从头到脚打量了他一眼：
　　“你还来找我干吗？”
　　杜洛瓦脸上堆出笑来：
　　“得了，别耍小孩脾气了。”
　　拉歇尔转身就走，走前甩下一句：
　　“像你这种厉害家伙，咱斗不起躲得起。”
　　这句话说得毫不留情。杜洛瓦听了，脸上顿时红一阵白一阵，最后只得悻悻而归。
　　这期间，病秧子弗雷斯蒂埃成天咳嗽不止，身体状况如今是越来越糟了。虽然如此，他对杜洛瓦却很苛刻，在报馆里天天给他支派烦人的差事，使他不得安闲。一天，他因心情烦躁，又刚狠狠地咳了一阵，见杜洛瓦未将他索要的消息弄来，顿时火冒三丈：
　　“他妈的，没有想到你竟笨得出奇！”
　　杜洛瓦真想走过去给他一耳光，但他还是压住胸中的怒火走开了，然而心里却嘀咕道：
　　“别狂，我总有一天会爬到你头上去。”
　　说着，他脑海中忽然闪过一个念头：
　　“老兄，等着瞧吧，我可要让你戴上绿帽子。”
　　他为自己能想出这个主意不禁有点洋洋自得，于是搓着手，往外走去。
　　说干就干。第二天，他便行动了起来：特意去拜访了一下弗雷斯蒂埃夫人，先探听一下虚实。
　　进入房间时，弗雷斯蒂埃夫人正半躺在一张长沙发上看书。
　　她身子动也没动，只是侧过头，将手伸给他：
　　“你好，漂亮朋友。”
　　听到这个称呼，杜洛瓦觉着像是挨了一记耳光：
　　“你为何这样叫我？”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人笑道：
　　“前不久见到德•马莱尔夫人，才知道她家里都这样叫你。”
　　一听到她谈起德•马莱尔夫人，杜洛瓦心头不觉一阵紧张。不过见她始终是一副和颜悦色的样子，他也就很快镇定了下来。再说，他又有什么可害怕的呢？
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人这时又开口道：
　　“你把她惯坏了。至于我，一年之中也难得有个人，会想来看看我。”
　　杜洛瓦在她身旁坐了下来，带着一种新奇，将她仔细端详了一番，如同一位收藏家在鉴赏一件古玩。她生着一头柔软而又温馨的金发，肌肤洁白而又细腻，实在是一个难得的尤物。
　　杜洛瓦心里想：
　　“同那一位比起来，简直是一个天上，一个地下。”
　　对于她，杜洛瓦认为自己必会成功，宛如摘树上的果子一样，不过是举手之劳。
　　他于是毫不犹豫地说道：
　　“我没来看你，是觉得这样会好些。”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人不解地看着他：
　　“这是怎么说？为什么？”
　　“为什么？你还看不出来吗？”
　　“没有，我什么也没看出来。”
　　“知道吗？我已经爱上了你……不过还不太深……我不想让自己完全坠入……”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人反应一般，既没有深深的惊异，也没有不悦之感，更没有芳心遂愿的得意媚态。她慢条斯理地说道：“啊，你要来看我，就尽管来好了。不过任何人对我的爱，都不会长久。”
　　杜洛瓦怔怔地看着她，使他感到惊讶的与其说是这番话，不如说是那沉着的腔调，他随即问道：
　　“何以见得？”
　　“因为这完全是徒劳，其中道理，你很快就会明白。要是你早点说出自己的担心，我不但会打消你的顾虑，而且会让你放心大胆地常来。”
　　杜洛瓦不禁伤感起来，叹道：
　　“这样说来，感情难道可以随意控制？”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人转过身，向他说道：
　　“亲爱的朋友，对我来说，一个钟情的男子将无异于行尸走肉。他会变得愚不可及，岂止愚蠢，甚至会非常危险。凡对我因萌发恋情而爱着我或有此表示的人，我同他们一律断绝密切往来。因为首先，我讨厌他们；其次，我觉得他们很像是随时会发作的疯狗而对他们心存疑虑。因此我在感情上同他们保持着一定的距离，直到他们彻底‘病愈’。此点请务必铭记于怀。我很清楚，爱情在你们男人看来不过是一种欲念的表现，而我却不这样看，我认为爱情是一种……心灵的结合，男人们是不信这一套的。对于爱情，你们男人的理解仅限于表面，而我看到的却是实质。请……把目光转过来对着我。”
　　她脸上的笑容消失了，面色平静而冷漠。接着，她一字一顿地说道：
　　“请听清楚，我永远不会做你的情妇。如果你死抱住自己的想法不放，到头来不仅是一场空，甚至会对你造成有害后果。好了……话既然已经说开……我们仍可成为两个好友，两个名副其实，没有任何杂念的好友，你觉得如何？”
　　杜洛瓦意识到，话既已说到这个份上，毫无挽回的余地，任何努力都将劳而无功。他因而立即果断地拿定了主意，就按她的意思办。为自己能结交这样一位异性知己而感到由衷的高兴，他将双手向她伸了过去：
　　“夫人，从今而后，我将一切按你的意愿行事。”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人从话音中感到，他这是由衷之言，于是将两手也向他伸了过去。
　　杜洛瓦在她的两只手上分别吻了吻，然后抬起头，只是说了这么一句：
　　“唉呀！我要是早结识一位像你这样的女人，我会多么高兴地娶她为妻！”
　　这触动心扉的恭维话语是所有女人都爱听的，弗雷斯蒂埃夫人也不例外。这一回，她倒是感动了，因此迅速地向杜洛瓦瞥了一眼，这目光既充满感激，又令人魂不守舍。
　　随后，见杜洛瓦未能接着刚才的话题说下去，她也就将一只手指放在他的胳臂上，十分温和地说道：
　　“我可要马上就尽我这朋友的职责了。亲爱的，你也未免太粗心了……”
　　说到这里，她犹豫了一下，接着问道：
　　“我可以坦率直言吗”
　　“当然可以。”
　　“什么也不必顾忌？”
　　“对。”
　　“那好，瓦尔特夫人一直很看重你，你应当去看看她，设法博得她的欢心，她是个正派女人，听清楚没有？非常正派。不过你仍然可以因此而恭维她两句。啊！你可不要心存希望……想从她那里捞点什么。如果你能给她留下良好印象，将来的好处是少不了的。我知道，你在报馆里地位低下，至今毫无起色。不过这方面倒不必担心，报馆对所有编辑都一视同仁。因此请相信我的话，找个时间去看看瓦尔特夫人。”
　　杜洛瓦微笑道：
　　“谢谢你的关照……你已成为我的保护神。”
　　接着，他们又谈了些别的事情。
　　为了表明他很愿同她呆在一起，他坐了很久。临走之前，他又问了一句：
　　“咱们已成为朋友，这可是说定了？”
　　“当然。”
　　见自己刚才的恭维话既然产生了效果，他又强调了一下，说道：
　　“万一你在哪一天成了寡妇，我将前来顶替。”
　　他说完便走了出来，免得同她又生龃龉。
　　现在的问题是，他要去拜访瓦尔特夫人，却要费点周折，因为她的家还不是他轻易可去得的，再说他也不想贸然前往，以免闹出笑话。老板对他倒也不错，很是器重他的才干，遇有棘手事务，总是交他办理。既然如此，何不利用这层关系，进入他家呢？
　　因此他在一天早上起了个大早，在市场开门后去那里花十个法郎买了二十来只上等的梨。他把梨装进筐内，用绳子捆好，使人感到是从远处带来的，然后亲自送到瓦尔特夫人寓所的门房处，并留下一张名片，在上面匆匆写了几个字：
　　这筐梨是便人今晨由诺曼底捎来的，恳请瓦尔特夫人笑纳。
　　乔治•杜洛瓦
　　第二天，他在报馆归其名下的信箱里，发现一封瓦尔特夫人的回信，信中对他所送礼物深表谢意，并说她星期六在家，请他届时过去坐坐。
　　这样到了星期六，杜洛瓦也就应邀前往了。
　　瓦尔特先生在马勒泽布大街有两幢式样相同、连成一体的楼房，其中一部分租了出去——讲求实际者皆以节俭为乐——，所余部分由自己居住。两座楼只有一个门房，设在两个门洞之间。如有客人来访，只需按铃便可通知房主或房客。门房穿着类似教堂侍卫的华丽制服，粗壮的小腿上套着一双白色的长袜，外衣上的金色钮扣和大红衬里也分外耀眼，使两座大门一眼看去就显示出一种富家宅第的气派。
　　会客室设在二楼，进入会客室之前是一间挂着壁毯和门帘的候见厅。两个听差正坐在椅子上打盹。其中一位接过杜洛瓦的大氅，另一位接过他的手杖，旋即推开一扇门，先行几步，随后便闪在一边，让客人进去，同时对着空无一人的客厅大声通报了一下来客的姓名。
　　初次来到这种场合的杜洛瓦，未免有点局促不安。他向四周看了看，忽从一面镜子中发现远处似乎坐着一些人。由于镜子所造成的错觉，他起初走错了方向，随后穿过两个空无一人的房间，走进一间类似贵妇享用的那种高雅客厅里。客厅四周挂着蓝色的丝绒，上面点缀着一朵朵金黄色小花。四位女士正围坐在一张圆桌旁低声谈论着什么，每个人的面前都放了一杯茶。
　　经过一个时期来巴黎生活的锤炼，特别是身为外勤记者而得以经常接触地位显赫的人士，杜洛瓦对于出入社交场合，可以说已相当干练了。不过话虽如此，鉴于刚才进门时见到的那种阵势，后来又穿过了几个没人的房间，他心中仍有点发虚。
　　他一面用目光搜寻四位女士中哪一位是主人，一面怯生生地说道：
　　“夫人，恕我冒昧……”
　　瓦尔特夫人伸过一只手来，口中说道：
　　“先生，您来看我，真是太好了。”
　　杜洛瓦俯身在她的手上亲了亲，接着身子往下一沉，向她指给他的一张椅子上坐了下去，由于未认真看清椅子的高矮而差点摔倒。
　　房间里出现一阵静默。一位女士又接着先前的话题谈了起来，说天气虽已开始冷起来，但也还不够冷，既难以阻止伤寒病的流行，又不足以溜冰。几位女士于是围绕巴黎最近出现的霜冻而发表了各自的看法。话题随后转到各人喜欢的季节上，所述理由同房内飘浮的灰尘一样，十分平淡无奇。
　　门边传来一阵声响，杜洛瓦将头扭了过去，发现从两扇玻璃门之间走来一位胖胖的女人。她一进入房内，女客中便有一位站起身，同众人握握手走了。杜洛瓦目送她走过一间间房间，穿着黑衫的后背上，一串黑如墨玉的珠子闪闪发亮。
　　因客人的一进一出而出现的骚动很快平息下来，大家不约而同地一下谈起了摩洛哥问题和东方的战争，此外还谈到了英国在非洲南部所遇到的麻烦。
　　女士们谈论这些事情并无独到见解，而完全像是在背台词，这种合乎时尚的“文明戏”在社交界早已司空见惯。
　　门边这时又走来一位金发卷曲的娇小丽人，她一到，在座的一位身子干瘦的高个子女客便起身告辞了。
　　话题转到林内先生是否有可能进入法兰西学院①。新来的客人认为，他肯定争不过卡巴农•勒巴先生。因为卡巴农•勒巴用法语改编的诗剧《堂吉诃德》是那样出色。
　　--------
　　①法兰西学院，法国最高学术机构，成立于一六三五年。学院有院士四十名，通过推荐和选举产生。
　　“你们知道吗？这出诗剧今年冬天就要在奥德翁剧院上演。”
　　“真的吗？这是一种很有文学价值的尝试，到时候，我一定要去看看。”
　　瓦尔特夫人说话时，神态是那样文静，不慌不忙，使人备感亲近。由于对所谈的问题早已成竹在胸，她对自己要说的话没有显示出任何的犹豫不定。
　　她发现天已黑下来了，于是按了一下铃，吩咐仆人点灯，同时十分注意地倾听着客人们东拉西扯的谈话，并想起忘记去一趟刻字店，订做几张下次晚宴的请帖。
　　她的身体已稍稍发福，不过面庞依然俊秀。这也难怪，她的年龄已处于日益迫近人老珠黄的时刻，现在全靠精心的保养和良好的卫生习惯加以调理，经常以润肤膏保持皮肤的光洁。对于任何问题，她似乎都显得相当稳重，既不急不躁，又很有章法。她显然属于这样一类女人：她们的思绪酷似排列有序的法国花园，从无凌乱之感。此花园虽然没有什么奇花异草，但也不乏魅人之处。她注重现实，为人审慎，观察细微，一步一个脚印，而且心地善良，忠厚待人，对于任何人，任何事，都是那样地虚怀若谷，雍容大度。
　　她发现，杜洛瓦进来后还一言未发，也没有人同他交谈，因而显得有点形影相吊。在座的女士不知哪儿来的浓厚兴致，仍在没完没了地谈论着谁会入选法兰西学院的问题，她因而向杜洛瓦问道：
　　“杜洛瓦先生，您所了解的情况，一定胜过在座诸位。可否问问，您倾向于谁？
　　杜洛瓦毫不犹豫地答道：
　　“夫人，对于这个问题，我所考虑的，不是历来总会引起争议的候选人资格，而是他们的年龄和健康状况；不是他们有哪些发明或著作，而是他们患有何种疾病。他们是否用韵文翻译了洛卜•德•维加①的剧作，这我是不管的，我所关心的是他们的五脏六腑现状如何。因为我觉得，若能发现他们当中有人得了心脏肥大症、尿蛋白症，特别是初期脊髓痨，将比看到某人就柏柏尔人②诗歌中对‘祖国’一词的理解所写又臭又长的论文，要强似百倍。”
　　--------
　　①洛卜，德•维加（一五六二—一六三五），西班牙剧作家。
　　②北非信仰伊斯兰教的居民。
　　一言既出，举座皆惊。房间里一片静寂。
　　瓦尔特夫人微笑着问道：
　　“何以见得？”
　　杜洛瓦答道：
　　“对于任何事情，我所关注的是，它在哪一方面会激起女士们的兴趣。夫人，就法兰西学院而言，你们真正对它感兴趣，是在得悉一位院士命归黄泉的时候。院士死得越多，你们也就越是高兴。因此，为使他们快快死去，应将那些老态龙钟、百病缠身的人选进去。”
　　看到大家依然有点惊愕不解，他又说道：
　　“我也同你们一样，喜欢浏览巴黎各报本地新闻栏中有关院士去世的噩耗。一有此事发生，我马上想到的是，这个空缺将会由谁来填补。接着便是将可能入选者排个名单。每当这些名垂千古的人士有一个不幸亡故，这种很有意思的小游戏，在巴黎的各个沙龙都可见到。这也就是人们常说的“死神与这四十个老翁的游戏’。”
　　听了他这篇高论，原先的惊愕虽然尚未完全散去，几位女士的脸上已开始浮出笑容，因为他的看法确有见地。
　　杜洛瓦最后站起身说道：
　　“女士们，候选者能否当选，就看你们了。既然你们挑选的标准，是希望他们快快死去，当选者应是越老越好。至于其他，就用不着你们去操心了。”
　　说完之后，他非常潇洒地向众人欠了欠身，然后一转身，便扬长而去了。
　　他一走，一位女士急忙问道：
　　“这年轻人是谁？他可真有意思。”
　　瓦尔特夫人说道：
　　“他是我们报馆的一个编辑，目前只在报馆里做些不起眼的小事。但我相信，他很快就会青云直上的。”
　　走在马勒泽布街上，杜洛瓦心里乐滋滋的，脚步也特别轻快。一想起刚才告别出来的一幕，他不禁满面春风，自言自语道：
　　“这第一炮看来是打响了。”
　　当天晚上，他又去找了拉歇尔，两人终于言归于好。
　　此后一星期，他是双喜临门：先是被任命为社会新闻栏主编；尔后是收到瓦尔特夫人的请柬，邀他去她家作客。他一眼就看出，两件事有着密切的连带关系。
　　毋庸讳言，《法兰西生活报》是为获得滚滚财源而创办的，因为报馆老板就是一位见钱眼开的人物。对他说来，办报和当众议院议员不过是一种谋财的手段。别看他满口仁义道德，成天笑咪咪的，一副正人君子的样子，但在用人问题上，无论哪一方面的工作，所用的人都必须是经过长期的观察和考验而看准了的，必须是胆大心细、深有谋略而又能随机应变者。在他看来，被任命为社会新闻栏主编的杜洛瓦，就是一个难得的人才。
　　在此之前，此栏主编一职一直由编辑部主任布瓦勒纳先生兼任。这是一个老报人，其循规蹈矩，办事刻板和谨小慎微，同一般职员没有两样。三十都来，他相继当过十一家报馆的编辑部主任，但办事方式或思想方法却丝毫未变。他从一家报馆转到另一家报馆，仿佛是吃饭，今天在这家餐馆吃了，明天又转到另一家，但吃在嘴里的饭菜味道有何不同，他却几乎觉察不出来。无论是政治主张还是宗教方面的看法，他都一概不闻不问。不管在哪家报馆，他都表现出一片忠心，对份内工作更是熟谙无比，经验丰富，但办起事来却似是一个闭目塞听的聋哑人，一个不会说话的木头人。不过他的职业道德却令人钦佩，从不做那些从其职业这一特殊角度来看显得不够诚实，不够体面的事情。
　　瓦尔特先生对他自然十分赏识，但仍常常希望另找个人来负责社会新闻。因为用他的话说，社会新闻是报馆的生命。通过它，可以发布消息，传播谣言，对公众心理和金融行情施加影响。因此该栏目在报道上流社会所举行的有关晚宴时，必须善于不动声色，通过暗示而不必明言，把重要消息捅出去。必须能够含而不露，稍稍一点便能让人猜出你的弦外之音，或是轻描淡写地否认两句而让谣言更形炽烈，再或是闪烁其辞地加以肯定，使已宣布的事情没有任何人相信。与此同时，这一栏还应办得人人爱看，不论什么人每天都能从中得到与己有关的消息。这样就必须考虑到各个方方面面及所有的人，考虑到各个阶层，各个行业；总之，无论是巴黎还是外省，军人还是艺术家，教会人士还是大学师生，各级官员还是身份特殊的高等妓女，都应包括进去。
　　不言而喻，社会新闻栏和该栏的外勤记者应由这样一个人来负责掌管：此人应时时有着清醒的头脑，处处小心防备，对任何事都不轻易相信，同时又具有远见卓识，为人机警、狡黠、灵活，足智多谋，观察敏锐，一眼便能辨别所获消息的真伪，判断出什么该说，什么不该说，以及哪些事会对公众产生影响，并知道应如何报道方可产生事半功倍的效果。
　　布瓦勒纳先生虽然从事报业多年，但仍不够老练，办法也少，特别是天生愚拙，不善透过老板的只言片语而揣度其内心想法。
　　杜洛瓦担任此职，当会完美无缺，从而使这份用诺贝尔•德•瓦伦的话说，“以国家金融为依托而在政治暗礁间穿行”
　　的报纸，在这方面的工作大大加强。
　　《法兰西生活报》的“真正编辑”即幕后人物，是同报馆老板搞的那些投机事业直接相关的五六个众院议员，因此在众院被称为“瓦尔特帮”。他们由于同瓦尔特合伙或借助于他而财源广进，因而备受人们的羡慕。
　　政治编辑弗雷斯蒂埃不过是这些实业家的傀儡。他们的意图就是通过他执行的。遇有重要文章要发表，他们便向他授意，由他执笔，而他总要把文章带回家去写，说是家里比较安静。
　　为使报纸带有文学色彩和巴黎特色，报馆聘了两位各有特长的著名作家，一位是雅克•里瓦尔，负责时事专栏，另一位是诗人诺贝尔•德•瓦伦，负责文艺专栏，用新派的话说，也就是连载小说的负责人。
　　此外，还在以笔杆为生、生活拮据的大批文人中，以低廉的工钱雇了几位艺术、绘画、音乐和戏剧方面的评论家，及一位负责刑事案件的编辑和一位负责赛马报道的编辑。最后，还有两位来自上流社会的女士，分别以“红裳女”和“素手夫人”的笔名，经常寄来一些稿件，介绍社交界的各类趣闻，探讨时装、礼节、高雅生活和处世之道等方面的问题，或是透露一些有关名媛闺秀的秘闻。
　　因此，《法兰西生活报》这份“以国家金融为依托而在政治暗礁间穿行”的报纸，就是由上述来自各个方面的人士支撑的。
　　正当杜洛瓦为自己被任命为社会新闻栏主编而感到喜出望外的时候，他收到了那印制精美的请柬。请柬上写道：“瓦尔特先生和夫人订于一月二十日星期四晚在寒舍略备薄酒，招待各方友好，恭请杜洛瓦先生届时光临。”
　　老板在恩宠之外又加恩宠，杜洛瓦喜不自胜，不禁像是收到一封情书一样，对着请帖吻了又吻。接着，他去找了一下报馆财务，同他谈了谈经费大事。
　　在通常情况下，社会新闻栏所配外勤记者的薪俸及这些记者所写稿件的酬金，皆由该栏主管以其所掌管的专项资金支付。稿件无论好坏，酬金一律照付，如同果农送给鲜果店的水果一样。
　　归杜洛瓦掌管的这笔钱，在开始阶段为每月一千二百法郎。杜洛瓦觉得，这钱既然到了他手中，自己当可扣下一部分。
　　经他再三要求，报馆财务终于同意先行预支四百法郎。拿到钱后，他脑海中萌生的第一个念头，是立刻将欠德•马莱尔夫人的二百八十法郎还掉，但旋即又想，这样一来，他手中便只剩下一百二十法郎了，靠这点钱显然难以将此栏目办好。因此只得打消此念，过些时候再说。
　　此后，他一连两天，忙于操持办公事务。他所接管的，是一间供全组人员使用的大房间，房内放着一张长桌和一些存放信件的木格。他占了房间的一头，而年龄虽大仍整天伏案、胸前垂着乌黑长发的布瓦勒纳则占了另一头。
　　放在房间中央的长桌，给了那些常年奔波在外的外勤记者。他们通常都是将它当作凳子使用，或是沿桌边坐下，任两腿垂下；或是盘起两腿，坐在桌子中央。最多时，往往有五六个人同时端坐在桌上，恰似一尊尊中国瓷娃娃放在那里。与此同时，他们还带着浓厚的兴致，手中玩着接木球游戏。
　　杜洛瓦现在也迷上了这玩艺儿，并在圣波坦的带领和指导下，已玩得相当熟练。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃的身体，如今是越来越糟了。他最后买的那只用安的列斯优质木料制做的小木球，虽然心爱无比，但玩起来已力不从心，只得送给了杜洛瓦。杜洛瓦则浑身是劲，一有空闲，便不知疲倦地抛起那系于绳子末端的小木球，同时低声数着数：“一——二——三——四——五——六。”
　　功夫不负苦心人，就在他要去瓦尔特夫人家赴宴的那天，他终于已能一口气玩到二十。这在他可是从来没有过的，心中不觉一阵惊喜：“看来今天是我的好日子，真是事事如意。”他这样想倒也不无道理，因为实在说来，在《法兰西生活报》这间办公室里，一个人只要木球玩得好，就必会平步青云。
　　为了有充裕时间好好修饰一番，他早早离开了报馆。走在“伦敦街”上，他忽见前方不远处有个身材不高的女人，正迈着小步，急匆匆地向前走着，样子很像德•马莱尔夫人。他顿时感到脸颊发烧，心房怦怦直跳，于是穿过马路，想从侧面再看一看。不想对方这时停下脚步，也要到马路这边来。他这才发现，自己原来看错了，不禁长长地舒了口气。
　　他常常问自己，若是哪一天同她面对面地走到一起，自己该怎么办？是向她打招呼，还是装着没有看见？
　　“我不会撞见她的，”他心里想。
　　天气很冷。路旁的水沟已结上一层厚厚的冰。在昏黄的路灯下，人行道灰蒙蒙的，失去了往日的勃勃生机。
　　回到住所，杜洛瓦向四周扫了一眼，心中想道：
　　“我该换个地方了。对我来说，现在是再也不能住在这种房子里了。”
　　他心潮澎湃，兴奋不已，简直想到房顶上去跑上两圈，渲泄一下心中的喜悦。他从床边踱到窗口，嘴里大声自言自语道：
　　“这一天终于等到，运气真的来了！我要写封信告诉爸爸。”
　　他给家里的信，常年不断。父亲在诺曼底一条山间公路旁开了一家小酒店，从陡峭的山坡向下望去，卢昂城和广阔的塞纳河河谷尽收眼底。每次接读儿子的来信，酒店里总沉浸在一片忘情的欢乐中。
　　杜洛瓦也常收到父亲的来信。蓝色的信封上，是父亲以他那颤抖的手写下的粗大字体。每次来信，开头总是这样几句：
　　亲爱的孩子，给你写这封信别无他事，只是想告诉你家中平安，我和你母亲都好。这里一切如旧，没有什么大的变化。不过，有件事仍想对你说一说……
　　而杜洛瓦对村里的事情，邻里的变迁，地里的收成等等，也一直十分牵挂。
　　现在，他一面对着那个小镜子系着白色的领带，一面在心里说道：
　　“我明天就给父亲写信，告以一切。老人家做梦也不会想到，我今晚会到那样的地方去赴宴，他知道后将不知会怎样惊奇呢！说来惭愧，这样的饭菜，他一辈子也没尝过！”
　　想到这里，他的眼前又蓦然浮现出酒店厅堂后面那黑咕隆咚的厨房，墙上挂着一排黄碜碜的铜锅。一只猫伏在壁炉前，头向着炉火，看去酷似传说中的狮头羊身、口中喷着火的怪兽。木质桌案因常年泼洒汤汤水水而在表面积了一层厚厚的油污。案子中央，一盆汤正冒着热气。一支点着的蜡烛，就放在两个菜盆之间。杜洛瓦仿佛看到，一对乡下装束、手脚已不太灵便的老人，即他的父亲和母亲，正坐在案边，小口小口地喝着汤。他们苍老脸庞上的每一道皱纹及他们的每一个细微动作，他是那样地熟悉，甚至他们每天面对面坐在案前吃晚饭时互相间会说些什么，他也可以猜到。
　　因此他想：“看来我得找个时间回去看看他们了。”就在这时，他的修饰已经完毕，于是吹灭蜡烛，走下楼去。
　　他沿着环城大街往前走着，几个妓女走过来和他搭讪，挽起了他的胳膊。他抽出胳膊，满脸鄙夷地叫她们滚开，好像她们小看了他，污辱了他……她们这是把他当作什么人了？这些骚娘儿们怎么竟连自己面前现在站的是什么人也分辨不出来？一套黑色的礼服穿在身上，而今又正要到一家富有、知名、地位显赫的人家去赴宴，他觉得自己已在陡然间变成另一个人，一个地地道道上流社会的绅士。
　　他迈着沉着的步履，进了瓦尔特先生家的前厅，几个高高的铜烛台把整个大厅照得通明。然后，他将手杖和外氅交给迎上前来的两个仆人，神态是那样自然。
　　所有厅堂都亮如白昼。瓦尔特夫人正站在第二间也即最大的一间客厅前迎接来宾。她笑容可掬，对杜洛瓦的到来深表欢迎。杜洛瓦接着和两个先他而到的人握了握手。这就是身为议员的《法兰西生活报》幕后编辑菲尔曼先生和拉罗舍—马蒂厄先生。拉罗舍—马蒂厄是一位在众议院很有影响的人物，因而在报馆内享有特殊的声望。谁都认为，他坐上部长的席位，不过是时间问题。
　　不久，弗雷斯蒂埃夫妇也双双来到。弗雷斯蒂埃夫人今天穿了身粉红色衣服，显得格外端丽。杜洛瓦见她一来便与两位议员随便交谈，不禁暗暗吃惊。她站在壁炉旁，嘀嘀咕咕同拉罗舍—马蒂厄先生谈了足有五分多钟。她丈夫查理则是一副神虚体倦的样子，一个月来他又瘦了许多，且总是咳个不停，口中却不止一次地说道：
　　“看来我得下定决心，今冬剩下的日子，非去南方度过不可。”
　　这时，诺贝尔•德•瓦伦和雅克•里瓦尔两人，也一起来了。接着，客厅尽头的一扇门忽然打开，瓦尔特先生带着两个身材高俏、芳龄二八的少女走了进来，其中一个长得花容月貌，另一个却丑不堪言。
　　杜洛瓦虽然知道老板是有儿女的，但此刻仍不免吃了一惊。他从未想到过老板的这两个女儿，是因为自己身份低下，没有机会见到她们。这正如遥远的国度，由于不可能去那边看看，所以也很少想到一样。再说他原来以为她们一定还小，不想今天一见，方知已长大成人。没有思想准备的他，不禁稍稍有点莫知所措。
　　经过一番介绍，她们俩分别伸过手来，同他握了握，接着便在一张显然为她们准备的小桌旁坐了下来，开始摆弄放在柳条筐里的一大堆丝线轴。
　　还有几位客人未到，大家都在默默地等待着，大厅里出现了这种类型的晚宴在开始之前所常有的拘束。客人们都来自不同的岗位，经过一天的忙碌，思想上尚未摆脱白天所处的不同氛围。
　　坐得无聊的杜洛瓦，不禁抬起头来向墙上看了看。一见此情，站在远处的瓦尔特先生显然想显示一下他的富有，立刻不顾他们中间隔着的一段距离，对他说道：
　　“您是在看我的这些油画吗？”他把“我的”两字说得很重。
　　“我来给您说一说。”
　　说着，为了让大家看得仔细，他端起一盏灯走了过来，一边说道：
　　“这几幅是风景画。”
　　墙壁中央是出自基耶梅之手的巨幅油画：《暴风雨前夕的诺曼底海滩》。此画下方又挂了两幅画，一幅为阿尔皮尼的《森林》，一幅为基耶梅的《阿尔及利亚平原》，天边画着一头身高腿长的骆驼，看去像是一座奇怪的古代建筑。
　　接着转到另一面墙。瓦尔特先生像典礼官宣布什么似的，带着庄重的神态说道：
　　“这些画可都是名家的杰作。”
　　这里挂的是四幅画，即热尔韦斯的《医院探视》、巴斯蒂安—勒巴热的《收割的农妇》、布格罗的《孀妇》和让—保尔•洛朗的《行刑》。这最后一幅画，画的是旺代①的一名教士靠在教堂的墙上，一队穿着蓝军装的共和军正举枪行刑。
　　--------
　　①旺代，法国旧省名。法国大革命时期，是保皇党勾结教会反对资产阶级革命政权，公开举行反叛的巢穴。
　　客人们继续往前走去，只见老板庄重的脸上浮起了一丝笑容，他指着另一面墙说道：
　　“这几幅画，主题就不那么严肃了。”
　　众人首先看到的，是让•贝罗的一小幅油画，题为：《上身和下身》。画家画的是，在一辆正在行驶的双层有轨电车上，一漂亮的巴黎女人正沿着扶梯往上层走去。她的上身已到达上层，而下身仍停留在下层。坐在上层长凳上的男士，一见这张年轻而秀丽的脸庞正向他们迎面而来，不禁怦然心动，目光中透出一片贪婪；站在下层的男士则死死盯着这年轻女人的大腿，流露出既有垂涎之意而又无可奈何的复杂心情。
　　瓦尔特先生把灯高高举起，脸上挂着淫荡的微笑，得意地向众人炫耀道：
　　“怎么样？有意思吧？”
　　轮到下一幅画时，他说这是朗贝尔的《搭救》。
　　在一张已经撤去杯盘的桌子中央，蹲着一只小猫。它正带着吃惊和慌乱的神情注视着身旁一个水杯内掉进的一只苍蝇，一只爪子已经举起，就要突然伸将过去，救出苍蝇。但它尚未下定决心，仍在犹豫之中。它会救出小东西吗？
　　此后是德塔伊的一幅画：《授课》。画的是兵营里的一个士兵，正在教一只卷毛狗学敲鼓。瓦尔特先生兴致勃勃地指着画说：
　　“这幅画的构思实在奇巧！”
　　杜洛瓦赞同地笑了笑，情不自禁地附和道：
　　“不错，实在好！实在好！实在……”
　　这第三个“好”尚未说出，他忽然听到身后传来德•马莱尔夫人的说话声，因此立刻打住了。德•马莱尔夫人显然刚刚走了进来。
　　老板举着灯，仍在不厌其烦地向客人介绍其余的画。
　　现在大家看到的是莫里斯•勒鲁瓦①的一幅水彩画：《障碍》。画面上，两个市井中的莽悍大汉正在一条街上扭打。双方都有着惊人的块头，因而力大无比。一顶轿子由此经过，见路已堵住，只得停下。轿内探出一妇人的清秀面庞，只见她目不转睛地在那里看着，并无着急之意，更无害怕之感，眼神中甚至带有几分赞叹。
　　--------
　　①以上所列各画作者，皆为法国十九世纪画家。
　　瓦尔特先生这时又说道：
　　“其他房内还有些画，不过都是无名之辈的作品，同这些画相比就大相径庭了。因此可以说，这间客厅也就是我的藏画展厅。我现在正在收购一些年轻画家的作品，收来后就暂且存放于内室，待他们出了名，再拿出来展示。”
　　说到这里，他突然压低嗓音，诡秘地说道：
　　“现在正是收购的好时机。画家们都穷得要命，简直是上顿不接下顿……”
　　然而眼前这些画，杜洛瓦此刻已是视而不见，连老板的热情话语他也听而不闻了。因为德•马莱尔夫人正站在他背后。他该怎么办？如果他去和她打招呼，她会不会根本不予理睬，或者不顾场合地给他两句？可是他若不过去同她寒暄几句，别人又会怎样想？
　　想来想去，他决定还是等一等再说。不过这件事已弄得他六神无主，他甚至想假装身体突然不适，借口离去。
　　墙上的画已经看完，老板走到一边，把手上的灯放了下来，同最后到来的女客寒暄了两句。杜洛瓦则独自一人，又对着墙上的画琢磨了起来，好像这些画他总也看不够。他心慌意乱，不知如何是好。大厅里，各人的说话声，他听得一清二楚，甚至能听出他们在谈些什么。弗雷斯蒂埃夫人这时喊了一声：
　　“杜洛瓦先生，请过来一下。”
　　他随即跑了过去，原来是弗雷斯蒂埃夫人要他同她的一位女友认识一下。此人要举行宴会，想在《法兰西生活报》的社会新闻栏登一条启事。
　　杜洛瓦慌忙答道：
　　“毫无问题，夫人，毫无问题……”
　　德•马莱尔夫人此时就站在他身边，他不敢立即离去。
　　忽然间，他觉得自己高兴得简直要疯了，因为他听到德•马莱尔夫人大声向他喊道：
　　“您好，漂亮朋友，您不认识我啦？”
　　他刷地转过身，德•马莱尔夫人正满面笑容地站在他面前，目光欣喜，含情脉脉，并将手向他伸了过来。
　　他握着她的手，心里
Chapter 7 A Duel with an End
Charles’s absence gave Duroy a more important position on “La Vie Francaise.” 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 Francaise.”
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, Boisrenard handed him a number of “La Plume.”
“See, here is another unpleasant remark for you.”
“Relative to what?”
“To the arrest of one Dame Aubert.”
Georges took the paper and read a scathing personal denunciation. Duroy, it seems, had written an item claiming that Dame Aubert who, as the editor of “La Plume,” claimed, had been put under arrest, was a myth. The latter retaliated by accusing Duroy of receiving bribes and of suppressing matter that should be published.
As Saint-Potin entered, Duroy asked him: “Have you seen the paragraph in ‘La Plume’?”
“Yes, and I have just come from Dame Aubert’s; she is no myth, but she has not been arrested; that report has no foundation.”
Duroy went at once to M. Walter’s office. After hearing the case, the manager bade him go to the woman’s house himself, find out the details, and reply, to the article.
Duroy 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 Dame Aubert, 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.
GEORGES DUROY.”
M. Walter and Jacques Rival considered that sufficient, and it was decided that it should be published in that day’s issue.
Duroy 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:
“M. Duroy of ‘La Vie Francaise’ 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 morals’ and all is told. But the consciences of certain
journalists are on a par with their talents.”
“I sign myself, Louis Langremont.”
Georges’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? For nothing! On account of an old woman who had quarreled with her butcher.
He dressed hastily and repaired to M. Walter’s house, although it was scarcely eight o’clock. M. Walter was reading “La Plume.”
“Well,” he said gravely, on perceiving Duroy, “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.”
Duroy 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: “Whom would you like to have besides me?”
“I do not know.”
“Boisrenard?”
“Yes.”
“Are you a good swordsman?”
“No.”
“A good shot?”
“I have used a pistol a good deal.”
“Good! 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 Duroy 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 Duroy’s 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, Duroy 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 Norbert de Varenne’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 Rival reappeared accompanied by Boisrenard. The former cried on perceiving Duroy: “All is settled!”
Duroy thought the matter had terminated with a letter of apology; his heart gave a bound and he stammered: “Ah — thank you!”
Rival continued: “M. Langremont has accepted every condition. Twenty-five paces, fire when the pistol is leveled and the order given.” Then he added: “Now let us lunch; it is past twelve o’clock.”
They repaired to a neighboring restaurant. Duroy was silent. He ate that they might not think he was frightened, and went in the afternoon with Boisrenard to the office, where he worked in an absent, mechanical manner. Before leaving, Jacques Rival shook hands with him and warned him that he and Boisrenard would call for him in a carriage the next morning at seven o’clock to repair to the wood at Vesinet, 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 Boisrenard, 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 to-morrow! He sat down and began to meditate. He had thrown upon his table his adversary’s card brought him by Rival. He read it for the twentieth time that day:
“Louis LANGREMONT,
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 rhyme or 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: “To-morrow 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 course more 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 Brument.” Duroy shook hands with him and stammered: “Thank you,” as he entered the carriage. Jacques Rival and Boisrenard 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. Duroy 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 Renette. He loaded them. The box is sealed.”
Duroy replied mechanically: “Thank you.”
Then Rival proceeded to give him minute directions, that he might make no mistakes. Duroy repeated those directions as children learn 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 Boisrenard alighted first, then the doctor and the combatant.
Rival took the box of pistols, and with Boisrenard approached the two strangers, who were advancing toward them. Duroy saw them greet one another ceremoniously, then walk through the glade together as they counted the paces.
Dr. Le Brument asked Duroy: “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 favored us in the drawing of the pistols.” That was a matter of indifference to Duroy. 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?”
Georges cried: “Yes.”
The same voice commanded: “Fire!”
Duroy 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.”
Langremont was not wounded either, and Jacques Rival muttered discontentedly: “That is always the way with those cursed pistols, one either misses or kills one’s opponent”
Duroy was paralyzed 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 duelists and their friends entered the carriages and drove off. When the official report was drawn up, it was handed to Duroy 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 Duroy, satisfied with that explanation, asked no more questions. M. Walter embraced him.
“Bravo! you have defended the colors of ‘La Vie Francaise’! Bravo!”
The following day at eleven o’clock in the forenoon, Duroy received a telegram:
“My God! I have been frightened. Come at once to Rue de Constantinople that I may embrace you, my love. How brave you are. I adore you. Clo.”
He repaired to the place appointed, and Mme. de Marelle 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.”
Duroy 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 rooms suit me very well. I am here; I shall remain.” He laughed. “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 honor. 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 rooms that same day. She said to him:
“You must dine with us Sunday. 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.
　　查理走后，杜洛瓦在《法兰西生活报》编辑部的担子也就更重了。他现在不仅负责社会新闻栏，而且常要撰写一些重要文章。文章发表之前，总要署上自己的名字，因为老板要求每人必须文责自负。这期间，虽然他同外界有过几次争论，但都被他巧妙地应付过去了。由于他同政治家的接触日趋频繁，他也渐渐成了一个目光敏锐、作风干练的政治编辑。
　　然而杜洛瓦在其前进道路上，如今仍有一块心病。这就是一张名叫《笔杆报》的小报有意同他过不去，天天对他口诛笔伐，矛头直指他这个《法兰西生活报》社会新闻栏负责人。用小报一位匿名编辑的话说，他们要打的，就是他这个天天替瓦尔特先生制造耸人听闻消息的祸首。因此每天都有一些指桑骂槐、尖酸刻薄的文章出现在小报上，对杜洛瓦大加挞伐。
　　对此，雅克•里瓦尔一天向杜洛瓦说道：
　　“你可真是沉得住气。”
　　杜洛瓦有气无力地答道：
　　“有什么办法？他又没有指名道姓地攻击我。”
　　然而一天下午，当杜洛瓦走进他那间办公室时，布瓦勒纳递给他一份当天的《笔杆报》，说道：
　　“瞧，今天又有一篇骂你的文章。”
　　“是吗？为的是什么？”
　　“什么也不为，仅仅是为了一篇有关一个名叫奥贝尔的女人被风化警察逮捕的报道。”
　　杜洛瓦一把接过报纸，见这篇题为《杜洛瓦玩世不恭》的文章写道：
　　《法兰西生活报》名闻四方的杜洛瓦先生今日声称，被臭名昭著的风化警察逮捕的奥贝尔女士——有关详情，本报已在前几天作了报道——纯属子虚乌有，现实生活中并无此人。然而实际情况是，此人就住在蒙马特区埃居勒伊大街十八号。警察局对瓦尔特银行的经营活动，一向是睁一只眼闭一只眼的；该行雇员为何也如此卖力地庇护警察局，个中道理不言自明，我们对此自然非常清楚。至于本文提到的杜洛瓦先生，这位外勤记者的所有报道是皆以“瓦尔特的利益”为出发点的，如头天说某某人命归黄泉，第二天便遭辟谣；或是煞有介事地宣称，某某地方战事如何激烈，实际上当地战场却是一片平静；再或是郑重其事地抛出某某国王的重要谈话，事实上这位国王却是什么也没有讲。因此，他不妨还是报道这些耸人听闻、只有他洞悉内情的消息为好，甚至报道一些晚会上传出的交际花风流韵事，或宣传一下能给我们这些同行中某些人带来巨大收益的某类产品性能如何优良，也未始不可。
　　读罢此文，杜洛瓦气得目瞪口呆，不过心里却很清楚，文中有些话对他十分不利。
　　呆在一旁的布瓦勒纳这时问道：
　　“这条消息是谁向你提供的？”
　　杜洛瓦搜尽枯肠，怎么也想不起来，不想突然间心头一亮：
　　“啊！想起来了，是圣波坦提供的。”
　　他把《笔杆报》的文章又读了一遍，看到文章指责他被人收买，不禁气得满脸通红，大声嚷道：
　　“什么？竟然说我是因为得了好处，才……”
　　布瓦勒纳打断了他：
　　“是呀，这件事是够你头疼的。老板对这类事情一向十分重视。这在我们这个栏目已是司空见惯的了……”
　　恰在这时，圣波坦走了进来。杜洛瓦立即迎了上去：
　　“《笔杆报》今天的文章，你看了没有？”
　　“看了，我刚从奥贝尔家来。这个女人还确实有，不过她并未被捕，有关报道毫无根据。”
　　杜洛瓦于是跑去面见老板。老板脸色阴沉，目光中带有狐疑的神色。听完事情的前后经过，他对杜洛瓦说道：
　　“你马上去一趟这个女人家，然后对有关事实予以澄清，务使人家不要再抓着你不放。以后行事，应尤须谨慎。发生这种事，不论对报馆还是对你我，都很烦人。一家报馆，应像恺撒的妻子一样，不能让人有一句话说。”
　　杜洛瓦让圣波坦为他带路，随即跳上一辆出租马车，一边向车夫喊道：
　　“蒙马特区埃居勒伊大街十八号。”
　　车子停在一幢大楼前。嗣后，他们一连爬了六层楼梯。前来开门的是一个穿着粗羊毛上衣的老女人。见圣波坦出现在门边，她立即问道：
　　“您又有什么事要找我？”
　　圣波坦回道：
　　“这位先生是警官，他想了解一下有关于您的那件事情。”
　　老女人于是把他们让进屋内，一面说道：
　　“您走后又来了两个人，说他们是一家报馆的，我也不知道是哪一家。”
　　说着，她转向杜洛瓦：
　　“这么说，先生您想了解一点情况吗？”
　　“是的，请说一说，风化警察是否逮捕了您？”
　　老女人举起双臂，神情激动地说道：
　　“这是从何说起？啊，先生，这可是绝对没有的事。事情经过是这样的：附近一家卖肉的平时态度挺好，只是常常缺斤少两。我已数次发现，但什么也没有说。那天，我女儿女婿要来，便去让他给我称两斤排骨。没有想到，他给我称的尽是些零碎玩意儿。话说回来，虽然零碎，倒还是排骨，但不是我要的那种。说实在的，他给我的那些，只能做杂烩，而我要的是排骨，不是卖剩下的零碎。所以我没有要，他张口骂我老耗子，我也就骂他老骗子。这样你一句我一句，双方也就大吵了起来，铺子前面围了一百多人，嘻嘻哈哈地看热闹。后来来了一名警察，要我们到局子里去把事情说清楚。我们就去了，但没过多久便把我们赶了出来。自那以后，我总在别的铺子买肉，甚至不再从他门前经过，以免又吵起来。”
　　见老女人停了下来，杜洛瓦问道；
　　“就是这些吗？”
　　“是的，先生，这就是事情的全部经过，”老女人答道。说着，她递给杜洛瓦一杯黑茶藨子酒，杜洛瓦没有喝。她要杜洛瓦在写报告时，不要忘了把肉铺老板的份量不足写进去。
　　回到报馆后，杜洛瓦写了一篇短文，驳斥对方。
　　《笔杆报》一位不愿透露姓名的蹩脚文人，从身上拔下一根毛①，洋洋洒洒，就其声称而遭我否定的一老妇人被风化警察逮捕一事，对我大兴问罪之师。这位名叫奥贝尔的老妇人，我已亲眼见到。她至少已有六十来岁。据她向我详细所谈，她那天是因买排骨而与肉铺老板发生了争吵，后去警察局对此情况作了一番说明。
　　--------
　　①《笔杆报》，原文为plume，意即羽毛。在当时的欧洲，书写用的笔仍以鹅毛管削成。此处是将对方比作又蠢又笨的鹅。
　　事情的全部经过就是这样。
　　至于《笔杆报》这位先生的其他恶意中伤，恕我只能嗤之以鼻，就不一一驳斥了。况且对于这种又不署名的攻击文章，也无须作答。
　　乔治•杜洛瓦
　　雅克•里瓦尔此时也来了。他和瓦尔特都觉得这样写也就可以了。因此当下决定，这篇短文当天就发排，登在社会新闻栏后面。
　　这一天，杜洛瓦很早就回到住处，心中有点焦灼不安。对方见了后，会怎样回答呢？此人会是谁呢？为何对他如此不讲情面？鉴于记者的脾气都相当暴躁，搞得不好，这种事会越闹越大，他因此一夜没有睡好。
　　第二天，报纸拿来后，他把这篇短文又读了一遍，心中感到这印成文字的东西比刊印之前要更加咄咄逼人。他觉得，有些措词本来还可再和缓一点。
　　整个白天，他都心神不定，夜里依然没有睡好。因此天一亮便爬起来去买会有答复的当天《竿杆报》。
　　天气又忽然冷了起来。大街上，凛冽的寒风侵入肌骨。两边污水沟里的水，边流边冻，沿着人行道结成两条长长的冰带。
　　报纸尚未送到报亭，杜洛瓦不由地想起他的处女作《非洲服役散记》发表时，他那天出来买报的情景。他的手脚此时已经冻僵，特别是手指尖，冻得生疼。他于是围着镶有玻璃门的报亭跑了起来，借以御寒。报亭里，老板娘以一袭羊斗篷将身子裹得严严实实，正伏在脚炉旁取暖。从小窗口望进去，只能见到她那冻得红红的鼻子和两颊。
　　送报人终于来到报亭前，将一捆报纸从窗口塞了进去。接着，老板娘递给杜洛瓦一份打开的《笔杆报》。
　　杜洛瓦先匆匆扫了一眼，看报上有没有自己的名字，但未能找到。他正要舒口气，突然发现在两个破折号之间，有这样一段文字：
　　《法兰西生活报》的杜洛瓦先生发表了一篇辟谣声
　　明。声明试图纠正我们的报道，但采用的伎俩却是撒谎。
　　因为他承认，确实有个女人叫奥贝尔，也确实有个警察把她带到了警察局。这样，如果在“警察”两字前面加上“风化”一词，也就同我们原先的报道完全一样了。
　　可见，有些记者的为人处世，同他们的才能一样糟
　　糕。
　　顺便说一句，我名叫路易•朗格勒蒙。
　　杜洛瓦的心顿时怦怦直跳。他恍恍惚惚赶回家中漱洗，连自己也不知道在做些什么。对方污辱了他，而且言辞是如此狠毒，他已无任何犹豫可言。究竟为了什么呢？什么也不为。不过是为一个老女人同肉铺老板吵了一架。
　　他很快穿好衣服，赶到瓦尔特家中，虽然此时还才是早上八点。
　　瓦尔特已经起床，正在看《笔杆报》，见杜洛瓦进来，他神色庄重地问道；
　　“怎么样，你不会后退吧？”
　　杜洛瓦一声未吭，这位报馆经理又说道：
　　“你马上去找里瓦尔，让他出面替你安排。”
　　杜洛瓦嘟嘟嚷嚷地嘀咕了两句，随即去找里瓦尔。这位专栏编辑还在蒙头大睡。听到铃声，一骨碌爬了起来。他看完那篇短文后说道：
　　“他妈的，现在也只有这条路了。另外一位证人你想找谁？”
　　“我也不知道。”
　　“你觉得布瓦勒纳怎样？”
　　“行，就是他。”
　　“你的剑术好吗？”
　　“根本不行。”
　　“真糟糕，枪法呢？”
　　“以前打过。”
　　“那好，你得抓紧练练，其他一切由我操办。现在请稍等片刻。”
　　里瓦尔于是走进洗脸间，过了一会儿便走了出来，不但脸已洗过，胡子也刮了，而且穿得整整齐齐。
　　“跟我来，”他向杜洛瓦说。
　　他住在一家旅馆的底层。下面是一间很大的地下室，临街的窗口已全部堵死，改成一处供练习击剑和射击的场所。他把杜洛瓦带了下去。
　　地下室分前后两部分。墙上挂着一排煤气灯，直达后半部最里边的墙角，那里立着一个涂了红蓝两色的铁制模拟人靶子。里瓦尔将煤气灯一一点着后，在一张桌子上放了两把从后面上子弹的新式手枪，接着开始喊口令，声音清脆而又响亮，好像就在决斗现场。
　　“各就各位！预备……一、二、三、放！”
　　魂不守舍的杜洛瓦只得依令而行，不断地举行胳臂，瞄准靶子射击。由于少年时代常用父亲的老式马枪在院子里打鸟，他数次击中模拟人靶的肚子。雅克•里瓦尔十分满意：
　　“好……很好……很好……你看来会一切顺利……一切顺利。”
　　他要走了，行前又向杜洛瓦叮嘱道：
　　“你就这样一直练到中午。这儿有的是子弹，就是全部打完也没关系。我中午来接你去吃饭，并告诉你新的情况。”
　　说完，他走了出去。
　　地下室现在只剩下杜洛瓦一人了，他又打了几枪，也就再也没有劲了。他坐了下来，心里开始翻腾。
　　不管怎样，这事闹成现在这样，实在拙劣透顶！再说它又能说明什么？一个恶棍经过一场决斗，身上的邪气难道就会少些？一个正派人因受到恶棍的污辱而以此种方式去同他拼命，又能得到什么？可见人的思想是多么地可怜，考虑问题是多么他庸俗，道德观念是多么地低下！这些话还是诺贝尔•德•瓦伦前不久对他说的，心情阴郁的他此刻不由地想了起来。
　　杜洛瓦不觉大声喊道：
　　“妈的，他的话真是对极了！”
　　他忽然觉得口渴。听到身后有滴水声，他回头看了看，见那里有个淋浴装置，便走去对着喷头喝了两口。此后，他又陷入了沉思。地下室气氛阴森，同坟墓无异。地面上，不时有车辆走过发出的沉闷声，听来像是远方传来的隆隆雷鸣。现在会是几点钟了？这里时间过得简直同除了送饭狱卒的到来能给人一点时间概念，别无其他任何时间标志的监狱一样。杜洛瓦等了很久很久。
　　随着一阵脚步声和说话声，里瓦尔终于出现在门边，他身后跟着布瓦勒纳。一见杜洛瓦，他便向他喊道：
　　“问题已经解决！”
　　杜洛瓦以为定是对方写了封道歉信，从而把事情了结了。
　　他高兴得心都要跳了出来，结结巴巴地说道：
　　“啊！……谢谢！”
　　不想里瓦尔接着说道：
　　“这个朗格勒蒙，办事倒还痛快。我们提出的条件，他全部接受。双方距离为二十五步，听到口令后才举起枪来各射一发子弹，而不是先举起枪，听到口令后由上往下移动。这样打要准得多。来，布瓦勒纳，你来看看我刚才的意思。”
　　说着，他拿起枪来，一连射了几发，把由下往上举枪如何更能使胳臂保持平稳，做了一番示范。然后说道：
　　“现在十二点都过了，咱们去吃饭吧。”
　　他们于是进了隔壁一家餐馆。杜洛瓦一言不发，只是埋头吃饭，以免露出内心的恐惧。吃完饭，他同布瓦勒纳一起回到报馆，虽然心不在焉，但仍机械地做些日常工作。大家都觉得他很勇敢。
　　过了一些时候，雅克•里瓦尔回来同他谈了谈，约定第二天早上七点，两位证人将乘一辆带篷的马车去他家接他，然后去决斗的地方——韦济内林苑。
　　事情来得如此突然，转眼之间已一切准备就绪，谁也没有来听听他本人的意见，看他是同意还是不同意，总之他并未表示认可，一句话也没有说，而事情已经定下来了。因此他瞠目结舌，无言以对，怎么也弄不明白，这究竟是怎么回事。
　　出于关心，布瓦勒纳整个下午一直没有离开他，并同他一起吃了晚饭。杜洛瓦于九点左右回到自己的住处。
　　现在身边既已没有任何人，他迈开大步，急切地在房内来回踱了好几分钟。心里乱糟糟的，他的思想怎么也集中不起来。脑海中所充斥的，只有一件事：明天决斗。除此之外，便是茫开头绪的焦虑，一颗慌乱不已的心怎么也安定不下来。他曾当过兵，枪也开过，但那时候，枪口是对着阿拉伯人，很有点像是在狩猎场打野猪一样，对自己不会造成多大危险。
　　不管怎样，这一次，他是该怎样做就怎样做了，该怎样表现也已怎样表现了。不久之后，人们将会谈到这一点，对他表示赞同和称赞。想到这里，他的思绪像是受到了巨大震动，不禁大声喊了起来：“这家伙怎么如此不通人性？”
　　他坐了下来，开始认真思索。对手的一张名片，里瓦尔已交给他，让他记住上面的地址。他刚才回来后将此名片扔到了小桌上，现在，他又拿过来看了看。一天之中，他的目光停在这小纸片上，已不下二十次了。名字上只印了两行字：路易•朗格勒蒙。蒙马特街一七六号。此外便什么也没有了。
　　他觉得，这组合在一起的字母，似乎十分神秘，个个充满令人不安的含义，因而对着它端详了好久。“路易•朗格勒蒙”，此人究竟是谁？今年多大年纪？身高如何？长相怎样？一个素昧平生的陌生人，完全因为心中的一时不快，只是为了一个老女人同肉铺老板吵了一架这种区区小事，而毫无道理地突然来把你平静的生活搅得一团糟，这怎叫人不气愤难平？
　　“这是一个多么没有人性的家伙！”杜洛瓦又大声骂了一句。他眼睛盯着那张名片，依然一动不动地坐在那里，心里想着这场令人啼笑皆非的决斗，一股怒火不禁油然升起。除了憎恨，愤怒中还夹着一种难以言喻的不安。这件事实在太为荒唐！他倏地拿起放在桌上的一把修剪指甲的剪刀，对着名片上的名字狠狠戳了下去，好像在将一把匕首刺进对方的胸膛。
　　这么说，他是真的要去决斗了，而且用的是手枪？他怎么没有想到用剑呢？如果用剑，充其量不过是手上或胳臂上受点伤，而用枪，那后果就难以预料了。
　　“不管怎样，这个时候，我可不能装熊，”他自言自语道。
　　听到自己的说话声，他一阵战栗，向四周看了看，觉得自己这样紧张下去是不行的，于是宽衣就寝。
　　躺到床上后，他吹灭灯，合上了眼。
　　房内很冷，虽然盖着一层薄被，他却觉得很热，怎么也不能入睡。他辗转反侧，平躺了一会儿又侧向左边，稍待片刻又侧向右边。
　　他感到还是很渴，于是又爬起来喝水。
　　“我是不是害怕了？”他有点不安起来。
　　房内只要出现一点响动，他的心就怦怦直跳。连模仿杜鹃叫声的挂钟，每次在报时之前发条所发出的嘎吱声，也会把他吓得一哆嗦。他感到胸中憋闷，必须长长地舒口气，方可稍觉好些。他这是怎么啦？
　　“难道我害怕了？”他问自己，俨然一副哲学家刨根问底的样子。
　　哪儿会呢？既然他已豁出去了，既然他主意已定，决心前往决斗场，显出一副男子汉的气概，他怎么会在这时候害怕起来呢？不过话虽如此，一个人在此情况下会不会不由自主地有所流露呢？这样一想，他又紧张起来，心中不禁因此疑虑而感到焦虑不安和深深的畏惧。是啊，要是他虽有坚强的意志，但仍不由自主地被这种强大无比、左右一切、无以抗拒的力量控制着，会出现什么情况呢？
　　当然，他会去决斗场的，因为他主意已定。可是一旦临阵发抖，吓得晕倒过去，他的地位、名誉和前程也就全完了。
　　他突然产生一种欲望，想爬起来去照照镜子，于是把蜡烛重新点燃。当他看到光洁的玻璃镜显现出自己的面庞时，他几乎认不出自己了，觉得自己从来不是这副模样。因为他的两眼好像忽然大了许多，而且面色苍白，简直白得怕人。
　　一种不祥之感蓦然涌进他的心房：
　　明天这时候，我也许已不在人世了。”
　　他的心又突突地跳了起来。
　　他回转身，向床上看了看，仿佛看到自己已直挺挺地躺在那里，身上盖着他刚才掀去的被子。两颊则深深凹陷，同他见过的死人面庞毫无二致，一双惨白的手动也不动。
　　他因而对这张床怕得要命，为了不再看到它，只得打开窗户，把眼睛向着窗外。
　　不想一股寒气袭来，冷彻肌骨。他不由地倒抽一口气，急忙后退了两步。
　　于是想起生火，慢慢地总算把炉火烧得旺旺的，但仍不敢回过头去看那张床。由于过度紧张，一双手一碰到什么东西便颤抖起来，脑海中的思绪早已支离破碎，盘旋不定，难以把握，陷入深深的痛苦之中。因此，他现在简直是像喝醉了酒一样，晕晕糊糊。
　　他所一心惦念的，如今只有一个问题：“我该怎么办？会不会死？”
　　他又在房内大步走了起来，机械地反复说着一句话：“无论怎样，我该坚强起来，决不示弱。”
　　接着，他自言自语道：
　　“我该给父母写封信，把此事告诉他们，以免一旦发生意外……”
　　他因而又坐下来，拿过一叠信纸，在上面写道：“亲爱的爸爸，亲爱的妈妈……”
　　在此非常时刻，他觉得此种称呼未免不太协调，因而撕去一页，重新写道：“亲爱的父亲，亲爱的母亲：天一亮，我就要去同一个人决斗，我可能会……”
　　下面的话，他怎么也写不下去，于是霍地一下又站了起来。
　　现在，一想到这可能的结局，他便难以自制。是的，他要去决斗了，这已无法避免。可是他心里却怎么啦？不是他自己愿意的吗？他不是已拿定主意，下定了决心吗？然而他感到，尽管自己表现了坚强的意志，到时候恐怕仍没有足够的力气走到决斗场上去。
　　他的上下牙不时因身子的颤抖而发生碰撞，声音虽小，但清晰可闻。他心里想：
　　“我的对手以前决斗过吗？他是否常到靶场去练习射击？
　　是不是一个有名的出色射手？”
　　他从未听人提到过这个名字。不过他想，此人若不是一名出色的射手，是不会这样毫不犹豫地一口答应以手枪决斗的。
　　这样，他的思绪忽而又转到了他即将前往的决斗场上，想象着他自己会是一种怎样的神态，对方又是一种怎样的表现。他想呀想，把决斗中可能遇到的细枝末节都想到了。突然间，他仿佛看到阴森乌黑的枪口正对着他，子弹就要从那里射出来。
　　他顿时感到无比的绝望，心头笼罩在一片恐怖之中。他全身颤抖，并不时地抽搐着。他咬紧牙，不让自己喊出声来，恨不得倒在地上打滚，砸碎家什，或对着什么咬他几口。这当儿，他忽然发现壁炉上放着一只玻璃杯，想起柜子里还存着满满一瓶烧酒。因为他每天早上都要空腹喝他一杯，这个习惯还是在军队里养成的。
　　他拿过酒瓶，就着瓶口贪婪地、大口大口地喝了起来，直到喝得喘不过气来方才放下。而这时，瓶里的酒已被他喝去三分之一了。
　　他感到腹中火烧火燎，四肢也很快感到热乎乎的。由于酒的这一刺激，他的心反倒镇定了下来。
　　“我总算有办法来对付这难耐的时刻了，”他想。他感到周身热得实在受不了，因此又打开窗户。
　　天色微明，窗外寒气袭人，一片宁静。天穹深处，群星正随着晨光的显露而渐渐隐去。窗下铁路旁的红、绿、白信号灯，也已黯然失色。
　　首批机车驶出车库，正带着长长的汽笛声，向当天的早班列车驶去。其他机车则呆在远处，仿佛刚从沉睡中醒来，像原野上的报晓晨鸡，在不断地发出尖利的叫声。
　　“这一切，我恐怕很快就再也看不到了，”杜洛瓦心想。他感到自己又要伤感起来，于是立马煞住：“不行，在去决斗场之前，我什么也不能再想。只有这样，才不致于临阵胆怯。”
　　他开始漱洗，但在刮胡子的时候有一刹那又有点挺不住了。因为他想，这也许是最后一次在镜中看到自己了。
　　他又喝了口酒，然后穿好衣服。
　　此后的时间就更难熬了。他在房内踱来踱去，努力使自己保持镇定。可是当门上传来敲门声时，他仍差一点仰面倒了下去。因为这对他脆弱的神经所造成的冲击，实在是太大了。出现在门边的，是两位证人：出发的时候终于到了！
　　两位证人都穿着厚厚的皮大衣。里瓦尔握了握杜洛瓦的手，向他说道：
　　“今天天气很冷。”
　　接着又问道：
　　“怎么样？夜里睡得好吗？”
　　“很好。”
　　“心情平静吗？”
　　“非常平静。”
　　“这就好。你吃了点东西没有？”
　　“我早上不吃东西。”
　　布瓦勒纳胸前今天特意挂了枚黄绿两色的外国勋章，杜洛瓦还从未见他戴过这玩艺儿。
　　三个人于是向楼下走去。门外的车内坐着一位先生。里瓦尔向杜洛瓦介绍道：“这位是勒布吕芒医生。”
　　杜洛瓦同他握了握手，喃喃地说了声“谢谢”，然后想坐在车子前部的座位上，不想刚一落座，便有一件硬邦邦的东西使他像弹簧一样迅速缩了回来：原来是放手枪的匣子。里瓦尔连声说：“不，不！参加决斗的人和医生坐里边，请到里边去。”
　　杜洛瓦好半天才明白他的意思，一屁股在医生身旁坐了下来。
　　两个证人接着也上了车。车夫扬了一下鞭子，马车开始启动。此行目的地，车夫显然已经知道。
　　大家都觉得手枪匣子放的不是地方，特别是杜洛瓦很不希望见到它。坐在前边的一人于是把它放到了身后边，但又硌着腰，竖放在里瓦尔和布瓦勒纳之间又总往下掉，最后只得放在脚下。
　　车厢里的气氛总也活跃不起来。医生虽然说了几则笑话，但也只有里瓦尔不时答上一两句。杜洛瓦本想显示一下自己的机智，但又担心说起话来思想不连贯，露出内心的慌乱。他现在最为惶恐的是，生怕他的身子会不由自主地抖起来。
　　车子很快到了郊外。现在已是九点左右。在这严冬的早晨，极目四顾，四周旷野酷似一块又硬又脆、闪闪发亮的水晶。树上覆盖的寒霜像是从树内渗出的冰雪。车轮走在路面上发出清脆的声响。由于空气干燥，只要有一点声音，也能传得很远很远。蔚蓝的天空像镜子一样光洁。太阳在天空游弋，虽然明亮耀眼，但似乎裹着一股寒气，并未给冰冻的大地带来一丝热气。
　　里瓦尔这时向杜洛瓦说道：
　　“这手枪是我在加斯蒂内—勒纳特的店里买来的。枪内的子弹是他亲自装上的。匣子已用火漆封好。不过谁会使用，一会儿还要将对方拿来的枪支放在一起抽签决定。”
　　杜洛瓦木然地说了声谢谢。
　　里瓦尔于是将该注意的地方向他一一作了叮嘱，因为他不希望杜洛瓦在任何环节上有所疏忽。因此每谈到一点，他都要强调好几遍：
　　“当人家问你们：‘先生们，准备好了吗？’你要大声回答：
　　‘准备好了！’
　　“人家一下令‘放！’，你就举起枪来，不等数到‘三’便开枪。”
　　杜洛瓦接着将他的话在心里默念了几遍：
　　“当人家一下令放，我就举起枪来；当人家一下令放，我就举起枪来；当人家一下令放，我就举起枪来。”
　　“当人家一下令放，我就举起枪来。”他像课堂上的孩子一样，不厌其烦地背诵着，以便将这句话镌刻到脑海里去。
　　马车驶入一座树林，向右拐进一条林荫道，然后又向右拐了过去。里瓦尔突然打开车门，向车夫喊道；“往这儿走，沿着这条小路过去。”车子走上一条车辙明显的大路，路两旁是低矮的树丛。边沿结着冰的枯叶在微风中抖动。
　　杜洛瓦口中仍在没完没了地默念着：
　　“当人家一下令放，我就举起枪来。”
　　他想，要是车子此时出事，也就不用去了。啊，要是忽然翻了车，他摔断一条腿，该有多好！……
　　可是他看到一林间空地的尽头已停着一辆车，四位先生正在那里踏着脚取暖。杜洛瓦感到气也喘不过来了，不得不张大了嘴。
　　两个证人首先下了车，接着是医生和杜洛瓦。里瓦尔抱着手枪匣子，同布瓦勒纳一起向两个陌生人走了过去。这两人也正向他们走来。杜洛瓦见他们四人彬彬有礼地互相打了个招呼，然后一起在这块林中空地内走了走，同时一会儿看看地下，一会儿看看树上，仿佛在寻找什么由树上落下或飞走了的东西。接着，他们数了数脚步，费了很大的劲，把两根手杖插入冻得硬邦邦的泥土里。最后，他们走到一起，像小孩玩游戏一样，把一枚铜币抛向空中，猜它落下后是正面朝上，还是反面朝上。
　　勒布吕芒医生这时向杜洛瓦问道：
　　“您感觉好吗？是否需要什么？”
　　“不，什么也不需要，谢谢。”
　　他觉得自己的神志已不太清楚，好像在睡觉，也好像在做梦，处于一种突如其来的神奇境遇中。
　　他是否害怕了？也许是，但他也说不上来。他所知道的是，周围的一切都已改变。
　　雅克•里瓦尔走过来，十分满意地低声对他说道：
　　“一切已准备就绪。我们的运气不错，在挑选枪这一方面占了点便宜。”
　　此时此刻，杜洛瓦对此是毫无兴趣了。
　　有人过来帮他脱下大衣，并摸了摸他的上衣口袋，看袋内是否装了什么可起防护作用的纸片和钱夹。他听任摆布。他像祈祷一样，依然在默诵着：“人家一下令放，我就举起枪来。”
　　他被带到插在地上的一根手杖旁，手里接过一支手枪。这时，他才看到，前方不远处已站着一位身材矮小、大腹便便而又戴着一副眼镜的秃头男子。不言而喻，这就是他的对手了。此人他看得很清楚，然而他心里所想的，却依然是：“人家一下令放，我就举起枪来。”
　　在一片寂静中，仿佛从很远的远方传来了一个人的说话声，“问道：
　　“先生们，你们准备好了吗？”
　　“准备好了，”杜洛瓦大声喊道。
　　这同一个人于是下了口令：“放！……”
　　发口令的人下面还喊了些什么，他是毫不理会了。他懵懵懂懂，眼前一片昏花，唯一能感到的是，自己举起枪，使劲扣动了扳机。
　　响亮的枪声，他一点也没有听到。
　　不过他看到，他那支枪的枪口，立即冒出一缕青烟。他对面的那个人，依然站在那里，保持着原有的姿势。他看到，对方的头顶上方也升起了一缕青烟。
　　双方都开了枪，事情已经结束。
　　他的两个证人和医生跑过来，在他身上摸了摸，拍了拍，并解开他的上衣扣子，焦虑地问道：
　　“你伤着没有？”
　　“没有，我想没有，”他不假思索地答道。
　　朗格勒蒙也同他一样，毫发未伤。
　　“用这种鬼手枪决斗，结局一向如此，不是根本打不着，就是一枪致命。实在没办法！”雅克•里瓦尔嘀咕道，话音中透出一种不满。
　　“事情已经完了！”杜洛瓦沉浸在一片惊喜中，身子动也不动。他手里仍旧紧紧地握着那把枪，别人只得把它拿了过去。他此刻感到，自己仿佛是同整个世界进行了一场决斗。事情已经结束，他心中别提有多高兴，突然觉得自己完全能够向任人何挑战。
　　双方证人在一起谈了几分钟，约定当天再碰一下头，草拟现场报告。接着，大家便上了车。坐在驾辕位子的车夫笑了笑，把手中的鞭子一扬，马车又踏上了归程。
　　他们四人进了大街上的一家餐馆，话题自然是今天这场决斗。杜洛瓦谈了谈他的感受：
　　“我并没把它当回事，一点也没有。这你们想必也看到了。”
　　里瓦尔说道：
　　“是的，你确实表现非凡。”
　　现场报告写好后便给杜洛瓦拿了来，由他在社会新闻栏发表。杜洛瓦见报告上写着，他同路易•朗格勒蒙打了两枪，不禁深为纳闷，甚至有点不安，便向里瓦尔问道：
　　“我们每人不是只开了一枪吗？”
　　里瓦尔笑道：
　　“是一枪呀……每人一枪……不就是两枪吗？……”
　　杜洛瓦觉得他言之有理，也就没再说什么。瓦尔特老头一见到他，便激动地同他拥抱在一起：
　　“好样的，好样的，你为《法兰西生活报》立了大功，真是好样的！”
　　当天晚上，杜洛瓦到各大报馆和大街上的各大咖啡馆走了走，并两次同他那也在公共场所露面的对手不期而遇。
　　他们互相间没有打招呼，要是两人中有一人受伤，就会握手的。不过两人都一口咬定，曾听到对方的子弹从耳边呼啸而过。
　　第二天上午十一点左右，杜洛瓦收到一张小蓝条：
　　天哪，你可把我吓坏了！我的宝贝，让我亲吻你，望即来君士坦丁堡街一聚。你真勇敢，我爱你。——克洛。
　　杜洛瓦随即到了君士坦丁堡街。德•马莱尔夫一下扑到到他的怀内，在他的脸上到处吻着：
　　“啊！亲爱的，你知道吗？今天早上看到报上的消息，我不知有多激动。来给我讲讲事情经过，把一切都告诉我。我什么都想知道。”
　　杜洛瓦只得把有关情况详细谈了谈。她叹道：
　　“决斗前那天晚上，你一定非常难熬！”
　　“不，我睡得很好。”
　　“如果是我，就一夜不会合眼的，到了决斗场以后呢？你把那儿的情况也对我讲一讲。”
　　杜洛瓦于是活龙活现地讲述了起来：
　　“我们俩面对面地站着，彼此相距只有二十步，也就是这个房间长度的四倍。雅克问了问也们是否已准备好，接着便下了开枪的口令。我立即平稳地把枪举起来对准他的脑袋，问题就出在这里。我平常都用的是扳机灵活的手枪，而这把手枪的扳机却很紧，结果没有掌握好，而把子弹打飞了。不过倒也没有偏多少。我的那个死对头枪法也很不错。他射出的子弹从我太阳穴旁飞过时，我感到了一阵风。”
　　德•马莱尔夫人坐在他的腿上，并用两手紧紧地搂着他，好像要分担他所经历的危险。她喃喃地说道：
　　“啊，我可怜的宝贝，我可怜的心肝……”
　　待杜洛瓦讲完后，她又说道：
　　“你知道，我已离不开你，我希望能常常见到你。我丈夫在巴黎，这确实很不方便。不过在你早晨起床之前，我可以隔三岔五地抽出一小时，来同你相会。可是你住的那地方，实在可怕，我是不会再去的。这可怎么办呢？”
　　杜洛瓦灵机一动，问道：
　　“这套房间的租金是多少？”
　　“每月一百法郎。”
　　“那好，我干脆搬过来好了，租金由我付。以我现在的身份，那个房间已不合适。”
　　德•马莱尔夫人想了想，说道：
　　“不，不行。”
　　杜洛瓦惊讶地看着她：
　　“为什么不行？”
　　“因为……”
　　“别说了，这套房子对我很合适。我既然来了，也就不走了。”
　　说罢，他哈哈大笑：
　　“况且房子本来就是以我的名义租的。”
　　然而德•马莱尔夫人仍旧不同意：
　　“不，不行。”
　　“究竟怎么不行？”
　　她嗲声嗲气地在杜洛瓦耳边低声说道：
　　“因为你会带别的女人到这儿来，我可不希望……”
　　杜洛瓦满脸气愤：
　　“我怎会这样呢？你放心……”
　　“不，你会带来的。”
　　“那好，我向你发誓……”
　　“真的不带？”
　　“当然是真的，我以名誉担保。这是我们的家，我们两人的家。”
　　她情不自禁地紧紧搂着他：
　　“既然这样，当然可以，亲爱的。不过我要告诉你，你只要欺骗了我，那怕只是一次，我们的关系也就从此完了，永远完了。”
　　杜洛瓦又信誓旦旦地赌了一通咒。因此当下决定，他当天就搬过来。以后她从门前经过，便可进来看看他。
　　后来，她又说道：
　　“星期天，你还是来我家吃晚饭。我丈夫对你印象很好。”
　　杜洛瓦不禁有点得意起来：
　　“是吗？”
　　“当然，他对你夸不绝口。还有，你不是说过，你是在乡下一座别墅里长大的吗？”
　　“是呀，怎么啦？”
　　“地里的农活，你应该知道点喽？”
　　“是的。”
　　“你可以同他谈谈蔬菜的栽培和庄稼的播种，他可喜欢这些了。”
　　“好的，我知道了。”
　　德•马莱尔夫人吻了他一遍又一遍，才恋恋不舍地离他而去。经过这场决斗，她对他的爱如今是更形炽烈了。
　　在前往报馆途中，杜洛瓦心中却想的是：
　　“一个多么古怪的尤物，真叫人百思不得其解！天晓得，她天天想的是什么，喜欢的是什么？这两口子实在举世少有！也不知道老家伙同这没心没肺的女人是怎么突发奇想而走到一起的？不知道这位铁路巡视员当初是出于什么考虑而娶了一个刚出校门的女孩？这一切都是谜，谁能知道？但这也许就叫爱情吧？”
　　“不管怎样，作为一个情妇，她可是再好没有。我若把她丢掉，那可太愚蠢了，”杜洛瓦最后想。
Chapter 8 Death and a Proposal
Duroy moved his effects to the apartments in Rue de Constantinople. Two or three times a week, Mme. de-Marelle paid him visits. Duroy, to counterbalance them, dined at her house every Thursday, and delighted her husband by talking agriculture to him.
It was almost the end of February. Duroy was free from care. One night, when he returned home, he found a letter under his door. He examined the postmark; it was from Cannes. Having opened it, he read:
“Cannes, Villa Jolie.”
“Dear sir and friend: You told me, did you not, that I could
count upon you at any time? Very well. I have a favor to ask
of you; it is to come and help me — not to leave me alone during
Charles’s last moments. He may not live through the week,
although he is not confined to his bed, but the doctor has
warned me. I have not the strength nor the courage to see that
agony day and night, and I think with terror of the approaching
end I can only ask such a thing of you, for my husband has no
relatives. You were his comrade; he helped you to your
position; come, I beg of you; I have no one else to ask.”
“Your friend,”
“Madeleine Forestier.”
Georges murmured: “Certainly I will go. Poor Charles!”
The manager, to whom he communicated the contents of that letter, grumblingly gave his consent. He repeated: “But return speedily, you are indispensable to us.”
Georges Duroy left for Cannes the next day by the seven o’clock express, after having warned Mme. de Marelle by telegram. He arrived the following day at four o’clock in the afternoon. A commissionnaire conducted him to Villa Jolie. The house was small and low, and of the Italian style of architecture.
A servant opened the door and cried: “Oh, sir, Madame is awaiting you patiently.”
Duroy asked: “How is your master?”
“Not very well, sir. He will not be here long.”
The floor of the drawing-room which the young man entered was covered with a Persian rug; the large windows looked upon the village and the sea.
Duroy murmured: “How cozy it is here! Where the deuce do they get the money from?”
The rustling of a gown caused him to turn. Mme. Forestier extended both her hands, saying:
“How kind of you to come.”
She was a trifle paler and thinner, but still as bright as ever, and perhaps prettier for being more delicate. She whispered: “It is terrible — he knows he cannot be saved and he tyrannizes over me. I have told him of your arrival. But where is your trunk?”
Duroy replied: “I left it at the station, not knowing which hotel you would advise me to stop at, in order to be near you.”
She hesitated, then said: “You must stop here, at the villa. Your chamber is ready. He might die any moment, and if it should come in the night, I would be alone. I will send for your luggage.”
He bowed. “As you will.”
“Now, let us go upstairs,” said she; he followed her. She opened a door on the first floor, and Duroy saw a form near a window, seated in an easy-chair, and wrapped in coverlets. He divined that it was his friend, though he scarcely recognized him. Forestier raised his hand slowly and with difficulty, saying:
“You are here; you have come to see me die. I am much obliged.”
Duroy forced a smile. “To see you die? That would not be a very pleasant sight, and I would not choose that occasion on which to visit Cannes. I came here to rest.”
“Sit down,” said Forestier, and he bowed his head as if deep in hopeless meditation. Seeing that he did not speak, his wife approached the window and pointing to the horizon, said, “Look at that? Is it not beautiful?”
In spite of himself Duroy felt the grandeur of the closing day and exclaimed: “Yes, indeed, it is magnificent”
Forestier raised his head and said to his wife: “Give me more air.”
She replied: “You must be careful; it is late, the sun is setting; you will catch more cold and that would be a serious thing in your condition.”
He made a feeble gesture of anger with his right hand, and said: “I tell you I am suffocating! What difference does it make if I die a day sooner or later, since I must die?”
She opened the window wide. The air was soft and balmy. Forestier inhaled it in feverish gasps. He grasped the arms of his chair and said in a low voice: “Shut the window. I would rather die in a cellar.”
His wife slowly closed the window, then leaned her brow against the pane and looked out. Duroy, ill at ease, wished to converse with the invalid to reassure him, but he could think of no words of comfort. He stammered: “Have you not been better since you are here?”
His friend shrugged his shoulders impatiently: “You will see very soon.” And he bowed his head again.
Duroy continued: “At home it is still wintry. It snows, hails, rains, and is so dark that they have to light the lamps at three o’clock in the afternoon.”
Forestier asked: “Is there anything new at the office?”
“Nothing. They have taken little Lacrin of the ‘Voltaire’ to fill your place, but he is incapable. It is time you came back.”
The invalid muttered: “I? I will soon be writing under six feet of sod.” A long silence ensued.
Mme. Forestier did not stir; she stood with her back to the room, her face toward the window. At length Forestier broke the silence in a gasping voice, heartrending to listen to: “How many more sunsets shall I see — eight — ten — fifteen — twenty — or perhaps thirty — no more. You have more time, you two — as for me — all is at an end. And everything will go on when I am gone as if I were here.” He paused a few moments, then continued: “Everything that I see reminds me that I shall not see them long. It is horrible. I shall no longer see the smallest objects — the glasses — the dishes — the beds on which we rest — the carriages. It is fine to drive in the evening. How I loved all that.”
Again Norbert de Varenne’s words occurred to Duroy. The room grew dark. Forestier asked irritably:
“Are we to have no lamp to-night? That is what is called caring for an invalid!”
The form outlined against the window disappeared and an electric bell was heard to ring. A servant soon entered and placed a lamp upon the mantel-piece. Mme. Forestier asked her husband: “Do you wish to retire, or will you go downstairs to dinner?”
“I will go down to dinner.”
The meal seemed to Duroy interminable, for there was no conversation, only the ticking of a clock broke the silence. When they had finished, Duroy, pleading fatigue, retired to his room and tried in vain to invent some pretext for returning home as quickly as possible. He consoled himself by saying: “Perhaps it will not be for long.”
The next morning Georges rose early and strolled down to the beach. When he returned the servant said to him: “Monsieur has asked for you two or three times. Will you go upstairs?”
He ascended the stairs. Forestier appeared to be in a chair; his wife, reclining upon a couch, was reading. The invalid raised his head. Duroy asked:
“Well, how are you? You look better this morning.”
Forestier murmured: “Yes, I am better and stronger. Lunch as hastily as you can with Madeleine, because we are going to take a drive.”
When Mme. Forestier was alone with Duroy, she said to him: “You see, to-day he thinks he is better! He is making plans for to-morrow. We are now going to Gulf Juan to buy pottery for our rooms in Paris. He is determined to go, but he cannot stand the jolting on the road.”
The carriage arrived, Forestier descended the stairs, step by step, supported by his servant. When he saw the closed landau, he wanted it uncovered. His wife opposed him: “It is sheer madness! You will take cold.”
He persisted: “No, I am going to be better, I know it.”
They first drove along a shady road and then took the road by the sea. Forestier explained the different points of interest. Finally they arrived at a pavilion over which were these words: “Gulf Juan Art Pottery,” and the carriage drew up at the door. Forestier wanted to buy a vase to put on his bookcase. As he could not leave the carriage, they brought the pieces to him one by one. It took him a long time to choose, consulting his wife and Duroy: “You know it is for my study. From my easy-chair I can see it constantly. I prefer the ancient form — the Greek.”
At length he made his choice. “I shall return to Paris in a few days,” said he.
On their way home along the gulf a cool breeze suddenly sprang up, and the invalid began to cough. At first it was nothing, only a slight attack, but it grew worse and turned to a sort of hiccough — a rattle; Forestier choked, and every time he tried to breathe he coughed violently. Nothing quieted him. He had to be carried from the landau to his room. The heat of the bed did not stop the attack, which lasted until midnight. The first words the sick man uttered were to ask for a barber, for he insisted on being shaved every morning. He rose to be shaved, but was obliged to go to bed at once, and began to breathe so painfully that Mme. Forestier in affright woke Duroy and asked him to fetch the doctor. He returned almost immediately with Dr. Gavant who prescribed for the sick man. When the journalist asked him his opinion, he said: “It is the final stage. He will be dead to-morrow morning. Prepare that poor, young wife and send for a priest. I can do nothing more. However, I am entirely at your disposal” Duroy went to Mme. Forestier. “He is going to die. The doctor advises me to send for a priest. What will you do?”
She hesitated a moment and then said slowly:
“I will go and tell him that the cure wishes to see him. Will you be kind enough to procure one who will require nothing but the confession, and who will not make much fuss?”
The young man brought with him a kind, old priest who accommodated himself to circumstances. When he had entered the death chamber, Mme. Forestier went out and seated herself with Duroy in an adjoining room.
“That has upset him,” said she. “When I mentioned the priest to him, his face assumed a scared expression. He knew that the end was near. I shall never forget his face.”
At that moment they heard the priest saying to him: “Why no, you are not so low as that. You are ill, but not in danger. The proof of that is that I came as a friend, a neighbor.” They could not hear his reply. The priest continued: “No, I shall not administer the sacrament. We will speak of that when you are better. If you will only confess, I ask no more. I am a pastor; I take advantage of every occasion to gather in my sheep.”
A long silence followed. Then suddenly the priest said, in the tone of one officiating at the altar:
“The mercy of God is infinite; repeat the ‘Confiteor,’ my son. Perhaps you have forgotten it; I will help you. Repeat with me: ‘Confiteor Deo omnipotenti; Beata Mariae semper virgini.’” He paused from time to time to permit the dying man to catch up to him.
Then he said: “Now, confess.” The sick man murmured something. The priest repeated: “You have committed sins: of what kind, my son?”
The young woman rose and said simply: “Let us go into the garden. We must not listen to his secrets.”
They seated themselves upon a bench before the door, beneath a blossoming rosebush. After several moments of silence Duroy asked: “Will it be some time before you return to Paris?”
“No,” she replied; “when all is over, I will go back.”
“In about ten days?”
“Yes, at most.”
He continued; “Charles has no relatives then?”
“None, save cousins. His father and mother died when he was very young.”
In the course of a few minutes, the servant came to tell them that the priest had finished, and together they ascended the stairs. Forestier seemed to have grown thinner since the preceding day. The priest was holding his hand.
“Au revoir, my son. I will come again to-morrow morning”; and he left. When he was gone, the dying man, who was panting, tried to raise his two hands toward his wife and gasped:
“Save me — save me, my darling. I do not want to die — oh, save me — go for the doctor. I will take anything. I do not want to die.” He wept; the tears coursed down his pallid cheeks. Then his hands commenced to wander hither and thither continually, slowly, and regularly, as if gathering something on the coverlet. His wife, who was also weeping, sobbed:
“No, it is nothing. It is only an attack; you will be better to- morrow; you tired yourself with that drive.”
Forestier drew his breath quickly and so faintly that one could scarcely hear him. He repeated:
“I do not want to die! Oh, my God — my God — what has happened to me? I cannot see. Oh, my God!” His staring eyes saw something invisible to the others; his hands plucked continually at the counterpane. Suddenly he shuddered and gasped: “The cemetery — me — my God!” He did not speak again. He lay there motionless and ghastly. The hours dragged on; the clock of a neighboring convent chimed noon.
Duroy left the room to obtain some food. He returned an hour later; Mme. Forestier would eat nothing. The invalid had not stirred. The young woman was seated in an easy-chair at the foot of the bed. Duroy likewise seated himself, and they watched in silence. A nurse, sent by the doctor, had arrived and was dozing by the window.
Duroy himself was almost asleep when he felt a presentiment that something was about to happen. He opened his eyes just in time to see Forestier close his. He coughed slightly, and two streams of blood issued from the corners of his mouth and flowed upon his night robe; his hands ceased their perpetual motion; he had breathed his last. His wife, perceiving it, uttered a cry and fell upon her knees by the bedside. Georges, in surprise and affright, mechanically made the sign of the cross.
The nurse, awakening, approached the bed and said: “It has come.” Duroy, recovering his self-possession, murmured with a sigh of relief: “It was not as hard as I feared it would be.”
That night Mme. Forestier and Duroy watched in the chamber of death. They were alone beside him who was no more. They did not speak, Georges’s eyes seemed attracted to that emaciated face which the flickering light made more hollow. That was his friend, Charles Forestier, who the day before had spoken to him. For several years he had lived, eaten, laughed, loved, and hoped as did everyone — and now all was ended for him forever.
Life lasted a few months or years, and then fled! One was born, grew, was happy, and died. Adieu! man or woman, you will never return to earth! He thought of the insects which live several hours, of the feasts which live several days, of the men who live several years, of the worlds which last several centuries. What was the difference between one and the other? A few more dawns, that was all.
Duroy turned away his eyes in order not to see the corpse. Mme. Forestier’s head was bowed; her fair hair enhanced the beauty of her sorrowful face. The young man’s heart grew hopeful. Why should he lament when he had so many years still before him? He glanced at the handsome widow. How had she ever consented to marry that man? Then he pondered upon all the hidden secrets of their lives. He remembered that he had been told of a Count de Vaudrec who had dowered and given her in marriage. What would she do now? Whom would she marry? Had she projects, plans? He would have liked to know. Why that anxiety as to what she would do?
Georges questioned himself, and found that it was caused by a desire to win her for himself. Why should he not succeed? He was positive that she liked him; she would have confidence in him, for she knew that he was intelligent, resolute, tenacious. Had she not sent for him? Was not that a kind of avowal? He was impatient to question her, to find out her intentions. He would soon have to leave that villa, for he could not remain alone with the young widow; therefore he must find out her plans before returning to Paris, in order that she might not yield to another’s entreaties. He broke the oppressive silence by saying:
“You must be fatigued.”
“Yes, but above all I am grieved.”
Their voices sounded strange in that room. They glanced involuntarily at the corpse as if they expected to see it move. Duroy continued:
“It is a heavy blow for you, and will make a complete change in your life.”
She sighed deeply, but did not reply. He added:
“It is very sad for a young woman like you to be left alone.” He paused; she still did not reply, and he stammered: “At any rate, you will remember the compact between us; you can command me as you will. I am yours.”
She held out her hand to him and said mournfully and gently: “Thanks, you are very kind. If I can do anything for you, I say too: ‘Count on me.’”
He took her proffered hand, gazed at it, and was seized with an ardent desire to kiss it. Slowly he raised it to his lips and then relinquished it. As her delicate fingers lay upon her knee the young widow said gravely:
“Yes, I shall be all alone, but I shall force myself to be brave.”
He did not know how to tell her that he would be delighted to wed her. Certainly it was no time to speak to her on such a subject; however, he thought he might be able to express himself by means of some phrase which would have a hidden meaning and would infer what he wished to say. But that rigid corpse lay between them. The atmosphere became oppressive, almost suffocating. Duroy asked: “Can we not open the window a little? The air seems to be impure.”
“Certainly,” she replied; “I have noticed it too.”
He opened the window, letting in the cool night air. He turned: “Come and look out, it is delightful.”
She glided softly to his side. He whispered: “Listen to me. Do not be angry that I broach the subject at such a time, but the day after to-morrow I shall leave here and when you return to Paris it might be too late. You know that I am only a poor devil, who has his position to make, but I have the will and some intelligence, and I am advancing. A man who has attained his ambition knows what to count on; a man who has his way to make does not know what may come- -it may be better or worse. I told you one day that my most cherished dream was to have a wife like you.”
“I repeat it to you to-day. Do not reply, but let me continue. This is no proposal — the time and place would render it odious. I only wish to tell you that by a word you can make me happy, and that you can make of me as you will, either a friend or a husband — for my heart and my body are yours. I do not want you to answer me now. I do not wish to speak any more on the subject here. When we meet in Paris, you can tell me your decision.”
He uttered these words without glancing at her, and she seemed not to have heard them, for she stood by his side motionless, staring vaguely and fixedly at the landscape before her, bathed in moonlight.
At length she murmured: “It is rather chilly,” and turned toward the bed. Duroy followed her. They did not speak but continued their watch. Toward midnight Georges fell asleep. At daybreak the nurse entered and he started up. Both he and Mme. Forestier retired to their rooms to obtain some rest. At eleven o’clock they rose and lunched together; while through the open window was wafted the sweet, perfumed air of spring. After lunch, Mme. Forestier proposed that they take a turn in the garden; as they walked slowly along, she suddenly said, without turning her head toward him, in a low, grave voice:
“Listen to me, my dear friend; I have already reflected upon what you proposed to me, and I cannot allow you to depart without a word of reply. I will, however, say neither yes nor no. We will wait, we will see; we will become better acquainted. You must think it well over too. Do not yield to an impulse. I mention this to you before even poor Charles is buried, because it is necessary, after what you have said to me, that you should know me as I am, in order not to cherish the hope you expressed to me any longer, if you are not a man who can understand and bear with me.”
“Now listen carefully: Marriage, to me, is not a chain but an association. I must be free, entirely unfettered, in all my actions- -my coming and my going; I can tolerate neither control, jealousy, nor criticism as to my conduct. I pledge my word, however, never to compromise the name of the man I marry, nor to render him ridiculous in the eyes of the world. But that man must promise to look upon me as an equal, an ally, and not as an inferior, or as an obedient, submissive wife. My ideas, I know, are not like those of other people, but I shall never change them. Do not answer me, it would be useless. We shall meet again and talk it all over later. Now take a walk; I shall return to him. Good-bye until to-night.”
He kissed her hand and left her without having uttered a word. That night they met at dinner; directly after the meal they sought their rooms, worn out with fatigue.
Charles Forestier was buried the next day in the cemetery at Cannes without any pomp, and Georges returned to Paris by the express which left at one-thirty. Mme. Forestier accompanied him to the station. They walked up and down the platform awaiting the hour of departure and conversing on indifferent subjects.
The train arrived, the journalist took his seat; a porter cried: “Marseilles, Lyons, Paris! All aboard!” The locomotive whistled and the train moved slowly out of the station.
The young man leaned out of the carriage, and looked at the youthful widow standing on the platform gazing after him. Just as she was disappearing from his sight, he threw her a kiss, which she returned with a more discreet wave of her hand.
　　经过这次决斗，杜洛瓦在一夜之间成了《法兰西生活报》少数几位领头的专栏编辑之一。然而他常常搜尽枯肠仍不能提出什么新的思想，因而天天惊呼世风日下、道德沦丧、爱国观念削弱和法兰西荣誉感得了贫血症（这“贫血症”一词还是他想出来的，他为此而感到十分得意），也就成了他所主办专栏的特色。
　　爱嘲弄、好怀疑、有时又过于天真，被说成是巴黎人思想的主要特征。这些东西，在德•马莱尔夫人身上可以说是一应俱全。她一见到杜洛瓦在报上发表的长篇大论，总要尽情挖苦一番，而且常常是寥寥数语便击中要害。对此，杜洛瓦总笑着说：“你可别小看了，我将来要出名就靠的是这个。”他现已住到君士坦丁堡街，其全部家当：箱子、牙刷、刮脸刀和肥皂，已搬了过来。德•马莱尔夫人每星期两三次在他早晨起床之前，来同他相会。一进来，她便动作麻利地脱去衣服，带着外面的寒气，哆哆嗦嗦地钻进他的被窝。
　　此外，杜洛瓦每星期四都照例来她家吃饭，同她丈夫大谈农活，以博取他的欢心。由于他本人也对农活很感兴趣，那个人往往谈得十分投机，因而把在沙发上打盹的年轻女人忘得一干二净。
　　有时坐在父亲的腿上，有时坐在杜洛瓦的腿上，小姑娘洛琳娜时也睡着了。
　　不论谈起什么总要摆出一副道学先生样的德•马莱尔先生，第次在杜洛瓦走后，总要带着这种腔调说道：“这个年轻人确实不错，很有教养。”
　　现在已是二月底。每天早晨，当人们在街上从卖花女拉着的车旁走过时，已可闻到车上扑鼻而来的花香。
　　杜洛瓦的生活如今是万事如意，如同万里晴空，没有一丝云彩。
　　一天晚上回到住所，他推开门后，发现地板上有一封信。他看了看邮戳，是从戛纳寄来的。他随即打开，读了起来：
　　亲爱的先生和朋友：
　　记得你曾对我说过，不论遇到什么事，我都可得到你的帮助。现在我就有一件难于启齿的事要求助于你。查理眼看是不行了，望你能来帮我一把，不要让我在他临终的时候一个人守在他身边。他眼下还能起床，但医生对我说，他恐怕是过不了这个星期了。
　　此时此刻，要日夜守着他，我已力不从心。一想到即将来临的最后时刻，我便无比恐惧。我丈夫已没有亲人，因此这个忙只能求你来帮。你曾是他的好友，是他为你打开了报馆的大门。除了你，我没有任何人可以求托。因此请见信速来。
　　你忠实的朋友
　　玛德莱娜•弗雷斯蒂埃
　　于戛纳劳利别墅
　　杜洛瓦心中像是吹进一缕清风，蓦地升起一种类似羁绊得以解脱、眼前豁然开朗的奇异感觉。他自言自语道：
　　“我当然是要去的。可怜的查理！况且我们谁都会有这一天的！”
　　他把弗雷斯蒂埃夫人的来信，向老板讲了讲。老板虽然准许他前往，但再三说道：
　　“不过你可要快点回来，我们这里缺不了你。”
　　这样，乔治•杜洛瓦第二天乘上午七点的快车离开了巴黎，行前给德•马莱尔夫妇发了封快信，告诉了他们有关情况。
　　他于隔天下午四时抵达戛纳。
　　他在一行李搬运工的指引下到了劳利别墅。别墅座落于一块半山坡的树林里，四周是一片白色的房屋。这茂密的树林从戛纳一直延伸到朱昂湾。
　　别墅不大，小巧的建筑呈意大利风格。近旁有一条公路，弯弯曲曲在林中穿行，每一拐弯处都有一幅秀丽的景色展现于眼底。
　　前来开门的仆人，见到杜洛瓦，不禁失声叫道：
　　“啊，是先生您来了，夫人正焦急地等着您的到来。”
　　杜洛瓦问道：
　　“你的主人现在怎样？”
　　“不太好，先生。他看来没有几天了。”
　　杜洛瓦被带到了客厅里。客厅四周挂着粉底蓝花帷幔。凭窗远望，可以看到整个城市和蓝色的大海。
　　杜洛瓦不禁叹道：
　　“啊哈！这间乡村别墅地势真好！这些钱，他们是从哪儿弄来的？”
　　门外传来一阵衣裙的窸窣声，杜洛瓦将身子转了过来。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人伸出双手，向他走了过来：
　　“你来啦，这可真是太好了！”
　　她突然在杜洛瓦的脸颊上亲了一下，随后两人相视良久。
　　她脸色略显苍白，人也瘦了些，但气色依然分外娇艳。整个身躯甚至正因为这看上去弱不经风的样子而显得比从前更加楚楚动人。她喃喃地说道：
　　“他已变得非常可怕，知道自己不行了，便没命地折磨我。
　　我已告诉他你就要来。你的行李呢？”
　　杜洛瓦回道：
　　“我把行李存在车站了。我想住得靠你近些，不知道你想让我住哪家旅馆。”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人犹豫了一会儿，然后说道：
　　“你还是住在这儿吧，再说你的房间已经准备好了。事情一两天之内就会出来，如果发生在夜间，我独自一人将很难对付。我这就叫人去把你的行李取来。”
　　杜洛瓦欠了欠身：
　　“那就按你的意思办吧。”
　　“现在我带你上楼去。”她说。
　　杜洛瓦跟着她上了二楼。走到一间房间前，她推开了房门。借着夕阳的余辉，杜洛瓦看到，一个身上裹着厚厚的被子、面色惨白形同僵尸的人，正坐在窗前的一把扶手椅上目不转睛地看着他。他的这位朋友，他几乎已认不出来了。毋宁说，他是靠揣度断定的。
　　房间里弥漫着肺病患者所住房间常有的那种难以名状的浓烈气味：因高烧而产生的气味，以及汤药味、乙醚味和柏油味。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃缓慢而又艰难地抬了抬手，说道；
　　“你来啦，承你的情，来给我送终。”
　　杜洛瓦竭力笑了笑：
　　“瞧你说的，来给你送终！这可不是什么开心事儿，我要是为这个，就不在这时候来游览戛纳了。我是来看望你的，顺便休息休息。”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃说了声“请坐”，接着便脑袋低垂，仿佛陷入了痛苦的沉思。
　　他呼吸急促，几乎是上气不接下气，并不时伴有低沉的呻吟，似乎在提醒人们他已病成什么样了。
　　他妻子见他一声不吭，便走过来靠在窗前，向着天边仰了仰头说道：
　　“你们看，这景致是多美啊！”
　　对面山坡上，到处点缀着一幢幢别墅，直达城市的边缘。而整个城市，从右边的防波堤，到与两个名叫莱兰的小岛隔海相望的科瓦赛特角，就横卧在一条呈半圆形的海岸上。防波堤上方，是耸立着一座古老钟楼的旧城，两个小岛则像是一片湛蓝的海水中所显现的两块绿斑。从上往下看去，岛上的地势似乎十分平坦，宛如两片巨大的树叶漂浮在海面上。
　　远处，港湾对岸的天际，在防波堤和钟楼上方，绵延不绝的黛绿色群山在火红的天幕下，勾勒出一条奇异而又迷人的曲线。这起伏不定的峰峦，有的呈圆鼓形，有的尖尖突出，有的则酷似弯钩，最后是一座金字塔形的大山，由上而下，直插海中。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人指着这座山说：
　　“这就是埃特莱山。”
　　在这灰暗的山峦背后，血红的晚霞一片金辉，刺得人眼花缭乱。
　　面对这落日的宏伟景象，杜洛瓦早已心驰神往，不能自已。
　　他搜尽枯肠，也未能找到形象的比喻来发抒心中的赞叹，最后只得说道：
　　“啊！是的，这景色真是太美了！”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃这时抬起头来，向妻子央求道：
　　“把窗户打开，让我透透气。”
　　他妻子说道：
　　“不行。现在天色已晚，太阳已经下山。否则你又要着凉的。你应当知道，按你目前的身体状况，开窗对你并没有什么好处。”
　　他焦躁而又无力地动了动右手，似乎想向她挥过拳去，脸上因愤怒而更加显现出那苍白的嘴唇、凹陷的两颊和突出的瘦骨：
　　“告诉你，我实在憋得受不了啦。既然我横竖是完了，早晚都是死，你何必还要这样呢？……”
　　她只得把窗户全部打开。
　　三个人顿感一股轻风拂面，心头不禁为之一爽。这股风不仅柔和湿润，而且已带有春天的气息，饱含山坡上的花草所散发的芬芳。不过其中也夹杂着浓烈的松脂味和刺鼻的桉树味。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃气喘吁吁，大口大口地吮吸着，但未过多久，便用手指甲痉挛地扣着座椅的扶手，恼怒而又无力地嘶叫起来：
　　“快把窗户关上，我受不了这气味。看来我得到地下室去等死了。”
　　他妻子于是慢慢地关上窗户，随后将前额贴在玻璃上，凝视着远方。
　　杜洛瓦觉得很不自在，想和病人聊一聊，安慰他几句。
　　但他一时又想不出恰当的话语来宽慰他，最后只是嘟哝了这样一句：
　　“这么说来，你来这儿后病情仍不见好？”
　　“你不是已经看到了吗？”对方有气无力地耸了耸肩，显得很不耐烦。说完又垂下了头。
　　杜洛瓦接着说道：
　　“妈的，这地方同巴黎相比，简直不知要强多少。那边现在还是严冬呢，不是雨雪，就是冰雹。下午三点，天就黑了下来，必须点灯。”
　　“报馆里没什么新闻吗？”弗雷斯蒂埃问道。
　　“没有。只是从伏尔泰学院新近来了个名叫拉克兰的毕业生，打算让他接替你。不过小家伙还是嫩了点，你快回来吧！”“我？现在要我写专栏文章，得等我到九泉之下了，”弗雷斯蒂埃说道。
　　死的念头看来已紧紧地占据他的心房，不论谈起什么都会像洪亮的钟声一样突然蹦出来，甚至每想起一件事，每说一句话，都会再度出现。
　　谈话出现长时间沉默，这沉默是这样的深沉，令人痛苦不堪。夕阳的金辉渐渐消失，被晚霞染红的天空已暗了下来，逶迤不绝的山林成了一片暗黑色。夜幕开始降临，带着夕阳最后余辉的斑烂夜色，在房内长驱直入，使家具、墙壁、窗帷和各个角落蒙上了一层红星交融的轻纱。壁炉上的镜子所映照出的天际，成了一滩殷红的鲜血。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人依旧一动不动地站在那里，背对着房间，脸孔贴在窗玻璃上。
　　她丈夫忽然上气不接下气地说了起来，话语因而断断续续，听了令人撕心裂肺：
　　“这落日我还能见到几次呢？……八次……十次……十五次或二十次……也有可能会有三十次，但不会超过此数……你们这些人……日子还长得很……我却已经到头了……我死了以后……一切仍会照旧……好像我还活着一样……”
　　他沉默了几分钟，后又接着说道：
　　“眼前的一切都在提醒我，几天以后，我便再也看不见……这真可怕……所有的东西了……我将什么也看不见了……从日常使用的小玩意儿……如杯子……盘子……到躺在上面何等舒服的床……以及马车。傍晚的时候，乘车兜风是多么惬意……这一切，我是多么地喜欢！”
　　他那两只手的手指，在神经质地轻轻敲着椅子的两边扶手，好像在弹钢琴一样。每次看着他沉默不语，比听他说话，要更使人难受，因为显而易见，他这时候一定在想那可怕的事情。
　　杜洛瓦忽然想起诺贝尔•德•瓦伦几星期前对他说的话语：
　　“我感到，死神现在就已站在我身旁，因此常想伸过手去，将她一把推开。天地虽大，但她却无所不在。我到处都可以看到她的踪迹。路上被压死的虫蚁，树上飘落下的黄叶，朋友的胡须中出现的一两根白毛，一看到这些，我的心就一阵抽搐，因为它是死神肆虐的见证。”
　　这些话，他那天并未弄懂，今天看到弗雷斯蒂埃这样子，他也就领悟了其含义，心中顿感分外凄楚，这在他是从来没有的。他仿佛感到面目狰狞的死神，此刻就在他身旁，同他只有一步之隔，就在这气息奄奄的病人坐着的椅子旁，他真想站起身离开这里，跑得远远的，立刻回巴黎去！啊！早知如此，他是不会来的。
　　夜幕此时已笼罩整个房间，看去很像一块提前送来的裹尸布，即将落在生命垂危的弗雷斯蒂埃身上。只有窗户还清晰可见，明晰的窗框内显现出年轻女人一动不动的身影。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃气愤地问道：
　　“怎么啦？今天为何不点灯？你们就这样照料病人？”
　　窗前的身影消失了。过了一会儿，空旷的别墅内响起了一阵电铃声。
　　少顷，一个仆人拿着一盏灯走了进来，放在壁炉上。弗雷斯蒂埃夫人向她丈夫问道：
　　“你现在想怎样，是睡觉呢还是下楼去吃晚饭？”
　　“我要下楼，”弗雷斯蒂埃答道。
　　由于开饭时间未到，三个人动也不动，又在房内等了将近一小时。这期间，他们只是偶尔说上一句平淡无奇、毫无意义的话语，仿佛在这死神光顾的房内，如果听任这沉默的时间持续过久，或是让这沉闷的空气僵化不变，会有什么神秘莫测的危险似的。
　　仆人终于报告，晚饭已准备好。杜洛瓦觉得，这餐饭费的时间特别长，好像总也没有完结的时候。大家都默默地吃着，谁也不说话，手指间的面包块被捻得粉碎。饭堂伺候的仆人，进进出出，脚下没有一丝声响。由于查理受不了响亮的脚步声，这个仆人穿的是软底拖鞋。房间里，只有那木壳挂钟机械而有规律的滴答声，清晰可闻。
　　饭一吃完，杜洛瓦便借口路途劳顿，回到了自己的房内。他伏在窗前，向外看了看，中天一轮圆月，像一盏巨大的球形灯，在各幢别墅的白色粉墙上洒了一层朦胧的寒光。在这皎洁的月色下，轻波荡漾的海面，到处波光粼粼。为了能够快快离开这里，杜洛瓦绞尽脑汁，终于想出一条理由：就说他收到瓦尔特先生一封电报，要他立即回去。
　　可是第二天醒来时，他又觉得自己离去的决心未必能如愿以偿。因为他的这个脱身之计，弗雷斯蒂埃夫人就根本不会相信。再说他的忠诚表现理应得到的全部好处，也将会因他的这种怯懦而付诸东流。这样一想，他又自言自语道：
　　“啊！这事可真难呀！既然如此，不如算了。生活中不如意的事总是有的，况且时间看来也不会拖得太久。”
　　这一天，天气晴朗。这种令人心旷神怡的万里碧空，正是南国所特有的。杜洛瓦觉得现在去看弗雷斯蒂埃未免过早，因此沿山坡而下，信步到了海边。
　　回来吃饭时，仆人对他说：
　　“主人已问过先生两三次了。请先生去楼上看看主人。”
　　杜洛瓦于是径直上了楼。坐在扶手椅上的弗雷斯蒂埃似乎睡着了。他妻子正靠在长沙发上看书。
　　不想病人过时抬起了头，杜洛瓦随即问道：
　　“怎么样？觉得好些吗？我看你今天好像气色很好。”
　　“是的，今天不错，体力也恢复了些。你同玛德莱娜快去把饭吃了，一会儿咱们坐上车去外面转转。”弗雷斯蒂埃说。
　　走出房间后，玛德莱娜对杜洛瓦说道：
　　“看到没有？他觉得自己大病已去，今天早上一醒来，便在那儿想这想那。一会儿，我们要去朱昂湾买点陶器制品，装饰我们巴黎的寓所。他一定要出去走走，可我担心弄得不好要出事的。路上车子的颠簸，他就肯定经受不住。”
　　马车来了后，弗雷斯蒂埃由仆人搀扶着，从楼上一步步地走了下来。一看见车子，他就要人把车篷拿掉。
　　“不行，你疯了？”他妻子坚决反对。“这样你会着凉的。”
　　“没关系，”弗雷斯蒂埃坚持道，“我已好多了，这我自己很清楚。”
　　车子于是走上了两旁百花盛开的林中小径，这是戛纳的一大特色，很有点英国的林苑风光。接着，马车便沿着海边，在通往安狄波的大路上奔驰了起来。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃就眼前的景物，向大家一一作了介绍。首先是巴黎伯爵①常来此小住的别墅，其他一些建筑物，他也能说出点名堂。他兴致很高，但外人一眼便可看出，这种兴致不过是一个神虚体弱、行将就木的人有意装出来的。他连胳膊也无力抬起，只得用手指指了指有关景物。
　　“瞧，那就是圣玛格丽特岛。岛上的城堡当年曾关押过巴赞元帅②，后来被他逃了出来。城堡至今保存完好，就是为了纪念这件事。”
　　--------
　　①巴黎伯爵（一八三八—一八九四），曾为法国王储。
　　②巴赞元帅（一八一一—一八八八），十九世纪法国杰出将领。
　　他随即回想起自己过去的军旅生涯，说了几个军官的名字，谈起了一些往事。大路突然峰回路转，整个朱昂湾倏地出现在眼前。远处是港湾里墙壁刷得雪白的村庄，另一头则是安狄波角。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃忽然像孩子似的高兴地说道：
　　“啊！舰队，马上就可看到舰队了！”
　　果然，宽阔的港湾里，停泊着六艘大型军舰。远远望去，宛如几块林荫覆盖的山岩。这些军舰都其大无比，样子奇特，怪里怪气，不仅甲板上拱凸不定，塔楼高耸，舰首冲角更是直冲水中，似乎要在海里扎下根来。
　　这些庞然大物都显得非常笨重，好像牢牢地固定于海底，人们简直弄不明白，它们怎能移动。形状酷似了望塔并可转动的高大圆形炮台，看去像是一座座建于礁石上的灯塔。
　　一条大型三桅船，白色的风帆鼓得满满的，正欢快地从这些军舰身旁走过，驶向外海。同这艘外形美观、身姿矫健的三桅船相比，这些战舰实在像是一些蛰伏于水中的钢铁怪物。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃想了想，把这些舰只一一认了出来，并依次逐一说出各舰的名字：“科贝尔号”、“叙弗朗号”、“杜佩莱海军上将号”、“无畏号”、“毁灭号”，但他随即又更正道：
　　“不对，我弄错了，‘毁灭号’是那一艘。”
　　他们到了一幢大型简易建筑物前，建筑物门楣上方霍然挂着一块招牌：“朱昂湾艺术彩陶商店”。马车绕过一块草坪，在门前停了下来。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃想买两个花瓶，放在他的书架上。由于他下不了车，只得由人将样品一件件拿来让他过目。他挑了一件又一件，并不时地征求他妻子和杜洛瓦的意见：
　　“你们知道，这要放在我书房中靠里的书架上，坐在我的椅子上随时可以看到。我想买古色古香的，最好带有希腊风格。”
　　他把样品看了一件又一件。看了后面的，又想要前面看过的，最后总算选中几件。付过钱后，他要店伙立即给他送往别墅，说道：
　　“我过几天就要回巴黎去。”
　　马车于是踏上了归途。不想过了不久，突然从山谷深处沿着海湾刮来一阵侵人肌骨的寒风。弗雷斯蒂埃立即咳了起来。
　　这咳起初倒也没什么异常，不过是轻轻地咳了两下。但紧接着却是一次甚似一次地狂咳。到后来，他也就两眼发直，气息奄奄了。
　　他已处于窒息状态，只要一吸气，喉间便是一阵发自胸腔的猛咳。没有任何办法能缓和其病痛，使之安静下来。现在必须将他从车上抬到房间里去。杜洛瓦抬着他的下身，感到他的肺部一抽搐，连两脚也跟着抖动。
　　抬到床上后，虽然盖着暖和的被子，他的病情却依然如故，病魔的肆虐一直持续到午夜。最后还是使用了麻醉剂，方使这致命的剧咳得以缓和。直到天明，他一直靠在床头，眼睛睁得大大的。
　　天亮以后，他说的第一句话是找个人来帮他刮刮脸，因为早晨刮脸，已是他多年的习惯。但当他下了床，准备刮脸时，人们又不得不立即将他重新扶回床上，因为他的呼吸已突然变得极其短促，简直到了接不上气的地步。他妻子惊吓不已，赶紧叫人去把刚刚躺下的杜洛瓦叫醒，请他去找医生。
　　杜洛瓦几乎立刻便把加沃大夫请了来。大夫开了一剂汤药，并嘱咐了几句。为了听听大夫的意见，杜洛瓦特意将他送了出来。
　　“病人已到弥留之际，看来拖不过明天上午，”大夫说，“请将这一情况告诉他可怜的妻子，并派人去找个神甫，我在这儿已没有什么用了，不过如果需要，我一定随叫随到。”
　　杜洛瓦让人将弗雷斯蒂埃夫人从房内叫了出来，对她说道：
　　“他已不行了，医生建议去找个神甫。你看怎样？”
　　她沉思良久，将一切都考虑妥当后，才慢慢地说道：
　　“好吧，从许多方面来讲……这样做还是需要的……我这就去先让他有个思想准备，就对他说，神甫想来看看他……不过这种事，我不大懂。那就劳你的驾，去辛苦一趟，好好挑选一下，找个比较本份的神甫。请对他说清楚，他只负责病人的忏悔。其他的事不用他管。”
　　杜洛瓦很快领来一位一切听便、愿意效劳的年迈神甫。神甫进入弗雷斯蒂埃的房间后，他妻子随即退了出来，同杜洛瓦一起，在隔壁房内坐了下来。
　　“他对此毫无思想准备，”年轻的女人对杜洛瓦说，“我刚刚说了‘神甫’两字，下面的话还没有说完，他的脸上便露出了可怕的表情，好像……好像忽然从中……领悟到了什么……
　　明白自己现在是彻底完了，所剩时间不多了……”
　　“他的那副表情，我今生今世是忘不了的。”她面色苍白，又接着说道，“他在那一瞬间肯定看到了死神……肯定看到了死神……”
　　神甫有点耳背，因此说话声音较大。他们听到他此时说道：
　　“不，不，你的情况并没有到达这一步。你病了，但毫无危险。最能说明问题的是，我今天是以一个朋友和邻居的身份，来看望你的。”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃说了什么，他们未能听到。只听神甫又说道：“不，我不是来让你领圣体的。这件事待你好一点时，我们再谈。不过，如果你想进行忏悔的话，现在倒是很好的机会。我是一名牧师，抓住一切机会把迷途羔羊引上正路，是我的天职。”
　　此后是长时间的无声无息，弗雷斯蒂埃显然在喘息着有气无力地同他说着什么。只是这边没有听到罢了。
　　接着便突然传来了神甫与刚才说话时截然不同的声音，像祭司在祭坛上大声念诵一样：
　　“上帝是无比仁慈的。孩子，来背诵忏悔经吧。你也许已把它忘了，还是我来帮你一下。你跟着我念好了：ConfiteorDeoom－nipotenti……BeatCMariCsempervirgini……①”
　　他不时停下来，以便弗雷斯蒂埃能够跟上。最后，听他说道：
　　“你现在来忏悔吧……”
　　--------
　　①拉丁文：我向万能的天主忏悔……向贞洁的圣母玛利亚忏悔……
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人和杜洛瓦敛声静气地听着，心中因焦急的期待而显得异常慌乱和激动。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃嗫嚅着说了句什么，神甫随即说道：
　　“孩子，你是说曾经有过不应有的得意之时……那是什么性质的？”
　　听到这里，他妻子立即站起身，向杜洛瓦说道：
　　“咱们还是到花园里去呆会儿吧。他的内心隐秘，不是我们能够听的。”
　　他们于是走到门前的一条长凳旁坐了下来。头顶上方，一株玫瑰的满枝繁花正竞相怒放，前方不远处，则种着一丛石竹花，不时送来浓郁的清香。
　　沉默片刻后，杜洛瓦问道：
　　“在回巴黎之前，你恐怕要在此耽搁很久吧？”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人答道：
　　“那倒不会。事情一了结，我就走。”
　　“总得要十来天吧？”
　　“顶多十天。”
　　杜洛瓦又问道：
　　“这么说，他已没有任何亲人了？”
　　“是的，只有几个远房亲戚。他很小便父母双亡。”
　　一只蝴蝶飞来石竹花采蜜，他们俩都不约而同地注视着。蝴蝶迅速地拍着双翼，从一朵花飞到另一朵花。身子停在花上后，一对翅膀仍在轻轻地扇动。他们俩就这样默默无言地坐着。
　　仆人走来告诉他们，神甫的事已经办完了。他们又一起回到了楼上。
　　同一天前相比，弗雷斯蒂埃似乎是瘦得更厉害了。
　　神甫握着他的手，说道：
　　“再见，孩子，我明天再来。”
　　说罢，他一径走了出去。
　　神甫的身影刚在门边消失，气喘吁吁的弗雷斯蒂埃便吃力地向他妻子伸出两只手，时停时续地说道：
　　“救救我……救救我……亲爱的……我不想死……我不想死……啊！救救我吧……我一切听你的，去把医生找来……
　　他让我吃什么药都行……我不想死……我不想死……”
　　他哭了，大滴大滴的泪珠滚在那深深凹陷的面颊上。干瘪的嘴唇显出了一道道皱褶，像小孩伤心时一样。
　　他的双手又落到了床上，缓慢而有规律地继续做着一种动作，仿佛要抓起被子上什么东西似的。
　　他妻子也跟着哭了起来，只见她结结巴巴地说道：
　　“别胡说，哪就到了这一步？你是昨天出去玩累了，不过是一种病症，明天就会好转的。”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃的急促呼吸，现在是比刚刚跑过的狗还要快，连数也数不上来了，而且微弱得让人几乎难以听见。
　　“我不想死！……”他仍在不停地说道，“啊！我的上帝……我的上帝……我的上帝……我会怎样呢？我将什么也看不见了……什么也看不见了……永远看不见了……啊！上帝！”
　　他两眼直勾勾地盯着前方，好像看到什么他人未看到的面目狰狞之物，因为他的眼内露出了恐惧的神色。与此同时，他的两手依然在吃力地做着那可怕的动作。
　　他突然打了个寒战。刹那间，从上到下，整个身子都抖动了一下，随后，他又气弱声嘶地说道：
　　“公墓……我……上帝！……”
　　在此之后，他就再也没说什么，只是带着惊恐的神色喘息着，一动不动地躺在那里。
　　时光慢慢流逝，附近修道院的一座大钟忽然响了起来：现在已是中午十二点了。杜洛瓦走出房间，去吃点东西。一小时后，他又回到房内。弗雷斯蒂埃夫人什么也不想吃。病人仍旧躺在那里，纹丝未动。他那双枯瘦的手，仍在被子上抓来抓去，好像要把被子盖到脸上去。
　　他妻子坐在床脚的一把扶手椅上，杜洛瓦拉过一把椅子，在她身旁坐了下来。两人默默地等待着。
　　医生派来的一名看护早已到来。此人现在已在窗边打起盹来。
　　杜洛瓦正要朦胧睡去，忽然感到有什么事要发生似的。他睁开眼来，恰巧看到弗雷斯蒂埃的两眼，像两盏正在熄灭的油灯，慢慢合上了。只听喉间一阵响动，他的嘴角流出了两道鲜血，一直流到衬衣上。两手那令人毛骨悚然的挠动已经停止，呼吸也停止了。
　　一见此情，他妻子立刻明白了一切。只见她发出一声哀叫，双腿一跪，伏在床边呜呜咽咽地哭了起来。被这情景弄得莫知所措的杜洛瓦，木然地在胸前画了个十字。看护已被哭声惊醒，此时走到床边看了后，口中说道：“啊！事情已经完了。”杜洛瓦已很快恢复镇定，他像终于得以解脱似的，长长地叹了一声：“没有想到，他竟走得这样快。”
　　随着几把眼泪洒过，最初的惊愕已经消失。大家开始忙着办理后事，通知有关方面。杜洛瓦来回奔波，一直忙到天黑。
　　回到别墅时，他早已饥肠辘辘了。在餐桌上，弗雷斯蒂埃夫人也稍稍吃了点东西。饭一吃完，他们又登上二楼，开始为死者守灵。
　　床头柜上点了两支蜡烛，烛旁的一个碟子内浸泡着一支金合欢，因为哪儿也找不到所需的黄杨木枝叶。
　　他们俩——一个是年轻男子，一个是年轻女人——孤单单地守在已撒手尘寰的弗雷斯蒂埃身旁，长时间一言不发，只是不时抬起头来看着死者，但内心深处却思潮起伏。
　　昏黄的烛光下，死者身旁的影影绰绰，不禁使杜洛瓦有点忐忑不安。他目不转睛地凝视着这张因烛光的摇曳不定而显得更加凹陷的脸，心中顿时浮想联翩。这就是他的朋友查理•弗雷斯蒂埃。这位朋友昨天还同他说过话哩！一个好端端的人就这样一下子完了，这是多么地可怕和不可思议！无怪乎诺贝尔•德•瓦伦对死是那样地畏惧，他那天对他说的话语如今又回到了他的心头。归根结蒂，人死是不能复生的。每天新出生的人虽然成千上万，而且都有鼻有眼，有头有嘴，有思想，简直是一个模子倒出来的，但躺在床上的这个人却永远不能复生了。
　　多少年来，同所有的人一样，他一直活得蛮好，有吃有笑，既享受过爱情的甘美，也怀抱过美好的希望。可是倏忽之间，他却一下子永远完了。几十年都过来了，不想经过短短几天，一个活生生的人就这样莫名其妙地消失了，毫发不剩！一出娘胎，每个人都会慢慢长大，备尝人生乐趣，怀抱种种期望，再往后便是死神的光临，永远地告别人生。无论男女，都不可能再回到人间。可是尽管如此，人人依然朝朝暮暮、不切实际地盼望着能长生不老。其实在广袤的天地中，每个人都是一个小小的天地，转瞬之间便会烟消灰灭，化为粪土，成为新芽培育的养分。从花草树木，飞禽走兽，芸芸众生，到天外星辰，大千世界，一切从诞生之日起，便注定要死亡，然后便转化为别的什么。无论是小小的虫蚁，还是会思想的人，再或是巨大无比的星球，一旦消亡，是永远不会复现的。
　　杜洛瓦的心情分外沉重。一想到面对这广袤无边、谁都不能幸免的虚无世界，万物的存在是多么地短暂，多么地渺小，他便感到惶惶不安，心头笼罩着深深的恐惧。对于这样一种无休止地推毁一切的力量，他是无力与之较量的，因此只能听任摆布。他想，蚊蝇虫蚁的存在不过是几小时或几天，人的生命不过是若干年，即如变化缓慢的土地，也不过只有几百年的光景，它们之间究竟有何实质性的不同呢？不过是能多看到几个晨昏而已，岂有他哉？
　　他把目光从尸体上转移了开去。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人脑袋低垂，似乎也在想着一些令人心酸的事情。虽然面带愁容，她那满头金发却是那样地俏丽，杜洛瓦心中不禁油然升起一种好像希望即将实现的甜蜜感觉。好在他正值盛年，何必为多少年以后的事自寻烦恼呢？
　　因此他不觉对着这年轻的女人凝视起来。对方正沉陷于深深的沉思中，对此毫未觉察。心旌摇摇的他，随即想道：
　　“在世一生，只有爱情才是唯一的快慰。若能把一个自己所喜欢的女人搂于怀内，也就可以说是体味到了人生的最大乐趣了。”
　　不知这个死鬼交了什么鸿运，竟与这样一个聪明非凡、美若天仙的女人结成了伴侣？他们是怎么认识的？她怎么会屈尊嫁给了这个言不出众、一文不名的家伙呢？后来不知又用了什么法子才使他成了一个在社交界勉强周旋的人物？
　　生活中的种种难解之谜，使他感到纳闷，不禁想起外间有关德•沃德雷克伯爵的传闻。不是有人说，她的婚事是这位伯爵促成的，连嫁妆也是他送的吗？
　　往后的路她将怎样走？会钟情于什么样的人？是像德•马莱尔夫人所推测的那样，嫁给一位议员，还是一个前程远大、比死鬼弗雷斯蒂埃不知要强多少的美少年？她在这方面是否已有所打算，是否已拿定主意？杜洛瓦恨不得钻到她肚子里去，把这一切都弄清楚。然而他对此为何如此关心？他想了想，发现他在此问题上的焦虑不安，来自内心深处的一种模糊想法。这种想法，人们往往对自己也采取自欺欺人的办法而不予承认，只有往深层发掘，方可使之显露出来。
　　是啊，他为何不试一试，去赢得她的芳心？若能把她弄到手，他定会成为一个非凡之辈，令人望而生畏，定会平步青云，前途无量！
　　况且他怎见得就不会成功？他清楚地感到，她对他十分有意，但决不是一般的好感，而是心心相印的爱慕之情，是青年男女间的相互渴求和内心深处的心照不宣。她知道他为人聪慧，行事果断，坚韧不拔，知道他是一个可信赖的人。
　　在她这次遇到严重困难之时，她不是千里迢迢把他叫来了吗？她为何叫的是他？他难道不应将此视为一种选择、默认和暗示吗？她在自己行将失去弗雷斯蒂埃的时候想到的是他，不正是因为她此时心中的他，已经是她未来的夫婿和伴侣了？
　　因此，杜洛瓦现在是心急火燎地想弄清这一切，想问问她，听听她的想法。弗雷斯蒂埃既已命归黄泉，他已不便单独同她在这幢房子里再呆下去，最迟后天必将离去。当务之急，是在回巴黎之前，抓紧时间，含蓄而又巧妙地套出其内心想法，以免她回去后不便拒绝他人的追求，造成无可挽回的局面。
　　房内一片寂静，只有壁炉上的座钟，仍在有规律地发出其清脆的滴答声。
　　杜洛瓦嗫嚅着问了一句：
　　“你想必很累了吧？”
　　对方答道：
　　“是的，我觉得自己已心力交瘁。”
　　在这阴森可怖的房内，听到自己的说话声显得分外响亮，他们不由地一惊，立即下意识地向死者的脸上看了看，仿佛死者在听他们的谈话并会作出反应，就像几小时以前那样。
　　杜洛瓦又说道：
　　“唉！这对你的打击实在太大，不仅彻底打乱了你的日常生活，而且搅得你身心不宁。”
　　年轻的女人长叹一声，没有说话。
　　杜洛瓦接着说道：
　　“年纪轻轻就碰到这种事儿，以后的日子可怎么过？”
　　说到这里，他停了下来，见弗雷斯蒂埃夫人依然一声不吭，他又说道：
　　“不管怎样，你是知道的，我们之间已有约在先。我完全听从你的吩咐，我是属于你的。”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人向他伸过一只手，同时向他投来既充满忧伤又饱含柔情、令人销魂蚀骨的一瞥：
　　“谢谢，你真好，实在没得说。要是我能为你做点什么，并有这种胆量，我也同样会对你说：请相信我好了。”
　　杜洛瓦握住她伸过来的手，没有马上松开，而是紧紧地握着，显然想在上面亲一亲。最后，他终于作出决定，把这只皮肤细腻、有点温热、芳香扑鼻的小手，慢慢地挪到唇边，在上面亲了很久。
　　后来，他感到，朋友间的这种亲昵不宜延续太久，因此识趣地松开了这只纤纤细手。弗雷斯蒂埃夫人把手轻轻放回膝盖上，带着庄重的神情说道：
　　“是的，从今而后，我是孤身一人了，但我会勇敢地面对人生的。”
　　杜洛瓦很想告诉她，他是多么地希望能娶她为妻，但不便启齿。他总不能在这个时候，这种地方，在她丈夫的遗体旁，同她说这些话。不过话虽如此，他觉得仍然可以通过旁敲侧击的办法，以一些语义双关，含蓄而又得体的暗示，让她明白他的心意。这样的话语并不难找到。
　　问题是，他们面前这具早已僵硬的尸体，正横亘在他们中间，使他感到很不自在，无法集中精力，巧于表达。况且一个时候以来，他感到，在房内闷浊的空气中，已可闻到一股不正常的气味，即胸腔病灶腐烂变质的臭味。这就是人死之后，守灵亲属常可闻到的最初恶臭。尸体入殓之后，这种恶臭将很快充斥整个棺木。
　　杜洛瓦于是问道：
　　“可不可以开会儿窗？房内空气好像不大好。”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人答道：
　　“当然可以，我也感觉到了。”
　　杜洛瓦走过去，打开了窗户。一股夜里的凉气带着一丝馨香，吹了进来，把床前两支蜡烛的光焰吹得摇曳不定。同前天晚上一样，窗外月华如水，使附近各幢别墅的粉墙显得分外洁白，并在波纹不兴的平静海面上形成了粼粼波光。杜洛瓦深深吸了口气，为自己正一步步地临近幸福之门而感到希望满怀。
　　他转过身，向弗雷斯蒂埃夫人说道：
　　“到这儿来吸点新鲜空气，外面的月色好极了。”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人慢慢走过来，在他身边的窗台上靠了上去。
　　杜洛瓦随即低声向她说道：
　　“我有
Chapter 9 Marriage
Georges Duroy resumed his old habits. Installed in the cozy apartments on Rue de Constantinople, his relations with Mme. de Marelle became quite conjugal.
Mme. Forestier had not returned; she lingered at Cannes. He, however, received a letter from her announcing her return about the middle of April, but containing not a word as to their parting. He waited. He was resolved to employ every means to marry her if she seemed to hesitate; he had faith in his good fortune, in that power of attraction which he felt within him — a power so irresistible that all women yielded to it.
At length a short note admonished him that the decisive moment had arrived.
“I am in Paris. Come to see me.”
“Madeleine Forestier.”
Nothing more. He received it at nine o’clock. At three o’clock of the same day he called at her house. She extended both hands to him with a sweet smile, and they gazed into each other’s eyes for several seconds, then she murmured:
“How kind of you to come!”
He replied: “I should have come, whensoever you bade me.”
They sat down; she inquired about the Walters, his associates, and the newspaper.
“I miss that very much,” said she. “I had become a journalist in spirit. I like the profession.” She paused. He fancied he saw in her smile, in her voice, in her words, a kind of invitation, and although he had resolved not to hasten matters, he stammered:
“Well — why — why do you not resume — that profession — under — the name of Duroy?”
She became suddenly serious, and placing her hand on his arm, she said: “Do not let us speak of that yet.”
Divining that she would accept him, he fell upon his knees, and passionately kissed her hands, saying:
“Thank you — thank you — how I love you.”
She rose, she was very pale. Duroy kissed her brow. When she had disengaged herself from his embrace, she said gravely: “Listen, my friend, I have not yet fully decided; but my answer may be ‘yes.’ You must wait patiently, however, until I disclose the secret to you.”
He promised and left her, his heart overflowing with joy. He worked steadily, spent little, tried to save some money that he might not be without a sou at the time of his marriage, and became as miserly as he had once been prodigal. Summer glided by; then autumn, and no one suspected the tie existing between Duroy and Mme. Forestier, for they seldom met in public.
One evening Madeleine said to him: “You have not yet told Mme. de Marelle our plans?”
“No, my dear; as you wished them kept secret, I have not mentioned them to a soul.”
“Very well; there is plenty of time. I will tell the Walters.”
She turned away her head and continued: “If you wish, we can be married the beginning of May.”
“I obey you in all things joyfully.”
“The tenth of May, which falls on Saturday, would please me, for it is my birthday.”
“Very well, the tenth of May.”
“Your parents live near Rouen, do they not?”
“Yes, near Rouen, at Canteleu.”
“I am very anxious to see them!”
He hesitated, perplexed: “But — they are —” Then he added more firmly: “My dear, they are plain, country people, innkeepers, who strained every nerve to give me an education. I am not ashamed of them, but their — simplicity — their rusticity might annoy you.”
She smiled sweetly. “No, I will love them very much. We will visit them; I wish to. I, too, am the child of humble parents — but I lost mine — I have no one in the world”— she held out her hand to him — “but you.”
He was affected, conquered as he had never been by any woman.
“I have been thinking of something,” said she, “but it is difficult to explain.”
He asked: “What is it?”
“It is this: I am like all women. I have my — my weaknesses. I should like to bear a noble name. Can you not on the occasion of our marriage change your name somewhat?” She blushed as if she had proposed something indelicate.
He replied simply: “I have often thought of it, but it does not seem easy to me.”
“Why not?”
He laughed. “Because I am afraid I should be ridiculed.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Not at all — not at all. Everyone does it, and no one laughs. Separate your name in this way: Du Roy. It sounds very well.”
He replied: “No, that will not do; it is too common a proceeding. I have thought of assuming the name of my native place, first as a literary pseudonym and then as my surname in conjunction with Duroy, which might later on, as you proposed, be separated.”
She asked: “Is your native place Canteleu?”
“Yes.”
“I do not like the termination. Could we not modify it?”
She took a pen and wrote down the names in order to study them. Suddenly she cried: “Now I have it,” and held toward him a sheet of paper on which was written: “Mme. Duroy de Cantel.”
Gravely he replied: “Yes, it is very nice.”
She was delighted, and repeated: “Duroy de Cantel. Mme. Duroy de Cantel. It is excellent, excellent!”
Then she added with an air of conviction: “You will see how easily it will be accepted by everyone! After to-morrow, sign your articles ‘D. de Cantel,’ and your ‘Echoes’ simply ‘Duroy.’ That is done on the press every day and no one will be surprised to see you take a nom de plume. What is your father’s name?”
“Alexandre.”
She murmured “Alexandre!” two or three times in succession; then she wrote upon a blank sheet:
“M. and Mme. Alexandre du Roy de Cantel announce the marriage of their son, M. Georges du Roy de Cantel with Mme. Forestier.”
She examined her writing, and, charmed with the effect, exclaimed: “With a little method one can succeed in anything.”
When Georges reached the street resolved to call himself, henceforth, “Du Roy,” or even “Du Roy de Cantel,” it seemed to him that he was of more importance. He swaggered more boldly, held his head more erect and walked as he thought gentlemen should. He felt a desire to inform the passers-by, “My name is Du Roy de Cantel.”
Scarcely had he entered his apartments when the thought of Mme. de Marelle rendered him uneasy, and he wrote to her immediately, appointing a meeting for the following day.
“It will be hard,” thought he. “There will be a quarrel surely.”
The next morning he received a telegram from Madame, informing him that she would be with him at one o’clock. He awaited her impatiently, determined to confess at once and afterward to argue with her, to tell her that he could not remain a bachelor indefinitely, and that, as M. de Marelle persisted in living, he had been compelled to choose some one else as a legal companion. When the bell rang, his heart gave a bound.
Mme. de Marelle entered and cast herself into his arms, saying: “Good afternoon, Bel-Ami.” Perceiving that his embrace was colder than usual, she glanced up at him and asked: “What ails you?”
“Take a seat,” said he. “We must talk seriously.”
She seated herself without removing her hat, and waited. He cast down his eyes; he was preparing to commence.
Finally he said slowly: “My dear friend, you see that I am very much perplexed, very sad, and very much embarrassed by what I have to confess to you. I love you; I love you with all my heart, and the fear of giving you pain grieves me more than what I have to tell you.”
She turned pale, trembled, and asked: “What is it? Tell me quickly.”
He said sadly but resolutely: “I am going to be married.”
She sighed like one about to lose consciousness; then she gasped, but did not speak.
He continued: “You cannot imagine how much I suffered before taking that resolution. But I have neither position nor money. I am alone in Paris, I must have near me some one who can counsel, comfort, and support me. What I need is an associate, an ally, and I have found one!” He paused, hoping that she would reply, expecting an outburst of furious rage, reproaches, and insults. She pressed her hand to her heart and breathed with difficulty. He took the hand resting on the arm of the chair, but she drew it away and murmured as if stupefied: “Oh, my God!”
He fell upon his knees before her, without, however, venturing to touch her, more moved by her silence than he would have been by her anger.
“Clo, my little Clo, you understand my position. Oh, if I could have married you, what happiness it would have afforded me! But you were married! What could I do? Just think of it! I must make my way in the world and I can never do so as long as I have no domestic ties. If you knew. There are days when I should like to kill your husband.” He spoke in a low, seductive voice. He saw two tears gather in Mme. de Marelle’s eyes and trickle slowly down her cheeks. He whispered: “Do not weep, Clo, do not weep, I beseech you. You break my heart.”
She made an effort to appear dignified and haughty, and asked, though somewhat unsteadily: “Who is it?”
For a moment he hesitated before he replied: “Madeleine Forestier!”
Mme. de Marelle started; her tears continued to flow. She rose. Duroy saw that she was going to leave him without a word of reproach or pardon, and he felt humbled, humiliated. He seized her gown and implored:
“Do not leave me thus.”
She looked at him with that despairing, tearful glance so charming and so touching, which expresses all the misery pent-up in a woman’s heart, and stammered: “I have nothing — to say; I can do nothing. You — you are right; you have made a good choice.”
And disengaging herself she left the room.
With a sigh of relief at escaping so easily, he repaired to Mme. Forestier’s, who asked him: “Have you told Mme. de Marelle?”
He replied calmly: “Yes.”
“Did it affect her?”
“Not at all. On the contrary, she thought it an excellent plan.”
The news was soon noised abroad. Some were surprised, others pretended to have foreseen it, and others again smiled, inferring that they were not at all astonished. The young man, who signed his articles, “D. de Cantel,” his “Echoes,” “Duroy,” and his political sketches, “Du Roy,” spent the best part of his time with his betrothed, who had decided that the date fixed for the wedding should be kept secret, that the ceremony should be celebrated in the presence of witnesses only, that they should leave the same evening for Rouen, and that the day following they should visit the journalist’s aged parents and spend several days with them. Duroy had tried to persuade Madeleine to abandon that project, but not succeeding in his efforts he was finally compelled to submit.
The tenth of May arrived. Thinking a religious ceremony unnecessary, as they had issued no invitations, the couple were married at a magistrate’s and took the six o’clock train for Normandy.
As the train glided along, Duroy seated in front of his wife, took her hand, kissed it, and said: “When we return we will dine at Chatou sometimes.”
She murmured: “We shall have a great many things to do!” in a tone which seemed to say: “We must sacrifice pleasure to duty.”
He retained her hand wondering anxiously how he could manage to caress her. He pressed her hand slightly, but she did not respond to the pressure.
He said: “It seems strange that you should be my wife.”
She appeared surprised: “Why?”
“I do not know. It seems droll. I want to embrace you and I am surprised that I have the right.”
She calmly offered him her cheek which he kissed as he would have kissed his sister’s. He continued:
“The first time I saw you (you remember, at that dinner to which I was invited at Forestier’s), I thought: ‘Sacristi, if I could only find a wife like that!’ And now I have one.”
She glanced at him with smiling eyes.
He said to himself: “I am too cold. I am stupid. I should make more advances.” And he asked: “How did you make Forestier’s acquaintance?”
She replied with provoking archness: “Are we going to Rouen to talk of him?”
He colored. “I am a fool. You intimidate me.”
She was delighted. “I? Impossible.”
He seated himself beside her. She exclaimed: “Ah! a stag!” The train was passing through the forest of Saint-Germain and she had seen a frightened deer clear an alley at a bound. As she gazed out of the open window, Duroy bending over her, pressed a kiss upon her neck. For several moments she remained motionless, then raising her head, she said: “You tickle me, stop!”
But he did not obey her.
She repeated: “Stop, I say!”
He seized her head with his right hand, turned it toward him and pressed his lips to hers. She struggled, pushed him away and repeated: “Stop!”
He did not heed her. With an effort, she freed herself and rising, said: “Georges, have done. We are not children, we shall soon reach Rouen.”
“Very well,” said he, gaily, “I will wait.”
Reseating herself near him she talked of what they would do on their return; they would keep the apartments in which she had lived with her first husband, and Duroy would receive Forestier’s position on “La Vie Francaise.” In the meantime, forgetting her injunctions and his promise, he slipped his arm around her waist, pressed her to him and murmured: “I love you dearly, my little Made.”
The gentleness of his tone moved the young woman, and leaning toward him she offered him her lips; as she did so, a whistle announced the proximity of the station. Pushing back some stray locks upon her temples, she exclaimed:
“We are foolish.”
He kissed her hands feverishly and replied:
“I adore you, my little Made.”
On reaching Rouen they repaired to a hotel where they spent the night. The following morning, when they had drunk the tea placed upon the table in their room, Duroy clasped his wife in his arms and said: “My little Made, I feel that I love you very, very much.”
She smiled trustfully and murmured as she returned his kisses: “I love you too — a little.”
The visit to his parents worried Georges, although he had prepared his wife. He began again: “You know they are peasants, real, not sham, comic-opera peasants.”
She smiled. “I know it, you have told me often enough.”
“We shall be very uncomfortable. There is only a straw bed in my room; they do not know what hair mattresses are at Canteleu.”
She seemed delighted. “So much the better. It would be charming to sleep badly — when — near you — and to be awakened by the crowing of the cocks.”
He walked toward the window and lighted a cigarette. The sight of the harbor, of the river filled with ships moved him and he exclaimed: “Egad, but that is fine!”
Madeleine joined him and placing both of her hands on her husband’s shoulder, cried: “Oh, how beautiful! I did not know that there were so many ships!”
An hour later they departed in order to breakfast with the old couple, who had been informed several days before of their intended arrival. Both Duroy and his wife were charmed with the beauties of the landscape presented to their view, and the cabman halted in order to allow them to get a better idea of the panorama before them. As he whipped up his horse, Duroy saw an old couple not a hundred meters off, approaching, and he leaped from the carriage crying: “Here they are, I know them.”
The man was short, corpulent, florid, and vigorous, notwithstanding his age; the woman was tall, thin, and melancholy, with stooping shoulders — a woman who had worked from childhood, who had never laughed nor jested.
Madeleine, too, alighted and watched the couple advance, with a contraction of her heart she had not anticipated. They did not recognize their son in that fine gentleman, and they would never have taken that handsome lady for their daughter-in-law. They walked along, passed the child they were expecting, without glancing at the “city folks.”
Georges cried with a laugh: “Good day, Father Duroy.”
Both the old man and his wife were struck dumb with astonishment; the latter recovered her self-possession first and asked: “Is it you, son?”
The young man replied: “Yes, it is I, Mother Duroy,” and approaching her, he kissed her upon both cheeks and said: “This is my wife.”
The two rustics stared at Madeleine as if she were a curiosity, with anxious fear, combined with a sort of satisfied approbation on the part of the father and of jealous enmity on that of the mother.
M. Duroy, senior, who was naturally jocose, made so bold as to ask with a twinkle in his eye: “May I kiss you too?” His son uttered an exclamation and Madeleine offered her cheek to the old peasant; who afterward wiped his lips with the back of his hand. The old woman, in her turn, kissed her daughter-in-law with hostile reserve. Her ideal was a stout, rosy, country lass, as red as an apple and as round.
The carriage preceded them with the luggage. The old man took his son’s arm and asked him: “How are you getting on?”
“Very well.”
“That is right. Tell me, has your wife any means?”
Georges replied: “Forty thousand francs.”
His father whistled softly and muttered: “Whew!” Then he added: “She is a handsome woman.” He admired his son’s wife, and in his day had considered himself a connoisseur.
Madeleine and the mother walked side by side in silence; the two men joined them. They soon reached the village, at the entrance to which stood M. Duroy’s tavern. A pine board fastened over the door indicated that thirsty people might enter. The table was laid. A neighbor, who had come to assist, made a low courtesy on seeing so beautiful a lady appear; then recognizing Georges, she cried: “Oh Lord, is it you?”
He replied merrily: “Yes, it is I, Mother Brulin,” and he kissed her as he had kissed his father and mother. Then he turned to his wife:
“Come into our room,” said he, “you can lay aside your hat.”
They passed through a door to the right and entered a room paved with brick, with whitewashed walls and a bed with cotton hangings.
A crucifix above a holy-water basin and two colored prints, representing Paul and Virginia beneath a blue palm-tree, and Napoleon I. on a yellow horse, were the only ornaments in that neat, but bare room.
When they were alone, Georges embraced Madeleine.
“Good morning, Made! I am glad to see the old people once more. When one is in Paris one does not think of this place, but when one returns, one enjoys it just the same.”
At that moment his father cried, knocking on the partition with his fist: “Come, the soup is ready.”
They re-entered the large public-room and took their seats at the table. The meal was a long one, served in a truly rustic fashion. Father Duroy, enlivened by the cider and several glasses of wine, related many anecdotes, while Georges, to whom they were all familiar, laughed at them.
Mother Duroy did not speak, but sat at the board, grim and austere, glancing at her daughter-in-law with hatred in her heart.
Madeleine did not speak nor did she eat; she was depressed. Wherefore? She had wished to come; she knew that she was coming to a simple home; she had formed no poetical ideas of those peasants, but she had perhaps expected to find them somewhat more polished, refined. She recalled her own mother, of whom she never spoke to anyone — a governess who had been betrayed and who had died of grief and shame when Madeleine was twelve years old. A stranger had had the little girl educated. Her father without doubt. Who was he? She did not know positively, but she had vague suspicions.
The meal was not yet over when customers entered, shook hands with M. Duroy, exclaimed on seeing his son, and seating themselves at the wooden tables began to drink, smoke, and play dominoes. The smoke from the clay pipes and penny cigars filled the room.
Madeleine choked and asked: “Can we go out? I cannot remain here any longer,”
Old Duroy grumbled at being disturbed. Madeleine rose and placed her chair at the door in order to wait until her father-in-law and his wife had finished their coffee and wine.
Georges soon joined her.
“Would you like to stroll down to the Seine?”
Joyfully she cried: “Yes.”
They descended the hillside, hired a boat at Croisset, and spent the remainder of the afternoon beneath the willows in the soft, warm, spring air, and rocked gently by the rippling waves of the river. They returned at nightfall. The evening repast by candle-light was more painful to Madeleine than that of the morning. Neither Father Duroy nor his wife spoke. When the meal was over, Madeleine drew her husband outside in order not to have to remain in that room, the atmosphere of which was heavy with smoke and the fumes of liquor.
When they were alone, he said: “You are already weary.”
She attempted to protest; he interrupted her:
“I have seen it. If you wish we will leave tomorrow.”
She whispered: “I should like to go.”
They walked along and entered a narrow path among high trees, hedged in on either side by impenetrable brushwood.
She asked: “Where are we?”
He replied: “In the forest — one of the largest in France.”
Madeleine, on raising her head, could see the stars between the branches and hear the rustling of the leaves. She felt strangely nervous. Why, she could not tell. She seemed to be lost, surrounded by perils, abandoned, alone, beneath that vast vaulted sky.
She murmured: “I am afraid; I should like to return.”
“Very well, we will.”
On their return they found the old people in bed. The next morning Madeleine rose early and was ready to leave at daybreak. When Georges told his parents that they were going to return home, they guessed whose wish it was.
His father asked simply: “Shall I see you soon again?”
“Yes — in the summer-time.”
“Very well.”
His mother grumbled: “I hope you will not regret what you have done.”
Georges gave them two hundred francs to appease them, and the cab arriving at ten o’clock, the couple kissed the old peasants and set out.
As they were descending the side of the hill, Duroy laughed. “You see,” said he, “I warned you. I should, however, not have presented you to M. and Mme. du Roy de Cantel, senior.”
She laughed too and replied: “I am charmed now! They are nice people whom I am beginning to like very much. I shall send them confections from Paris.” Then she murmured: “Du Roy de Cantel. We will say that we spent a week at your parents’ estate,” and drawing near him, she kissed him saying:
“Good morning, Georges.”
He replied: “Good morning, Madeleine,” as he slipped his arm around her waist.
　　乔治•杜洛瓦又恢复了原来的生活节奏，一切依然如故。
　　他现已搬到君士坦丁堡街一楼的那一小套房间内，生活很有条理，俨然一副一切从头开始的模样。他同德•马莱尔夫人所保持的关系，甚至也变得和正常夫妻一样，似乎为应付即将到来的重大变化，而提前进行着某种演练。对于他这种按部就班的泰然表现，他的情妇常常不免感到纳罕，不止一次地笑道：
　　“你比我丈夫还要埋头家庭事务，早知如此，当初何必要换一个。”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人在戛纳滞留了些时日，至今未归。后来，杜洛瓦终于收到她一封信，说她将在四月中旬回来，对于他们的久别，则只字未提。但他并不死心，决心一旦她稍有犹疑，便使出浑身解数，一定要把她娶过来。他相信自己福星高照，相信他身上有一股令所有女人难以抗拒、说不出所以然的魅力。
　　一天，他收到一张便条，决定性的时刻终于到来。
　　　　我已回到巴黎。请即来面晤。
　　玛德莱娜•弗雷斯蒂埃
　　除此而外，便条上什么也没写。他是上午九点收到的，当天下午三点他便到了弗雷斯蒂埃夫人家中。一见到他，弗雷斯蒂埃夫人脸上漾着她耶特有的媚人微笑，将两只手向他伸了过来。久别重逢，他们相视良久。
　　“难为你在那时怕的时刻，为我到那边跑了一趟，”弗雷斯蒂埃夫人喃喃地说。
　　“当时只要你一句话，我是一切在所不辞，”杜洛瓦说道。
　　两人于是坐了下来。弗雷斯蒂埃夫人问了问报馆及瓦尔特夫妇和其他同仁的情况。她所惦记的，就是报馆。
　　“这些日子，”她说，“我很想念报馆，非常想念。虽然未在报馆担任任何职务，但我的心已同它联在一起。有什么办法？
　　我很喜欢这一行。”
　　说到这里，她忽然停了下来。杜洛瓦觉得，听话听音，她的微笑、声调、乃至话语本身，都分明是一种暗示。因此他虽曾许诺决不贸然从事，现在仍经不住诱惑，遂嗫嚅着问道：
　　“既然如此……你为何……为何不以……杜洛瓦的名字……重新提起笔杆呢？”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人复又变得严肃起来，把手放在杜洛瓦的手臂上轻声说道：
　　“咱们还是别谈这个吧。”
　　然而杜洛瓦看出，她实际上已经接受，于是双膝在她面前一跪，狂热地吻着她的手，结结巴巴地说道：
　　“谢谢，谢谢，我是多么地爱你！”
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人站了起来，杜洛瓦跟着也站了起来。他发现，她的面色异常苍白，因此立即看出，她有意于他，也许很久很久了。由于两人正面对面站着，他一下子将她搂到怀内，带着庄重而又缠绵的神情，久久地在她的前额吻了一下。
　　弗雷斯蒂埃夫人轻轻一闪，挣脱了他的拥抱，又郑重其事地说道：
　　“朋友，你可听好，到目前为止，我尚未作出任何决定，不过我很可能会同意的。只是有一点，在我同意你向外讲之前，你一定要答应我严守秘密。”
　　杜洛瓦发誓一定守口如瓶，然后便欢天喜地地走了。
　　从此之后，他每次来她家看望她，都非常谨慎，从不要求她明确地答应下来。因为对于未来或“以后”，她有自己的做法。一谈到要做的事情，她总将两个人联系在一起，这比正式赞同岂不是更好，也更加巧妙？
　　杜洛瓦像换了个人似的，天天没命地工作，而且省吃俭用，打算积攒一点钱，以免结婚时两手空空，手足无措。想当初，他是花钱如流水，现如今，他却成了个惜金如命的人。
　　转眼之间，夏去秋来。他们的关系依然无人知晓。这是因为他们很少见面，即使见面，表现也极其自然。
　　一天晚上，玛德莱娜盯着他的两眼，向他问道：
　　“我们的事儿，你向德•马莱尔夫人透露了没有？”
　　“没有。我既已答应你严守秘密，就未向任何人说过。”
　　“那好，现在可以讲了。我负责通知瓦尔特两口子，这个星期就把该通知的人都通知到，你看行吗？”
　　“行，明天就办，”杜洛瓦说，激动得满脸通红。
　　玛德莱娜将目光往旁边移了移，以免看到他那神慌意乱的样子，一边说道：
　　“如果你同意，我们结婚的日子可定在五月初。我觉得，那个时候比较合适。”
　　“一切听你的，我打心底里赞成。”
　　“具体日期，我看还是五月十日为好。那一天是星期六，也是我的生日。”
　　“行，就订在五月十日。”
　　“你父母住在卢昂近郊，是不是？记得还是你对我说的。”
　　“是的，他们住在距卢昂不远的康特勒。”
　　“他们以何为业？”
　　“他们是……靠少量的年金为生。”
　　“是吗？我很想见见他们。”
　　“不过……不过……他们……”杜洛瓦支支吾吾，满脸窘态。
　　到后来，他还是决定拿出男子汉的样子，如实相告：“亲爱的朋友，他们是乡巴佬，在村里开了爿小酒店，不过聊以度日。为了供我上学，他们真是累断了筋骨。我倒不为自己出身寒微而感到羞愧。只是他们……遇事考虑不周……说话粗鲁……你可能会受不了的。”
　　玛德莱娜嫣然一笑，且笑得非常甜，显出一副温柔善良的样子。
　　“没关系，我会喜欢他们的。咱们一起去看看他们，我一定要去。这件事，我们以后再谈。告诉你，我也出身小户人家……只是我的父母都不在世了。我在这个世界上如今是举目无亲……”说到这里，她向杜洛瓦伸过一只手来，又加了一句：“不过除了你。”
　　他感到五内沸然，心里甜丝丝的，还从来没有一个女人三言两语便说得他如此动情。
　　“我想到了一件事，”她又说道，“但不知怎样向你说。”
　　“什么事？”杜洛瓦问。
　　“是这样的，亲爱的，同所有的女人一样，我也有……我的弱点。别人不大留心的事，我却十分在意。比如我喜欢闪亮发光的外表，喜欢高贵的贵族称号。我在想，我们就要结婚了，你可否乘此机会……把你的名字改成贵族模样的？”
　　她忽然粉脸羞红，好像要让杜洛瓦去做什么不太体面的事情。
　　“这我倒是想过，”杜洛瓦立即答道，“不过事情恐怕不太好办。”
　　“困难在哪里？”
　　杜洛瓦笑了起来：
　　“我担心弄得不好，会遭人讥笑。”
　　她耸了耸肩：
　　“这是哪儿的话？绝对不会。大家都在改，不会有人笑话你的。你可将你的姓一分为二，改成杜•洛瓦①一点问题也不会有。”
　　--------
　　①在法国古代，“德”为贵族的尊称。这里的“杜”乃“德”的变音字，二者意义相同。
　　杜洛瓦俨然一副对问题深为了解的腔调，立即说道：“不行，这也未免太简单，太一般化了，人人都会这么做。我原来想以我家乡的名字作我的笔名，然后渐渐将它融到我的名字里去。过些时候，再像你刚才所建议的那样，把我的姓一分为二。”
　　“你的老家是康特勒吗？”弗雷斯蒂埃夫人问。
　　“是的。”
　　她沉吟半晌，说道：
　　“不行。康特勒，这个字的结尾不好听，我不喜欢。来，咱们来看看有没有办法将它稍稍改一改……”
　　说着，她从桌上拿起一支笔，随手写了几个名字，对其外表一一琢磨了一番。随后突然喊了起来：“有了，有了，你看这样改怎样？”
　　她将纸片递给杜洛瓦，只见上面写的是：“杜洛瓦•德•康泰尔夫人”。
　　杜洛瓦想了想，郑重其事地说道：
　　“很好，非常好。”
　　她欣喜万状，一连又念了几遍：
　　“杜洛瓦•德•康泰尔，杜洛瓦•德•康泰尔，杜洛瓦•德•康泰尔夫人。不错，确实妙不可言。”
　　接着，她满有把握地说道：
　　“你就等着瞧吧，这个名字很快就会被大家接受。现在的问题是，必须说干就干，否则就太晚了。从明天起，你的专栏文章就一律署名‘杜•德•康泰尔’，而有关本地新闻的文章，则仍旧沿用‘杜洛瓦’的名字。这样天天见报，谁也不会见你取了个笔名而感到惊讶的。到我们举行婚礼时，还可再作一点改动，就对朋友们说，你当初所以未将‘杜’字单独标出，是考虑到自己所处的地位而不得不表现得谦虚一点，甚至什么也不用说。现在请告诉我，你父亲叫什么？”
　　“亚力山大。”
　　“亚历山大，亚历山大”，她轻轻念了两遍，仔细听了听有关音节，然后拿过一张白纸，在上面匆匆写了这样两行：
　　“亚历山大•杜•洛瓦•德•康泰尔夫妇荣幸地通知阁下，犬子乔治•杜•洛瓦•德•康泰尔先生和玛德莱娜•弗雷斯蒂埃夫人，订于日内成婚，特此敬告。”
　　她把纸片往远处挪了挪，又端详了一会儿，不禁为这天衣无缝的改动而拍案叫绝，说道：
　　“世上的事就是这样地轻而易举，只要稍稍用点心思，便没有办不到的。”
　　从弗雷斯蒂埃夫人家告辞出来后，走在大街上叫杜洛瓦决心已定，从今而后，他的名字便成了“杜•洛瓦”或“杜•洛瓦•德•康泰尔”了。他觉得自己已在忽然间成为一个非同一般的人物，因此走在街上不觉气宇轩昂，神色傲慢起来，很有点贵族绅士的派头。他心潮澎湃，真想告诉身边的过往行人：
　　“我是杜•洛瓦•德•康泰尔。”
　　可是回到寓所后，德•马莱尔夫人的身影立刻浮现在他眼前，使他深为不安，于是马上给她写了张便条，约她第二天来谈谈。
　　“这次见面非比寻常，”他心里想，“她一定会把我骂得狗血喷头。”
　　他决定一切听其自然，况且他天生大大咧咧，对于生活中不随心的事，从不过于计较。接着，他突发奇想，写了一篇文章，建议开征一种新的税赋，平衡国家预算。
　　他在文中主张，凡姓氏中带有贵族标记者，每年须交纳一百法郎，从男爵到王公亲贵等有爵位者，则须交纳五百至一千法郎。
　　末尾落款，他写的是“杜•德•康泰尔”。
　　第二天，他收到情妇寄来的一张小蓝条，说她午后一点前来。
　　在等她到来的当儿，杜洛瓦有点坐立不安。不过他已决定，一见面便单刀直入，把一切向她和盘托出。待她稍稍平静下来后，再慢慢地开导她，让她明白，他不能打一辈子光棍，再说她丈夫德•马莱尔先生，一时半刻还死不了，他不得不丢开她，另谋出路，找个名正言顺的伴侣。
　　不过话虽如此，一场争吵将在所难免，他不免十分紧张。
　　因此门铃一响，他的心便怦怦直跳。
　　德•马莱尔夫人一下扑到他的怀内，说道：
　　“漂亮朋友，你好。”
　　见他在拥抱她时远不如往常热烈，她向他看了看，问道：
　　“你今天怎么啦？”
　　“你先坐下，”他说，“我有件事要同你谈谈。”
　　德•马莱尔夫人于是坐了下来，连帽子也未摘，只是把脸上的面纱往头上撩了撩，等着他往下说。
　　杜洛瓦眼帘低垂，想了想该从何说起，接着便慢慢说道：“亲爱的，你也看出来了，我心里很乱，也很沉重，正不知该怎样把这件事对你说。你是知道的，我非常爱你，打心底里爱你。因此为这件事，我终日苦恼，生怕它会给你带来痛苦，真是左右为难。”
　　德•马莱尔夫人面色苍白，浑身颤抖，问道：
　　“究竟发生什么事了？你倒是快说呀！”
　　当一个人怀着满腔喜悦，向他人宣布一项令对方伤心欲绝的决定时，他表面上常要煞有介事地装出一副分外沉痛的样子。杜洛瓦此刻就是这样。只见他语调悲伤，但又十分坚定地说道：
　　“事情是这样的，我要结婚了。”
　　德•马莱尔夫人像是要昏厥过去一样，不由自主地发出一声五内俱焚的痛苦长叹。她气噎喉堵，喘息不定，一句话也说不出来。
　　杜洛瓦见她一句话也没有，便又说道：
　　“我在作出这一决定之前，是经受了怎样的痛苦，你是不可能想象到的。你知道，我既无金钱，也无地位，在巴黎孤身一人，连个依靠也没有。因此身边十分需要能有个人帮我出出主意，给我以安慰和鼓励。很久以来，我一直希望能找个志同道合的人。现在，这个人我终于已经找到！”
　　说到这里，杜洛瓦停了下来，想看看她有何反应。因为他料定，德•马莱尔夫人一定会气急败坏，暴跳如雷，对他破口大骂的。
　　不想对方却是以一只手按住了胸口，好像那颗剧烈跳动的心就要跳将出来似的。与此同时，她的呼吸依然十分急促，胸脯一起一伏，脑袋也在一上一下地不停摆动。
　　杜洛瓦拿起她放在座椅扶手的那只小手，想握在手中。然而她猛的抽了回去，一副木然痴呆的神色，自言自语道：
　　“啊！……上帝！……”
　　杜洛瓦双腿一弯，在她面前跪了下来，但未敢碰她，因为她的沉默不语比大发雷霆，更使他如坐针毡。他结结巴巴地说道：
　　“克洛，我的小克洛，我现在是处于怎样的情况，面临怎样的处境，你也应替我想一想。啊！我要是能娶你为妻，那该有多好！然而不可能，你是个有夫之妇。我该怎么办？你不妨替我想想。我要立足于社会，总得有个内助，否则是不可能的。你知道吗？……有的时候，我真想把你丈夫给杀了……”
　　他娓娓而谈，语言低沉而柔媚，听来恰似一缕丝竹之声。
　　他看到，目光呆滞的德•马莱尔夫人，眼内慢慢地噙了两颗泪珠，不久便滚到了面颊上，眼帘下方随即又涌出了两颗。
　　“啊！别哭了，克洛，”杜洛瓦低声细语地说道。“求你别哭了，我的心都碎了。”
　　为了保持自己的尊严和气度，德•马莱尔夫人作了极大的克制，随后终于开了口，颤抖的声音像是就要哭出来似的。
　　她问道：
　　“她是谁？”
　　杜洛瓦迟疑了一会儿，后又觉得终归是要说的，于是说道：
　　“玛德莱娜•弗雷斯蒂埃。”
　　德•马莱尔夫人浑身一阵战栗，但仍旧一言未发。她陷入了沉思，而且是那样地专注，简直将跪在脚下的杜洛瓦完全忘却了。
　　大滴大滴的眼泪，从她的眼里不断地涌出，落下，又涌出。
　　她站了起来。杜洛瓦意识到，她要走了，一句话也不会对他说。她没有责备他，但也不会原谅他。他的自尊心因而受到伤害，他感到自己受到了深深的羞辱。他一把抓住她的裙子，不想让她走，接着又隔着裙子而死死地抱住她的双腿。他感到，她那肥硕的大腿绷得紧紧的，毫无退让之意。
　　他于是向她央求道：
　　“算是我求你了，你可不能就这样走了。”
　　德•马莱尔夫人自上而下打量了他一眼，目不转睛地看着他。一双饱含绝望的泪眼，是那样地动人，又是那样地哀伤，把一个女人的内心痛苦全都反映了出来。她抽抽噎噎，语不成声地说道：
　　“我没有……没有什么好说的……也没有……什么事儿了。你是对的……你……你……挑选了一个你所需要的人……”
　　说着，她身子往后一缩，挣脱他的双手，一径向外走去。杜洛瓦见她既然如此坚决，也就未再设法挽留。
　　房内现在只剩下他一个人了，杜洛瓦站起身，感到脑袋昏昏沉沉的，像是头上刚才挨了一棒似的。他把心一横，喃喃自语道：
　　“天哪，不管是好是歹，事情总算完了……并没有大吵大闹一番。这样的结局真是再好没有。”
　　他像是卸下了千斤重担，突然感到一身轻，从此可以自由自在地去迎接新的生活。他有点飘飘然，仿佛同命运之神较量了一番，为自己的处变不惊而陶醉在成功的喜悦中，不觉对着墙壁狠狠地打了几拳。
　　后来，弗雷斯蒂埃夫人问他：
　　“我们的事，你对德•马莱尔夫人说了没有？”
　　“已经说过了，”他的回答是那样地悠闲。
　　但弗雷斯蒂埃夫人的明亮目光仍在盯着他：
　　“她听了后是不是感到突然？”
　　“没有，一点没有。相反，她觉得这样很好。”
　　消息很快传出。有的人感到惊讶，有的人说自己早已料到。还有的人只是笑了笑，那意思分明是，他们对此并不感到意外。
　　现在，每逢发表专栏文章，杜洛瓦用的名字是“杜•德•康泰尔”，有关本地新闻的文章，则仍旧署名“杜洛瓦”。隔三岔五，他已开始写一些政治文章，署名“杜•洛瓦”。他每天都要到未婚妻家中去消磨一些时光。未婚妻对他虽然十分亲热，但也只是将他当作同胞兄弟一样看待。不过，她终究顶不住男女相爱的诱惑，在这“兄妹情谊”中仍隐藏着一种名副其实的柔情和欲念。她决定，他们的婚礼将秘密举行，除有关证婚人外，不邀请任何亲朋好友。婚礼一举行完毕，便于当天晚上前往卢昂，去看望杜洛瓦年迈的双亲，并在老人身边呆上几天。
　　关于卢昂之行，杜洛瓦曾想方设法劝她打消这一想法，但终未如愿，最后只得照她的意思办。
　　因此到了五月十日这一天，这一对新人既已决定不邀请任何客人参加其婚礼，有关宗教仪式也就成为多余的了。他们只是在市政厅匆匆登了个记，便赶回家中整理行装，于当晚六时在圣拉扎车站登上了开往诺曼底的列车。
　　偌大的车厢只有他们两个乘客。他们在座位上坐下之前，几乎没有说上几句话。现在，列车就要启动了，他们相视良久。
　　两个人都有点窘，为了不让对方看出，只得莞尔一笑。
　　列车慢慢穿过长长的巴蒂尼奥车站，接着驶过巴黎城墙与塞纳河之间色彩斑驳的平原。
　　杜洛瓦和妻子偶尔也说上两句无关紧要的话语，随后便侧过头去，看着窗外的景色。
　　列车走过阿尼埃桥时，看到河里帆樯林立，各条船上渔夫和船夫来来往往，二人不禁心旷神怡。五月的骄阳正在西垂，大小船只洒满一片金辉。塞纳河波平浪静，平时旋涡翻滚的激流已无影无踪。整个河面在温暖强烈的夕照下，像是凝结了似的，一丝涟漪也没有。河流中央，一条帆船，为了尽量利用轻柔无力的晚风，两翼各挂着一块白色的大三角帆，看去酷似一只展翅欲飞的大鹏。
　　“我非常喜欢巴黎郊区，”杜洛瓦喃喃地说道，“记得我曾来这里吃过炸鱼，味道之好令我终身难忘。”
　　“还有那些小船也非常令人神往，”妻子接着说道，“夕阳西下的时候，驾着一叶扁舟在水上轻轻驶过，该是多有意思！”
　　说了这么两句，两人又沉默不语了，仿佛谁都不敢尽情地回忆各自的往昔年华。他们这样默默地坐着，也许是在回味那令人留连、富于诗意的往事。
　　坐在妻子对面的杜洛瓦，这时拿起她的小手，慢条斯理地亲了亲。
　　“从卢昂回来后，”他说，“我们的晚餐有时可到夏图去吃。”
　　“可是我们有多少事要做呀！”妻子说。那口气似乎是说：
　　“不能因贪图享乐，而把该做的事丢在一边。”
　　杜洛瓦将她的手始终握在手中，心中焦灼地不知从何入手，方可转而对她表示爱意。即使在一个情窦初开的少女面前，他也不会像现在这样神慌意乱，莫知所措。对于玛德莱娜，他之所以不敢造次，是因为觉得她聪明过人，生性狡黠。在她面前，他既不敢过于腼腆，又不敢过于鲁莽，既不敢显得反应迟钝，又不敢操之过急，生怕她觉得自己是个十足的蠢货。
　　他将这只纤纤细手，轻轻捏了捏，不想对方竟毫无反应。
　　他因而调侃道：
　　“你已成为我的妻子，而我却觉得很是奇怪。”
　　“为什么？”玛德莱娜显出惊讶的神色。
　　“我也不知为什么，只是觉得奇怪。比如我很想吻你，但又为自己拥有此权利而感到惊奇。”
　　她不慌不忙地将她的粉脸向他凑了过去，他也就在上面亲了亲，像亲一位亲姐妹一样。
　　“我第一次见到你的时候，”杜洛瓦又说道，“你想必记得，就在弗雷斯蒂埃邀我在你家参加的那次晚宴上。我当时想，我要是能找个像你这样的女人，这一生也就算是没有虚度了。怎么样？你现在不已经是我的妻了吗？”
　　“谢谢你这样抬举我，”玛德莱娜说，一面以她那始终漾着一丝笑意的目光，温柔地直视着他。
　　“我这些话也未免太冷漠，太愚蠢了，”杜洛瓦心下想。“不行，我得直截了当一点。”于是向她问道：“你同弗雷斯蒂埃是怎么认识的？”
　　不想她带着挑逗的调皮神情说道：
　　“我们此番去卢昂，难道是为了谈他？”
　　杜洛瓦面红耳赤，说道：
　　“对不起，我真笨。不过这都是给你吓出来的。”
　　玛德莱娜不禁喜形于色：
　　“我吓的？这怎么可能？你倒是说说看。”
　　杜洛瓦移过身子，紧挨着她坐了下来。
　　“瞧！一只鹿！”她喊了一声。
　　列车正穿过圣热尔曼林地，她看到一头受惊的小鹿，纵身一跃，跳过了一条小径。
　　趁她俯身敞开的车窗，向外了望之际，杜洛瓦弯下身子，温情脉脉地在她颈部的头发上吻了很久。
　　她起初僵着身子未动，随后便抬起头来说道：“别闹了，你弄得我怪痒痒的。”
　　然而杜洛瓦并未就此甘休，仍不停地以他那卷曲的胡髭，在她白皙的肌肤上到处热烈地吻着，弄得她烦躁不已。
　　玛德莱娜扭动了一下身子：
　　“我说你安静一会儿好不好？”
　　杜洛瓦将右手从她身后插过去，把她的头扭了过来，像老鹰袭击小动物一样，对着她的嘴扑了上去。
　　她挣扎着，竭力将他推开，挣脱他的拥抱，后来总算将他一把推开，说道：
　　“你还有没有完？”
　　杜洛瓦哪里听得进去？他一把将她搂住，带着激动的神情，像饿狼似的在她脸上狂吻着，同时试图将她按倒在座位的软垫上。
　　她猛一使劲，终于挣脱了他，霍地站了起来：
　　“啊！乔治，你这是怎么啦？别再闹了。我们都已不是小孩，卢昂就要到了，怎么就等不及了？”
　　杜洛瓦坐在那里，满脸通红，听了这几句冠冕堂皇的言词，心里顿时凉了半截。稍稍平静下来后，他又轻松地说笑起来：
　　“好吧，我就耐心地等着。不过请注意，我们现在才到普瓦西，在到达卢昂之前，我是没有多少闲情，同你说上几句话的。”
　　“那就由我来说好了，”玛德莱娜说道。
　　她又走过去，温柔地在他身边坐了下来。
　　她把他们从卢昂回来后该做些什么，详细同他谈了谈。他们将住在她的前夫留给她的房子里。弗雷斯蒂埃在《法兰西生活报》的职务和待遇，也将由杜洛瓦承袭。
　　婚礼举行之前，她已像生意人一样，将他们未来家庭的收支，开列出一份详细清单。
　　他们的结合，采取的是财产分开的做法，对诸如死亡、离婚、生下一个或数个子女等可能出现的情况，都考虑到了。男方声称可带来四千法郎，但其中一千五百法郎是借来的，其余部分是他在这一年中为准备结婚，而省吃俭用地积攒下来的。女方可带来四万法郎，她说这笔钱是弗雷斯蒂埃留给她的。
　　说到这里，她又谈起了弗雷斯蒂埃，对他大大夸奖了一番：
　　“他这个人很能埋头苦干，生活井井有条，也非常节俭。如果不死，定会很快创下一份家业。”
　　杜洛瓦坐在那里，一直是心猿意马。这些话，他哪里听得进去？
　　玛德莱娜说着说着，常因想起一件事而停下来。这时，她又说道：
　　“不出三四年，你每年的收入便可达到三四万法郎。查理如果健在的话，这笔钱便会记在他的名下。”
　　杜洛瓦对她这番说教已开始感到不耐烦，因而回敬了她一句：
　　“我想，我们今天不是为了谈论他而去卢昂的。”
　　“说得对，是我错了，”玛德莱娜在他脸上轻轻拍了一下。
　　接着便朗朗地笑了起来。
　　杜洛瓦把两手放在膝盖上端坐着，宛如一个非常乖觉的孩子。
　　“你这副模样真让人忍俊不禁，”玛德莱娜说。
　　“这就是我现在所处的地位，”杜洛瓦回驳道，“而且将永远无法摆脱。再说，你刚才那番话不也就是这个意思吗？”
　　玛德莱娜随即问道：
　　“此话怎讲？”
　　“家里的事，一切由你掌管，甚至我个人也要处处听你安排。作为一个结过婚的女人，这在你自然应当仁不让！”
　　玛德莱娜惊讶不已：
　　“你究竟想说什么？”
　　“很简单，你是结过婚的，很有点这方面的经验，而我却是个一窍不通的单身汉，我的无知得靠你来消除，靠你来开导，情况就是这样！”
　　她叫了起来：
　　“这是什么话？”
　　杜洛瓦答道：
　　“事情明摆着，我对女人可以说一无所知，而你刚刚失去前夫，对男人自然很是了解，难道不是吗？一切得由你手把手地来教我……今晚就……如果你愿意，甚至现在就可开始……”
　　玛德莱娜乐不可支，大声叫道：
　　“啊！要说这个，我倒是可以帮帮你的，尽管放心好了……”
　　他于是又学着中学生背书的腔调说道：
　　“当然，我就指望你了。我甚至希望，你给我开的课，能讲得扎实一些。整个课程……可分为二十讲……前十讲打基础……主要是阅读和语法……后十讲用于提高和修辞……我也不知道是不是应当这样？”
　　玛德莱娜已笑得前仰后合，说道：
　　“你可真是个榆木疙瘩。”
　　杜洛瓦又说道：
　　“既然你同我说话，左一个‘你’右一个‘你’，我也不妨如法炮制，今后对你一律以‘你’相称，而不再用‘您’。亲爱的，告诉你，我对你的爱现在是越来越强烈，一分一秒都在增加。卢昂怎么还没到，真是急死人！”
　　这番话，他是学着演员的腔调说的，而且面部充满逗乐的表情，使得这位看惯了风流文人装腔作势、不拘形迹的年轻少妇，不禁十分开心。
　　她从侧面看了看杜洛瓦，觉得他实在长得英俊迷人。此刻的她，好似见到树上熟透了的诱人果实，恨不得马上就能一饱口福，然而理智告诉她，这果实虽好，但必须在饭后吃果点时方可品尝，因此还是克制住了。
　　想着自己怎么会突然产生了这种想法，她不禁粉脸羞红，说道：
　　“小家伙，我是过来人，我的话你还不信？在车厢里偷情只会使人倒胃，并无多大意思。”
　　接着，她的脸就红得更厉害了，因为她又说了一句：
　　“瓜熟蒂落，水到渠成。什么事都不能操之过急。”
　　她那魅人的小嘴说出的这一句句话语是何意思，杜洛瓦难道还听不出来？他不觉兴致大增，憨笑着在胸前划了个十字，同时口中念念有词，似乎在作祈祷。随后，他大声说道：
　　“我刚刚求得主司诱惑的天神圣安东尼对我的庇佑。现在，我是心硬如铁，不为任何诱惑所动了。”
　　夜色逐渐降临。透明的夜幕宛如一袭轻纱，笼罩着列车右方的广袤原野。列车此刻正沿着塞纳河岸前行。车内两个年轻人凭窗望去，路边的河水像一条光滑如镜的宽阔金属带，不停地向前延伸。火红的夕阳已坠入地平线以下，天幕上残留的一块块斑点，在水中形成耀眼的红色倒影。倒影渐渐暗了下去，变成深褐色，很快也就凄凉地悄然无踪了。四周原野于是带着一种类似死神降临的战栗，淹没在无边的黑暗中。苍茫大地，每到日暮时分，都会出现这种令人凄惶的景象。
　　透过敞开的车窗，面对这凄凉的夜色，这对年轻的夫妇不禁受到深深的感染。他们刚才还是那样地欢快，而现在却突然地一句话也没有了。
　　他们紧紧地依偎在一起，看着这春光明媚的一天，就这样无声无息地消失了。
　　车到芒特，车厢里点起了一盏小油灯。摇曳不定的光焰，立刻在长座位的灰色垫子上洒了一层昏黄的光。
　　杜洛瓦挽着妻子的纤细身腰，把她往怀里搂了搂。刚才炽烈的欲望，现已变成一股脉脉柔情，变成一种懒洋洋的要求，希望稍稍得到一点滋润心田的抚慰，如同母亲怀内的婴儿所得到的那种。
　　“我的小玛德，我是多么地爱你！”他喃喃地说，声音很低。
　　听了这柔声细语，玛德莱娜顿时魂酥骨软，全身一阵战栗。杜洛瓦已将脸颊靠在她那热乎乎的胸脯上，她就势俯下身子，将嘴唇向他凑了过去。
　　他们一言未发，热烈地吻了很久。后来，两个人猛的一下直起身，突然疯狂地拥抱在一起，接着上气不接下气地行起了好事。就这样，没用多长时间，便猛烈而又笨拙地完成了他们的交合。事毕，他们仍旧紧紧地搂抱在一起，心中未免有点幻灭之感，既感到周身无力，又觉得似乎欲望依然。直到一声汽笛长鸣，报告列车即将抵达下一个车站。
　　玛德莱娜以指尖理了理蓬乱的云鬓，说道：
　　“咱们真像孩子一样，太不懂事了。”
　　然而杜洛瓦却像压根儿没听见似的，狂热地吻着她的手，吻了这一只又吻那一只。口中不停地嘟哝道：
　　“我的小玛德，我是多么地爱你！”
　　车到卢昂之前，他们就这样脸贴脸地依偎在一起，动也不动，眼睛向着窗外。漆黑的夜空下，不时可看到几处农舍的灯光从眼前一闪而过。他们为自己能这样地紧紧相依而感到心恬意恰，不禁陷入悠悠遐思，越来越迫切地期待着更加亲密无间、更加放浪形骸的拥抱。
　　他们在与河岸相对的一家旅馆住了下来，稍稍吃了点东西，便上床就寝了。第二天，时钟刚打八点，女仆便走来把他们叫醒了。
　　他们将女仆放在床头柜上的茶喝完后，杜洛瓦向他的妻子看了一眼，像刚刚得到一笔财宝似的，怀着满腔喜悦，兴冲冲地一下将她搂在怀里，无比激动地说道：
　　“啊！我的小玛德，我是多么……多么……多么地爱你！”
　　玛德莱娜微微一笑，目光中充满信赖和欢乐。她一边回报杜洛瓦的吻，一边向他说道：
　　“我恐怕……也一样。”
　　不过，对于他们今番来卢昂探望其双亲一事，杜洛瓦一直忧心忡忡。他已多次提醒过她，要她做好思想准备，不要把情况想得太好。现在，他觉得有必要再说一说。
　　“你知道吗？他们是乡巴佬，是乡下的农民，而不是舞台上的农民。”
　　“我当然知道，”她笑道，“这你已不知对我说过多少遍了。
　　好了好了，快起来吧。你一起，我也就起来了。”
　　杜洛瓦跳下床，开始穿袜子：
　　“那边一切都非常简陋。我的房内只有一张铺着草垫的床，住在康特勒的人从未见过弹簧床。”
　　不想玛德莱娜听了这句话，却似乎兴致大增：
　　“这有什么不好呢？虽然睡不好，但身边……却有你，到了早晨还有公鸡打鸣把我叫醒，这该多有意思！”
　　她套上了晨衣。这是一件宽大的白法兰绒晨衣，杜洛瓦一眼就认了出来，心头不禁有点不快。为什么呢？据他所知，这类晨衣，他妻子总有一打之多。她怎么就没有想到把这些东西统统扔掉，另外买件新的呢？说实在的，他真不希望她继续使用这些她同前夫一起生活时穿过的晨衣、睡衣和内衣。因为他觉得，这些柔软、温暖的织物，肯定还保留着弗雷斯蒂埃同她接触的印迹。
　　他点了一支烟，向窗边走了过去。
　　窗外，宽阔的河面上帆樯如林，起重机隆隆作响，正挥动铁臂，把船上的货物卸到岸上。这景致，杜洛瓦虽然早已看惯，但今天见了，心中仍分外激动。他失声喊了起来：
　　“啊！这景象是多么美啊！”
　　玛德莱娜跑过来，将两手搭在丈夫的肩膀上，整个身子依偎着他，不禁心潮澎湃，欣喜异常，一连声地赞叹道：
　　“啊！是美，真是美极了！没有想到，这里的船只是这样多！”
　　一小时后，他们登车上了大路。因为几天前已写信告诉两位老人，他们要赶到那边，同他们一起吃午饭。这是一辆破旧的敞篷马车，走在路上摇摇晃晃，发出很大的声响。他们先走了一段坑坑洼洼、很长很长的大路，接着穿过一大片流水淙淙的草场。后来，马车便开始向山坡上走去了。
　　感到困倦的玛德莱娜，不觉在车内打起了盹来。原野上，微风习习，春光明媚。暖烘烘的阳光照在身上，真使人感到无比的舒坦。
　　丈夫这时叫醒了她：
　　“快看！”
　　马车此时已在山坡中央往上一点的地方停了下来。这里是观赏山下风光的最佳去处，因此历来成为游人必到之地。
　　俯瞰山下，一个又宽又长的巨大峡谷呈现在眼前。一条大河横贯整个峡谷。清澈的河水带着汹涌的波涛，从峡谷的一头奔腾而下。河中小岛星罗棋布。湍急的流水绕过一个弯，然后沿卢昂边沿穿流而过。该城就在河的右岸，此时正笼罩在一片飘渺的晨雾中。灿烂的朝阳，给万家屋顶镀上了一层金辉。数以千计的钟楼，或尖或圆，个个小巧别致，建造精湛，远远看去酷似一件件硕大精美的珍宝，而那一个个方形或圆形的塔楼，则像是戴着一顶顶装饰华美的王冠。除此之外，还有许多小的塔楼和钟楼，散布于城中各处。这一大片哥特式教堂建筑，又以大教堂高耸入云的青铜塔尖最为突出，当属世界上最高的教堂塔尖。其粗犷、古怪和不合分寸的造型，分外引人注目。
　　河对岸是圣塞韦尔市广阔的关厢地带。又细又高的工厂烟囱，栉次鳞比，其顶端部分皆呈圆形拱凸状。
　　这些耸入云天的砖砌圆柱建筑，比塞纳河彼岸的教堂钟楼还要多，一直延伸到旷野腹地，天天向蓝天喷露着黑色的煤烟。
　　其中最高者
Chapter 10 Jealousy
The Du Roys had been in Paris two days and the journalist had resumed work; he had given up his own especial province to assume that of Forestier, and to devote himself entirely to politics. On this particular evening he turned his steps toward home with a light heart. As he passed a florist’s on Rue Notre Dame de Lorette he bought a bouquet of half-open roses for Madeleine. Having forgotten his key, on arriving at his door, he rang and the servant answered his summons.
Georges asked: “Is Madame at home?” “Yes, sir.”
In the dining-room he paused in astonishment to see covers laid for three: the door of the salon being ajar, he saw Madeleine arranging in a vase on the mantelpiece a bunch of roses similar to his.
He entered the room and asked: “Have you invited anyone to dinner?”
She replied without turning her head and continuing the arrangement of her flowers: “Yes and no: it is my old friend, Count de Vaudrec, who is in the habit of dining here every Monday and who will come now as he always has,”
Georges murmured: “Very well.”
He stopped behind her, the bouquet in his hand, the desire strong within him to conceal it — to throw it away. However, he said:
“Here, I have brought you some roses!”
She turned to him with a smile and said: “Ah, how thoughtful of you!” and she kissed him with such evident affection that he felt consoled.
She took the flowers, inhaled their perfume, and put them in an empty vase. Then she said as she noted the effect: “Now I am satisfied; my mantelpiece looks pretty,” adding with an air of conviction:
“Vaudrec is charming; you will become intimate with him at once,”
A ring announced the Count. He entered as if he were at home. After gallantly kissing Mme. Du Roy’s hand, he turned to her husband and cordially offered his hand, saying: “How are you, my dear Du Roy?”
He had no longer that haughty air, but was very affable. One would have thought in the course of five minutes, that the two men had known one another for ten years. Madeleine, whose face was radiant, said: “I will leave you together. I have work to superintend in the kitchen.” The dinner was excellent and the Count remained very late. When he was gone, Madeleine said to her husband: “Is he not nice? He improves, too, on acquaintance. He is a good, true, faithful friend. Ah, without him —”
She did not complete her sentence and Georges replied: “Yes, he is very pleasant, I think we shall understand each other well.”
“You do not know,” she said, “that we have work to do to-night before retiring. I did not have time to tell you before dinner, for Vaudrec came. Laroche-Mathieu brought me important news of Morocco. We must make a fine article of that. Let us set to work at once. Come, take the lamp.”
He carried the lamp and they entered the study. Madeleine leaned, against the mantelpiece, and having lighted a cigarette, told him the news and gave him her plan of the article. He listened attentively, making notes as she spoke, and when she had finished he raised objections, took up the question and, in his turn, developed another plan. His wife ceased smoking, for her interest was aroused in following Georges’s line of thought. From time to time she murmured: “Yes, yes; very good — excellent — very forcible —” And when he had finished speaking, she said: “Now let us write.”
It was always difficult for him to make a beginning and she would lean over his shoulder and whisper the phrases in his ear, then he would add a few lines; when their article was completed, Georges re- read it. Both he and Madeleine pronounced it admirable and kissed one another with passionate admiration.
The article appeared with the signature of “G. du Roy de Cantel,” and made a great sensation. M. Walter congratulated the author, who soon became celebrated in political circles. His wife, too, surprised him by the ingenuousness of her mind, the cleverness of her wit, and the number of her acquaintances. At almost any time upon returning home he found in his salon a senator, a deputy, a magistrate, or a general, who treated Madeleine with grave familiarity.
Deputy Laroche-Mathieu, who dined at Rue Fontaine every Tuesday, was one of the largest stockholders of M. Walter’s paper and the latter’s colleague and associate in many business transactions. Du Roy hoped, later on, that some of the benefits promised by him to Forestier might fall to his share. They would be given to Madeleine’s new husband — that was all — nothing was changed; even his associates sometimes called him Forestier, and it made Du Roy furious at the dead. He grew to hate the very name; it was to him almost an insult. Even at home the obsession continued; the entire house reminded him of Charles.
One evening Du Roy, who liked sweetmeats, asked:
“Why do we never have sweets?”
His wife replied pleasantly: “I never think of it, because Charles disliked them.”
He interrupted her with an impatient gesture: “Do you know I am getting tired of Charles? It is Charles here, Charles there, Charles liked this, Charles liked that. Since Charles is dead, let him rest in peace.”
Madeleine ascribed her husband’s burst of ill humor to puerile jealousy, but she was flattered and did not reply. On retiring, haunted by the same thought, he asked:
“Did Charles wear a cotton nightcap to keep the draft out of his ears?”
She replied pleasantly: “No, a lace one!”
Georges shrugged his shoulders and said scornfully: “What a bird!”
From that time Georges never called Charles anything but “poor Charles,” with an accent of infinite pity. One evening as Du Roy was smoking a cigarette at his window, toward the end of June, the heat awoke in him a desire for fresh air. He asked:
“My little Made, would you like to go as far as the Bois?”
“Yes, certainly.”
They took an open carriage and drove to the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne. It was a sultry evening; a host of cabs lined the drive, one behind another. When the carriage containing Georges and Madeleine reached the turning which led to the fortifications, they kissed one another and Madeleine stammered in confusion: “We are as childish as we were at Rouen.”
The road they followed was not so much frequented, a gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the trees, the sky was studded with brilliant stars and Georges murmured, as he pressed his wife to his breast: “Oh, my little Made.”
She said to him: “Do you remember how gloomy the forest at Canteleu was? It seemed to me that it was full of horrible beasts and that it was interminable, while here it is charming. One can feel the caressing breezes, and I know that Sevres is on the other side.”
He replied: “In our forests there are nothing but stags, foxes, roebucks, and boars, with here and there a forester’s house.” He paused for a moment and then asked: “Did you come here in the evening with Charles occasionally?”
She replied: “Frequently.”
He felt a desire to return home at once. Forestier’s image haunted him, however; he could think of nothing else. The carriage rolled on toward the Arc de Triomphe and joined the stream of carriages returning home. As Georges remained silent, his wife, who divined his thoughts, asked in her soft voice: “Of what are you thinking? For half an hour you have not uttered a word.”
He replied with a sneer: “I am thinking of all those fools who kiss one another, and I believe truly that there is something else to be done in life.”
She whispered: “Yes, but it is nice sometimes! It is nice when one has nothing better to do.”
Georges’ thoughts were busy with the dead; he said to himself angrily: “I am foolish to worry, to torment myself as I have done.” After remonstrating thus with himself, he felt more reconciled to the thought of Forestier, and felt like exclaiming: “Good evening, old fellow!”
Madeleine, who was bored by his silence, asked: “Shall we go to Tortoni’s for ices before returning home?”
He glanced at her from his corner and thought: “She is pretty; so much the better. Tit for tat, my comrade. But if they begin again to annoy me with you, it will get somewhat hot at the North Pole!”
Then he replied: “Certainly, my darling,” and before she had time to think he kissed her. It seemed to Madeleine that her husband’s lips were icy. However he smiled as usual and gave her his hand to assist her to alight at the cafe.
　　这一对新人重返巴黎，已经两天了。杜•洛瓦又回到了报馆里。原先所说由他接替弗雷斯蒂埃生前所任职务、专门撰写政论文章一事，尚须时日。因此他暂时仍负责社会新闻栏的工作。
　　这天傍晚，离开报馆后，他一径赶往家中——玛德莱娜的前夫留下的房子——去吃晚饭。一想到很快又可同燕尔新婚的妻子亲昵一番，他便兴奋不已。为妻子的姿色深深倾倒的他，现在对她完全是百依百顺。走到洛雷特圣母街，路过一家花店时，他忽然灵机一动，决定给她买束花，因此特意挑了一把骨朵很多的玫瑰。其中有的骨朵已开始开放，散发出浓郁的芳香。
　　踏上新居的楼梯，每登上一层楼，他都要在楼梯口的镜子前停下来，不无得意地照一照。因为一看到这些镜子，他便想起了自己当初走进这幢楼房的情景。
　　由于忘了带钥匙，他按了按门铃。前来开门的人，仍是先前那个仆人。妻子主张将此人留下，他同意了。
　　“太太回来没有？”他问。
　　“回来了，先生。”
　　走过餐厅时，他发现桌上放着三副餐具，不由地深为纳罕。客厅的门帘往上撩了起来，他因而发现，玛德莱娜正在往壁炉上的一只花瓶里插一束玫瑰。这束玫瑰，同他手上的那束一模一样。这使他很是扫兴和不快，仿佛他对妻子的这一情意缠绵的表示，及因而从她那里必会得到的快乐，被人抢先夺去了。
　　“你今天请了哪位客人？”他走进去问道。
　　玛德莱娜继续在那里摆弄着花，并未回过头来：
　　“今晚来的这个人，可以说是客人，也可以说不是。因为他就是我的好友德•沃德雷克伯爵。多年以来，他每个星期一都要来这里吃晚饭，今晚也不例外。”
　　“啊！很好，”杜•洛瓦嘀咕道。
　　他站在她身后，很想把手上的花藏起来，或者扔掉。不过到后来，他还是说了出来：
　　“瞧，我也给你带来一束玫瑰。”
　　玛德莱娜忽然转过身，满脸堆着笑：
　　“啊！你还想到了这个，真是难为你了。”
　　她向杜•洛瓦伸出双臂，把嘴唇向他凑了过去，神态是那样地情真意切。他的心因而得到些许宽慰。
　　玛德莱娜接过来闻了闻，像个兴高采烈的孩子，立刻就将花插到了放在壁炉另一头的空瓶内。
　　“这空空如也的壁炉上方，现在总算像个样子了，我真高兴。”她对着这番布置，发出一声感叹。
　　接着，她又斩钉截铁地说道：
　　“知道吗？沃德雷克这个人，脾气非常好，你们很快就会相处融洽的。”
　　门铃这时响了起来，伯爵显然到了。他安然地走了进来，神态之悠闲，同在自己家里一样。只见他彬彬有礼地吻了吻年轻女人的纤纤细手，然后转过身，亲热地把手向她丈夫伸了过来：
　　“这一向可好，亲爱的杜•洛瓦先生？”
　　想当初，他同杜•洛瓦在此相遇，表情是那样拘谨和生硬，而今天却完全是一副和蔼可亲的样子。这表明，自那时以来，情况已发生很大变化。杜•洛瓦惊讶不已，为了不辜负其盛情，立刻笑容满面地将手伸了过去。经过简短的交谈，两人简直像是一对交往多年、互相倾慕的莫逆之交。
　　容光焕发的玛德莱娜，于是向他们说道：
　　“你们俩谈吧，我要去厨房看看。”
　　她向他们分别看了一眼，走了开去。
　　待她回来时，她见他们正在谈论一出新上演的戏剧。两人的观点完全一致，目光中很有点一拍即合、相见恨晚的意思。
　　晚餐十分丰盛，席间气氛随和而融洽。伯爵呆到很晚才走。在这幢房子里，同这对年轻漂亮的新婚夫妇在一起，他是那样地心恬意恰。
　　他走后，玛德莱娜向丈夫说道：
　　“你说他是不是很不错？待你对他完全了解后，你会对他更加钦佩的。他实在是一个忠实可靠、不可多得的朋友。唉，如果不是他……”
　　她尚未把话说完，杜•洛瓦便抢着说道：
　　“是啊，我也觉得他很不错。我相信，我们会相处得很好的。”
　　“有件事没有告诉你，”玛德莱娜随即说道，“今晚睡觉之前，我们还得赶写一篇东西。饭前没有对你讲，是因为实在没有时间，沃德雷克那时就要来了。我今天得到一条有关摩洛哥的重要消息，是将来定会当上部长的拉罗舍—马蒂厄议员给我提供的。我们应写出一篇像样的文章，引起各方的注意。有关材料和数字，我已拿到。来，我们马上就动手，你把灯拿上。”
　　杜•洛瓦拿起灯，二人于是到了书房里。
　　书房里，书架上的书仍像先前一样摆放着，纹丝未动。只是最上层现在又放了三只花瓶，那是弗雷斯蒂埃去世前一天在朱昂湾买的。桌子下面，死者生前用过的暖脚套还摆在那里，正等着杜•洛瓦来享用。杜•洛瓦在桌前坐下后，随手拿起一支象牙蘸水笔。笔杆上，死者生前咬过的斑斑痕迹，清晰可见。
　　玛德莱娜点上一支烟，靠在壁炉上，把她听到的消息谈了谈，接着又说了说她的想法和她所考虑的文章梗概。
　　杜•洛瓦一边仔细听着，一边不时在纸上匆匆写下几个字。玛德莱娜说完后，他提了些不同的看法，然后又回到所谈问题上，大大作了一番发挥。经他这样一改，他此刻所谈的，已经不是什么文章的梗概，而是要掀起一场倒阁运动。这篇檄文不过是个引子。她妻子已放下手中的香烟，不觉兴趣大增。杜洛瓦一番话使她茅塞顿开，对问题看得更深、更远了。
　　因此她不时点头道：“对……对……很好……太好了……
　　这才显出文章的分量……”
　　杜•洛瓦说完后，她催促道：
　　“现在快动笔吧。”
　　然而一旦摊开稿纸，杜•洛瓦又不知从何落笔了，这是他一贯的毛病。他苦苦地思索了起来。玛德莱娜于是走过来，轻轻地伏在他肩上，在他耳边，低声一句句地向他口授。
　　虽然如此，她仍不时停下来，显出一番把握不定的样子，问道：
　　“你是这个意思吗？”
　　“是的，就是这个意思，”杜•洛瓦每次总这样答道。
　　玛德莱娜出语辛辣而又尖刻，正是女流之辈所特有的，现在正可用来对现任政府首脑大张挞伐。她不仅对这位政府首脑所推行的政策大加嘲讽，而且对其长相尽情奚落。文章写得潇洒自如，意趣横生，使人读了不禁开怀大笑，同时对其观察之敏锐也深为折服。
　　犹有甚者，杜•洛瓦还不时地加上几句，使文章的锋芒所向显得更加咄咄逼人。此外，别有用心地含沙射影，更是他的拿手好戏。这是他在撰写本地新闻时磨练出来的。每当他觉得玛德莱娜提供的依据不太可靠，易于弄巧成拙时，他总有办法把文章写得扑朔迷离，使读者不由得不信，从而比直接说出更具分量。
　　文章写好后，杜•洛瓦以抑扬顿挫的腔调，大声读了一遍。夫妻俩一致认为写得无懈可击，好像互相敞开了心扉似的，带着分外的欣喜和惊奇相视而笑。他们目不转睛地盯着对方，彼此间因深深的倾慕和柔情依依而兴奋不已，从心灵到躯体不禁春情萌动，最后不约而同地一下子投入对方的怀抱。
　　“咱们现在去睡吧，”杜•洛瓦拿起桌上的灯，目光灼灼。“您既然掌灯引路，请不妨先行一步，我的主人，”玛德莱娜回道。
　　两人于是一前一后往卧房走去。妻子在后面一边走着，一边还为了让他快走，而不停地用指尖在丈夫的脖颈处轻轻地挠着，因为杜•洛瓦最怕别人给他搔痒。
　　文章以乔治•杜•洛瓦•德•康泰尔的署名发表后，引起很大轰动。众议院一片哗然。瓦尔特老头对杜•洛瓦大大夸奖了一番，决定《法兰西生活报》的政治栏目，从此由他负责，社会新闻栏则仍由布瓦勒纳负责。
　　该报随后对负责国家日常事务的内阁，展开了一系列巧妙而又猛烈的抨击。有关文章都写得别具匠心，且例举了大量事实，时而挖苦讽刺，取笑逗乐，时而笔锋犀利，炮火连连。如此接二连三，打得既准又狠，使人惊讶不已。大段大段地转载《法兰西生活报》的文章，一时成为其他报刊的时髦之举。官场人士纷纷打听，可否对这未曾谋面的凶狠家伙许以高官厚禄，从而使之偃旗息鼓。
　　杜•洛瓦因而在政界名噪一时。人们一见到他，便是一番热烈的握手，头上的帽子举得老高，其声望之与日俱增，由此可见一斑。不过相形之下，他妻子主意之多，消息之灵和交游之广，更使他暗暗称奇。
　　他每天不论什么时候回到家中，总可见到客厅里坐着一位客人，不是参议员或众议员，便是政府官员或军中将领。他们待玛德莱娜一如多年知交，神态自然而又亲切。她是在哪儿同这些人认识的呢？她自己说是在社交界。可是他们对她如此信任和青睐，她又是怎样得到的呢？他始终弄不明白。
　　“她这个人完全可以做个呱呱叫的外交家，”杜•洛瓦心想。
　　晚上回来过了吃饭时间，在她是常有的事。每当此时，她总是气喘吁吁，面色通红，激动不已。往往面纱尚未摘去，便连忙开口道：
　　“我今天可给你带来了一份‘美味佳肴’。你想，司法部长刚刚任命的两位法官，曾是混合委员会成员。咱们这次可要给他一点厉害，让他永远也忘不了。”
　　他们果然立即写了一篇文章，把这位部长骂得狗血喷头。第二天，又是一篇。第三天，还写了一篇。每星期二都要在德•沃德雷克伯爵于头天来过之后，到泉水街玛德莱娜家来吃晚饭的众议员拉罗舍—马蒂厄，这天一进门便紧紧地握住他们夫妇二人的手，欣喜若狂地连声说道：
　　“好家伙，这气势可真厉害！经过这番穷追猛打，我们岂有不大获全胜之理？”
　　此人很久以来，一直对外交部长的职位虎视眈眈。这次确实希望能趁机了却心愿。
　　这个八面玲珑的政客，其实并无政治信念和多大能耐，更无什么胆略和真才实学。作为一名外省的律师，他原是某省城的一位风流人物，但为人狡诈，一向在各激进派之间谋求折衷，是所谓拥护共和的耶稣会会员，名不符实的自由思想卫士。这种像粪堆里滋生的蝇蛆，借普选之机而钻入政界者，成百上千。
　　他受小农思想的驱使而特别善于投机钻营，因而在失意潦倒、一事无成的众议员同僚中，一直被视为佼佼者。为了博取众人的好感，他十分注重自己的仪表，总是穿得衣冠楚楚，待人和蔼可亲，因此在社交界和鱼龙混杂、良莠不齐的达官显宦中，取得很大成功。
　　“拉罗舍很快将当上部长。”到处都有人这样议论。他自己也同他人一样，坚信部长的职位非他莫属。
　　他是瓦尔特老头所办报纸的一名大股东，也是他在众议院的同僚，并已同他合伙做过多笔金融生意。
　　杜•洛瓦对他的支持，可说死心塌地，因为他隐隐感到，自己日后说不定可从中捞到一些好处。再说弗雷斯蒂埃丢下的这摊事儿，他不过刚刚接手。而拉罗舍—马蒂厄曾许诺过弗雷斯蒂埃，一旦他登上部长的交椅，便授予他荣誉团十字勋章。看来这枚勋章将要戴在他这个玛德莱娜新嫁的丈夫身上了。除此之外，总的说来，其他一切如故，并无任何变化。
　　对于杜•洛瓦所处的这一情况，同事们也都看了出来，人前人后常爱拿他开玩笑，弄得杜•洛瓦十分恼火。
　　有的人干脆叫他弗雷斯蒂埃。
　　他一走进报馆，便有人不管不顾地向他喊道：“喂，弗雷斯蒂埃。”
　　他装着没有听见，走到放信的木格前，看有没有自己的信。可是那个人又喊了起来，声音也更大了：“喂！弗雷斯蒂埃。”见此情景，几个人发出吃吃的笑声。
　　杜•洛瓦往经理办公室走了过去，刚才喊的人突然拦住了他，说道：
　　“对不起，我才将喊的是你。真是昏了头，动不动就将你同可怜的查理混淆了起来。要说原因，主要还是你写的文章和他的文章，看起来太像了。大家都有同感。”
　　杜•洛瓦什么也没有说，但心里却窝着火，开始对死鬼弗雷斯蒂埃感到愤恨不已。
　　大家都觉得他这个政治栏目新任负责人，同其前任的文章，无论在措辞上还是在写法上，都极其相似。每当有人对此感到惊讶时，瓦尔特老头也说道：
　　“是的，乍一看去，确实像是弗雷斯蒂埃写的。但文章的内容却要更加充实，行文也更加大胆、泼辣。”
　　还有一次，杜•洛瓦偶尔打开存放小木球的柜子，发现弗雷斯蒂埃玩过的那些小球旁，木棒上缠着一块黑纱，而自己当初由圣波坦带着玩的那个小球旁，木棒上却缠了根粉红色缎带。所有木球皆按其大小而摆放整齐，旁边放着一块博物馆常见的那种标示牌。牌上写道：“此处木球系由弗雷斯蒂埃及其同仁昔日所收藏，今归未经政府正式认可之继承人弗雷斯蒂埃—杜•洛瓦所有。此物经久耐用，随处可使，旅行在外也无不可。”
　　杜•洛瓦看罢，捺着性子把柜门关上，但仍大声说了一句，以便房内其他人能够听到：
　　“想不到嫉妒成性的蠢才，到处都有。”
　　他的自尊心和虚荣心因而受到伤害。以笔杆为生的人，自尊心和虚荣心本来就很脆弱，常常疑神疑鬼，肝火很旺。无论是一般记者还是天才诗人，都在所难免。
　　“弗雷斯蒂埃”这几个字现在成了他一块心病而很怕听到，一听见就脸上发烧。
　　他觉得，这个名字是对他的辛辣嘲讽，岂止是嘲讽，几乎无异于是一种侮辱。仿佛时时在向他呐喊：
　　“你的文章是你老婆帮你写的，正像她的前夫发表过的那些文章一样。没有她，你岂会有今天？”
　　没有玛德莱娜，弗雷斯蒂埃必会一事无成。这一点，他深信不疑。至于他，哪有这回事儿？
　　回到家中，他依然为此而深深苦恼着。在这个家里，从家具到各类摆设，他不论触及到什么，马上便会想起已经作古的弗雷斯蒂埃。对于这些事，他起初倒也没怎么管，可是同事们开的玩笑，在他心里留下了难以愈合的伤痕，一碰到这些迄今一直不怎么注意的东西，心头便隐隐作痛。
　　他现在是只要一拿取某件器物，便觉得仿佛看到器物上正放着查理的一只手。眼前的一切，都是查理使用过的，都是他过去购买和喜爱的。这样一来，那怕一想到他这位朋友同他妻子往日的关系，杜•洛瓦也开始感到怏怏不乐。
　　他常为自己这种反常心理感到纳闷，怎么也弄不明白，不禁自言自语道：
　　“这究竟是怎么回事？玛德莱娜与朋友交往，我从无嫉妒心理，对她的所作所为一向是放心的。她进进出出，我从不过问。可是现在一想起查理这个死鬼，我便气不打一处来！”
　　“根本原因恐怕在于，”杜•洛瓦又想道，“他是个十足的废物，弄得我也跟着倒楣。不知玛德莱娜当初怎么嫁了这样一个蠢货？”
　　因此一个问题一直在他的脑际盘桓不去：
　　“以她这样一个精明女人，怎会心血来潮，看上这个无用的畜生？”
　　这样，一件件日常琐事，诸如玛德莱娜、家中男仆或女佣的一句话，只要一提起死者，便使他心如针扎，忿懑之情与日俱增。
　　一天晚上，喜欢甜食的杜•洛瓦向妻子问道：
　　“怎么一块点心也没有？你可从来没有让他们做过。”
　　“不错，这件事我倒真没想到，”年轻的妻子笑道，“因为查理生前讨厌甜的东西。”
　　杜•洛瓦再也克制不住了，不耐烦地打断了她：
　　“你可知道？你天天左一个查理，右一个查理，一会儿是查理喜欢这个，一会儿是查理喜欢那个，把我弄得烦透了。查理既然已经死了，就让他安息吧。”
　　玛德莱娜惊异地看着丈夫，不明白他这无名火因何而发。不过她到底是个精细的女人，很快也就对他的心事猜了个八九：定是潜移默化的忌妒心理在那里作祟，只要一提起死者，此种嫉恨便会大大膨胀。
　　她也许觉得这很可笑，但心里却感到甜丝丝的，因此什么也没有说。
　　杜•洛瓦为自己这一通按捺不住的发泄而感到气恼。这天晚上，吃完饭后，他们在忙着写一篇文章，准备第二天发表。他忽然觉着套在脚上的暖脚套不太舒服，想把它翻过来，但未能如愿，因此一脚踢开，笑着问道：
　　“查理以前常用这玩意儿吗？”
　　“是的，”玛德莱娜也笑着答道，“他很怕感冒，毕竟身子骨较弱。”
　　“对于这一点，他的表现是够充分的了，”杜•洛瓦恶狠狠地说道。接着又吻了吻妻子的手，笑容可掬地说道：“所幸我同他不一样。”
　　到了就寝的时候，他的脑际依然萦回着那一成不变的想法，又问道：
　　“查理睡觉时是否带个棉布睡帽，把后脑勺捂得严严实实，以免着凉？”
　　“不，”玛德莱娜对于他的玩笑始终虚与委蛇，“他只是在头上系一块纱巾。”
　　“真是丑态百出，”杜•洛瓦带着高人一等的轻蔑神情，耸了耸肩。
　　从此之后，查理的名字也就时时挂在他的嘴边，不论遇上什么事总要提起他，而且装腔作势地带着无限的怜悯，一口一个“可怜的查理”。
　　只要在报馆里听到有人喊他两三次弗雷斯蒂埃，他一回到家中，便会拿长眠于黄泉之下的死者出气，怀着仇恨，对死者百般嘲弄。这时，他常会得意地把他的缺点及其度量狭小和可笑之处，一一列数出来，甚至加以渲染和夸大，仿佛要把这可怕的劲敌在他妻子心中所产生的影响清除干净。
　　有一句话，他不知已说了多少遍：
　　“你还记得吗，玛德？弗雷斯蒂埃这个蠢货那天竟然声称，他可举出例子说明，胖子要比瘦子更加有劲。”
　　到后来，他竟然对死者的床第隐私也发生了兴趣，妻子对此实在难于启齿，始终拒绝回答。然而他仍一个劲地坚持道：“好了，好了，快给我讲讲吧。他在这方面的表现一定很可笑，不是吗？”
　　“算了，还是让他安息吧，”玛德莱娜说道，声音很低。
　　“不，你一定要讲，”杜•洛瓦穷追不舍。“这个畜生在床上一定也笨得可以！”
　　久而久之，他总是以这样的话语来结束谈话：“这家伙可真是个十足的蠢货！”
　　六月末的一天晚上，天气特别热，他站在窗边抽烟，忽然灵机一动，想去外面转转，于是向玛德莱娜问道：
　　“我的小玛德，想去布洛涅林苑走走吗？”
　　“好呀，当然想去。”
　　他们乘了一辆敞篷马车，经香榭丽舍大街向布洛涅林苑驶去。天上的云彩纹丝不动，一点风也没有。整个巴黎热得像个蒸笼，吸入体内的空气像锅炉里冒出的热气，滚烫滚烫。马车一辆接着一辆，把一对对情侣送到那较为清凉的林苑中去。
　　看着这些恋人勾肩搭背地坐在车里，女的穿着浅色衣裙，男的穿着深色的衣装，从他们面前驶过，杜•洛瓦和玛德莱娜不觉心驰神往。已有星星出现的火红天空下，这情侣组成的洪流源源不断地流向林苑。除了车轮在地上的低沉滚动声，没有其他声响。每辆车上都坐着一对男女。他们默然无语，互相依偎着斜靠在座位上，沉陷于炽热的欲望所造成的梦幻中，正心急火燎地期待着那即将到来的狂热拥抱。灼热的暮色中似乎到处都是如痴如醉的热吻。这兽欲横流，滚滚向前的恋人大军，简直使空气也变得更形重浊起来，令人感到窒息。这些成双成对者，如今都沉醉于同一种追求，同一种激情中，一股狂热的气氛笼罩着四周。满载这万种情爱的马车，每一辆上方仿佛都是柔情缭绕，一边走，一边播洒着男女欢爱的浓厚气息，令人心旌摇摇，不能自已。
　　在这荡人风情的熏染下，杜•洛瓦和玛德莱娜不觉也柔情依依地手拉起手，一言不发，心头因四周的强烈气氛而激动不已。
　　车到城外拐弯处，他们情不自禁地一下子拥抱在一起。玛德莱娜心醉神迷，嗫嚅地说道：
　　“咱们又像上次去卢昂那样，想怎样就怎样了。”
　　巨大的车流进入林苑后也就散开了。在年轻人前往的湖区小路上，马车逐渐拉开了距离。林荫茂密，树影婆娑。树下小溪流水潺潺，树梢上方，广袤的苍穹已是繁星点点，空气因而显得格外凉爽而又清新。车中情人在神秘的夜色中拥抱，亲吻，无不感到销魂蚀骨。
　　“啊，我的小玛德！”杜•洛瓦紧紧地搂着妻子，轻轻喊了一声。
　　“还记得你家乡的树林吗？”玛德莱娜于是说道，“那片林子是多么地阴森可怖。我总觉得它无边无沿，猛禽怪兽，出没无常。这里的景象就大不相同，轻柔的晚风使人心旷神怡。据我所知，林苑那边就是塞弗勒。”
　　“啊！瞧你说的，”杜•洛瓦说道，“我家乡的那个树林，也就有些鹿、狐狸、狍子和野猪而已，此外便是时而可以见到的守林人小屋。”
　　这“守林人”一词，也即弗雷斯蒂埃的名字①，从他口中脱口而出，他不由地一惊。好像这个名字不是他自己说出的，而是某个人从路旁的灌木丛里向他喊出来的。忽然之间，他什么话也没有了。多日来，对死者的嫉妒一直折磨着他，弄得他坐卧不宁，难以排解。现在，他又回到了这莫名其妙、不能自拔的苦闷中。
　　--------
　　①在法语中，“守林人”一词同人名弗雷斯蒂埃在拼写和读法上完全相同。
　　过了片刻，他向妻子问道：
　　“你过去也同查理一起，晚上乘车来此走走吗？”
　　“当然，我们常来这儿。”
　　听了这句话，他突然想立即打道回府，此要求是如此强烈，弄得他无以抗拒。因为这时，弗雷斯蒂埃的身影又回到了他的心头，紧紧地束缚着他，一刻也摆脱不了。无论是想什么或是说什么，都离不开这个死鬼。
　　只见他恶狠狠地向玛德莱娜说道：
　　“告诉我，玛德。”
　　“什么，亲爱的。”
　　“你有没有让可怜的查理戴绿帽子？”
　　“你的这些无聊想法，什么时候才算完，真是越来越不像话了。”年轻的妻子一脸的鄙夷。
　　然而杜•洛瓦依然毫无收敛：
　　“瞧你，我的小玛德，有还是没有，照直说好了。快说，你让他戴了绿帽子，是不是？”
　　玛德莱娜无言以对。同所有女人一样，一听到这充满侮辱的话语，便气得浑身发颤。
　　“他妈的，”杜•洛瓦毫不退让，又说道，“世上如果有人像是戴了绿帽子的话，他就是一个。是的，一点没错。我之所以问你有没有让他戴绿帽子，就是想弄清这一点。不是吗？他那副模样是多么地呆头呆脑？”
　　他觉得，玛德莱娜好像笑了笑，或许是想起了什么往事。
　　因此他坚持道：
　　“来，还是照直说了吧。这又有什么关系？相反，你若向我承认，说你欺骗过他，岂不是很有意思？”
　　他所一心盼望的，是能够证实这可恨而又可恶的死鬼查理，确曾受过这可笑的耻辱。因此此刻正为弄清这一点而焦躁不已：
　　“玛德，我的小玛德，求你了，你就承认了吧，这是他应有的下场。你若不这样对待他，反倒是不对的。来，玛德，承认了吧。”
　　杜•洛瓦如此固执地坚持其想法，玛德莱娜现在显然觉得很有意思。因为她一阵阵地发出了咯咯的笑声。
　　杜•洛瓦于是将嘴凑近妻子的耳边：
　　“说了吧……说了吧……只是说个是，不就完了？”
　　不想妻子猛地躲开身子，说道：
　　“你这个人真蠢！这种问题，谁会回答？”
　　她说这话的语气是那样认真，杜•洛瓦顿时像是浑身浇了盆冷水，微微喘息，神色茫然地僵在那里，仿佛受到了严厉训斥。
　　马车此时正沿着湖边走着，映入水中的点点繁星，清晰可见。夜色沉沉，远处似乎有两只天鹅在缓缓游动。
　　“现在往回走吧，”杜•洛瓦向车夫喊了一声。马车于是掉转头，踏上了归程。迎面还有一些车辆正不紧不慢地向这边驶来，硕大的车灯像一只只眼睛，在黑暗的树林中闪烁。
　　“这是不是一种默认？”杜•洛瓦的心头依然萦绕着妻子刚才的话语，因为他觉得，她的语气实在有点怪！她一定欺骗了前夫，杜•洛瓦对此现在已几乎可以断定。这样一想，他不禁又怒火中烧，真想揪住她的头发，将她痛打一顿，把她掐死！“啊，亲爱的，要是我该欺骗他，那也只会同你！”她刚才的回答倘若这样，那该多好！他会怎样地拥抱她，亲吻她，爱她！
　　他双臂环抱，一动不动地坐在那里，眼睛向着天上，内心却思绪翻滚，怎么也集中不起来。他只是感到，胸中正郁结着满腔的怨恨和怒火，同每一个男子在得悉自己的妻子偷人养汉时所产生的心情一样。怀疑妻子不贞，因而心情沉重，难于言表，个中滋味他还是生来第一次尝到！因此，他现在倒是在为他的亡友弗雷斯蒂埃感到不平！这种不平之感是那样地强烈，不可名状，转而迅速变成对玛德莱娜的憎恨。她既然让前夫戴了绿帽子，他杜•洛瓦又怎能信得了她？
　　不过他的心情很快也就平静了下来。为使痛苦的心灵得到抚慰，他自我安慰道：
　　“没有一个女人是规矩的。对于这些人，只能使之为己所用，决不可对她们有丝毫的信赖。”
　　这样，内心的痛苦转瞬变成满腔的鄙视和厌恶，他真想把这些想法和盘托出，发泄一通。不过话到嘴边，还是克制住了，同时反复在心里重复着一句话：
　　“世界属于强者。我必须做个强者，驾驭一切。”
　　马车走得很块，转眼已越过旧日城墙。杜•洛瓦看到前方天幕上有一团红光，酷似一个烧得红红的巨大铸铁炉立在那里。耳际则传来一片由各种各样的无数声响汇集而成的低沉隆隆声，时远时近，持续不断。这就是人们隐约可以感到的巴黎的脉搏跳动和生命气息。在这夏日的夜晚，她像一个劳累了一天的巨人，正躺在那里喘着粗气。
　　“我如果为此而大动肝火，”杜•洛瓦接着又想，“那也未免太蠢了。人人都为的是自己，胜利归于勇敢者。什么都离不开‘自私’两字，有的自私是为了名利，有的自私是为了爱情和女人，前者总比后者要好。”
　　星形广场的凯旋门，又在视野中出现了。它像一个怪模怪样的巨人岿然挺立于城门边，似乎正准备迈开双腿，沿着面前的宽阔林荫道向前走去。杜•洛瓦和玛德莱娜所乘的马车，又卷进了车的洪流中。这一辆辆马车，如今正将那些卿卿我我的情侣送回家去。他们的心早已飞到床上，因此个个默然无语。面对这壮观的场面，杜•洛瓦和玛德莱娜觉得，好像整个人类都陶醉在这欢乐与幸福中。
　　玛德莱娜看出丈夫心里一定在想着什么，便轻声问道：
　　“你在想什么呢，亲爱的？你已经有半个小时一句话也没说了。”
　　杜•洛瓦发出一声冷笑：
　　“我在想这些搂搂抱抱的痴情男女。因为我觉得，实在说来，生活中该做的事多得很，何必这样没出息？”
　　“倒也是……”玛德莱娜说道，“不过有的时候这也没什么不好。”
　　“好……当然好……不过应当在实在无事可做的时候。”
　　杜•洛瓦现在是彻底剥去了生活富有诗意的外表，恶狠狠地继续想道：
　　“一个时期来，我总是缩手缩脚，这也不敢，那也不敢。遇到一点事儿，便心惊胆战，自己折磨自己，这是何苦来？从今之后，我是决不会再这样了。”
　　想到这里，弗雷斯蒂埃的身影又在他的眼前浮现了出来，不过并未在他心中引起任何不快。相反，他觉得，他们已言归于好，又成了两个好友。他真想向他喊一声：“喂，老兄，你好。”
　　玛德莱娜见他一直缄默不语，不禁感到不大自在，遂问道：
　　“我们不妨先去多尔多尼咖啡馆吃点冰激淋，然后再回家，你看怎样？”
　　杜•洛瓦转过头来，瞟了她一眼。车子这时恰巧走过一家有歌舞表演的咖啡馆门前，她那长着满头金发的秀丽身姿，在耀眼煤气灯饰的照耀下，是显得多么迷人。
　　“她可真漂亮，”杜•洛瓦在心中嘀咕道。“也罢，这样也好。朋友，咱们俩可是棋逢对手了。除非太阳从西边出来，我是决不会为了你而不敢越雷池一步的。”
　　“当然好啦，亲爱的，”他于是答道。为使她看不出任何破绽，他并且亲了亲她。
　　玛德莱娜感到，丈夫的嘴唇简直冷若冰霜。
　　不过他的脸上依然若无其事地漾着一丝微笑，并伸出手来，扶她在咖啡馆门前下了车。
Chapter 11 Madame Walter Takes a Hand
On entering the office the following day, Du Roy sought Boisrenard and told him to warn his associates not to continue the farce of calling him Forestier, or there would be war. When Du Roy returned an hour later, no one called him by that name. From the office he proceeded to his home, and hearing the sound of ladies’ voices in the drawing-room, he asked the servant: “Who is here?”
“Mme. Walter and Mme. de Marelle,” was the reply.
His heart pulsated violently as he opened the door. Clotilde was seated by the fireplace; it seemed to Georges that she turned pale on perceiving him.
Having greeted Mme. Walter and her two daughters seated like sentinels beside her, he turned to his former mistress. She extended her hand; he took and pressed it as if to say: “I love you still!” She returned the pressure.
He said: “Have you been well since we last met?”
“Yes; have you, Bel-Ami?” And turning to Madeleine she added: “Will you permit me to call him Bel-Ami?”
“Certainly, my dear; I will permit anything you wish.”
A shade of irony lurked beneath those words, uttered so pleasantly.
Mme. Walter mentioned a fencing-match to be given at Jacques Rival’s apartments, the proceeds to be devoted to charities, and in which many society ladies were going to assist. She said: “It will be very entertaining; but I am in despair, for we have no one to escort us, my husband having an engagement.”
Du Roy offered his services at once. She accepted, saying: “My daughters and I shall be very grateful.”
He glanced at the younger of the two girls and thought: “Little Suzanne is not at all bad, not at all.”
She resembled a doll, being very small and dainty, with a well- proportioned form, a pretty, delicate face, blue-gray eyes, a fair skin, and curly, flaxen hair. Her elder sister, Rose, was plain — one of those girls to whom no attention is ever paid. Her mother rose, and turning to Georges, said: “I shall count on you next Thursday at two o’clock.”
He replied: “Count upon me, Madame.”
When the door closed upon Mme. Walter, Mme. de Marelle, in her turn, rose.
“Au revoir, Bel-Ami.”
This time she pressed his hand and he was moved by that silent avowal. “I will go to see her to-morrow,” thought he.
Left alone with his wife, she laughed, and looking into his eyes said: “Mme. Walter has taken a fancy to you!”
He replied incredulously: “Nonsense!”
“But I know it. She spoke of you to me with great enthusiasm. She said she would like to find two husbands like you for her daughters. Fortunately she is not susceptible herself.”
He did not understand her and repeated: “Susceptible herself?”
She replied in a tone of conviction: “Oh, Mme. Walter is irreproachable. Her husband you know as well as I. But she is different. Still she has suffered a great deal in having married a Jew, though she has been true to him; she is a virtuous woman.”
Du Roy was surprised: “I thought her a Jewess.”
“She a Jewess! No, indeed! She is the prime mover in all the charitable movements at the Madeleine. She was even married by a priest. I am not sure but that M. Walter went through the form of baptism.”
Georges murmured: “And — she — likes — me —”
“Yes. If you were not married I should advise you to ask for the hand of — Suzanne — would you not prefer her to Rose?”
He replied as he twisted his mustache: “Eh! the mother is not so bad!”
Madeleine replied: “I am not afraid of her. At her age one does not begin to make conquests — one should commence sooner.”
Georges thought: “If I might have had Suzanne, ah!” Then he shrugged his shoulders: “Bah, it is absurd; her father would not have consented.”
He determined to treat Mme. Walter very considerately in order to retain her regard. All that evening he was haunted by recollections of his love for Clotilde; he recalled their escapades, her kindness. He repeated to himself: “She is indeed nice. Yes, I shall call upon her to-morrow.”
When he had lunched the following morning he repaired to Rue Verneuil. The same maid opened the door, and with the familiarity of an old servant she asked: “Is Monsieur well?”
He replied: “Yes, my child,” and entered the drawing-room in which some one was practising scales. It was Laurine. He expected she would fall upon his neck. She, however, rose ceremoniously, bowed coldly, and left the room with dignity; her manner was so much like that of an outraged woman that he was amazed. Her mother entered. He kissed her hand.
“How much I have thought of you,” said he.
“And I of you,” she replied.
They seated themselves and smiled as they gazed into one another’s eyes.
“My dear little Clo, I love you.”
“And I love you.”
“Still — still — you did not miss me.”
“Yes and no. I was grieved, but when I heard your reason, I said to myself: ‘Bah, he will return to me some day.’”
“I dared not come. I did not know how I should be received. I dared not, but I longed to come. Now, tell me what ails Laurine; she scarcely bade me good morning and left the room with an angry air.”
“I do not know, but one cannot mention you to her since your marriage; I really believe she is jealous.”
“Nonsense.”
“Yes, my dear, she no longer calls you Bel-Ami, but M. Forestier instead.”
Du Roy colored, then drawing nearer the young woman, he said: “Kiss me.”
She obeyed him.
“Where can we meet again?” he asked.
“At Rue de Constantinople.”
“Ah, are the apartments not rented?”
“No, I kept them.”
“You did?”
“Yes, I thought you would return.”
His heart bounded joyfully. She loved him then with a lasting love! He whispered: “I adore you.” Then he asked: “Is your husband well?”
“Yes, very well. He has just been home for a month; he went away the day before yesterday.”
Du Roy could not suppress a smile: “How opportunely that always happens!”
She replied naively: “Yes, it happens opportunely, but he is not in the way when he is here; is he?”
“That is true; he is a charming man!”
“How do you like your new life?”
“Tolerably; my wife is a comrade, an associate, nothing more; as for my heart —”
“I understand; but she is good.”
“Yes, she does not trouble me.”
He drew near Clotilde and murmured: “When shall we meet again?”
“To-morrow, if you will.”
“Yes, to-morrow at two o’clock.”
He rose to take his leave somewhat embarrassed.
“You know I intend to take back the rooms on Rue de Constantinople myself. I wish to; it is not necessary for you to pay for them.”
She kissed his hands, saying: “You may do as you like. I am satisfied to have kept them until we met again.” And Du Roy took his leave very well satisfied.
When Thursday came, he asked Madeleine: “Are going to the fencing- match at Rival’s?”
“No, I do not care about it. I will go to the chamber of deputies.”
Georges called for Mme. Walter in an open carriage, for the weather was delightful. He was surprised to find her looking so handsome and so young. Never had she appeared so fresh. Her daughter, Suzanne, was dressed in pink; her sister looked like her governess. At Rival’s door was a long line of carriages. Du Roy offered his arm to Mme. Walter and they entered.
The entertainment was for the benefit of the orphans of the Sixth Ward under the patronage of all the wiles of the senators and deputies who were connected with “La Vie Francaise.”
Jacques Rival received the arrivals at the entrance to his apartments, then he pointed to a small staircase which led to the cellar in which were his shooting-gallery and fencing-room, saying: “Downstairs, ladies, downstairs. The match will take place in the subterranean apartments.”
Pressing Du Roy’s hand, he said: “Good evening, Bel-Ami.”
Du Roy was surprised: “Who told you about that name?”
Rival replied: “Mme. Walter, who thinks it very pretty.”
Mme. Walter blushed.
“Yes, I confess that if I knew you better, I should do as little Laurine, and I should call you Bel-Ami, too. It suits you admirably.”
Du Roy laughed. “I beg you to do so, Madame.”
She cast down her eyes. “No, we are not well enough acquainted.”
He murmured: “Permit me to hope that we shall become so.”
“Well, we shall see,” said she.
They descended the stairs and entered a large room, which was lighted by Venetian lanterns and decorated with festoons of gauze. Nearly all the benches were filled with ladies, who were chatting as if they were at a theater. Mme. Walter and her daughters reached their seats in the front row.
Du Roy, having obtained their places for them, whispered: “I shall be obliged to leave you; men cannot occupy the seats.”
Mme. Walter replied hesitatingly: “I should like to keep you, just the same. You could tell me the names of the participants. See, if you stand at the end of the seat, you will not annoy anyone.” She raised her large, soft eyes to his and insisted: “Come, stay with us — Bel-Ami — we need you!”
He replied: “I obey with pleasure, Madame!”
Suddenly Jacques Rival’s voice announced: “We will begin, ladies.”
Then followed the fencing-match. Du Roy retained his place beside the ladies and gave them all the necessary information. When the entertainment was over and all expenses were paid, two hundred and twenty francs remained for the orphans of the Sixth Ward.
Du Roy, escorting the Walters, awaited his carriage. When seated face to face with Mme. Walter, he met her troubled but caressing glance.
“Egad, I believe she is affected,” thought he; and he smiled as he recognized the fact that he was really successful with the female sex, for Mme. de Marelle, since the renewal of their relations, seemed to love him madly.
With a light heart he returned home. Madeleine was awaiting him in the drawing-room.
“I have some news,” said she. “The affair with Morocco is becoming complicated. France may send an expedition out there in several months. In any case the ministry will be overthrown and Laroche will profit by the occasion.”
Du Roy, in order to draw out his wife, pretended not to believe it. “France would not be silly enough to commence any folly with Tunis!”
She shrugged her shoulders impatiently. “I tell you she will! You do not understand that it is a question of money — you are as simple as Forestier.”
Her object was to wound and irritate him, but he only smiled and replied: “What! as simple as that stupid fellow?”
She ceased and murmured: “Oh, Georges!”
He added: “Poor devil!” in a tone of profound pity.
Madeleine turned her back upon him scornfully; after a moment of silence, she continued: “We shall have some company Tuesday. Mme. Laroche-Mathieu is coming here to dine with Viscountess de Percemur. Will you invite Rival and Norbert de Varenne? I shall go to Mmes. Walter and de Marelle to-morrow. Perhaps, too, we may have Mme. Rissolin.”
Du Roy replied: “Very well, I will see to Rival and Norbert.”
The following day he thought he would anticipate his wife’s visit to Mme. Walter and attempt to find out if she really was in love with him. He arrived at Boulevard Malesherbes at two o’clock. He was ushered into the salon and waited. Finally Mme. Walter appeared and offered him her hand cordially. “What good wind blows you here?”
“No good wind, but a desire to see you. Some power has impelled me hither, I do not know why; I have nothing to say except that I have come; here I am! Pardon the morning call and the candor of my explanation.”
He uttered those words with a smile upon his lips and a serious accent in his voice.
In her astonishment, she stammered with a blush: “But indeed — I do not understand — you surprise me.”
He added: “It is a declaration made in jest in order not to startle you.”
They were seated near each other. She took the matter as a jest. “Is it a declaration — seriously?”
“Yes, for a long time I have wished to make it, but I dared not; they say you are so austere, so rigid.”
She had recovered her self-possession and replied:
“Why did you choose to-day?”
“I do not know.” Then he lowered his voice: “Or rather because I have thought only of you since yesterday.”
Suddenly turning pale, she gasped: “Come, enough of this childishness! Let us talk of something else.”
But he fell upon his knees before her. She tried to rise; he prevented her by twining his arms about her waist, and repeated in a passionate voice: “Yes, it is true that I have loved you madly for some time. Do not answer me. I am mad — I love you. Oh, if you knew how I love you!”
She could utter no sound; in her agitation she repulsed him with both hands, for she could feel his breath upon her cheek. He rose suddenly and attempted to embrace her, but gaining her liberty for a moment, she escaped him and ran from chair to chair. He, considering such pursuit beneath his dignity, sank into a chair, buried his face in his hands, and feigned to sob convulsively. Then he rose, cried:
“Adieu, adieu!” and fled.
In the hall he took his cane calmly and left the house saying: “Cristi! I believe she loves me!”
He went at once to the telegraph office to send a message to Clotilde, appointing a rendezvous for the next day.
On entering the house at his usual time, he said to his wife: “Well, is everyone coming to dinner?”
She replied: “Yes, all but Mme. Walter, who is uncertain as to whether she can come. She acted very strangely. Never mind, perhaps she can manage it anyway.”
He replied: “She will come.”
He was not, however, certain and was rendered uneasy until the day of the dinner. That morning Madeleine received a message from Mme. Walter to this effect: “I have succeeded in arranging matters and I shall be with you, but my husband cannot accompany me.”
Du Roy thought: “I did right not to return there. She has calmed down.” Still he awaited her arrival anxiously.
She appeared very composed, somewhat reserved, and haughty. He was very humble, very careful, and submissive. Mmes. Laroche-Mathieu and Rissolin were accompanied by their husbands. Mme. de Marelle looked bewitching in an odd combination of yellow and black.
At Du Roy’s right sat Mme. Walter, and he spoke to her only of serious matters with exaggerated respect. From time to time he glanced at Clotilde.
“She is really very pretty and fresh looking,” thought he. But Mme. Walter attracted him by the difficulty of the conquest. She took her leave early.
“I will escort you,” said he.
She declined his offer. He insisted: “Why do you not want me? You wound me deeply. Do not let me feel that I am not forgiven. You see that I am calm.”
She replied: “You cannot leave your guests thus.”
He smiled: “Bah! I shall be absent twenty minutes. No one will even notice it; if you refuse me, you will break my heart.”
“Very well,” she whispered, “I will accept.”
When they were seated in the carriage, he seized her hand, and kissing it passionately said: “I love you, I love you. Let me tell it to you. I will not touch you. I only wish to repeat that I love you.”
She stammered: “After what you promised me — it is too bad — too bad.”
He seemed to make a great effort, then he continued in a subdued voice: “See, how I can control myself — and yet — let me only tell you this — I love you — yes, let me go home with you and kneel before you five minutes to utter those three words and gaze upon your beloved face.”
She suffered him to take her hand and replied in broken accents: “No, I cannot — I do not wish to. Think of what my servants, my daughters, would say — no — no — it is impossible.”
He continued: “I cannot live without seeing you; whether it be at your house or elsewhere, I must see you for only a moment each day that I may touch your hand, breathe the air stirred by your gown, contemplate the outlines of your form, and see your beautiful eyes.”
She listened tremblingly to the musical language of love, and made answer: “No, it is impossible. Be silent!”
He spoke very low; he whispered in her ear, comprehending that it was necessary to win that simple woman gradually, to persuade her to appoint a meeting where she willed at first, and later on where he willed.
“Listen: I must see you! I will wait at your door like a beggar. If you do not come down, I will come to you, but I shall see you to- morrow.”
She repeated: “No, do not come. I shall not receive you. Think of my daughters!”
“Then tell me where I can meet you — in the street — it matters not where — at any hour you wish — provided that I can see you. I will greet you; I will say, I love you; and then go away.”
She hesitated, almost distracted. As the coupe stopped at the door, she whispered hastily: “I will be at La Trinite to-morrow, at half past three.”
After alighting, she said to her coachman: “Take M. du Roy home.”
When he returned, his wife asked: “Where have you been?”
He replied in a low voice: “I have been to send an important telegram.”
Mme. de Marelle approached him: “You must take me home, Bel-Ami; you know that I only dine so far from home on that condition.” Turning to Madeleine, she asked: “You are not jealous?”
Mme. du Roy replied slowly: “No, not at all.”
The guests departed. Clotilde, enveloped in laces, whispered to Madeleine at the door: “Your dinner was perfect. In a short while you will have the best political salon in Paris.”
When she was alone with Georges, she said: “Oh, my darling Bel-Ami, I love you more dearly every day.”
The cab rolled on, and Georges’ thoughts were with Mme. Walter.
　　第二天，杜洛瓦进入报馆后，马上找到布瓦勒纳，对他说道：
　　“亲爱的朋友，我想托你一件事。最近一些天，有人常叫我弗雷斯蒂埃，显然觉得很有意思。我倒觉得无聊透顶。请你在下面对大家说一说，今后谁若再开这种玩笑，我可要扇他的耳光。
　　“他们应当想一想，为了开这种玩笑而最后导致一场决斗，这是否划得来。我来找你，是因为知道你是一个性情稳重的人，能够使事情不致变得不可收拾，造成不快的后果。除此之外，还因为在我上次决斗时，你曾是我的证人。”
　　布瓦勒纳答应照办。
　　说完之后，杜•洛瓦出去办了点事情。一小时后，待他回到报馆时，已没有人叫他弗雷斯蒂埃了。
　　傍晚回到家中，他听到客厅里有女人的说话声。“谁来啦？”他向仆人问道。
　　“瓦尔特夫人和德•马莱尔夫人，”仆人说。
　　杜•洛瓦的心不禁有点扑通扑通起来，但他随即推开了客厅的门，心里嘟哝道：“嗨，这有什么？”
　　克洛蒂尔德正站在壁炉边，身上洒满由窗外射进来的阳光。杜•洛瓦感到，一见到他，她的脸色忽然变得有点苍白。他先向瓦尔特夫人及其像哨兵一样站在身边的两个女儿欠了欠身，然后将身子向他往日的情妇转了过来。克洛蒂尔德向他伸出一只手，他一把接住，意味深长地握了握，仿佛在说：“我仍旧爱的是你。”作为回报，克洛蒂尔德也使劲握了握他的手。
　　“上次一别，恍如隔世，”杜•洛瓦说道，“你一向可好？”
　　“很好，”克洛蒂尔德悠然自得地答道，“你呢，漂亮朋友？”
　　她接着又转过身，对着玛德莱娜说道：
　　“你同意我继续叫他漂亮朋友吗？”
　　“当然同意，亲爱的。不论你做什么，我都同意。”
　　这句话似乎是话中有话。
　　瓦尔特夫人这时告诉大家，单身汉雅克•里瓦尔将要在其寓所的地下室举行一场大型剑术表演，并已邀请上流社会的名媛贵妇出席观看。她最后说道：
　　“这场表演一定很有意思。遗憾的是，没有人能陪同我们前往，因我丈夫那天刚好没空。”
　　杜•洛瓦立即自告奋勇，说他届时可以陪她们去。瓦尔特夫人欣然接受：
　　“这样的话，我和我的两个女儿将不知怎样感谢您了。”
　　杜•洛瓦看了看瓦尔特夫人的幼女，心下想道：“这个小苏姗长的倒是不错，实在不错。”一眼看去，姑娘头发金黄，活脱脱像个布娃娃，个子虽然矮了点儿，但模样清秀，身腰纤细，大腿和胸脯也已发育健全。小小的脸蛋上，一双蓝灰色大眼，炯炯有神，很像一位富于想象的精细画家，用画笔特意画出来的。此外，她肌肤白皙，光洁无瑕。松软的头发，巧妙蓬起，卷曲自然，恰如一缕轻柔的烟霭，同一些小女孩怀内常常抱着的精美布娃娃头上的头发，毫无二致。这些小女孩的个儿往往还没有她们怀中抱着的布娃娃高。
　　姐姐罗莎则相貌丑陋，身材平平，没有任何动人之处，完全是一个无人注目、答理和谈论的女孩。
　　女孩的母亲这时站起身，对着杜•洛瓦说道：
　　“就拜托您了。下星期四下午两点，我们在家等您。”
　　“请尽管放心，夫人，”杜•洛瓦答道。
　　她走后，德•马莱尔夫人也站了起来：
　　“再见，漂亮朋友。”
　　她抓住他的手，使劲握了握，久久没有放下。面对这意在不言中的内心倾吐，杜•洛瓦深为感动，不禁对这生性活泼、放荡不羁、也许真心实意爱着他的女人，突然有点旧情萌发。
　　“我明天就去看她，”他当即想。
　　客厅里现在只剩下他和妻子两个人了。玛德莱娜倏地发出一阵爽朗而又欢快的笑声，两眼直视着他，说道：
　　“知道吗？瓦尔特夫人现在十分有意于你。”
　　“这是哪儿的话？”杜•洛瓦一脸不相信。
　　“事情就是这样，我说的千真万确。她同我一谈起你，就眉飞色舞。这在她是很少有的。她说她未来的两个女婿一定要同你一样……不过既然是她，这种事倒也没有什么关系。”
　　“没有关系？什么意思？”杜•洛瓦未听明白。
　　“啊，你可知道，”玛德莱娜满怀自信地说道，“瓦尔特夫人一向洁身自好，从未给人留下什么话柄。一言一行实在无可挑剔。她丈夫的情况，你同我一样清楚。而她却和他截然不同。再说为嫁了个犹太人，她受了多少苦？但她对丈夫始终如一。
　　因此她是一个非常规矩的女人。”
　　“我还以为她也是犹太人呢，”杜•洛瓦惊讶不已。
　　“你说她吗？根本不是。玛德莱娜教堂每次举办慈善活动，她都是大施主。她的婚礼是按天主教的习俗进行的。是她丈夫装模作样地做了洗礼，还是教会对他们的婚姻采取了睁一只眼闭一只眼的态度，这我已记不起来了。”
　　“原来是这样。这么说……她很……看得起我了？”杜•洛瓦问。
　　“对，完全对，要是你还没有结婚的话，我会劝你向她女儿求婚的……当然是苏珊，而不是罗莎喽，不是吗？”
　　“不过她本人也还不错呀，”杜•洛瓦抚弄着嘴角的胡髭说道。
　　玛德莱娜终究沉不住气了：
　　“知道吗，我的小乖乖？对于这位母亲，你尽管去试试好了。我对此并不担心。她既已是这样一把年纪，是不可能被花言巧语蒙骗的。要是早几年，情况也许会有所不同。”
　　“这么说来，难道我会娶苏珊？……”杜•洛瓦心想。因此他随即耸了耸肩，说道：
　　“嗨！……真是白日做梦！……她父亲能要我这个女婿？”
　　不过话虽如此，他仍然决定，今后要仔细留意瓦尔特夫人对他的态度。至于能否从中得到什么好处，他倒并未怎么去想。
　　整整一个晚上，他都沉湎于同克洛蒂尔德的那一段令人销魂的艳史中。脑海中所浮现的，尽是她的温存体贴和可笑举止，以及他们在城中到处游逛的情景。因此他反复地暗暗表示：
　　“她这个人可是真好。对，我明天就去看看她。”
　　第二天吃过午饭，他便到了韦尔纳伊街。给他开门的，还是原来的女仆。
　　“这一向可好，先生？”女仆向他问道，态度很是随便，完全是一副小户人家所雇佣人的样子。
　　“很好，孩子，”杜•洛瓦答道。
　　客厅里，有人在钢琴上叮叮咚咚地作音阶练习，弹得很不熟练。杜•洛瓦走了进去，见是洛琳娜。他以为，她会跑过来搂住他的脖颈亲吻他。不想她神态庄重地站起身，像大人一样，一本正经地向他行了个大礼。随后便板着脸走了出去。
　　她那神态简直像一个受到侮辱的成年妇女，把杜•洛瓦弄得莫名其妙。她母亲这时走了进来。杜•洛瓦迎上去握住她的双手，并在上面亲了亲。
　　“我是多么地想你，”他说。
　　“我也是，”对方答道。
　　他们坐了下来，彼此相视而笑，热辣辣地盯着对方，真想拥抱在一起，狂吻一番。
　　“亲爱的小克洛，我爱你。”
　　“我也是。”
　　“这么说……这么说……你不怪我吗？”
　　“也怪也不怪……我有一阵子非常痛苦，过后也就想开了，知道你也是不得已。因此我想，你总有一天会回来的。”“我不敢来，不知道你会怎样待我。我只是不敢，其实我哪天不在想。对了，洛琳娜是怎么啦？她见到我，只是随便打了个招呼，便气冲冲地走了出去。”
　　“我也不知道。自你结婚后，我们便再也不能在她面前谈起你。我想，她这是出于嫉妒。”
　　“哪儿的话？”
　　“就是这样，亲爱的。她已不叫你漂亮朋友，而只叫你弗雷斯蒂埃先生。”
　　杜•洛瓦面红耳赤，随后将身子往前挪了挪：
　　“让我吻吻你。”
　　克洛蒂尔德把嘴凑了过去。
　　“咱们下次在哪儿见面？”杜•洛瓦问。
　　“当然是……君士坦丁堡街。”
　　“什么？……那套房子还空着？”
　　“是的……我没有退掉。”
　　“你没有退？”
　　“对，我想你会回来的。”
　　杜•洛瓦不禁满腔欣喜，备感荣耀。显而易见，这个女人确确实实深深地爱着他，至今未改初衷。
　　“我是多么地爱你！”他喃喃地发出一声感叹，接着又问道：“你丈夫近来好吗？”
　　“很好。他回来呆了一个月，前天刚走。”
　　杜•洛瓦不禁扑哧一笑：
　　“他走得倒真是时候。”
　　“是啊，是很巧，”克洛蒂尔德天真地答道，“不过他在这儿也没什么关系，这你不是知道嘛？”
　　“不错，是这样。再说，他这个人倒也讨人喜欢。”
　　“你呢？”克洛蒂尔德接着问道，“你现在的生活怎样？”
　　“既不好，也不坏。我妻子同我不过是合伙人的关系。”
　　“仅此而已？”
　　“仅此而已……至于感情……”
　　“我明白了。不过她倒是个好人。”
　　“一点不错。可是我对她兴奋不起来。”
　　说着，他往她身边靠了靠，问道：
　　“咱们什么时候再见面？”
　　“如果你愿意……明天就可以。”
　　“好的，就明天。下午两点？”
　　“下午两点。”
　　他站起身，准备离去。行前欲言又止，最后嘟哝道：“你知道，君士坦丁堡那套房子，我想还是由我来租下。我希望这样，再也不能由你来支付房租了。”
　　克洛蒂尔德深情地吻了吻他的双手：
　　“随你的便。只要将房子保留住，使我们能在那儿见面，就行。”
　　杜•洛瓦于是一径走了出来，心中备感欢欣。
　　走到一家照相馆前，他见橱窗里放着一帧女人的照片，高高的个儿，大大的眼睛，很像瓦尔特夫人，心中不由地嘀咕起来：
　　“不管怎样，她也还有几分姿色。我怎么压根儿就没注意到她呢？现在我倒真想看看，她星期四会怎样待我？”
　　他一边走，一边搓了搓手，心里乐不可支，为自己在各方面取得的成功而感到由衷的高兴。一个干练的男子在获得成功之余，常会在内心深处产生这种难以言喻的喜悦之情。因为一方面，虚荣心得到了抚慰；另一方面，女性的柔情所引起的渴求，也在感官上得到了满足。
　　到了星期四那天，他向玛德莱娜问道：
　　“里瓦尔搞的剑术表演，你不去看看吗？”
　　“啊，我才不去呢。我对此不感兴趣，我要去众议院。”
　　杜•洛瓦于是去接瓦尔特夫人。他叫了一辆敞篷车，因为天气特别好。
　　见到瓦尔特夫人，他不觉一惊：她是多么地漂亮、年轻！她穿了件浅色衣裙，前胸上方袒露。在一条金黄色的花边下，两只沉甸甸的乳房，起伏不停。杜•洛瓦觉得她今天真是娇艳绝顶，令人魂酥骨软。她举止沉着，落落大方，一副做母亲的安然神色，而常常不被风流子弟所留意。她的言谈虽然都是围着一些人所共知、平淡无奇的琐事，但思绪乖巧，井井有条，没有任何过激言词。
　　女儿苏姗通身粉红色装饰，色彩鲜艳，光彩照人，恰似瓦特①的一幅新作。她姐姐罗莎则像是一个陪伴这位漂亮千金的女教师。
　　--------
　　①瓦特（一六八四—一七二一），法国十八世纪著名画家。
　　里瓦尔寓所的门前已停着一长排整整齐齐的马车。杜•洛瓦让瓦尔特夫人挽起他的手臂，一起走了进去。
　　此次剑术表演是为赈济巴黎第六区的孤儿，而由参众两院一些议员的内眷发起的。这些议员都同《法兰西生活报》有着一定的关系。
　　瓦尔特夫人虽然同意偕女儿前来，但拒绝承担募捐主持人。教会组织的慈善活动，她一般都会挂个名。这倒不是因为她是多么地虔诚，而是她觉得，自己既然嫁了个犹太人，一言一行应继续保持教徒的样子。然而里瓦尔组织的这次表演，却有点共和思想的味道，很像是矛头直指教会。
　　三个星期来，倾向不同的各家大报，都刊登了这样一条消息：
　　我们杰出的同事雅克•里瓦尔最近提出一个新奇而
　　又慷慨的想法：为接济巴黎第六区的孤儿而在与其单身住房相连的漂亮练习厅里，组织一场大型剑术表演。
　　请柬由拉洛瓦涅、勒蒙泰尔、里索兰等参议员的夫人和拉罗舍—马蒂厄、佩塞罗尔、菲尔曼等著名众议员的夫人，负责寄发。表演间歇将直接募捐，募捐所得将立即交给第六区区长或其代表。
　　这大肆渲扬的文字，是头脑灵活的雅克•里瓦尔为显示其才能而想出来的。
　　他此刻正站在其寓所的门前迎接各方来客。门里备有冷饮和茶点，其开支由募捐所得扣除。
　　他彬彬有礼地向客人指了指通往地下室（已改作表演厅和练习场）的小楼梯，说道：
　　“夫人们，请往下走。剑术表演在地下室进行。”
　　随后，见其经理的妻子业已到来，他抢步迎了上去，接着握了握杜•洛瓦的手，一边说道：
　　“你好，漂亮朋友。”
　　“谁告诉你……”杜•洛瓦惊讶地看着对方。
　　“我们身旁的瓦尔特夫人，”里瓦尔打断他的话。“觉得这样叫你非常贴切。”
　　“是的，”瓦尔特夫人满脸通红，急忙说道，“我承认，如果我同您更熟一点，我也会像小洛琳娜那样，叫您漂亮朋友的。
　　这个称呼对您很合适。”
　　“夫人，”杜•洛瓦笑道，“既然如此，那就请这样叫吧。”
　　“不，”瓦尔特夫人垂下了眼帘，“我们的关系还不够亲近。”
　　“您总不致于认为，”杜•洛瓦喃喃地说，“我们之间会始终像现在这样。”
　　“那就再看吧，”她说。
　　走到狭窄的楼梯口，杜•洛瓦将身子闪过一边，让瓦尔特夫人先下去。这里点着一盏煤气灯。从明亮的阳光下来到这灯光昏暗的地方，气氛突然显得有点阴森森的。螺旋型楼梯下方，很快送来一股地下室的气味，又闷又潮。四周墙壁为举行这次剑术表演，虽已擦拭过，但依然霉味很重。除此之外，空气中还伴有宗教仪式上常可闻到的安息香香味，以及女士们身上散发出的各种各样的香脂味，如马鞭草香、鸢尾根香和紫罗兰香。
　　举目所见，到处是黑压压的人群，嘈杂的说话声，震耳欲聋。
　　整个地下室，点的是煤气彩灯和纸糊灯笼。沿着硝迹斑斑的石头墙壁，堆放着一层厚厚的枝叶。上述灯具就藏在这一簇簇树叶后面，因此人们所看到的，只是一些树枝。
　　天花板上点缀着蕨薇，地上则铺的是树叶和鲜花。
　　这番布置显然别具匠心，情趣盎然。大厅深处搭了个比赛台。比赛台两侧，各有一排座椅，是裁判的席位。
　　大厅左右两边，各放了十排长凳，可供二百来人就座。但实际上，被邀请的来宾却达四百人之多。
　　比赛台前，面向观众已站了一些穿着击剑服的年轻人。他们个个身材瘦削，臂长腿长，嘴角蓄着短髭，胸膛高高挺起。其中有的为剑术师，有的为业余选手，但皆属当今剑坛名流。他们身边围了一群衣冠楚楚的男士。这些男士，有的风华正茂，有的两鬓霜染，正在同这些身穿击剑服的青年说着什么，看来关系十分密切。他们站在那里，显然希望能引起注意，被人认出。因为他们虽然穿着便服，但不是剑坛宗师便是击剑行家。
　　女士们几乎已坐满全部长凳。衣裙窸窣声和她们的说话声，不绝于耳。他们像在剧场看戏一样，纷纷用起了扇子，因为这铺满树叶的地下室，现在已热得像蒸笼一样。有个人甚至借机恶作剧，不时高喊：“我们要杏仁露、柠檬水和啤酒！”
　　瓦尔特夫人和她的两个女儿这时走到第一排给她们保留的座位前坐了下来。杜•洛瓦见她们已经安顿好，也就打算走了，说道：
　　“恕我不能奉陪了，因为这长凳，我们男人是不能坐的。”
　　瓦尔特夫人犹豫片刻，说道：
　　“不过我仍希望您不要走开，我还等着您给我说说那些击剑手呢。对了，您若站在这凳子边上，是不会妨碍任何人的。”
　　她睁着大眼，温柔地看着他，接着又说道：
　　“怎么样？漂亮朋友……先生……您就留在这儿吧。我们很需要您。”
　　“好吧，夫人，”杜•洛瓦答道，“我深感荣幸……一切遵命。”
　　大厅四周这时响起了一片赞叹声：
　　“这间地下室可真好，真有意思。”
　　这个拱型大厅，杜•洛瓦当然是忘不了的。那次决斗前夕，他曾独自一人在这儿呆了整整一上午。大厅尽头当时放着一个用白纸板做的模拟人像，其大大的眼睛，是那样怕人。
　　楼梯边忽然传来雅克•里瓦尔的声音：
　　“女士们，比赛马上开始。”
　　只见六位男士穿着紧身衣，昂首挺胸地登上比赛台，在裁判席上坐了下来。
　　观众中纷纷传开了他们的姓名：其中一位个儿不高、短髭很密者，就是裁判长雷纳尔迪将军；另一位身材高大、业已谢顶但却蓄着长须者，则是画家约塞芬•卢德。其他三位服饰华丽、潇洒英俊的青年，是马泰奥•德•于雅、西蒙•拉孟塞尔和皮埃尔•德•卡尔文。最后一位是剑术师加斯帕尔•梅勒隆。
　　大厅两侧各挂起一块牌子，右面的牌子上写的是：克莱夫克尔先生；左面的牌子上写的是：普律莫先生。
　　两人都是二级剑术师中的高手。他们带着军人般的严肃神情，迈着略嫌僵硬的步伐登上台后，彼此机械地行了个“交战礼”，便交起手来了。由于身穿帆布击剑服，又带了白色护肘皮套，看去像是两个古代士兵模样的小丑，为了逗乐而在那里你来我往地打个不停。
　　大厅里，不时有人发出一声呐喊：“击中了！”裁判席上的六位男士于是将头向前伸了伸，一副十分内行的样子。观众所看到的，只是两个木偶一般的人，伸着胳臂，在不停地跳来跳去，因此一点门道也看不出来，然而人人都显得兴奋不已。他们只是觉得，这两个人的动作并不怎样优美，甚至有点滑稽，不由地想起新年期间大街上卖的那种打打闹闹的小木偶。
　　这第一对击剑手赛完后，接着上场的是普朗东先生和卡拉平先生。他们一个是民间剑术师，一个是军中教官。一个矮得出奇，一个胖得要命，简直像是用肠衣吹制的气球。只消一剑，立刻就会瘪了下来。一见他们这副模样，大厅里顿时笑声不断。普朗东先生动作敏捷，进退自如，卡拉平先生却只是挥舞手臂，整个身子因太为臃肿而动弹不得。不过话虽如此，每隔一会儿，便可见他单膝前屈，憋足了劲，带着沉重的身躯向前刺去，仿佛成败在此一举似的。但随后，他要将身子重新直立起来，也就十分吃力了。
　　懂行的人都说他一招一势很是严密，使对方无空可钻。观众自然信以为实，对他赞不绝口。
　　再接下来，便是波里雍先生和拉帕尔姆先生了。前者为职业剑术师，后者为业余选手。一交手，他们的格斗便激烈无比，疯也似的你追我赶，逼得裁判搬起椅子纷纷躲开。他们一会儿打到赛台左边，一会儿打到赛台右边。一个如果向前逼进，另一个就会纵身一跃，向后退去。女士们时而为他们那趣味横生的后退而忍俊不禁，时而又为他们的凶猛冲刺而提心吊胆。不知是哪家的孩子觉得这貌似激烈的比赛并不过瘾，这时喊了一声：“你们别累着了，快下来吧！”举座为这不知深浅的话语而大为扫兴，嘘声因而四起。行家的评论随即迅速传开：两个参赛者都非常卖力，只是功夫略有欠缺。
　　上半场的最后一场，是雅克•里瓦尔同比利时著名剑术师莱贝格的精彩表演。他一出场，便受到女士们的赏识。只见他相貌英俊，修短合度，且步伐轻捷，身手矫健，一招一式比前几位参赛者都更为优雅。无论是守还是攻，他的动作都是那样地洒脱，令人赏心悦目，同其对手形成鲜明的对照。因为后者虽然也表现英勇，但常常流于俗套。
　　“此人看来很有教养，”有人评论道。
　　最后，里瓦尔取得了胜利。大厅里响起一片掌声。
　　然而就在此前不久，地下室上方突然传来一阵阵伴有跺脚声和欢笑声的奇怪声响，弄得观众很是不安。显然是二百来位应邀前来的客人，因无法下来观看而在那里起哄。仅那小小的螺旋型楼梯就挤了五十来个男士。大厅里一时变得酷热难挡。要求透透气和喝点水的呼声，此起彼伏。刚才那爱闹的家伙，这时又喊了起来：“我们要杏仁露、柠檬水和啤酒！”尖利的嗓音压倒所有人的说话声。
　　里瓦尔身上依然穿着击剑服，满面通红地跑了来，说道：
　　“我这就去让人送点冷饮来。”
　　说罢，他急冲冲地向楼梯边走去。但楼梯上已堵得严严实实。要穿过这密密麻麻的人群，比登天还难。他只得向上面喊道：
　　“快给女士们送点冰水来。”
　　这五十来人随即跟着喊道：“快送冰水！”
　　终于有人托着一托盘冰水出现在楼梯口。可是等到盘子传到下边，却只剩下一些空杯了：杯内的水已在传递过程中被人喝干。
　　“这样下去岂不把人憋死？”一个人声嘶力竭地喊道，“赶紧赛完，早点散场吧！”
　　“募捐还没有搞，”另一人跟着喊道。
　　“募捐……募捐……募捐……”众人随声附和道。一个个虽已热得气喘吁吁，但仍是一副欢快的神情。
　　六位女士于是在长凳间走来走去，不时可听到一枚银币落入钱袋的清脆声响。
　　杜•洛瓦此时在将场内的名人——指给瓦尔特夫人。不言而喻，这些人都是社交名流和各大报记者。这些老牌记者凭借其自身经历，大都看不起《法兰西生活报》，对该报所作所为一直持保留态度。作为秘密交易的产物，这种政界人士和金融巨子联手的刊物，只要内阁一倒台便会销声匿迹。这样的例子，他们见得多了。除上述社交名流，场内还有几位喜爱体育运动的画家和雕塑家，以及一位大家不断地指指点点、带有法兰西学院院士头衔的诗人、几位音乐家和许多外国贵族。杜•洛瓦每谈到内中一位贵族，都要在其名字后面加上“阔佬”两字。他说这是跟英国人学的，因为他们的名片上都印有Esq①字样。
　　--------
　　①Esq，即Esquire，英语。意即“先生”。
　　“您好，亲爱的朋友，”有人这时向他喊了一声。杜•洛瓦见是德•沃德雷克伯爵，遂向女士们道了声失陪，走过去同他握了握手。
　　过了片刻，他又回到瓦尔特夫人身边，向她说道：
　　“沃德雷克此人真是举止不凡，到底出身不同。”
　　瓦尔特夫人没有接茬。她有点累了。胸脯在一呼一吸中起伏不停，这引起了杜•洛瓦的注意，两人的目光常常不期而遇。杜•洛瓦发现，这位“老板娘”的目光已变得慌乱起来，显出犹豫不定的样子，一接触到他的目光便立即闪开了。他不由地在心中嘀咕道：
　　“瞧她这魂不守舍的样子……我难道对她下功夫了吗？”
　　几位募捐女士这时从旁走了过去，手上的钱袋已装满金币和银币。台上又挂出一块牌子，报告下一个节目为特别节目。各个裁判又回到了自己的座位上。大家都在等待着。
　　少顷，两位女击剑手手提花剑上了场。她们上身穿着深色运动衫，下身穿着刚过膝盖的短裙。由于胸前护甲非常厚实，使她们不得不一直仰着脖子。两个人都很年轻，而且长着漂亮的脸蛋。她们微笑着向台下欠了欠身，观众纷纷报以热烈的掌声。
　　接着，她们在一片窃窃私语和轻佻的玩笑声中开始比试起来。
　　裁判的脸上，个个漾着一丝微笑，不时为她们的劈杀轻轻叫好。
　　两个年轻女子的娴熟表演，在观众中也引起了阵阵喝采。不但男人们见了心旌摇摇，女人们也兴趣大增。因为巴黎观众日常所见，不过是咖啡馆里的女郎卖唱或小型歌剧，纯然是矫揉造作，附庸风雅之作，未免显得相当粗俗，甚至有点下流。今日的表演，自然令他们大开眼界。
　　击剑手的每一次进击，都在他们心中激起了一阵喜悦。不过话虽如此，他们所最为留意的，倒不是其手上的功夫，而是击剑手将身子转过去时，他们所看到的丰腴后背。个个张着嘴，眼睛瞪得大大的。
　　她们比赛完毕，大厅里响起了经久不息的掌声。
　　接下来，是战刀表演。可是已无人观看，人们的注意力都转移到了地下室的上方。因为楼上此时传末了家具在地板上拖来拖去的巨大声响，好像有人在搬家似的。过了一会儿，随着一阵清脆的钢琴声，上面又传来了节奏鲜明的脚步移动声。未能下来观看剑术表演的客人，为了弥补损失，显然在那儿即兴办起了舞会。
　　大厅里随即爆发出一阵哈哈大笑。笑声过后不久，女士们纷纷跃跃欲试，也对跳舞产生了浓厚兴趣。台上的表演已无人观看，说话声响彻整个地下室。
　　那些因迟到而未能下来的人，竟马上就办起了舞会，他们倒真能自寻其乐。下面的人不由地对他们深为羡慕。
　　这当儿，台上又出现了两位新选手。他们彼此行了个礼后，便摆开了架势，神情是那样地威严，把台下观众的注意力又吸引了过来。
　　接着，他们比试了起来。一招一式，是那样有力，而又恰到好处。无论是向前冲刺，还是往后退缩，每一个动作都极其优美，不但用力准确，而且干净利落，没有一点拖泥带水之感，简直已达到炉火纯青的地步。从未见过这种场面的观众，无不受到深深的吸引，露出一片惊呆的神色。
　　两位击剑手静若秋水，动若蛟龙。一进一退，看去似乎很慢，实质疾如旋风。其出手之敏捷，身段之灵巧，实在登峰造极。看得人们连大气也不敢出。因为他们清楚地感到，今日这场表演精美绝伦，旷世罕见。两位剑坛大师已将击剑技巧推向无可企及的高峰。其身手不凡和高超技艺表现得淋漓尽致。
　　大厅里鸦雀无声，人人都在目不转睛地看着。及至他们比赛完毕，握手退场时，众人这才回过味来，欢呼声顿时响成一片，又是跺脚，又是喊叫。两位击剑手的名字——其中一个叫塞尔尚，另一个叫拉维尼亚克，在人们的口中争相传诵。
　　与此同时，因情绪受到格斗气氛的激发，有的人一时变得火气很大。男人们看着身边的人，一副气势汹汹的样子，稍不顺眼，便会动起手来。许多人虽然从未拿过剑，如今也纷纷挥舞起手上的手杖，摆出进攻或防守的架势。
　　人群沿着楼梯往上走去，开始退场。现在总算可以去喝点什么了。可是等他们走到上面时，却发现原先准备的饮料和茶点，早已被那些跳舞的人尽情消受光了，因此个个怒气冲冲。然而那些家伙在散去之前竟有脸说，不该让他们这二百来人白溜一趟，什么也没看到。
　　大量的糕点、水果，以及果子露、香槟和啤酒，现在是荡然无存，连一块糖果也见不着，什么也没有了。一切都已被这些人劫掠、糟蹋、扫荡一光。
　　在众人的追问下，服务人员手捂着脸，面色沉重地谈了谈有关详情，说其中的女士比男人还要凶狠，不停地吃呀，喝呀，即使撑破肚皮，也在所不惜。他们这一席话简直像是国家遭到入侵，城市遭到洗劫之后，劫后余生的痛苦追叙。
　　大家只得走了。有的人为自己刚才捐了二十法郎而后悔不迭。他们感到忿忿不平的是，那些又吃又喝的人，竟一个子儿也没捐。
　　这次募捐共得捐款三千余法郎。除去各项开支，仅为第六区孤儿募得二百二十法郎。
　　杜•洛瓦陪着瓦尔特夫人及其女儿出来后，又登上马车送她们回去。由于坐在老板娘对面，他得以再次碰到她那含情脉脉又躲躲闪闪、慌乱不已的目光，心中不由地嘀咕道：“嚯，她倒真的上钩了。”想到这里，他笑了笑，觉得他同女人确实有缘。别的不说，德•马莱尔夫人自同他和好以后，便对他爱得发狂。
　　走在回家的路上，他的步伐显得特别轻松。
　　玛德莱娜正在客厅里等他，一见到他，便立即说道：
　　“我今日得到消息，摩洛哥问题已变得复杂起来。法国可能会在数月内出兵。不管怎样，大家定会利用这一点来推翻内阁。拉罗舍也会乘此机会而当上外交部长。”
　　为了戏弄妻子，杜•洛瓦故意装出一副根本不信的样子，说谁也不会那样傻，竟会重蹈在突尼斯问题上的覆辙。
　　玛德莱娜不耐烦地耸了耸肩：
　　“我说会的，肯定会的。你看来还不明白，这件事对于他们能否财源广进，有着重要的关系。亲爱的，在今天的政治角逐中，诀窍已不再是在女人身上打主意，而是利用政治事件。”
　　“你算了吧，”杜•洛瓦满脸轻蔑的样子，故意激她。“哎呀，没有想到，你的头脑竟与弗雷斯蒂埃一样简单。”
　　玛德莱娜果然火了。
　　她想刺一刺他，以为他定会火冒三丈。不想他却笑了笑，说道：
　　“你是说，我的头脑同龟公弗雷斯蒂埃一样？”
　　“这是什么话，乔治！”玛德莱娜大为不悦。
　　“你这是怎么啦？”杜•洛瓦依然一副肆无忌惮的样子，带着讥讽的口吻说。“弗雷斯蒂埃戴过绿帽子，这你不是那天晚上向我承认了吗？”
　　说罢，他又带着深深的同情说了一句：
　　“这可怜的死鬼。”
　　玛德莱娜将身子转了过去，不愿答理他。沉默了一会儿，她又说道：
　　“我们星期二晚上有客人。拉罗舍—马蒂厄夫人和佩尔斯缪子爵夫人要来吃饭。你去把里瓦尔和诺贝尔•德•瓦伦也请来好吗？我明天去请瓦尔特夫人和德•马莱尔夫人。或许里索兰夫人也可请到。”
　　一个时期来，玛德莱娜利用丈夫所任职务，结交了一些朋友。参众两院中，有的人十分需要《法兰西生活报》给予支持。
　　她现在经常连请带拉地把他们的妻子弄到家里来。
　　“很好，”杜•洛瓦说，“我负责邀请里瓦尔和诺贝尔。”
　　他搓了搓手，为自己终于找到恰当的话题而感到高兴，既能让妻子感到难堪，又能使其阴暗报复心理得到满足。因为自上次在林苑转了一圈以来，他对她产生了一种说不出所以然的强烈嫉妒心。现在，只要一谈起弗雷斯蒂埃，他总要加上“龟公”这一形容语。他心里很清楚，这一招最后必会将玛德莱娜弄得烦躁不已。因此整个晚上，他带着悠然自得的嘲讽腔调，不厌其烦地把“龟公弗雷斯蒂埃”说了不下十次。
　　他对死者已无所怨恨。相反，他在为他复仇。
　　妻子装着没有听见，仍是笑嘻嘻地对着他，显出无所谓的样子。
　　第二天，既然玛德莱娜要去向瓦尔特夫人发出邀请，他忽然想抢在她前面，去单独会会这位老板娘，看她是否真的有意于他。他觉得这很好玩，心里很是得意。再说若有可能……为什么不就势……呢？
　　因此这天下午，刚过两点，他便到了马勒泽布大街。进入客厅后，他等了等。
　　过了片刻，瓦尔特夫人终于满面春风地走了进来，急切地向他伸过一只手：
　　“今天刮的是什么风，怎么把您给吹来啦？”
　　“什么风也没刮。我今日来，是想看看您。我是受一种力量的驱使而来的，我也说不上是怎么回事，而且也没什么话要对您说。总之我来了。对于我这样早就来打搅您并如此坦率地说明情由，您能原谅我的冒昧吗？”
　　他半开玩笑而又彬彬有礼地说道，嘴角挂着笑意，声音里却透着严肃。
　　“说真的……”惊讶不已的瓦尔特夫人，脸上泛起红晕，结结巴巴地说道，“您的话我听不明白……感到很突然……”
　　“我这番表白，”杜•洛瓦又说道，“有意说得十分轻松，因为我怕吓着您。”
　　他们互相紧挨着坐了下来。瓦尔特夫人开玩笑地说道：
　　“这么说，您刚才的话……是认真的喽？”
　　“当然。这些话，我藏在心底已经很久很久了，早就想对您说。可是我不敢，大家都说您性情古板……非常严肃……”
　　瓦尔特夫人已终于恢复镇静，这时说道：
　　“那您为何今天来了呢？”
　　“我也说不上来，”杜•洛瓦说，接着又压低嗓音：“也许是因为昨天回去后，我始终坐立不安，心里只是想着您。”
　　“这是哪儿的话？”瓦尔特夫人面色煞白，“别孩子气了，咱们还是说点别的吧。”
　　杜•洛瓦一下子在她面前跪了下来，弄得她惊骇不已。她想站起来，然而杜•洛瓦双手抱着她的身腰，死死按住了她。
　　同时带着激动的神情不住地说道：
　　“真的，很久以来，我便爱上了您，而且爱得发狂。您现在不用说话。我控制不了自己，毫无办法。我爱您……我是多么地爱您！您能知道我的心吗？”
　　瓦尔特夫人已是气喘吁吁，上气不接下气，想说点什么，但一句话也说不出来。她看到，杜•洛瓦的嘴唇向她的嘴唇凑了过来，因此用双手抓住他的头发，使劲顶着，不让他靠近。接着又将头向左右两边，迅速地来回摆动，并闭上了眼，不愿再看他。
　　隔着薄薄的衣裙，他在她身上到处摸着、捏着。这突如其来的有力爱抚，弄得她实在有点顶不住了。不想这时，杜•洛瓦忽然站了起来，想把她抱在怀内。就在他挪开身子的那一刹那，她往后一缩，刷地一下挣脱了他，绕过一张张椅子逃往一边。
　　杜•洛瓦觉得，现在若去追她已没有多大意思，因此一屁股落在椅子上，双手捂着脸，煞有介事地抽抽噎噎，装出一副不胜痛苦的样子。
　　过了片刻，他站起身，说了声再见，便一径走了出去。
　　到了门厅，他神态安然地拿上自己的手杖，出了大门。走在街上，他心中嘀咕道：
　　“他妈的，看来事情已经成了。”
　　接着，他到邮局给克洛蒂尔德发了封快信，约她第二天相见。
　　他在平常时刻回到家中。一见到妻子，便劈面问道：
　　“怎么样？由你负责的那几位，你都请了吗？”
　　“请了，”玛德莱娜答道，“只有瓦尔特夫人不能肯定届时是否有空。她好像有点犹豫不决，什么责任呀，良心呀，说了许多，让我简直摸不着头脑。她今天这样子实在很怪。不管怎样，我想她会来的。”
　　“当然啦，”杜•洛瓦耸丁耸肩，“她会来的。”
　　不过，他对此并无确实的把握，因此直到宴请那天还一直担着心。
　　这天早上，玛德莱娜收到这位老板娘一张便条。便条写道：“今晚的时间总算已经挤出，因此可来贵府赴宴。只是我丈夫不能陪我前来。”
　　杜•洛瓦阅后心想：
　　“我没有再去找她，看来是对的。她现已平静下来，我可要处处留神。”
　　不过，在她到来之前，他心里仍有点惶惶不安。她终于来了，神色相当安详，只是有点冷漠和傲慢。杜•洛瓦立刻摆出一副低三下四的样子，言语谨慎，处处顺从。
　　拉罗舍—马蒂厄夫人和里索兰夫人也在各自丈夫的陪同下来了。佩尔斯缪子爵夫人来后，身子尚未坐下，便眉飞色舞地谈起了上流社会的新闻。德•马莱尔夫人今天打扮得格外迷人，别出心裁地穿着一套黄黑相间的西班牙式制服，把那纤细的身腰及丰腴的胸脯和臂膀裹得紧紧的，使那张小小的秀丽面庞分外引人注目。
　　入席时，杜•洛瓦坐在瓦尔特夫人的右侧。不过在晚宴进行期间，他只同她说了几句非常严肃的话语，而且总是一副毕恭毕敬的样子。他的目光不时落在克洛蒂尔德身上，心里不由地感叹道：“她的美丽和娇艳，实在无与伦比。”与此同时，他也时而对自己的妻子瞥上一眼，觉得她长得也还不错，虽然他怀着一腔恶意，至今对她怒火未消，只是暂且埋藏心底罢了。
　　不过，他对瓦尔特夫人所以欲罢不能，完全是因为对方越难征服便越要去降服她，此外同男人都有的那种猎奇心理也不无关系。
　　这位老板娘在言语中流露出想早点回去，他马上说道：
　　“我送您回去。”
　　她一口回绝，但杜•洛瓦也不是轻易可拗得过的：
　　“为什么不让我送您呢？您这也未免太伤人了。您难道还在生我的气？您看，我不是已经平静下来了吗？”
　　“您总不能就这样把客人都扔下不管吧？”
　　“这有什么？”杜•洛瓦笑了笑。“不就是离开二十来分钟吗？他们恐怕未必会发现呢！您若不让我送，那可要伤透我的心。”
　　“好吧，”瓦尔特夫人低声说道，“我同意就是了。”
　　可是他们刚在车上坐好，杜•洛瓦便一把抓住她的手，狂热地在上面吻个不停：
　　“我爱您，我爱您，让我把心里话给您掏出来。我不会碰您的，我只是想告诉您，我是多么地爱您！”
　　“啊……”瓦尔特夫人结结巴巴，“您刚才怎么说来着……
　　现在又……这可不好……这可不好……”
　　杜•洛瓦作出努力克制的样子，接着又压低嗓音说道：
　　“您看，我这个人是多么有自制力。因此……您还是让我只对您说这么一句……我爱您……而且我要天天对您说……对，我要每天到您家去跪在您面前，看着您美丽的面庞，把这三个字对您说上五分钟。”
　　“不，不行，”她任凭杜•洛瓦吻着她的手，有气无力地说道，“我不能让您这样。想想人家会怎样说。家里有仆人，有我女儿。不，不行，绝对不行……”
　　“我现在是，”杜•洛瓦又说，“只要一天看不到您，就简直活不下去。无论是在您家里，还是在别的什么地方，我每天得见您一次，哪怕是一分钟也好。让我趁此机会拉一拉您的手，呼吸一点您身边的空气，并看看您这苗条的身姿和您这令我发狂的动人大眼。”
　　这爱情的表白是多么地单调乏味，然而瓦尔特夫人听了，身子却不停地颤抖，只是结结巴巴地说道：
　　“不……不行……绝对不行。您别说了。”

Chapter 12 A Meeting and the Result
The July sun shone upon the Place de la Trinite, which was almost deserted. Du Roy drew out his watch. It was only three o’clock: he was half an hour too early. He laughed as he thought of the place of meeting. He entered the sacred edifice of La Trinite; the coolness within was refreshing. Here and there an old woman kneeled at prayer, her face in her hands. Du Roy looked at his watch again. It was not yet a quarter past three. He took a seat, regretting that he could not smoke. At the end of the church near the choir; he could hear the measured tread of a corpulent man whom he had noticed when he entered. Suddenly the rustle of a gown made him start. It was she. He arose and advanced quickly. She did not offer him her hand and whispered: “I have only a few minutes. You must kneel near me that no one will notice us.”
She proceeded to a side aisle after saluting the Host on the High Altar, took a footstool, and kneeled down. Georges took one beside it and when they were in the attitude of prayer, he said: “Thank you, thank you. I adore you. I should like to tell you constantly how I began to love you, how I was conquered the first time I saw you. Will you permit me some day to unburden my heart, to explain all to you?”
She replied between her fingers: “I am mad to let you speak to me thus — mad to have come hither — mad to do as I have done, to let you believe that this — this adventure can have any results. Forget it, and never speak to me of it again.” She paused.
He replied: “I expect nothing — I hope nothing — I love you — whatever you may do, I will repeat it so often, with so much force and ardor that you will finally understand me, and reply: ‘I love you too.’”
He felt her frame tremble as she involuntarily repeated: “I love you too.”
He was overcome by astonishment.
“Oh, my God!” she continued incoherently, “Should I say that to you? I feel guilty, despicable — I— who have two daughters — but I cannot — cannot — I never thought — it was stronger than I— listen — listen — I have never loved — any other — but you — I swear it — I have loved you a year in secret — I have suffered and struggled — I can no longer; I love you.” She wept and her bowed form was shaken by the violence of her emotion.
Georges murmured: “Give me your hand that I may touch, may press it.”
She slowly took her hand from her face, he seized it saying: “I should like to drink your tears!”
Placing the hand he held upon his heart he asked: “Do you feel it beat?”
In a few moments the man Georges had noticed before passed by them. When Mme. Walter heard him near her, she snatched her fingers from Georges’s clasp and covered her face with them. After the man had disappeared, Du Roy asked, hoping for another place of meeting than La Trinite: “Where shall I see you to-morrow?”
She did not reply; she seemed transformed into a statue of prayer. He continued: “Shall I meet you to-morrow at Park Monceau?”
She turned a livid face toward him and said unsteadily: “Leave me — leave me now — go — go away — for only five minutes — I suffer too much near you. I want to pray — go. Let me pray alone — five minutes — let me ask God — to pardon me — to save me — leave me — five minutes.”
She looked so pitiful that he rose without a word and asked with some hesitation: “Shall I return presently?”
She nodded her head in the affirmative and he left her. She tried to pray; she closed her eyes in order not to see Georges. She could not pray; she could only think of him. She would rather have died than have fallen thus; she had never been weak. She murmured several words of supplication; she knew that all was over, that the struggle was in vain. She did not however wish to yield, but she felt her weakness. Some one approached with a rapid step; she turned her head. It was a priest. She rose, ran toward him, and clasping her hands, she cried: “Save me, save me!”
He stopped in surprise.
“What do you want, Madame?”
“I want you to save me. Have pity on me. If you do not help me, I am lost!”
He gazed at her, wondering if she were mad.
“What can I do for you?” The priest was a young man somewhat inclined to corpulence.
“Receive my confession,” said she, “and counsel me, sustain me, tell me what to do.”
He replied: “I confess every Saturday from three to six.”
Seizing his arm she repeated: “No, now, at once — at once! It is necessary! He is here! In this church! He is waiting for me.”
The priest asked: “Who is waiting for you?”
“A man — who will be my ruin if you do not save me. I can no longer escape him — I am too weak — too weak,”
She fell upon her knees sobbing: “Oh, father, have pity upon me. Save me, for God’s sake, save me!” She seized his gown that he might not escape her, while he uneasily glanced around on all sides to see if anyone noticed the woman at his feet. Finally, seeing that he could not free himself from her, he said: “Rise; I have the key to the confessional with me.”
* * * * * * *
Du Roy having walked around the choir, was sauntering down the nave, when he met the stout, bold man wandering about, and he wondered: “What can he be doing here?”
The man slackened his pace and looked at Georges with the evident desire to speak to him. When he was near him, he bowed and said politely:
“I beg your pardon, sir, for disturbing you; but can you tell me when this church was built?”
Du Roy replied: “I do not know; I think it is twenty or twenty-five years. It is the first time I have been here. I have never seen it before.” Feeling interested in the stranger, the journalist continued: “It seems to me that you are examining into it very carefully.”
The man replied: “I am not visiting the church; I have an appointment.” He paused and in a few moments added: “It is very warm outside.”
Du Roy looked at him and suddenly thought that he resembled Forestier. “Are you from the provinces?” he asked.
“Yes, I am from Rennes. And did you, sir, enter this church from curiosity?”
“No, I am waiting for a lady.” And with a smile upon his lips, he walked away.
He did not find Mme. Walter in the place in which he had left her, and was surprised. She had gone. He was furious. Then he thought she might be looking for him, and he walked around the church. Not finding her, he returned and seated himself on the chair she had occupied, hoping that she would rejoin him there. Soon he heard the sound of a voice. He saw no one; whence came it? He rose to examine into it, and saw in a chapel near by, the doors of the confessionals. He drew nearer in order to see the woman whose voice he heard. He recognized Mme. Walter; she was confessing. At first he felt a desire to seize her by the arm and drag her away; then he seated himself near by and bided his time. He waited quite awhile. At length Mme. Walter rose, turned, saw him and came toward him. Her face was cold and severe.
“Sir,” said she, “I beseech you not to accompany me, not to follow me and not to come to my house alone. You will not be admitted. Adieu!” And she walked away in a dignified manner.
He permitted her to go, because it was against his principles to force matters. As the priest in his turn issued from the confessional, he advanced toward him and said: “If you did not wear a gown, I would give you a sound thrashing.” Then he turned upon his heel and left the church whistling. In the doorway he met the stout gentleman. When Du Roy passed him, they bowed.
The journalist then repaired to the office of “La Vie Francaise.” As he entered he saw by the clerks’ busy air that something of importance was going on, and he hastened to the manager’s room. The latter exclaimed joyfully as Du Roy entered: “What luck! here is Bel-Ami.”
He stopped in confusion and apologized: “I beg your pardon, I am very much bothered by circumstances. And then I hear my wife and daughter call you Bel-Ami from morning until night, and I have acquired the habit myself. Are you displeased?”
Georges laughed. “Not at all.”
M. Walter continued: “Very well, then I will call you Bel-Ami as everyone else does. Great changes have taken place. The ministry has been overthrown. Marrot is to form a new cabinet. He has chosen General Boutin d’Acre as minister of war, and our friend Laroche- Mathieu as minister of foreign affairs. We shall be very busy. I must write a leading article, a simple declaration of principles; then I must have something interesting on the Morocco question — you must attend to that.”
Du Roy reflected a moment and then replied: “I have it. I will give you an article on the political situation of our African colony,” and he proceeded to prepare M. Walter an outline of his work, which was nothing but a modification of his first article on “Souvenirs of a Soldier in Africa.”
The manager having read the article said: “It is perfect; you are a treasure. Many thanks.”
Du Roy returned home to dinner delighted with his day, notwithstanding his failure at La Trinite. His wife was awaiting him anxiously. She exclaimed on seeing him:
“You know that Laroche is minister of foreign affairs.”
“Yes, I have just written an article on that subject.”
“How?”
“Do you remember the first article we wrote on ‘Souvenirs of a Soldier in Africa’? Well, I revised and corrected it for the occasion.”
She smiled. “Ah, yes, that will do very well.”
At that moment the servant entered with a dispatch containing these words without any signature:
“I was beside myself. Pardon me and come to-morrow at four o’clock to Park Monceau.”
He understood the message, and with a joyful heart, slipped the telegram into his pocket. During dinner he repeated the words to himself; as he interpreted them, they meant, “I yield — I am yours where and when you will.” He laughed.
Madeleine asked: “What is it?”
“Nothing much. I was thinking of a comical old priest I met a short while since.”
* * * * * * *
Du Roy arrived at the appointed hour the following day. The benches were all occupied by people trying to escape from the heat and by nurses with their charges.
He found Mme. Walter in a little antique ruin; she seemed unhappy and anxious. When he had greeted her, she said: “How many people there are in the garden!”
He took advantage of the occasion: “Yes, that is true; shall we go somewhere else?”
“Where?”
“It matters not where; for a drive, for instance. You can lower the shade on your side and you will be well concealed.”
“Yes, I should like that better; I shall die of fear here.”
“Very well, meet me in five minutes at the gate which opens on the boulevard. I will fetch a cab.”
When they were seated in the cab, she asked: “Where did you tell the coachman to drive to?”
Georges replied: “Do not worry; he knows.”
He had given the man his address on the Rue de Constantinople.
Mme. Walter said to Du Roy: “You cannot imagine how I suffer on your account — how I am tormented, tortured. Yesterday I was harsh, but I wanted to escape you at any price. I was afraid to remain alone with you. Have you forgiven me?”
He pressed her hand. “Yes, yes, why should I not forgive you, loving you as I do?”
She looked at him with a beseeching air: “Listen: You must promise to respect me, otherwise I could never see you again.”
At first he did not reply; a smile lurked beneath his mustache; then he murmured: “I am your slave.”
She told him how she had discovered that she loved him, on learning that he was to marry Madeleine Forestier. Suddenly she ceased speaking. The carriage stopped. Du Roy opened the door.
“Where are we?” she asked.
He replied: “Alight and enter the house. We shall be undisturbed there.”
“Where are we?” she repeated.
“At my rooms; they are my bachelor apartments which I have rented for a few days that we might have a corner in which to meet.”
She clung to the cab, startled at the thought of a tete-a-tete, and stammered: “No, no, I do not want to.”
He said firmly: “I swear to respect you. Come, you see that people are looking at us, that a crowd is gathering around us. Make haste!” And he repeated, “I swear to respect you.”
She was terror-stricken and rushed into the house. She was about to ascend the stairs. He seized her arm: “It is here, on the ground floor.”
When he had closed the door, he showered kisses upon her neck, her eyes, her lips; in spite of herself, she submitted to his caresses and even returned them, hiding her face and murmuring in broken accents: “I swear that I have never had a lover”; while he thought: “That is a matter of indifference to me.”
　　骄阳似火，圣三会教堂外广场行人寥寥。七月的巴黎，热浪滚滚。来自天空的灼热气流，沉沉地积压在城市上空，形成火辣辣厚厚的一层，使人感到十分憋闷。
　　教堂门外，喷水池喷出的水柱，落下来时，是那样地软弱无力，一副懒洋洋的样子，显得相当地疲惫。漂浮着树叶和纸片的池水已有点发绿，变得稠乎乎的。
　　一只狗越过石砌池边，一下跳入池中，在混浊的水中游来游去。教堂门前的林荫下，贴墙放着一排长凳。长凳上坐着的几个人，正带着羡慕的眼光看着这只狗在水中嬉戏。
　　杜•洛瓦掏出怀表看了看，现在还才是下午三点。他已提前半小时到达。
　　想到今天这场约会，他不禁觉得好笑：
　　“对这个女人说来，这教堂的用处可也真大。她不仅可以在这儿同一个犹太人举行婚礼，使自己在心灵上求得慰藉，并因此而显示出自己的政治态度，继续保持其在上流社会应有的地位，而且也可以像今天这样，把教堂作为其同情人幽会的场所。无怪乎有的妇女常将教会当作一把用途广泛的雨伞。如果天晴，便是一根很好的手杖；如果烈日当空，则可用来遮阳；如果下雨，又可用来挡雨。而如果不出门，那就随便把它扔在房内什么地方都可以。这类妇女有几百人之多。她们根本不把上帝放在眼内，但又不许他人对上帝说三道四，必要时仍要借助上帝的威望去干那私会情人的勾当。如果你劝她们干脆去旅馆开个房间，她们会觉得这是奇耻大辱。而在祭坛脚下与相好偷情，她们却认为没有任何不妥。”
　　杜•洛瓦在水池边慢慢地走着，抬头看了看教堂的大钟：
　　三点零五分，比他的表快两分。
　　他觉得还是进到教堂里边为好，于是信步走了进去。
　　一进门，便有一股沁人心脾的凉气扑面而来。他深深地吸了口气，感到分外惬意。为熟悉一下环境，他在殿内走了一圈。
　　在教堂高耸的拱顶下，他每走一步都会发出很大的声响。这时，在宽大的殿堂深处，也传来了一阵时断时续、很有规律的脚步声。受好奇心驱使，他想看看此人是谁，因此循声走了过去。原来是一位身体很胖、脑袋光秃的先生，只见他手上拿着帽子，正昂着头、倒背着手在那儿悠然自得地走着。
　　每隔几排座位，不时可看到一位跪着的老妇，双手捂着脸，在默默地祷告。
　　四周一片孤寂、空旷和宁静。透过彩绘玻璃照射进来的阳光，是那样柔和。
　　杜•洛瓦油然觉得，这实在是个“绝妙”的去处。
　　他回到门边，重新看了看表：才三点一刻。他在中间过道的入口处找了个位置坐了下来，为这里不能抽烟而觉得有点遗憾。那位身材很胖的先生依然在殿堂深处，距唱诗班平素所站位置不远的地方走着，因为其缓慢的脚步声，仍不时传来。
　　门外走进一人，杜•洛瓦转过身来，发现是一位身穿粗呢裙、愁容满面的下层妇女。走到第一排座位旁，她便双膝跪倒，两手合在一起，目光向着上苍，带着无比的虔诚，一动不动地祷告起来。
　　杜•洛瓦饶有兴味地看着她，不知道她那脆弱的心灵此刻正经受着怎样的忧愁、痛苦和失望。她一贫如洗，这是显而易见的。今日此来可能为的是不断受到丈夫的毒打，也可能是孩子沉疴不起，已是气息奄奄。
　　“可怜的生灵！这受苦受难的人该有多少？”杜•洛瓦不觉在心中发起感慨，胸中顿时为这无情的世道而升起一股怒火。他转而又想：“不过这些穷人倒底还有所寄托，认为上苍在照管着他们，他们的名字在天上是登记在案的，他们在尘世间受的苦将会在天上得到补偿。可是天晓得，这‘上苍’究竟在哪里？”
　　因教堂里的寂然无声而陷入无边遐想的杜•洛瓦，因而对创世之说下了个断语，低声嘟哝道：“这一切真是愚蠢之至！”
　　耳际传来一阵衣裙窸窣声，他浑身一哆嗦：是她来了。
　　他站起身，抢步迎了上去。她没有向他伸过手来，只是低声说道：
　　“我时间不多，马上就要回去。您就跪在我身边吧，免得引起人家注意。”
　　她在殿堂里一直往前走着，想找个比较隐蔽的地方，看来对这儿的情况很是熟悉。她头上戴着厚厚的面纱，脚步很轻，几乎没有一点声响。
　　走到祭坛附近，她回过头来，以在教堂里说话惯用的神秘语调，低声说道：
　　“还是在两侧过道旁找个地方为好，这儿太招眼。”
　　说着，她向主祭坛上的圣体柜深深鞠了一躬，接着又行了个屈膝礼。然后向右转，回到距大门不远的地方，终于下定决心，拿了个祷告用的小木凳，跪了下来。
　　杜•洛瓦随即在她身旁的小凳上也跪了下来。待两人都跪好以后，他装出一副祷告的样子，低声说道：
　　“谢谢，谢谢。我对您的爱是多么地强烈。我希望能将这天天对您讲一遍，告诉您，我是如何爱上您的，如何在第一次见到您的时候便对您萌发了爱慕之情……我真希望能在哪一天对您掏出我的心里话，把一切都告诉您。”
　　表面上，瓦尔特夫人在默默地沉思，似乎什么也没听到；实际上，她在静静地听着。这时，只见她隔着那双合在一起的手说道：
　　“我让您对我说这些，实在是疯了。我不该到这儿来，不该做出这种事来，让您以为，好像我们这种……关系会有什么结果似的。您就忘掉这些吧，您必须这样，再也不要同我谈起。”
　　她想听听杜•洛瓦会作何反应。杜•洛瓦本想说几句果断而又充满激情的话语，但怎么也想不起来，最后竟愣在那里。后来，他总算又开口了：
　　“什么结果不结果，我并没有期待什么……也没有怀抱任何希望。我只知道我爱您。不管您怎样对我，我都要满怀热情，不厌其烦地反复向您讲述，使您最终明白这一点。我要日复一日，逐字逐句地把我对您的情思印在您的脑海里，使之深深地扎根于您的心底，像清醇无比的美酒，一滴一滴地浸透您的肌体，使您受到触动而逐渐回心转意，过一段时候不得不对我说：‘我也爱您’。”
　　他感到，她那靠着他的肩头在索索发抖，胸脯疾速起伏。就在这时，她忽然冒出了这样一句：“是的，我也爱您。”
　　杜•洛瓦像是头上受到猛烈的一击，浑身为之一震，叹道：“啊，上帝！……”
　　“可是，”瓦尔特夫人又上气不接下气地说道，“这种话是我这样的人能够说出的吗？我已经是……有两个孩子的人了……不是不知道自己这样做罪孽深重，可鄙可憎……可是我又不能……我不能……我简直不敢相信……连想也不敢想……我没有办法……实在没办法。您听我说……听我说……我在心里……偷偷地爱着您，已经有一年了。除了您……我谁也没有爱过。啊！我受了多少苦，进行了多么激烈的斗争，最后还是不行，因为我爱您……”她双手捂着脸，呜呜咽咽。整个身子因伤心不已，而不停地颤抖。
　　“把您的手给我，”杜•洛瓦呐呐地说，“让我摸一摸，握一握……”
　　她慢慢地将手从脸上放了下来。杜•洛瓦看到她泪流满面，眼内噙着泪花。
　　他拿起她的手，使劲捏了捏：
　　“啊，我真想把您脸上的泪舔干。”
　　“不要坏了我干净的身子……”瓦尔特夫人气弱声嘶，近于呻吟。“我这下完了。”
　　杜•洛瓦不禁想笑，他在这种地方又能对她怎样？他已说不出什么温情脉脉的话语，因此将她的手放到他的胸前，说道：
　　“您看我的心跳得多厉害？”
　　殿堂里又传来了那位先生不紧不慢的脚步声。他在祭坛前转了一圈，现在又从殿堂右侧走了过来，这至少已经是第二次了。眼看他就要走到她所藏身的大柱旁，瓦尔特夫人立刻将手从杜•洛瓦手中抽了回来，捂住了脸。
　　就这样，他们一动不动地跪在那儿，仿佛两个人一起在向苍天作虔诚的祷告。那位在殿堂漫步的先生从他们身旁走了过去，漫不经心地看了他们一眼，便向门边走去了，双手始终倒背着，手上提着帽子。
　　“我们明天在哪儿见？”杜•洛瓦希望下次见面能换个地方。
　　她毫无反应，似乎灵魂已经升天，在祷告中变成了一尊雕像。
　　“我们明天可否改去蒙梭公园？”杜•洛瓦又问。
　　她向他转过头来，捂着脸的双手已经放下，露出一张因万分痛苦而变得铁青的面庞。只见她结结巴巴地说道：
　　“您能不能走开……走开一会儿……我要……我要一个人在这儿……静一静。您在这儿……我太痛苦……我要静下心来……祷告一会儿……求上帝宽恕我……拯救我……让我一个人呆在这儿……几分钟就行……”
　　杜•洛瓦见她神色大变，痛苦万状，只得默默地站了起来，沉吟片刻，问道：
　　“我待会儿再来？”
　　她没有回答，只是点了点头。他也就往祭坛那边走了过去。
　　瓦尔特夫人于是努力将自己的思绪转移到祷告上来，开始一片虔诚地祈祷上苍，带着一副失魂落魄、战战兢兢的样子，向上帝发出了绝望的呐喊：“请可怜可怜我吧！”
　　为了不再看到这刚刚走开的年轻人，她狂怒地闭上了眼，努力把他从脑海深处撵走，拼命地不去想他。可是在这痛苦绝望之际，她眼前所浮现的，并不是她所期待的上帝，而仍然是他那撮卷曲的胡髭。
　　她受此煎熬，算来已整整一年了。在此期间，无论是白天还是夜晚，他的身影无时无刻不在她心头盘旋，而且越来越明晰，弄得她坐立不安，夜不能寐。她觉得自己像一只陷入罗网的母兽，被捆绑着扔到这头雄兽的身前。而这头雄兽只是凭嘴角的一撮胡髭和明亮的瞳子，就将她征服了，使她无从反抗。
　　现在，虽然在教堂里，在上帝的身旁，她却比在家里感到更加虚弱，更加孤立无依，无力自拔。她根本祷告不了，心心念念总想着他。他一走，她便已感到五内俱焚。不过，尽管身处绝境，她仍在搏斗着，反抗着，顽强地希望上帝能搭救她。她这个人从未有过软弱的表现，宁愿死去也不愿就此沉沦。然而话虽如此，她嘴里在心意至诚地祷告，耳内听到的却是杜•洛瓦在殿堂里逐渐远去的脚步声。
　　她意识到自己是彻底完了，任何反抗都将无济于事。不过她仍然不想就此屈服。由于精神过度紧张，她突然一阵昏眩。女人们在这时常会栽倒在地，四肢抽搐，大喊大叫，身躯扭曲。浑身颤抖的她，感到自己就要轰然倒下，喊叫着在座椅间滚成一团了。
　　恰在这时，一个人快步走了过来。她转过头，见是一位神甫。她于是站起身，伸开双臂，一下冲了过去，向他喊道：
　　“啊，请您救救我，救救我！”
　　神甫停下脚步，惊异地看着她：
　　“夫人，您怎么啦？”
　　“我要您救救我。请可怜可怜我，帮我一把，否则我就完了。”
　　“我能为您做点什么呢？”神甫凝视着她，不知她是否疯了。
　　这是一位年轻神甫，个儿很高，身体微胖。饱满的腮帮直往下坠，脸颊因胡子刮得干干净净而有点发青。一看便知是在城里或富人街区为家中殷实的女教徒做忏悔的堂区助理司铎。
　　“我要向您忏悔，”瓦尔特夫人说，“请帮帮我，给我指点一下，告诉我该怎么做？”
　　“我每星期六下午三点至六点在此听忏悔，”神甫说。
　　“不！不！不！”瓦尔特夫人一把抓住他的手臂，连声说道，“您得马上就听，马上就听。我已等不得了，他就在这儿，在教堂里，正等着我。”
　　“谁在等你？”神甫问。
　　“一个男人……您若不搭救我，我将被他毁了……我将被他缠住……我已无法逃脱他……我的心太软……心太软……
　　对付不了他……”
　　说着，她在神甫面前扑通一声跪了下来，声泪俱下：“啊，神甫，请可怜可怜我，看在天主的份上，救救我，救救我！”
　　她死死抓住神甫的黑袍，不让他离去。神甫为难地向四周看了看，看是否有什么正人君子或心怀叵测之徒在看着这一幕。
　　“好吧，请站起来，我身上正带着忏悔室的钥匙，”神甫意识到自己现在是根本走不脱了，只好随着她。他在兜里摸了摸，掏出一串钥匙，挑出其中一把，然后快步向一排用木板隔成的忏悔室走了过去。这每一间斗室简直就是一个灵魂的垃圾箱，是信徒们倾倒其所犯罪恶的场所。
　　神甫走进中间一间，随即将门关上。瓦尔特夫人于是冲进旁边一间，怀着一片虔诚和满腔希望，激动地说道：
　　“我是一个有罪之人，望天主保佑。”
　　杜•洛瓦在祭坛前转了一圈，然后沿殿堂的左侧往门边走去。到了殿堂中部，同那位仍在殿内安然漫步的秃顶先生不期而遇，心中不由地感到纳闷：
　　“这家伙在这儿没完没了地转悠，不知想干什么？”
　　对方此时也放慢了脚步，并不时地看着杜•洛瓦，显然想同他攀谈两句。果然，走到面前后，他向杜•洛瓦欠了欠身，很有礼貌地问道：
　　“先生，对不起，打扰一下。请问这座教堂建了多少年了？”
　　“天哪，我也不太清楚。”杜•洛瓦说，“我想总有二十至二十五年了吧。我今天是第一次来。”
　　“我也是，以前从未来过。”
　　杜•洛瓦不觉兴致大增，随即说道：
　　“您好像看得很仔细，对细节问题也很注意。”
　　“哪里，我不是来参观的，”对方感到啼笑皆非。“我在等我的妻子，她约我在此会面，可她到现在还没来。”
　　他没有再说下去，过了一会又说道：
　　“外面热得真让人受不了。”
　　杜•洛瓦看了看他，觉得他倒也和蔼可亲，且突然感到他很像弗雷斯蒂埃，于是问道：
　　“您是外省人吧？”
　　“是的，我是雷恩①人。您呢；先生？您是出于好奇，才进来转转的吗？”
　　--------
　　①雷恩，巴黎西部一城市，布列塔尼省省会。
　　“不，我在等一位女士。”杜•洛瓦向他欠了欠身，微笑着走了开去。
　　走到大门边，他见刚才那个穷苦女人仍跪在那里祷告，心中不由地嘀咕道：“真他妈的见鬼，这祷告还有完没有？”这样，他原先对她的一点同情和怜悯也就不翼而飞了。
　　他从这女人身边一径走了过去，然后又沿着殿堂右侧，慢慢地往回走，去找瓦尔特夫人。
　　他远远地向他刚才同瓦尔特夫人呆的地方看了看，不禁一惊，因为瓦尔特夫人已不在那里了。他以为自己把刚才那根柱子弄错了，于是又向前走去，直到最后一根柱子，接着又折返回来：哪儿也没有她的踪影！她难道走了？他觉得很是惊奇，心头油然升起一股怒火。但转念一想，她也许正在找他，便在殿堂里又转了一圈。可是仍然不见她的踪影，他索性在她刚才坐的椅子上坐了下来，希望她会来找他。因此决定在此等一等。
　　过了一会儿，一阵低声细语引起了他的注意。然而奇怪的是，教堂的这一部分，一个人也未见，这悄悄的说话声会来自何处？他站起身看了看，发现殿堂旁边有一排忏悔室。其中一间门外露出一个裙角，拖在地上。他走过去一看，里面呆着的女人正是她，她在忏悔！……
　　他很想冲过去，一把将她拖出来，但转而又想：“何必呢？别看她今日向神甫忏悔，明天就会对我服服帖帖。”他于是在忏悔室对面悠然地坐了下来，耐心等着。想起眼前这种事儿，他心里不觉好笑。
　　他等了很久。后来，瓦尔特夫人终于站了起来。她转过身，看到他后，即向他走了过来，但面色阴冷，十分严肃。
　　“先生，”她说，“请不要送我，不要跟着我，更不要再单独一人到我家来，我不会接待您的。再见。”
　　说完，她板着脸，一径走了出去。
　　杜•洛瓦没有拦她，因为他的原则是，凡事不可硬来，神甫这时也从他那间斗室走了出来，神情有点恍惚。杜•洛瓦走上去，盯着他的两眼，冲着他骂道：
　　“要不是看你穿着这身长袍，我一定给你这张猪脸两记耳光。”
　　骂完之后，他一转身，吹着口哨扬长而去。
　　刚才那位胖胖的先生，头上戴着帽子，两手倒背在身后，仍不耐烦地在门廊下等着。两眼紧紧盯着门外的广场和四周的街道。
　　杜•洛瓦走到他身边时，两人又互相客气了一番。
　　瓦尔特夫人既已离去，杜•洛瓦也就到了报馆里。一进门，他便从仆役们紧张的神色上看出，一定发生了什么异乎寻常的事情。于是大步走进经理室。
　　瓦尔特老头正满头大汗地站在那里，一句一句地口授一篇文章，并一边口授，一边向身边的外勤记者布置任务，或是对布瓦勒纳交待两句，再或是拆阅手边的信函。
　　看到杜•洛瓦进来，他高兴地叫了起来：
　　“啊，好极了，漂亮朋友来了！”
　　话一出口，他不禁有点尴尬，立刻停了下来，解释道：“对不起，这样称呼你实在很冒味。我今天真是忙昏了头。我是因为听我妻子和女儿一天到晚这样叫你，也就跟着叫起来了。你不会介意吧？”
　　“哪儿会？”杜•洛瓦笑道，“再说这个绰号并无任何让人不快之意。”
　　“很好，”瓦尔特老头接着说，“这么说，我就同大家一样叫你漂亮朋友了。来，我来对你讲一讲，今天发生了一件大事。内阁已经倒台，议会的投票结果是三百一十票对一百零二票。我们的假期又要往后推了，什么时候可以开始，谁也说不上，而今天已是七月二十八日。西班牙对有关摩洛哥的安排十分不满，是杜朗•德•莱纳及其一伙倒台的根本原因。由于陷得很深，现在已是进退两难。马罗已奉命组阁。他提名布丹•达克勒将军为国防部长，我们的朋友拉罗舍—马蒂厄为外交部长，他自己则除任总理外，还兼任内政部长。这样一来，我们的报纸将会具有半官方性质。我正在写一篇带有指导意义的文章，就一些原则问题发表一点看法，给几位部长指明道路。”
　　说到这里，他笑了笑，又接着说道：
　　“当然这条路，也正是他们自己打算走的。因此围绕摩洛哥问题，我现在必须能够拿出既饶有兴味，又具有现实意义的东西，也就是发表一篇能产生效果、引起轰动的专题文章。具体要求，我也说不太清楚，大概就是这个意思吧。希望你来给我动动脑筋。”
　　“这件事您就交给我吧，”杜•洛瓦寻思片刻说道，“我国在非洲的殖民地，地域辽阔，分左中右三块。中间为阿尔及利亚，左右两边分别为突尼斯和摩洛哥。我可以给您写一篇文章，谈谈此殖民地的政治状况及其土著居民的历史。此外，文章还将介绍一点沿摩洛哥边界到著名绿洲菲居伊的有关情况。这块绿洲，其他欧洲人至今尚未去过，这次冲突就是因为它而引起的。您觉得这样写怎样？”
　　“好极了！”瓦尔特老头叫了起来，“文章打算用什么题目？”
　　“从突尼斯城到丹吉尔①。”
　　“真是再好没有。”
　　--------
　　①突尼斯城，北非国家突尼斯首都。丹吉尔，摩洛哥一港口城市。
　　杜•洛瓦于是走去翻了翻往日的《法兰西生活报》，把他的处女作《非洲服役散记》找了出来。由于这篇文章通篇谈的是殖民政策以及阿尔及利亚的土著居民和在奥兰省的所见所闻，他只须用打字机打下来，稍加改动，重新换个标题，便完全可以应付当前的需要。
　　不到一小时，经他粗粗一改，文章也就算是定下来了。不但与当前形势紧密结合，而且还对新成立的内阁称赞了几句。
　　瓦尔特读后大加赞扬：
　　“很好……很好……非常好。看来你是一位难得的人才，实在可喜可贺。”
　　晚饭时分，杜•洛瓦回到家中，为今天的意外收获备觉欣喜。圣三会教堂的约会虽然未能遂愿，但他感到，这场较量他已是胜券在握。
　　她妻子正焦灼地等待他的归来，因此一见到他，便大声喊道：
　　“知道吗，拉罗舍已当上外交部长？”
　　“知道了。我刚才就这个问题写了一篇关于阿尔及利亚的文章。”
　　“什么文章？”
　　“这篇文章你知道，就是我们第一次合写的那一篇：《非洲服役散记》。我根据当前的需要，把它重新改了改。”
　　“不错，此文对当前确实很适用，”玛德莱娜笑道。她想了想，又说道：“我在想，这篇文章的续篇，你当时应当把它写完，而你却……中途放下了。我们现在若能把它写出来，那将是一组很能对味的文章。”
　　“完全对，”杜•洛瓦一边在餐桌前坐下，一边说道：“弗雷斯蒂埃这个龟公既已作古，我们现在来写这几篇文章，也就没什么碍事的了。”
　　玛德莱娜觉得很不入耳，立即正色道：
　　“这种玩笑很是无聊，能否就此打住？你怎么总将它挂在嘴边？”
　　杜•洛瓦正想反唇相讥，仆人忽然走来递给他一封快信。
　　快信没有署名，只写了一句话：
　　“我一时昏了头，请予原谅。明日午后四时，请来蒙梭公园。”
　　一切不言自明，他心中一阵狂喜，随手将快信放入衣袋，向他妻子说道：
　　“亲爱的，我不会再同你开这种玩笑了。我承认，这不太好。”
　　他开始吃饭。
　　一边吃，一边又将快信的寥寥数语默诵了一遍：“我一时昏了头，请予原谅。明日午后四时，请来蒙梭公园。”这表明，她已让步，分明在说：“我听您的，在哪儿见面，什么时候见面，全由您定。”
　　他笑了起来，玛德莱娜问道：
　　“你怎么啦？”
　　“没什么。我刚才碰到一位神甫，他那张脸很是有趣。”
　　第二天，杜•洛瓦准时到达约会地点。公园的长凳上坐满不耐暑热的市民。孩子们在沙质小径上玩耍，看守他们的保姆，迷迷瞪瞪，似乎在凳子上做着美好的梦。
　　瓦尔特夫人已出现在一处流水潺潺的古代废墟旁，正满面愁容，惶惶不安地围着那一小圈圆柱转悠。
　　杜•洛瓦刚走过去同她寒暄两句，她便说道：
　　“这公园里的人可是真多！”
　　杜•洛瓦立即趁机进言：
　　“完全对，要不要换个地方？”
　　“去哪儿？”
　　“随便哪儿，比如坐在马车里也行呀。您可将身边的窗帘放下，谁也不会看见您的。”
　　“那倒不错。这个地方可真让我害怕。”
　　“那好，我去找车。五分钟后，咱们在对着环城大街的那个门边相见。”
　　他飞快地走了。少顷，她在杜•洛瓦所说的门前，同他一起登上了他叫来的马车。待她将身边的窗帘放下后，劈面第一句话便是：
　　“您对车夫说了吗，我们去哪儿？”
　　“这您就不用管了，”杜•洛瓦说，“他已经知道。”
　　他对车夫说的地方是君士坦丁堡街。
　　“为了您，”瓦尔特夫人又说道，“我受了多少苦，经受了怎样的折磨和煎熬，您是不可能知道的。我昨天在教堂里表现得很不冷静，当时是一定要离开您，非常害怕同您单独呆在一起。您能原谅我吗？”
　　“这还用说？”杜•洛瓦紧紧地握着她的手，“我是这样地爱您，有什么不能原谅呢？”
　　“听我说，”瓦尔特夫人的目光近于央求，“您可不能对我胡来……不能……不能……否则我是不会再见您的。”
　　杜•洛瓦起先没有答理，嘴角只是挂着一丝令女人芳心激荡的狡黠微笑。后来还是喃喃地说了一句：
　　“一切都听您的，还不行吗？”
　　瓦尔特夫人于是向他讲了讲，她在得知他要娶玛德莱娜•弗雷斯蒂埃时，如何发现自己已经深深地爱上他。她讲得很详细，连具体日期和她当时的内心活动，也说得很清楚。
　　她忽然收住自己的话语，因为车子此时已停了下来。杜•洛瓦一把打开了车门。
　　“这是什么地方？”她问。
　　“这里有间房子，”杜•洛瓦回道，“您就下来，去里边坐坐吧。这儿的环境要更为安静。”
　　“到底是什么地方？”
　　“我结婚前住的房子，我把它又租了下来……只是暂用几天而已……这样我们可以有个僻静的地方说说话。”
　　一想到自己马上要同他关进这间房内，瓦尔特夫人不禁吓得魂飞魄散，死死地抓住车上的座垫：
　　“不行，不行，我不去！我不去！”
　　杜•洛瓦的声音已变得严厉起来：
　　“我向您发誓，绝对不会碰您的。您瞧，有人在看着我们，这儿很快就会聚起一堆人。快……快……快点下来。”
　　他又说了一遍：“我向您发誓，绝对不会碰您。”
　　一酒店老板此时正站在店门口好奇地看着他们。瓦尔特夫人慌乱不已，赶紧跳下车，冲进楼里。
　　她正要上楼，杜•洛瓦一把抓住她的胳臂：
　　“不，在这儿，就在一楼。”
　　他一下将她推到了房内。
　　房门一关上，他便像老鹰抓小鸡一样，一把将她搂到怀里。她拼命挣扎着，反抗着，话也说不出来：“啊，上帝！……上帝！……”
　　杜•洛瓦不顾一切地吻着她的脖颈、眼睛和嘴唇，同时疯狂地在她身上乱摸，她怎么也躲不开。到后来，一直没命地推搡他，回避其嘴唇的瓦尔特夫人，却情不自禁地把嘴唇向他凑了过去。
　　她的挣扎也就突然停了下来。被征服了的她，现在是一切听任摆布，任他给她宽衣解带。在将她身上的衣服一件件脱下来时，杜•洛瓦的手同使女一样灵巧，敏捷。
　　瓦尔特夫人从他手上一把夺过胸衣，将脸捂了起来，任其肌肤玉骨赤裸着呆在那里，脚下到处扔着脱下的衣裙。只有脚上的鞋，他未给她脱去。就这样，一把将她抱起，往床边走去。这时，她俯耳向他说了一句，声音有点异样：“向您发誓，我这一生从未有过情人。”那语气很像一个年轻姑娘在说：“向您发誓，我是贞洁的。”
　　“这有什么？”杜•洛瓦心想，“我才不在乎这些呢！”
Chapter 13 Madame De Marelle
Autumn had come. The Du Roys had spent the entire summer in Paris, leading a vigorous campaign in “La Vie Francaise,” in favor of the new cabinet. Although it was only the early part of October, the chamber was about to resume its sessions, for affairs in Morocco were becoming menacing. The celebrated speech made by Count de Lambert Sarrazin had furnished Du Roy with material for ten articles on the Algerian colony. “La Vie Francaise” had gained considerable prestige by its connection with the power; it was the first to give political news, and every newspaper in Paris and the provinces sought information from it. It was quoted, feared, and began to be respected: it was no longer the organ of a group of political intriguers, but the avowed mouthpiece of the cabinet. Laroche- Mathieu was the soul of the journal and Du Roy his speaking-trumpet. M. Walter retired discreetly into the background. Madeleine’s salon became an influential center in which several members of the cabinet met every week. The president of the council had even dined there twice; the minister of foreign affairs was quite at home at the Du Roys; he came at any hour, bringing dispatches or information, which he dictated either to the husband or wife as if they were his secretaries. After the minister had departed, when Du Roy was alone with Madeleine, he uttered threats and insinuations against the “parvenu,” as he called him. His wife simply shrugged her shoulders scornfully, repeating: “Become a minister and you can do the same; until then, be silent.”
His reply was: “No one knows of what I am capable; perhaps they will find out some day.”
She answered philosophically: “He who lives will see.”
The morning of the reopening of the Chamber, Du Roy lunched with Laroche-Mathieu in order to receive instructions from him, before the session, for a political article the following day in “La Vie Francaise,” which was to be a sort of official declaration of the plans of the cabinet. After listening to Laroche-Mathieu’s eloquence for some time with jealousy in his heart, Du Roy sauntered slowly toward the office to commence his work, for he had nothing to do until four o’clock, at which hour he was to meet Mme. de Marelle at Rue de Constantinople. They met there regularly twice a week, Mondays and Wednesdays.
On entering the office, he was handed a sealed dispatch; it was from Mme. Walter, and read thus:
“It is absolutely necessary that I should see you to-day. It is
important. Expect me at two o’clock at Rue de Constantinople. I
can render you a great service; your friend until death,”
“VIRGINIE.”
He exclaimed: “Heavens! what a bore!” and left the office at once, too much annoyed to work.
For six weeks he had ineffectually tried to break with Mme. Walter. At three successive meetings she had been a prey to remorse, and had overwhelmed her lover with reproaches. Angered by those scenes and already weary of the dramatic woman, he had simply avoided her, hoping that the affair would end in that way.
But she persecuted him with her affection, summoned him at all times by telegrams to meet her at street corners, in shops, or public gardens. She was very different from what he had fancied she would be, trying to attract him by actions ridiculous in one of her age. It disgusted him to hear her call him: “My rat — my dog — my treasure- -my jewel — my blue-bird”— and to see her assume a kind of childish modesty when he approached. It seemed to him that being the mother of a family, a woman of the world, she should have been more sedate, and have yielded With tears if she chose, but with the tears of a Dido and not of a Juliette. He never heard her call him “Little one” or “Baby,” without wishing to reply “Old woman,” to take his hat with an oath and leave the room.
At first they had often met at Rue de Constantinople, but Du Roy, who feared an encounter with Mme. de Marelle, invented a thousand and one pretexts in order to avoid that rendezvous. He was therefore obliged to either lunch or dine at her house daily, when she would clasp his hand under cover of the table or offer him her lips behind the doors. Above all, Georges enjoyed being thrown so much in contact with Suzanne; she made sport of everything and everybody with cutting appropriateness. At length, however, he began to feel an unconquerable repugnance to the love lavished upon him by the mother; he could no longer see her, hear her, nor think of her without anger. He ceased calling upon her, replying to her letters, and yielding to her appeals. She finally divined that he no longer loved her, and the discovery caused her unutterable anguish; but she watched him, followed him in a cab with drawn blinds to the office, to his house, in the hope of seeing him pass by. He would have liked to strangle her, but he controlled himself on account of his position on “La Vie Francaise” and he endeavored by means of coldness, and even at times harsh words, to make her comprehend that all was at an end between them.
Then, too, she persisted in devising ruses for summoning him to Rue de Constantinople, and he was in constant fear that the two women would some day meet face to face at the door.
On the other hand, his affection for Mme. de Marelle had increased during the summer. They were both Bohemians by nature; they took excursions together to Argenteuil, Bougival, Maisons, and Poissy, and when he was forced to return and dine at Mme. Walter’s, he detested his mature mistress more thoroughly, as he recalled the youthful one he had just left. He was congratulating himself upon having freed himself almost entirely from the former’s clutches, when he received the telegram above mentioned.
He re-read it as he walked along. He thought: “What does that old owl want with me? I am certain she has nothing to tell me except that she adores me. However, I will see, perhaps there is some truth in it. Clotilde is coming at four, I must get rid of the other one at three or soon after, provided they do not meet. What jades women are!”
As he uttered those words he was reminded of his wife, who was the only one who did not torment him; she lived by his side and seemed to love him very much at the proper time, for she never permitted anything to interfere with her ordinary occupations of life. He strolled toward the appointed place of meeting, mentally cursing Mme. Walter.
“Ah, I will receive her in such a manner that she will not tell me anything. First of all, I will give her to understand that I shall never cross her threshold again.”
He entered to await her. She soon arrived and, seeing him, exclaimed: “Ah, you received my dispatch! How fortunate!”
“Yes, I received it at the office just as I was setting out for the Chamber. What do you want?” he asked ungraciously.
She had raised her veil in order to kiss him, and approached him timidly and humbly with the air of a beaten dog.
“How unkind you are to me; how harshly you speak! What have I done to you? You do not know what I have suffered for you!”
He muttered: “Are you going to begin that again?”
She stood near him awaiting a smile, a word of encouragement, to cast herself into his arms, and whispered: “You need not have won me to treat me thus; you might have left me virtuous and happy. Do you remember what you said to me in the church and how you forced me to enter this house? And now this is the way you speak to me, receive me! My God, my God, how you maltreat me!”
He stamped his foot and said violently: “Enough, be silent! I can never see you a moment without hearing that refrain. You were mature when you gave yourself to me. I am much obliged to you; I am infinitely grateful, but I need not be tied to your apron-strings until I die! You have a husband and I a wife. Neither of us is free; it was all a caprice, and now it is at an end!”
She said: “How brutal you are, how coarse and villainous! No, I was no longer a young girl, but I had never loved, never wavered in my dignity.”
He interrupted her: “I know it, you have told me that twenty times; but you have had two children.”
She drew back as if she had been struck: “Oh, Georges!” And pressing her hands to her heart, she burst into tears.
When she began to weep, he took his hat: “Ah, you are crying again! Good evening! Is it for this that you sent for me?”
She took a step forward in order to bar the way, and drawing a handkerchief from her pocket she wiped her eyes. Her voice grew steadier: “No, I came to — to give you — political news — to give you the means of earning fifty thousand francs — or even more if you wish to.”
Suddenly softened he asked: “How?”
“By chance last evening I heard a conversation between my husband and Laroche. Walter advised the minister not to let you into the secret for you would expose it.”
Du Roy placed his hat upon a chair and listened attentively.
“They are going to take possession of Morocco!”
“Why, I lunched with Laroche this morning, and he told me the cabinet’s plans!”
“No, my dear, they have deceived you, because they feared their secret would be made known.”
“Sit down,” said Georges.
He sank into an armchair, while she drew up a stool and took her seat at his feet. She continued:
“As I think of you continually, I pay attention to what is talked of around me,” and she proceeded to tell him what she had heard relative to the expedition to Tangiers which had been decided upon the day that Laroche assumed his office; she told him how they had little by little bought up, through agents who aroused no suspicions, the Moroccan loan, which had fallen to sixty-four or sixty-five francs; how when the expedition was entered upon the French government would guarantee the debt, and their friends would make fifty or sixty millions.
He cried: “Are you sure of that?”
She replied: “Yes, I am sure.”
He continued: “That is indeed fine! As for that rascal of a Laroche, let him beware! I will get his ministerial carcass between my fingers yet!”
Then, after a moment’s reflection, he muttered: “One might profit by that!”
“You too can buy some stock,” said she; “it is only seventy-two francs.”
He replied: “But I have no ready money.”
She raised her eyes to his — eyes full of supplication.
“I have thought of that, my darling, and if you love me a little, you will let me lend it to you.”
He replied abruptly, almost harshly: “No, indeed.”
She whispered imploringly: “Listen, there is something you can do without borrowing money. I intended buying ten thousand francs’ worth of the stock; instead, I will take twenty thousand and you can have half. There will be nothing to pay at once. If it succeeds, we will make seventy thousand francs; if not, you will owe me ten thousand which you can repay at your pleasure.”
He said again: “No, I do not like those combinations.”
She tried to persuade him by telling him that she advanced nothing — that the payments were made by Walter’s bank. She pointed out to him that he had led the political campaign in “La Vie Francaise,” and that he would be very simple not to profit by the results he had helped to bring about. As he still hesitated, she added: “It is in reality Walter who will advance the money, and you have done enough for him to offset that sum.”
“Very well,” said he, “I will do it. If we lose I will pay you back ten thousand francs.”
She was so delighted that she rose, took his head between her hands, and kissed him. At first he did not repulse her, but when she grew more lavish with her caresses, he said:
“Come, that will do.”
She gazed at him sadly. “Oh, Georges, I can no longer even embrace you.”
“No, not to-day. I have a headache.”
She reseated herself with docility at his feet and asked:
“Will you dine with us to-morrow? It would give me such pleasure,”
He hesitated at first, but dared not refuse.
“Yes, certainly.”
“Thank you, dearest.” She rubbed her cheek against the young man’s vest; as she did so, one of her long black hairs caught on a button; she twisted it tightly around, then she twisted another around another button and so on. When he rose, he would tear them out of her head, and would carry away with him unwittingly a lock of her hair. It would be an invisible bond between them. Involuntarily he would think, would dream of her; he would love her a little more the next day.
Suddenly he said: “I must leave you, for I am expected at the Chamber for the close of the session. I cannot be absent to-day.”
She sighed: “Already!” Then adding resignedly: “Go, my darling, but you will come to dinner tomorrow”; she rose abruptly. For a moment she felt a sharp, stinging pain, as if needles had been stuck into her head, but she was glad to have suffered for him.
“Adieu,” said she.
He took her in his arms and kissed her eyes coldly; then she offered him her lips which he brushed lightly as he said: “Come, come, let us hurry; it is after three o’clock.”
She passed out before him saying: “To-morrow at seven”; he repeated her words and they separated.
Du Roy returned at four o’clock to await his mistress. She was somewhat late because her husband had come home for a week. She asked:
“Can you come to dinner to-morrow? He will be delighted to see you.”
“No; I dine at the Walters. We have a great many political and financial matters to talk over.”
She took off her hat. He pointed to a bag on the mantelpiece: “I bought you some sweetmeats.”
She clapped her hands. “What a darling you are!” She took them, tasted one, and said: “They are delicious. I shall not leave one. Come, sit down in the armchair, I will sit at your feet and eat my bonbons.”
He smiled as he saw her take the seat a short while since occupied by Mme. Walter. She too, called him “darling, little one, dearest,” and the words seemed to him sweet and caressing from her lips, while from Mme. Walter’s they irritated and nauseated him.
Suddenly he remembered the seventy thousand francs he was going to make, and bluntly interrupting Mme. de Marelle’s chatter, he said:
“Listen, my darling; I am going to intrust you with a message to your husband. Tell him from me to buy to-morrow ten thousand francs’ worth of Moroccan stock which is at seventy-two, and I predict that before three months are passed he will have made eighty thousand francs. Tell him to maintain absolute silence. Tell him that the expedition to Tangiers, is decided upon, and that the French government will guarantee the Moroccan debt. It is a state secret I am confiding to you, remember!”
She listened to him gravely and murmured:
“Thank you. I will tell my husband this evening. You may rely upon him; he will not speak of it; he can be depended upon; there is no danger.”
She had eaten all of her bonbons and began to toy with the buttons on his vest. Suddenly she drew a long hair out of the buttonhole and began to laugh.
“See! Here is one of Madeleine’s hairs; you are a faithful husband!” Then growing serious, she examined the scarcely perceptible thread more closely and said: “It is not Madeleine’s, it is dark.”
He smiled. “It probably belongs to the housemaid.”
But she glanced at the vest with the care of a police-inspector and found a second hair twisted around a second button; then she saw a third; and turning pale and trembling somewhat, she exclaimed: “Oh, some woman has left hairs around all your buttons.”
In surprise, he stammered: “Why you — you are mad.”
She continued to unwind the hairs and cast them upon the floor. With her woman’s instinct she had divined their meaning and gasped in her anger, ready to cry:
“She loves you and she wished you to carry away with you something of hers. Oh, you are a traitor.” She uttered a shrill, nervous cry: “Oh, it is an old woman’s hair — here is a white one — you have taken a fancy to an old woman now. Then you do not need me — keep the other one.” She rose.
He attempted to detain her and stammered: “No — Clo — you are absurd — I do not know whose it is — listen — stay — see — stay —”
But she repeated: “Keep your old woman — keep her — have a chain made of her hair — of her gray hair — there is enough for that —”
Hastily she donned her hat and veil, and when he attempted to touch her she struck him in the face, and made her escape while he was stunned by the blow. When he found that he was alone, he cursed Mme. Walter, bathed his face, and went out vowing vengeance. That time he would not pardon. No, indeed.
He strolled to the boulevard and stopped at a jeweler’s to look at a chronometer he had wanted for some time and which would cost eighteen hundred francs. He thought with joy: “If I make my seventy thousand francs, I can pay for it”— and he began to dream of all the things he would do when he got the money. First of all he would become a deputy; then he would buy the chronometer; then he would speculate on ‘Change, and then, and then — he did not enter the office, preferring to confer with Madeleine before seeing Walter again and writing his article; he turned toward home. He reached Rue Drouot when he paused; he had forgotten to inquire for Count de Vaudrec, who lived on Chaussee d’Antin. He retraced his steps with a light heart, thinking of a thousand things — of the fortune he would make,— of that rascal of a Laroche, and of old Walter.
He was not at all uneasy as to Clotilde’s anger, knowing that she would soon forgive him.
When he asked the janitor of the house in which Count de Vaudrec lived: “How is M. de Vaudrec? I have heard that he has been ailing of late,” the man replied; “The Count is very ill, sir; they think he will not live through the night; the gout has reached his heart.”
Du Roy was so startled he did not know what to do! Vaudrec dying! He stammered: “Thanks — I will call again”— unconscious of what he was saying. He jumped into a cab and drove home. His wife had returned. He entered her room out of breath: “Did you know? Vaudrec is dying!”
She was reading a letter and turning to him asked: “What did you say?”
“I said that Vaudrec is dying of an attack of gout.”
Then he added: “What shall you do?”
She rose; her face was livid; she burst into tears and buried her face in her hands. She remained standing, shaken by sobs, torn by anguish. Suddenly she conquered her grief and wiping her eyes, said: “I am going to him — do not worry about me — I do not know what time I shall return — do not expect me.”
He replied: “Very well. Go.”
They shook hands and she left in such haste that she forgot her gloves. Georges, after dining alone, began to write his article. He wrote it according to the minister’s instructions, hinting to the readers that the expedition to Morocco would not take place. He took it, when completed, to the office, conversed several moments with M. Walter, and set out again, smoking, with a light heart, he knew not why.
His wife had not returned. He retired and fell asleep. Toward midnight Madeleine came home. Georges sat up in bed and asked: “Well?”
He had never seen her so pale and agitated. She whispered: “He is dead!”
“Ah — and — he told you nothing?”
“Nothing. He was unconscious when I arrived.”
Questions which he dared not ask arose to Georges’ lips.
“Lie down and rest,” said he.
She disrobed hastily and slipped into bed.
He continued: “Had he any relatives at his death-bed?”
“Only a nephew.”
“Ah! Did he often see that nephew?”
“They had not met for ten years.”
“Had he other relatives?”
“No, I believe not.”
“Will that nephew be his heir?”
“I do not know.”
“Was Vaudrec very rich?”
“Yes, very.”
“Do you know what he was worth?”
“No, not exactly — one or two millions perhaps.”
He said no more. She extinguished the light. He could not sleep. He looked upon Mme. Walter’s promised seventy thousand francs as very insignificant. Suddenly he thought he heard Madeleine crying. In order to insure himself he asked: “Are you asleep?”
“No.” Her voice was tearful and unsteady.
He continued: “I forgot to tell you that your minister has deceived us.”
“How?”
He gave her a detailed account of the combination prepared by Laroche and Walter. When he concluded she asked: “How did you know that?”
He replied: “Pardon me if I do not tell you! You have your means of obtaining information into which I do not inquire; I have mine which I desire to keep. I can vouch at any rate for the truth of my statements.”
She muttered: “It may be possible. I suspected that they were doing something without our knowledge.”
As she spoke Georges drew near her; she paid no heed to his proximity, however, and turning toward the wall, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.
　　转眼已是秋天。杜•洛瓦夫妇整个夏天都是在巴黎度过的。值此议会短暂休假之机，他们在《法兰西生活报》连篇累牍，发表了一篇又一篇支持新政府的文章。
　　现在虽然还只是十月初，议会却要复会了。因为摩洛哥事件已变得十分严峻。
　　实际上，谁也不相信会向丹吉尔派兵。然而议会休会那天，右翼议员朗贝尔•萨拉辛伯爵，却发表了一篇风趣诙谐、连中间派也鼓掌叫好的演说，说他敢以自己的胡须与政府总理的美髯打赌，新任内阁定会仿效其前任，向丹吉尔派出一支军队，使之同派往突尼斯城的军队彼此对称。这正如一个壁炉，必须左右两边都放上花瓶，方可产生对称效果一样。他还说：“先生们，对法国来说，非洲这块土地恰如一个壁炉。此壁炉不但消耗了我们大量的木柴，且因风门太大，为了能够点着而烧掉了我们许多纸币。
　　“你们忽然雅兴不浅，一厢情愿地不惜重金在壁炉的左边放了一尊突尼斯小摆设。既然如此，你们就等着瞧吧，马罗先生现在也会如法炮制，在壁炉的右边放上一尊摩洛哥小摆设。”
　　这篇讲话早已家喻户晓。杜•洛瓦便是受其启发而写了十来篇关于阿尔及利亚殖民地的文章，作为他初进报馆时所中断的文章续篇。他在文章中竭力鼓吹出兵，虽然他自己也认为，出兵的可能根本不存在。他在“爱国”的幌子下，大肆煽动人们的情绪，把西班牙视为敌国，对它展开了极其恶毒的攻击。
　　《法兰西生活报》因其与政府当局众所周知的密切关系而忽然名噪一时。对于政治方面的消息，它的报道总要先于其他严肃报刊。它并在报道时以这样那样的按语，点出其支持者——各位部长——的意图。因此该报一时成了巴黎和外省各报搜集新闻的场所，成了各类消息的重要来源。人人敬而远之，开始对它刮目相看。它已经不是一群投机政客暗中把持的报刊，而是政府的重要喉舌。报馆的幕后核心，就是拉罗舍—马蒂厄，杜•洛瓦则成了他的发言人。至于瓦尔特老头，这位平时很少发言的众院议员和精于心计的报馆经理，之所以隐而不露，据说在摩洛哥正暗中做着大笔铜矿生意。
　　玛德莱娜的客厅业已成为一处很有影响的场所，好几位内阁成员每星期都要来此聚会。连政府总理也已来她家吃过两次晚饭。这些政界要人的女眷，过去轻易不敢跨进她家门槛，如今却以有她这个朋友为荣，而且来访的次数远远超出她对她们的回访。
　　当今外交部长在这里随意出入，俨然成了家中的主人。他每天随时会来，而且总带来一些要发的电文、情报或消息，经他口授，由丈夫或妻子笔录下来，好像他们已成为他的秘书。
　　每当这位部长大人离去之后，同玛德莱娜面对面独处的杜•洛瓦，总要对这出身卑微的发迹小人火气连天地发泄一通，言语中不仅充满威胁，而且带有恶毒的含沙射影。
　　每逢此时，玛德莱娜总是耸耸肩，轻蔑地说道：
　　“你若有能耐，也像他一样，混个部长让我看看。到那时，你不也可趾高气扬起来？不过在此之前，劝你还是闭上你的臭嘴为好。”
　　杜•洛瓦乜斜着眼看着她，抚了抚嘴角的胡髭，说道：“我有什么能耐，现在也还无人知晓。也许总有一天，大家会发现的。”
　　“那好，”玛德莱娜捺住性子说道，“我们就等着看你什么时候会有这一天。”
　　两院复会那天早晨，尚未起床的玛德莱娜，向正在穿衣的杜•洛瓦作了反复叮咛。因为丈夫就要去拉罗舍—马蒂厄家吃午饭，想在开会之前，就《法兰西生活报》第二天要发表的一篇政论文章听听他的意见。不言而喻，此文应是内阁真实意图的一种半官方表露。
　　“特别是，”玛德莱娜说道，“别忘了问问他，贝龙克勒将军是否确像外界所传已被派往奥兰。如果确已派去，其意义可就非同一般了。”
　　“你能否少罗唆了两句，”杜•洛瓦不耐烦地说道，“让我安静一会儿。此去该问些什么，难道我自己还不清楚？”
　　“那可不见得，亲爱的，”玛德莱娜依然和颜悦色地说道，“每次你去部长家，我给你交办的事，你总要忘掉一半。”
　　“那是因为，”杜•洛瓦气哼哼地说，“你这位部长大人是个蠢货，我很讨厌他。”
　　“这是什么话？”玛德莱娜的语调仍旧十分平静，“他既不是我的部长，也不是你的部长。不过他对你比对我要更为有用。”
　　杜•洛瓦稍稍转过身，向她发出一声冷笑：
　　“对不起，他并未向我献殷勤。”
　　“对我也没有呀，”玛德莱娜不慌不忙地说，“别忘了，我们的前程可全都仰仗着他。”
　　杜•洛瓦一时语塞，过了一会儿，又说道：
　　“如果问我，在你的崇拜者中我喜欢谁，我倒还是倾向于沃德雷克那个老傻瓜。这家伙近来怎样？我已有一星期没见着他了。”
　　“他病了，”玛德莱娜说，神态分外镇定。“他给我写了封信，说他因关节炎发作而起不了床。你应当去看看他。你知道，他很喜欢你，你若去了，他一定会很高兴的。”
　　“是的，我一会儿就去，”杜•洛瓦说。
　　他已穿戴整齐，戴上帽子后又查了查，看有没有落下什么。见一切都已妥贴，他也就走到床边，亲了亲妻子的前额，说道：
　　“回头见，亲爱的。我晚上七点以前回不来。”
　　说完，他出了家门。拉罗舍—马蒂厄先生正在恭候他的光临。由于内阁须赶在议会复会之前的正午开会，他今天的午餐定于十点开始。
　　鉴于女主人不愿改变她的用餐习惯，饭桌上只坐了他们两人及部长的私人秘书。刚一落座，杜•洛瓦便谈了谈他那篇文章及其梗概，并不时地看了看匆匆写在几张名片上的笔记。“亲爱的部长先生，”他最后问道，“您看有没有什么不妥之处？”
　　“大体上还可以，亲爱的朋友。只是对于摩洛哥问题，语气或许稍嫌肯定。文章应将出兵的道理说得头头是道，同时又让人感到最终是不会出兵的，你自己就绝不相信。总之要让读者从字里行间感到，我们不会在这件事情上陷得太深。”
　　“好极了，我已明白您的意思，并将努力在文章中将此点充分反映出来。对了，我妻子要我问您，会不会将贝龙克勒将军派往奥兰，听了您刚才的话，我认为不会派。”
　　“是的，”部长说。
　　话题随后转到议会当天的复会。拉罗舍一马蒂厄侃侃而谈，显然在对自己几小时后在议会的发言会产生怎样的效果，作仔细的推敲。他的右手时而拿着叉子或刀子，时而拿着一小块面包，不断地挥舞着，好像已站在议会的讲坛上，不但语言铿锵，而且词藻华美，赛似清醇无比的美酒。他形质丰伟，衣冠楚楚，嘴角两撮短髭微微向上翘起，看去酷似竖着两条蝎子的尾巴。此外，他头发梳得油光可鉴，在头顶中央一分为二，围着两鬓贴了一圈，如同自命风流的外乡子弟。不过，虽然风华正茂，他却已有点大腹便便，凸起的肚子把上身穿的背心撑得鼓鼓的。他的私人秘书一直默然无语地吃着，喝着，对他这唾沫横飞的夸夸其谈，显然已习以为常。对他人的平步青云艳羡不已的杜•洛瓦，心里恨得什么似的，不由地在心中骂道：
　　“你这发迹小人有什么了不起的？当今政客哪个不是碌碌庸才？”
　　他把自己的才华同这位巧言令色的部长比了比，心中嘀咕道：
　　“他妈的，我若有十万法郎，去我美丽的家乡卢昂参加竞选，让我那些诺曼底同乡，不管机灵与否，都参加到滑稽透顶的选举中来，我不也会成为一名政治家？我在各个方面都一定会非常出色，岂是这些目光短浅的鼠辈所能比拟？”
　　拉罗舍—马蒂厄滔滔不绝，一直说到仆人送来咖啡。他一见时候已经不早，立即按了按铃，叫人备车，同时向杜•洛瓦伸过手来：
　　“都清楚了吗，我亲爱的朋友？”
　　“清楚了，部长先生，请尽管放心。”
　　杜•洛瓦于是不慌不忙地向报馆走去，打算动手写那篇文章。因为在下午四点之前，他没有什么事可做。只是到四点钟，他要去君士坦丁堡街与德•马莱尔夫人相会。他们的会面每星期两次——星期一和星期五，如今已是刻板成章。
　　可是他刚走进编辑部，便有人递给他一封快信。信是瓦尔特夫人寄来的，内容如下：
　　我今天一定要见到你，事情至关重要。请于午后两点在君士坦丁堡街等我。我这回可要给你帮个大忙。
　　你至死不渝的朋友——维吉妮
　　“他妈的，来的可真是时候！”杜•洛瓦愤怒不已，随口骂了一句。由于情绪太糟，他已无法工作，因而立即出了报馆。
　　一个半月来，他一直试图同瓦尔特夫人断绝往来，可是她却仍旧死死缠着他。
　　那天失身之后，她曾懊悔万分，在随后一连三次会面中对杜•洛瓦责备不休，骂声不绝。杜•洛瓦被这骂骂咧咧的场面弄得心如死灰，且对这徐娘半老、喜怒无常的女人早已失去兴趣，因此决定疏远她，希望这小小的插曲能因而很快过去。不想她忽然回心转意，对他一片痴情，不顾一切地沉溺于这条爱河中。那样子，简直像是往脖颈上拴块石头跳入河中一样。杜•洛瓦软了下来，出于对她的爱怜和照拂，只得处处随着她。可是她的情思是那样炽烈，弄得他心力交瘁，难于招架，备受折磨。
　　比如她一天也不能见不着他，每天随时随刻都会给他寄来一封快信，约他立即去街头、商店或公园相会。
　　及至见了面，她又总是那几句话，说她是多么地爱他，在心里将他奉若神明。等到离去，也总免不了一番赌咒发誓：“今日见到你，真不知有多高兴。”
　　至于其他方面，也与杜•洛瓦的想象截然不同。为了博得杜•洛瓦的欢心，她常常做出一些与其年龄极不相称、令人喷饭的可笑动作。这贤良文静，年已四十的女人，多年来始终恪守妇道，她那圣洁的心灵，从无任何非分之想，更不知男女偷情为何物。可如今，她却像是在经过一个寒冷夏天之后所出现的阳光惨淡的秋天，或像是在花草孱弱、蓓蕾夭折的暮春，突然萌发出了一种少女般的奇异情思。虽然姗姗来迟，这股爱却分外地热烈，并带着一片天真。其难以逆料的冲动和不时发出的轻声叫唤，恰如情窦初开的少女。但毕竟青春已逝，这娇媚不断的惺惺作态，只能使人倒胃。一天之中，她可以给杜•洛瓦写上十来封情书，但情书所透出的狂热，却只会让人哑然失笑。情书的文笔更是怪诞，常常无缘无故诗兴大发，不能给人以任何感染。此外，信中还学做印地安人的样子，通篇充斥飞禽走兽的名字。
　　每当他们在一起时，一旦没有外人，她便会拖着她那胖胖的身躯，努起难看的嘴唇，走过来温情脉脉地亲吻他，胸衣下两只沉甸甸的乳房因步履的迅疾而不停地抖动。尤其让杜•洛瓦难以忍受的，是她对他各种各样令人作呕的亲昵称呼。一会儿唤他“我的小耗子”，“我的小狗”，“我的小猫”，一会儿又唤他“我的小宝贝”，“我的小青鸟”，“我的小心肝”。而且每次同他床第相就，总要有一番忸忸怩怩，半推半就，并自以为妩媚动人，故意装出一副天真无邪、担惊受怕的样子，同行为不轨的女学生做的那些小动作十分类似。
　　“我现在要吻谁呢？”她常会问道。如果杜•洛瓦没有马上回答“吻我”，她便会没完没了地问下去，直到杜•洛瓦气白了脸为止。
　　杜•洛瓦觉得，她本应懂得，谈情说爱，需要的是把握分寸，相机行事，一言一行都要十分谨慎而又恰到好处；她作为一个芳龄已逝、已有两个女儿的女人，又是一名上流社会的贵妇，既已委身于他，就应行事庄重，严于律己，善于克制内心的冲动。这时的她可能还会流下眼泪，但此眼泪决不应像正当豆蔻年华的朱丽叶①所流下的，而应像狄多②所流下的。
　　--------
　　①朱丽叶，莎士比亚所著《罗密欧与朱丽叶》一剧中的女主角。
　　②狄多，希腊传说中推罗国王穆顿之女。
　　她不停地向他唠叨：“我是多么地爱你，我的小乖乖。你也一样爱我吗，我的小宝贝？”
　　杜•洛瓦每听到她喊他“我的小乖乖”或“我的小宝贝”，真想叫她一声“我的老太婆”。
　　“我自己也不敢想象怎么就顺从了你，”她常这样说道，“不过我并不后悔。爱情原来是这样的美好！”
　　她说的这些话，杜•洛瓦听了，觉得它是那样地刺耳。“爱情原来是这样的美好！”这句话从她嘴里说出来，简直像是一个天真无邪的少女在舞台上背诵的台词。
　　此外，她在拥抱杜•洛瓦时，那生硬的动作也令他深为不悦。一接触到这位美男子的嘴唇，她便周身热血奔涌，欲火如炽，因而其拥抱往往显得异常认真，那笨手笨脚的样子让杜•洛瓦直想笑。因为这情景分明同一些目不识丁的老人，到了行将就木之际，忽然心血来潮，想学几个字一样。
　　她使出全身力气，紧紧地将他搂在怀内，其热辣辣的目光是那样炽烈，令人望而生畏，正是某些年华已逝，但床第兴致依然不减当年的女人所常有的。她双唇颤抖，默然无语地使劲吻着他，同时那温暖、臃肿、已经力不从心但仍不知足的身躯，则紧紧地贴着他。这时，她常会像一个情窦初开的少女，有意扭动身躯，嗲声嗲气地对他说：“小宝贝，我是多么地爱你！我是多么地爱你！现在来让你的小女人，好好地痛快一下！”
　　每当此时，杜•洛瓦真想痛骂她几句，然后拿起帽子，拂袖而去。
　　他们最初的几次幽会，是在君士坦丁堡街进行的。但每次见面，杜•洛瓦总是提心吊胆，生怕会遇上德•马莱尔夫人。
　　因此到后来，他也就想出种种借口，不让她来这里。
　　他现在几乎每天都去她家，或是去吃午饭，或是去吃晚饭。她则不放过任何机会同他亲昵，有时在桌子下面和他拉拉手，有时在门背后和他偷吻。然而杜•洛瓦却更希望同苏珊呆在一起，因为她的小样儿是那样有趣。不想这长着一张娃娃脸的少女，为人却相当机灵、狡黠，常常说出一些叫人意想不到的诡诈话语，像集市上见到的小木偶，总喜欢炫耀自己。她对身边的一切及所有的人都看不上眼，而且观察敏锐，出语犀利。杜•洛瓦常常挑逗她，让她对什么都采取一种玩世不恭的态度。二人因而情投意合，十分默契。
　　苏珊对他如今是张口“漂亮朋友”闭口“漂亮朋友”地叫个不停。
　　一听到她的叫喊，杜•洛瓦立刻便会离开她母亲而向她跑过去。苏珊这时常会在他耳边嘀咕两句尖刻的话语，两人于是发出一阵哈哈大笑。
　　这样，杜•洛瓦既已对这位母亲的爱感到索然寡味，现在也就对她厌烦透了。只要一看到她，听到她的声音，甚至是想起她，便怒气冲天。因此，他已不再去她家，对她的来信或召唤，也不予理睬了。
　　瓦尔特夫人现在终于明白，杜•洛瓦已不爱她了，因此心中备感痛苦。但她并未死心，仍在时时注视着他的一举一动，甚至坐在窗帘放下的马车里，在报馆或他家的门前，或他可能经过的路旁等着他。
　　杜•洛瓦真想毫不客气地骂她一通，甚至狠狠地揍她一顿，直截了当地对她说：“滚开，你总这样缠着我，真让我烦透了。”可是鉴于《法兰西生活报》的关系，他们不想把事情做得太绝，希望通过他的冷漠和软硬兼施，以及不时说出的尖锐话语，而使她最终明白，他们之间的关系该结束了。
　　不想她仍不识事务地想出种种理由，一定要他去君士坦丁堡街同她见面，而一想到两个女人总有一天会在门前相遇，杜•洛瓦便感到不寒而栗。
　　说到这另一个女人，即德•马莱尔夫人，在这一年的夏天，他对她的爱却越来越深了。杜•洛瓦常叫她“我的淘气鬼”。不言而喻，他喜欢的是她。由于他们都是玩世不恭的风流人儿和在社交场中追欢买笑的浪荡男女，两人的性情是如此相投，连他们自己也未想到，他们竟与街头那些生活放荡之徒毫无二致。
　　因此整个夏天，他们是在卿卿我我的热恋中度过的，常常像两个寻欢作乐的大学生，特意偷偷离开家，跑到阿让特伊、布吉瓦尔、麦松和普瓦西去共进午餐或晚餐，并久久地在河上泛舟，采摘岸边的花草。德•马莱尔夫人所瞩目的是塞纳河炸鱼、白葡萄酒烩肉和洋葱烧鱼，以及酒肆门前的凉棚和艄公喊出的号子。杜•洛瓦则喜欢在大晴天同她一起坐在郊区列车的顶层上，说说笑笑，饱览巴黎郊外的景色，虽然市民们在这里建的一幢幢别墅大都十分简陋，并无多少魅人之处。
　　有的时候，杜•洛瓦不得不赶回城里，去瓦尔特夫人家吃晚饭。他此时对死死缠着他的老东西真是恨得咬牙切齿，一心惦念着刚刚和他分手的德•马莱尔夫人，因为在河边的草丛里，这年轻的女人已使他的欲望得到满足，他的心已被她完全占据。
　　现在，他以为自己已终于大体摆脱老东西的纠缠，因为他已非常明确，甚至直截了当地向她表明，他不想让他们之间的关系继续下去了。不想一走进报馆，竟又收到了她的快信，要他下午两点去君士坦丁堡街相见。
　　他一边走一边将信又读了一遍，只写上面写道：“我今天一定要见到你，事情至关重要。请于午后两点在君士坦丁堡街等我。我这回可要给你帮个大忙。你至死不渝的朋友——维吉妮。”
　　“老东西今天又要见我，”杜•洛瓦在心里嘀咕道，“不知为的是什么？我敢打赌，除了没完没了地向我唠叨，她是怎样地爱我，一定又是什么话也没有。不过她在信中谈到事情至关重要，又说要给我帮个大忙，这或许是真的，因此须看看再说，问题是，克洛蒂尔德四点就到，我无论如何得在三点之前把老东西打发走。唉！这两个女人可真烦人，但愿她们不要碰在一起！”
　　他不由地想起自己的妻子。实在说来，也只有她从未给他带来任何烦恼。她有自己的生活，似乎也很爱他，这在他们共度良宵时表现得尤其明显。总之，她平素的生活有条不紊，几乎一成不变，决不许人轻易打乱。
　　这样，杜•洛瓦迈着缓慢的步伐，向他那用作同女人幽会的住所走了过去，心里对老东西恨得什么似的：
　　“哼，她这次要是什么事儿也没有，看我会怎样对待她！我可不会像康布罗纳①那样温文尔雅。相反，作为第一步，我将对她说，从今之后再也不会跨进她家的门坎。”
　　--------
　　①康布罗纳（一七七○—一八四二），拿破仑时代著名将领。
　　他于是走进房内，等待瓦尔特夫人的到来。
　　她几乎立刻就来了，一见到他便说道：
　　“啊！看来你收到我的信了，真是太好了。”
　　杜•洛瓦没好气地答道：
　　“是的，信送到报馆时，我正要去众议院。你今天找我来，又有什么事？”
　　为了亲吻他，她已摘去头上的面纱，像一条被打怕的狗，一副胆怯而又温顺的样子，向他走了过去，一边说道：
　　“你对我为何这样狠？……说话总是夹枪带棒的……我做了什么对不起你的事？你也不想想，这样做会给我造成多大的痛苦？”
　　“收起你那一套！”杜•洛瓦向她嘟哝道。
　　瓦尔特夫人紧挨着他站着，只要他微微一笑，或做个什么手势，便会立即投入他的怀抱。
　　“我原是一个多么规矩而又幸福的女人，”她又说道，“不想被你勾引而误入歧途，今天你竟又这样对我。你当初在教堂里是怎样对我说来着，后来又怎样硬把我拉到这间房里，你总还没有忘记吧？可是现在，你一见到我，竟是这样一副样子，这样一种腔调！上帝！上帝！你对我为何如此凶狠？”
　　杜•洛瓦跺了跺脚，变得更加声色俱厉了：
　　“别说了，你这些话我实在听够了。一见到你，就是这没完没了的唠叨。好像我当初追求你时，你还是个孩子，什么也不懂，完全是个天使。不，亲爱的，事实不容否认，你当时并不是一名无知无识的幼女，因此根本谈不上拐骗。你是作为一个成年妇女，投入我的怀抱的。对此，我一直深深地铭感于怀，但我总不能就这样一辈子围着你转。你有丈夫，我也有妻子，都是有家的人，再也不能胡闹了。是的，我们曾相爱过，不过时间短暂，无人知晓，现在该结束了。”
　　“啊！”瓦尔特夫人说道，“瞧瞧你这些话是多么地狠毒，多么地龌龊，多么地无情无义！是的，我当时已确实不再是冰清玉洁的少女，可是我从未爱过别人，从未失过身……”
　　“这些我全知道，”杜•洛瓦打断她的话，“况且你已说过不下二十次了。不过你应知道，你当时已有两个孩子……因此已不是一名处女……”
　　她惊愕不已，不由地倒退一步：
　　“啊！乔治，你要这样想，那就太不像话了！……”
　　与此同时，她双手按住胸口，喉间喘着粗气，眼看就要放声痛哭。
　　杜•洛瓦见她的眼泪已经下来，顺手拿起放在壁炉上的帽子，向她说道：
　　“既然你要哭，我就走了，再见。你今天让我来，原来是要我看这场表演！”
　　她往前一步，拦住了他，同时从兜里抽出一块手绢，迅速擦了擦眼泪。神色已终于镇定下来，但说出的话语仍因气噎喉堵而断断续续：
　　“不……我今天来……是要告诉你一个消息……一个政治方面的消息……如果你愿意……可以趁此机会赚上五万法郎……甚至更多。”
　　“什么？你说的是什么？”杜•洛瓦的语气突然缓和了下来。
　　“昨天晚上，我偶尔听了几句我丈夫和拉罗舍的谈话。再说，他们平时谈什么，倒也不怎么背着我。我只听我丈夫要拉罗舍对你保守秘密，因为怕你会把事情泄露出去。”
　　杜•洛瓦已将帽子放在椅子上，神情十分紧张：
　　“那么，他们说了什么呢？”
　　“他们要占领摩洛哥。”
　　“这是哪儿的话？我刚才还在拉罗舍家，同他一起吃了饭。
　　内阁打算怎样做，他基本上都已对我讲了。”
　　“不，亲爱的，他们骗了你。他们的事不想让任何人知道。”
　　“你坐下来说，”杜•洛瓦对她说道。
　　他自己随即在一张扶手椅上坐了下来，瓦尔特夫人则从地上拉过一个小板凳，放在杜•洛瓦两腿之间，一屁股坐在上面。接着，她十分温存地说道：
　　“我因为时时想着你，现在对我身边的人所悄悄议论的话题，也很留意。”
　　她告诉杜•洛瓦，一个时期来，她发现他们一直在背着他搞什么秘密勾当。他们对他是既想利用，又不太放心。
　　“你知道，”她说，“一个人在有了心上人后，是变得特别精明的。”
　　到了来此见他的头一天，她终于弄明白是怎么回事。原来他们正在偷偷地谋划一笔很大很大的交易。她为自己的机灵而感到高兴，脸上不禁露出了笑容。她越说越激动，出言吐语完全是一副金融家内眷的神情，非常熟悉交易所里所玩弄的各种花招和证券市场的急剧变化。证券行情的这种大起大落，常会使成千上万的小资产者和微薄年金收入者，在一两小时内便倾家荡产。因为这些人以其积蓄所购股票，大都是以一些政治家或银行家的响亮名声为后盾的。
　　“他们这一手，”瓦尔特夫人反复说道，“干得可真漂亮，实在天衣无缝。再说整个事情是我丈夫一手策划的，他对此非常内行，简直是得心应手。”
　　杜•洛瓦对她这没完没了的情况介绍，实在听得不耐烦了，说道：
　　“究竟是怎么回事，你倒是快说呀。”
　　“好吧，事情是这样的：向丹吉尔出兵一事，早在拉罗舍当上外交部长之日，他们便已决定了。这期间，他们一步步地，把降到六十四法郎或六十五法郎的摩洛哥股票全部收了进来，而且收进的手段极其巧妙，全都是委托名声欠佳的经纪人代为办理，以免引起他人怀疑。他们甚至瞒过了罗契尔德家族的银行。该行虽曾对不断有人购进摩洛哥股票感到不解，但得到的答复是，收购者全系声名狼藉、濒于破产的中间人，因而也就未予深究。现在，出兵一事很快就将付诸实施，一旦我们的军队到达那边，国家就会对此股票提供担保。这样一来，我丈夫他们便可稳赚五、六千万。你听明白没有？他们为何对谁也不放心，生怕走漏一点风声，不也就再清楚不过了吗？”
　　瓦尔特夫人感到，她在杜•洛瓦心中的地位，现已变得重要起来，因此将两手放在他的膝盖上，上身紧紧地贴着他的胸膛。为了博得他的一笑和他对她的爱抚，现在不论要她做什么，她也会在所不辞。
　　“情况确实吗？”杜•洛瓦问。
　　“绝无问题，”瓦尔特夫人充满自信。
　　“这一手确实漂亮，”杜•洛瓦说，“至于拉罗舍这个混蛋，到时候，我可要给他一点厉害。啊，这个恶棍！他最好还是小心点……最好还是小心点……他那部长职位已完全掌握在我手里！”
　　他想了想，自言自语道：
　　“不过这个机会倒不可放过。”
　　“这种股票，”她说，“你现在要买也还可以，每股才七十二法郎。”
　　“是呀，可是我手头没有现钱。”
　　瓦尔特夫人抬起头来看着他，目光中充满央求：
　　“此点我已想到，我的小猫咪。你若能听我的话，对我好一点，所需的钱可由我来借给你。”
　　“这个嘛，就算了吧，”杜•洛瓦断然回绝。
　　“听我说，”瓦尔特夫人又哀求道，“我还想了个办法，无须你借一个铜子。我本想买一万法郎这种股票，以便积攒一点私房。这样吧，既然你无现金购买，我就买他两万，其中有一半算你的。你知道，这笔钱我不必还我丈夫。因此你现在一分钱也不用出。如果事情成功，你可得七万法郎。如果不能成功，你欠我的一万法郎，什么时候归还都可以。”
　　“不，”杜•洛瓦仍不同意，“这种做法我不太喜欢。”
　　瓦尔特夫人于是又摆出一大堆理由来说服他，说他实际上只是凭一句话而参加一万法郎的认购，因此也是承担着一定风险的。其次，她也不必为他垫一分钱，因为所需款项将从她丈夫的银行透支。
　　此外，她还向他阐明，这件事若能成功，将完全归功于他在《法兰西生活报》从政治方面所进行的努力，若不加以利用，就未免太愚蠢了。
　　杜•洛瓦依然犹豫不决，瓦尔特夫人又说道：
　　“你应当这样想：这一万法郎，实际上是我丈夫替你垫的，你替他办的事所应得到的报酬，远远不止这些。”
　　“好吧，那就这样办，”杜•洛瓦终于说，“你认购的股票中算我一半。如果将来本金全亏，我便给你一万法郎。”
　　瓦尔特夫人欣喜万状，她站起身，双手扶着他的头，吻了又吻。
　　杜•洛瓦起初未予制止。不想她更加大胆，到后来竟紧紧搂着他，在他脸上到处吻着。他想另一位就要来了，如果他心一软，势必会消耗他一些时间，况且他与其在老东西怀内耗费精力，还不如留待年轻的德•马莱尔夫人到来。
　　他于是轻轻将她推开，说道：
　　“好了好了，不要再这样了。”
　　“啊，乔治！”瓦尔特夫人痛苦地看着他，“我现在连吻吻你也不行了。”
　　“今天不行，我有点头疼。总是这样，我会受不了的。”杜•洛瓦说。
　　瓦尔特夫人只得顺从地在他的两腿间重新坐下，说道：“明晚来我家吃饭好吗？你若能来，我将不知有多高兴。”
　　他沉吟良久，最终还是不敢拒绝，说道：
　　“好呀，我一定来。”
　　“真是太感谢了，亲爱的。”
　　激动不已的她，不禁温柔地将她的面颊在他的胸膛上慢慢地蹭来蹭去。不料她的一根乌黑的长发，在不知不觉中缠在了他上身背心的钮扣上。
　　她发现后心中忽发奇想，这种纯属迷信的奇想，正是女人们在考虑问题时所常有的。她于是索性把那根头发绕在那个扣子上。接着又在另一个扣子上绕了一根。如此接二连三，她在杜•洛瓦上身背心的所有扣子上，都绕了根自己的头发。
　　待会儿，杜•洛瓦一站起来，势必会将这些头发扯断，从而给她造成疼痛。然而对她说来，这将是多大的幸事！她的一小绺头发，即她身上的一些东西，将因而被他带走。这类信物，他还从来没有跟她索要过。而现在，这一根根头发将像一种无形的纽带，神不知鬼不觉地把她紧紧同他连结在一起，是她留在他身上的一件法宝。总之，杜•洛瓦将会不由自主地想着她，思念她。他对她的爱或许明天就会变得强烈一些。
　　“我要走了，”杜•洛瓦这时突然说道，“因为我要在众院会议结束之前赶去见两个人，今天不能不去。”
　　“是吗？这样快就走？”瓦尔特夫人叹息一声，但接着便隐忍道：“好，你走吧，不过明天可一定要来吃晚饭。”
　　她将身子闪了开来，头上猛的一阵短暂而剧烈的疼痛，好像针扎一样。她的心跳得厉害，为自己被他稍稍弄疼而感到十分高兴。
　　“那就再见了，”她说。
　　杜•洛瓦似笑非笑地将她搂在怀内，冷冷地亲了亲她的两眼。
　　她被这亲吻顿时弄得心醉神迷，又叹息了一声：“这样快就要走了！”哀求的目光始终盯着房门大开的卧房。
　　杜•洛瓦将她轻轻推开，脸上一副焦急的样子：
　　“我得走了，再要耽搁，就赶不上了。”
　　她于是凑过嘴唇，杜•洛瓦在上面随便碰了碰，一面将她遗忘的雨伞递给她，说道：
　　“快走，快走，现在已经三点多了。”
　　她先他一步走了出去，嘴里仍在不停地说道：“明晚七点，可别忘了。”
　　“明晚七点，我不会忘的。”杜•洛瓦说。
　　他们随即分了手，一个往右，一个往左。
　　杜•洛瓦一直走到环城大街，然后又沿着马勒泽布大街慢慢走了回来。走到一家食品店门前，他发现玻璃缸里装着糖炒栗子，心想这是克洛蒂尔德特别爱吃的，于是走去买了一袋。四点整，他回到君士坦丁堡街，恭候其年轻情妇的光临。
　　德•马莱尔夫人今天来得较晚，因为她丈夫又从外地回来了，要住上一星期。
　　“你明天能来我家吃晚饭吗？我丈夫见到你一定会很高兴的。”她问杜•洛瓦。
　　“不行，我明天要去老板家吃晚饭。我们有许多政治方面和金融方面的事情要商量。”
　　她已摘去帽子，现在正忙着脱下绷得太紧的胸衣。
　　“我给你买了点糖炒栗子，”杜•洛瓦指了指放在壁炉上的纸袋。
　　“是吗？”她拍起了手，“你真是太好了。”
　　她走去拿起栗子，挑了一个尝了尝，说道：
　　“这玩艺儿真不错，我想我会把它全都吃光的。”
　　她神采飞扬，深情地看着他：
　　“我的毛病很多，看来不论哪一方面，都未使你感到讨厌。”
　　她慢慢地吃着栗子，并不时往袋内了上一眼，看里边是否还有。
　　“来，”她这时说道，“你来坐在这椅子上，我就坐在你两腿之间吃我的栗子。那一定很是惬意。”
　　杜•洛瓦笑了笑，随即坐下并张开两腿，让她坐在中间，同瓦尔特夫人刚才坐的地方一样。
　　她仰起头，嘴里塞得满满的，向他说道：
　　“告诉你，亲爱的，我梦见了你，梦见咱们俩骑着一头骆驼作长途跋涉。那是一头双峰驼，我们每人骑在一个驼峰上，穿过一片沙漠，身边带着三明治和葡萄酒。三明治用纸包着，酒则装在玻璃瓶内。我们的饭就在驼峰上吃。可是没过多久，我便觉得乏味了，因为其他的事，什么也做不了，我们之间隔的距离又太大。因此我想下来。”
　　“我也想下来，”杜•洛瓦打趣道。
　　他哈哈大笑，觉得这个故事很是开心，因此怂恿她继续说这说那，即情侣们在一起常说的那种天真烂漫、柔情依依的“疯话”。这无所顾忌的笑谈，出自德•马莱尔夫人之口，他觉得是那样情趣盎然，而如果由瓦尔特夫人说出来，则定会使他大为扫兴。
　　克洛蒂尔德现在对他是左一个“我的小宝贝”，右一个“我的小猫咪”地叫个不停，他听了心里美滋滋的，毫无不悦之感；而刚才瓦尔特夫人这样叫他，他却感到十分刺耳，很不舒服。这毫不足怪，同样的情话出自不同的人之口，效果也全然不同。
　　不过杜•洛瓦在为这荡人心魄的欢声笑语所陶醉的同时，心里却想的是他即将赚到的七万法郎。因此他忽然以手指在德•马莱尔夫人的头上敲了两下，打断了她的喁喁絮语，说道：
　　“听我说，我的小猫咪。替我给你丈夫捎句话。就说我说的，让他明天去买一万法郎摩洛哥股票。此股票的现价是每股七十二法郎。不出三个月，我保证他能赚六万至八万法郎。你可要叫他严守秘密，就说是我讲的，政府已决定向丹吉尔出兵，国家将为摩洛哥股票提供担保。至于别的人，你就不用管了。我对你讲的这些，可是国家机密。”
　　克洛蒂尔德的神情已变得十分严肃，说道：
　　“谢谢你的关照。我今晚就告诉我丈夫。对于他，你尽可放心，他不会说的。他这个人嘴很紧，绝不会有问题。”
　　她这时已将栗子全部吃完，因而将纸袋在手里揉了揉，扔进壁炉里，说道：“咱们上床吧。”说罢开始给杜•洛瓦解上身背心的钮扣。
　　然而她并未解下去，而是手上拿着一根从扣眼上抽出的长发笑了起来：
　　“瞧，你可真是个忠实的丈夫，身上还带着玛德莱娜的头发。”
　　接着，她又变得严肃起来，对着这被她发现、几乎看不见的头发琢磨了很久，说道：
　　“这头发是褐色的，不可能是玛德莱娜的。”
　　“或许是女佣的吧，”杜•洛瓦笑道。
　　克洛蒂尔德认真地在背心上仔细查了查，结果从另一只钮扣上又抽出了一根长发，随后又找出一根。她忽然脸色煞白，身子微微颤抖，大声喊道：
　　“好呀！你一定同哪个女人睡了觉，她把头发缠在了你的纽扣上。”
　　“这是哪儿的话？你在胡说什么……”杜•洛瓦惊讶不已，结结巴巴地说道。
　　他想了想，很快便明白了过来。虽然有点尴尬，但他立刻便讪笑着矢口否认，对克洛蒂尔德怀疑他另有新欢并无任何不悦之意。
　　然而克洛蒂尔德仍在寻找，不断地把她在其他扣子上找到的头发，一一迅速解开，扔到地毯上。
　　这究竟是怎么回事，天性机灵的她一眼就看了出来。因此，她顿时气得七窍生烟，狂怒不已，早已泣不成声了：
　　“这个女人一定爱着你……她分明是想让你时时带着她身上的某些东西……啊！你这无情无义的东西……”
　　她忽然一阵欣喜，神经质地发出一声尖叫：
　　“啊！……啊！……这是一根白发……原来是个上了年纪的女人！……好啊！你现在竟同老的也睡起觉来了……她们一定给了你不少钱吧？……说，你收了她们多少钱？……没有想到，你同什么人都可以……既然如此，也就用不着我了……
　　你还是同那个人好吧……”
　　她站起身，跑去拿起刚才扔在椅子上的胸衣，迅速地穿了起来。
　　杜•洛瓦满脸羞愧，走过去想挽留她：
　　“不要这样……克洛……别犯傻了……我的确不知道这是怎么回事……听我说……别走……千万别走……”

Chapter 14 The Will
The church was draped in black, and over the door a large escutcheon surmounted by a coronet announced to the passers-by that a nobleman was being buried. The ceremony was just over; those present went out slowly, passing by the coffin, and by Count de Vaudrec’s nephew, who shook hands and returned salutations.
When Georges du Roy and his wife left the church, they walked along side by side on their way home. They did not speak; they were both preoccupied. At length Georges said, as if talking to himself: “Truly it is very astonishing!”
Madeleine asked: “What, my friend?”
“That Vaudrec left us nothing.”
She blushed and said: “Why should he leave us anything? Had he any reason for doing so?” Then after several moments of silence, she continued: “Perhaps there is a will at a lawyer’s; we should not know of it.”
He replied: “That is possible, for he was our best friend. He dined with us twice a week; he came at any time; he was at home with us. He loved you as a father; he had no family, no children, no brothers nor sisters, only a nephew. Yes, there should be a will. I would not care for much — a remembrance to prove that he thought of us — that he recognized the affection we felt for him. We should certainly have a mark of friendship.”
She said with a pensive and indifferent air: “It is possible that there is a will.”
When they entered the house, the footman handed Madeleine a letter. She opened it and offered it to her husband.
“OFFICE OF M. LAMANEUR,
Notary.
17 Rue des Vosges,”
“Madame: Kindly call at my office at a quarter past two o’clock
Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday, on business which concerns
you.”
“Yours respectfully,”
“LAMANEUR.”
Georges, in his turn, colored.
“That is as it should be. It is strange, however, that he should write to you and not to me, for I am the head of the family legally.”
“Shall we go at once?” she asked.
“Yes, I should like to.”
After luncheon they set out for M. Lamaneur’s office.
The notary was a short, round man — round all over. His head looked like a ball fastened to another ball, which was supported by legs so short that they too almost resembled balls.
He bowed, as Du Roy and his wife were shown into his office, pointed to seats, and said, turning to Madeleine: “Madame, I sent for you in order to inform you of Count de Vaudrec’s will, which will be of interest to you.”
Georges could not help muttering: “I suspected that.”
The notary continued: “I shall read you the document which is very brief.”
“‘I, the undersigned, Paul Emile Cyprien Gontran, Count de
Vaudrec, sound both in body and mind, here express my last
wishes. As death might take me away at any moment, I wish to
take the precaution of drawing up my will, to be deposited with
M. Lamaneur.’”
“‘Having no direct heirs, I bequeath all my fortune, comprising
stocks and bonds for six hundred thousand francs and landed
property for five hundred thousand, to Mme. Claire Madeleine du
Roy unconditionally. I beg her to accept that gift from a dead
friend as a proof of devoted, profound, and respectful
affection.’”
The notary said: “That is all. That document bears the date of August last, and took the place of one of the same nature made two years ago in the name of Mme. Claire Madeleine Forestier. I have the first will, which would prove, in case of contestation on the part of the family, that Count de Vaudrec had not changed his mind.”
Madeleine cast down her eyes; her cheeks were pale. Georges nervously twisted his mustache.
The notary continued after a moment’s pause: “It is of course understood that Madame cannot accept that legacy without your consent.”
Du Roy rose and said shortly: “I ask time for reflection.”
The notary smiled, bowed, and replied pleasantly: “I comprehend the scruples which cause you to hesitate. I may add that M. de Vaudrec’s nephew, who was informed this morning of his uncle’s last wishes, expresses himself as ready to respect them if he be given one hundred thousand francs. In my opinion the will cannot be broken, but a lawsuit would cause a sensation which you would probably like to avoid. The world often judges uncharitably. Can you let me have your reply before Saturday?”
Georges bowed, and together with his wife left the office. When they arrived home, Du Roy closed the door and throwing his hat on the bed, asked: “What were the relations between you and Vaudrec?”
Madeleine, who was taking off her veil, turned around with a shudder: “Between us?”
“Yes, between you and him! One does not leave one’s entire fortune to a woman unless —”
She trembled, and could scarcely take out the pins which fastened the transparent tissue. Then she stammered in an agitated manner: “You are mad — you are — you are — you did not think — he would leave you anything!”
Georges replied, emphazing each word: “Yes, he could have left me something; me, your husband, his friend; but not you, my wife and his friend. The distinction is material in the eyes of the world.”
Madeleine gazed at him fixedly: “It seems to me that the world would have considered a legacy from him to you very strange.”
“Why?”
“Because,”— she hesitated, then continued: “Because you are my husband; because you were not well acquainted; because I have been his friend so long; because his first will, made during Forestier’s lifetime, was already in my favor.”
Georges began to pace to and fro. He finally said: “You cannot accept that.”
She answered indifferently: “Very well; it is not necessary then to wait until Saturday; you can inform M. Lamaneur at once.”
He paused before her, and they gazed into one another’s eyes as if by that mute and ardent interrogation they were trying to examine each other’s consciences. In a low voice he murmured: “Come, confess your relations.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “You are absurd. Vaudrec was very fond of me, very, but there was nothing more, never.”
He stamped his foot. “You lie! It is not possible.”
She replied calmly: “It is so, nevertheless.”
He resumed his pacing to and fro; then pausing again, he said: “Explain to me, then, why he left all his fortune to you.”
She did so with a nonchalant air: “It is very simple. As you said just now, we were his only friends, or rather, I was his only friend, for he knew me when a child. My mother was a governess in his father’s house. He came here continually, and as he had no legal heirs, he selected me. It is possible that he even loved me a little. But what woman has never been loved thus? He brought me flowers every Monday. You were never surprised at that, and he never brought you any. To-day he leaves me his fortune for the same reason, because he had no one else to leave it to. It would on the other hand have been extremely surprising if he had left it to you.”
“Why?”
“What are you to him?”
She spoke so naturally and so calmly that Georges hesitated before replying: “It makes no difference; we cannot accept that bequest under those conditions. Everyone would talk about it and laugh at me. My fellow-journalists are already too much disposed to be jealous of me and to attack me. I have to be especially careful of my honor and my reputation. I cannot permit my wife to accept a legacy of that kind from a man whom rumor has already assigned to her as her lover. Forestier might perhaps have tolerated that, but I shall not.”
She replied gently: “Very well, my dear, we will not take it; it will be a million less in our pockets, that is all.”
Georges paced the room and uttered his thoughts aloud, thus speaking to his wife without addressing her:
“Yes, a million — so much the worse. He did not think when making his will what a breach of etiquette he was committing. He did not realize in what a false, ridiculous position he was placing me. He should have left half of it to me — that would have made matters right.”
He seated himself, crossed his legs and began to twist the ends of his mustache, as was his custom when annoyed, uneasy, or pondering over a weighty question.
Madeleine took up a piece of embroidery upon which she worked occasionally, and said: “I have nothing to say. You must decide.”
It was some time before he replied; then he said hesitatingly: “The world would never understand how it was that Vaudrec constituted you his sole heiress and that I allowed it. To accept that legacy would be to avow guilty relations on your part and an infamous lack of self-respect on mine. Do you know how the acceptance of it might be interpreted? We should have to find some adroit means of palliating it. We should have to give people to suppose, for instance, that he divided his fortune between us, giving half to you and half to me.”
She said: “I do not see how that can be done, since there is a formal will.”
He replied: “Oh, that is very simple. We have no children; you can therefore deed me part of the inheritance. In that way we can silence malignant tongues.”
She answered somewhat impatiently: “I do not see how we can silence malignant tongues since the will is there, signed by Vaudrec.”
He said angrily: “Do you need to exhibit it, or affix it to the door? You are absurd! We will say that the fortune was left us jointly by Count de Vaudrec. That is all. You cannot, moreover, accept the legacy without my authority; I will only consent on the condition of a partition which will prevent me from becoming a laughing-stock for the world.”
She glanced sharply at him: “As you will. I am ready.”
He seemed to hesitate again, rose, paced the floor, and avoiding his wife’s piercing gaze, he said: “No — decidedly no — perhaps it would be better to renounce it altogether — it would be more correct — more honorable. From the nature of the bequest even charitably-disposed people would suspect illicit relations.”
He paused before Madeleine. “If you like, my darling, I will return to M. Lamaneur’s alone, to consult him and to explain the matter to him. I will tell him of my scruples and I will add that we have agreed to divide it in order to avoid any scandal. From the moment that I accept a portion of the inheritance it will be evident that there is nothing wrong. I can say: ‘My wife accepts it because I, her husband, accept’— I, who am the best judge of what she can do without compromising herself.”
Madeleine simply murmured: “As you wish.”
He continued: “Yes, it will be as clear as day if that is done. We inherit a fortune from a friend who wished to make no distinction between us, thereby showing that his liking for you was purely Platonic. You may be sure that if he had given it a thought, that is what he would have done. He did not reflect — he did not foresee the consequences. As you said just now, he offered you flowers every week, he left you his wealth.”
She interrupted him with a shade of annoyance:
“I understand. No more explanations are necessary. Go to the notary at once.”
He stammered in confusion: “You are right; I will go.” He took his hat, and, as he was leaving the room, he asked: “Shall I try to compromise with the nephew for fifty thousand francs?”
She replied haughtily: “No. Give him the hundred thousand francs he demands, and take them from my share if you wish.”
Abashed, he murmured: “No, we will share it. After deducting fifty thousand francs each we will still have a million net.” Then he added: “Until later, my little Made.”
He proceeded to the notary’s to explain the arrangement decided upon, which he claimed originated with his wife. The following day they signed a deed for five hundred thousand francs, which Madeleine du Roy gave up to her husband.
On leaving the office, as it was pleasant, Georges proposed that they take a stroll along the boulevards. He was very tender, very careful of her, and laughed joyously while she remained pensive and grave.
It was a cold, autumn day. The pedestrians seemed in haste and walked along rapidly.
Du Roy led his wife to the shop into the windows of which he had so often gazed at the coveted chronometer.
“Shall I buy you some trinket?” he asked.
She replied indifferently: “As you like.”
They entered the shop: “What would you prefer, a necklace, a bracelet, or earrings?”
The sight of the brilliant gems made her eyes sparkle in spite of herself, as she glanced at the cases filled with costly baubles.
Suddenly she exclaimed: “There is a lovely bracelet.”
It was a chain, very unique in shape, every link of which was set with a different stone.
Georges asked: “How much is that bracelet?”
The jeweler replied: “Three thousand francs, sir.”
“If you will let me have it for two thousand five hundred, I will take it.”
The man hesitated, then replied: “No, sir, it is impossible.”
Du Roy said: “See here — throw in this chronometer at fifteen hundred francs; that makes four thousand, and I will pay cash. If you do not agree, I will go somewhere else.”
The jeweler finally yielded. “Very well, sir.”
The journalist, after leaving his address, said: “You can have my initials G. R. C. interlaced below a baron’s crown, engraved on the chronometer.”
Madeleine, in surprise, smiled, and when they left the shop, she took his arm quite affectionately. She thought him very shrewd and clever. He was right; now that he had a fortune he must have a title.
They passed the Vaudeville on their way arid, entering, secured a box. Then they repaired to Mme, de Marelle’s at Georges’ suggestion, to invite her to spend the evening with them. Georges rather dreaded the first meeting with Clotilde, but she did not seem to bear him any malice, or even to remember their disagreement. The dinner, which they took at a restaurant, was excellent, and the evening altogether enjoyable.
Georges and Madeleine returned home late. The gas was extinguished, and in order to light the way the journalist from time to time struck a match. On reaching the landing on the first floor they saw their reflections in the mirror. Du Roy raised his hand with the lighted match in it, in order to distinguish their images more clearly, and said, with a triumphant smile:
“The millionaires are passing by.”
　　教堂里挂着黑色的帷幔，门楣上方的纹章上扎了个花圈，告诉过往行人，这里正在给一位绅士举行葬礼。
　　有关仪式刚刚结束，前来参加吊唁的人正缓步从沃德雷克的灵柩前和他侄儿的身边走过。后者同众人一一握手，以示谢意。
　　乔治•杜•洛瓦和妻子走出教堂后，两人便肩并肩地走着，打算回家去。双方谁也没有说话，一副心事重重的样子。
　　到后来，杜•洛瓦终于开了口，但又像是在自言自语：
　　“这事可也真有点儿怪！”
　　“你说什么，亲爱的？”玛德莱娜问道。
　　“我是说沃德雷克怎么什么也没给我们留下。”
　　玛德莱娜倏地面红耳赤，一张粉脸从颈部往上仿佛罩了一层粉红色面纱：
　　“他干吗要给我们留点什么呢？一点道理也没有。”
　　过了一会儿，见杜•洛瓦没有答话，她又说道：
　　“公证人那儿恐怕会有遗嘱，只是我们还一无所知。”
　　“是的，这完全可能，”杜•洛瓦想了想，说道，“因为不管怎样，我们俩是他最要好的朋友。他每星期来家里吃两餐晚饭，不论什么时候，想来就来。他在我们家就像在自己家里一样。他对你简直俨如慈父，因为他孑然一身，既无子女，也无兄弟姐妹，只有一个侄儿，而且是远房的。你说得很对，他可能会留有遗嘱。我并不指望会得到多少东西，只是希望能有个纪念，说明他想到了我们，对我们有着真挚的感情，对我们同他的情谊感念不忘。因此，一点友好的表示是一定会有的。”
　　若有所思的玛德莱娜漫不经心地答道：
　　“是的，恐怕不会没有遗嘱。”
　　他们一踏进家门，仆人立即递给玛德莱娜一封信。玛德莱娜拆开看了看，随手递给杜•洛瓦。
　　信是设在沃热街十七号的拉马纳尔公证人事务所寄来的，全文如下：
　　夫人，
　　我荣幸地通知阁下，因一事与您有关，请于便中来本事务所面商。星期二至星期四下午二时至四时皆可。
　　顺致崇高的敬礼，
　　拉马纳尔
　　现在轮到杜•洛瓦满面羞红了，只见他说道：
　　“准是有关遗嘱的事。然而奇怪的是，他找的是你而不是我，因为从法律上来讲，我才是一家之主。”
　　玛德莱娜起先未予答理，后经过片刻考虑，说道：
　　“待会儿咱们一起去，你看怎样？”
　　“行，我很想去。”
　　吃过午饭，他们便出了家门。
　　到达拉马纳尔的事务所，接待他们的首席书记显得分外热情，立刻领他们进了公证人的办公室。
　　公证人是个五短身材，浑身上下，没有一处不胖得要命。脑袋像个圆球，镶嵌在由两条腿支撑的另一个圆球上。这两条腿是那样地粗而且短，看去也像是两个球似的。
　　他欠了欠身，指了指椅子，请来客坐下。然后，他转向玛德莱娜说道：
　　“夫人，德•沃德雷克伯爵生前留有一份遗嘱，此遗嘱涉及到您。我请您来，就是想把有关情况告诉您。”
　　“我早已料到就是为了这个，”杜•洛瓦按捺不住地嘟哝道。
　　“我现在就将这份遗嘱念给您听，”公证人又说，“所幸遗嘱倒也不长。”
　　他在桌上的一个纸盒里拿起一张纸，读了起来：
　　立遗嘱人德•沃德雷克伯爵，原名保罗—爱弥尔—
　　西皮里昂—贡特朗，身体健康，精神正常。今特在此将其生后意愿陈述如下：
　　人生短暂，生死难卜。为防不测，今特立遗嘱一份，存于公证人拉马纳尔先生处为证。
　　本人之财产计有交易所证券六十万法郎，不动产约
　　五十万法郎。因无直系亲属继承，本人愿将上述财产全部遗赠克莱尔—玛德莱娜•杜•洛瓦夫人，不附加任何条件或义务。此馈赠乃一亡友对该夫人忠诚友情之深切表示，望能哂纳。
　　公证人读完后，接着说道：
　　“以上就是遗嘱的全部内容。此遗嘱立于今年八月，以取代两年前所立内容完全相同、受赠人为克莱尔—玛德莱娜•弗雷斯蒂埃夫人的遗嘱。这前一份遗嘱尚存我处，若家庭内部发生争议，可足以证明德•沃德雷克伯爵先生的初衷，始终未变。”
　　玛德莱娜面色苍白，两只眼睛一直看着地下，杜•洛瓦则神情紧张地用手捻着嘴角的胡髭。停了一会儿，公证人又向杜•洛瓦说道：
　　“先生，不言而喻，夫人要接受这笔遗产，必须得到您的赞同。”
　　杜•洛瓦站起来，干巴巴地说了一句：
　　“我希望考虑考虑后再说。”
　　公证人笑着欠了欠身，十分和蔼地说道：
　　“先生，对于您的谨慎和犹豫不决，我完全理解。我想补充一点，德•沃德雷克先生的侄儿今天上午已得悉遗嘱的内容。他表示，若能给他十万法郎，他对此遗嘱将予尊重。我个人认为，就遗嘱本身而言，是没有任何空子可钻的，问题是如果闹到法院，则必会弄得满城风雨，因此你们恐怕还是尽量避免这种结局为好。须知人言可畏呀。不管怎样，望你们能在星期六之前对上述各点作出答复。”
　　“好的，先生，”杜•洛瓦欠了欠身说道，接着便彬彬有礼地向公证人躬身告辞。待始终一言未发的玛德莱娜先行退出后，他才脸色铁青地走了出去。此情此景公证人看在眼里，脸上的笑容早已无影无踪。
　　回到家里后，杜•洛瓦砰的一下关上房门，将帽子往床上一扔，说道：
　　“你过去是不是沃德雷克的相好？”
　　正在摘面纱的玛德莱娜，不禁一怔，将身子转了过来：
　　“你是说我吗？”
　　“对，就是你。一个男人在他死后是不会将他的财产全部送给一个女人的，除非……”
　　玛德莱娜浑身颤抖，面纱上的别针怎么也拔不下来。
　　她想了想，神情激动地说道：
　　“这是……怎么啦？……你难道……疯了？……你自己……刚才……不也希望……他能留点什么给你吗？”
　　杜•洛瓦依然站在她身旁，注视着其表情的微小变化，如同一位法官在努力捕捉犯人失去镇定的情绪。他一字一顿地说道：
　　“完全对……我是你丈夫……他若作为一个朋友……留点什么给我……当然可以……听明白没有？……而他若作为一个朋友……给你留点什么……那就不行……因为你是我妻子。从社会习俗……和社会舆论来说，二者之间存在着本质区别。”
　　现在是玛德莱娜目不转睛地看着他了。她一反常态，以其深邃的目光紧紧地盯着他那明亮的双眼，好像要从中发现什么，洞穿他那令人捉摸不透的心灵。因为此人的内心世界是那样地神秘，只有在他稍不经心而未加提防的短短一瞬间，方可像那略略开启的门扉，让人隐隐看到一点。只见玛德莱娜这时慢条斯理地说道：
　　“可是我觉得，他若……将这样一大笔遗产留给你，外人定会同样感到奇怪的……”
　　“何以见得？”杜•洛瓦急忙追问。
　　“因为……”玛德莱娜欲言又止，“因为你是我丈夫……你认识他才多少时候？……而我同他的交往却很有年头了……他在弗雷斯蒂埃还活着的时候立的前一份遗嘱，便已写明让我继承他的遗产。”
　　杜•洛瓦大步在房内走来走去，说道：
　　“这遗产你不能要。”
　　玛德莱娜毫不在乎地说道：
　　“行呀，不过这样的话，也就不用等到星期六，马上就可派个人去告诉拉马纳尔先生。”
　　杜•洛瓦在她面前停了下来，两人再次相视良久，都想洞穿对方的内心隐秘和真实意图。通过这心急火燎、默默无言的探询，双方都竭力想将对方的心思一览无余，因此这是一种心智的较量。这两个人虽然朝夕相处，但彼此之间始终缺乏了解，更不要说心灵深处的一些见不得人的东西了，故而常常互相猜疑，多方探测和窥伺。
　　杜•洛瓦这时忽然凑近玛德莱娜的面庞，低声向她说道：
　　“别装蒜啦，你就承认了吧，你曾是沃德雷克的情妇。”
　　玛德莱娜耸了耸肩：
　　“你可真是个榆木疙瘩……沃德雷克对我确有感情，而且很深。但我们的关系也就仅此而已……从未有过越轨行为。”
　　“你在撒谎，这不可能，”杜•洛瓦使劲跺着脚。
　　“然而事实就是这样，”玛德莱娜说道，语气十分平静。
　　杜•洛瓦又在房里走了起来，过了一会儿，又停在她面前：
　　“那你说，他干吗把遗产全都给了你？”
　　“这很简单，”玛德莱娜不慌不忙地说道，“正如你刚才所说，我们，更确切地说我，是他唯一的朋友。在我很小的时候，我们便已相识了。我母亲曾在他的一个亲戚家当过伴娘。正因为如此，他常来这儿看我。由于他没有子女，在遗产继承问题上便自然想到了我。如果说他曾有点儿爱我，这是完全可能的。可是哪个女人未曾这样被人爱过？他或许正是因为这种藏于心底的爱，而在安排自己的后事时，将我的名字写到了他的遗嘱上。每个星期一，他都要给我带来几束鲜花，你对此并未感到奇怪，而且他一朵花也未送过你，难道不是吗？他今天又将遗产送给我，道理是一样的，况且这遗产他也无人可送。相反，他若让你来继承这笔遗产，那就太为滑稽了。他干吗要这样做呢？你是他什么人？”
　　这几句神态自然，从容不迫的话语，说得杜•洛瓦张口结舌。不过他依然寸步不让：
　　“不管怎样，我们不能按照遗嘱所作规定接受这笔遗产。否则后果将不堪设想。人人都会以为有那么回事，从而对我飞短流长，拿我取笑。同事们本来就对我嫉妒得要命，这样一来岂不会更加肆无忌惮地诽谤我？我必须比任何人都更加注意维护自己的荣誉和名声。外间已有谣传，说某人是我妻子的情夫，我不能让我妻子接受这种不干不净的遗产。”
　　“那好，亲爱的，”玛德莱娜依然和颜悦色，“我们就放弃好了，不就是少得一百万吗？”
　　杜•洛瓦仍在房间里来回走着。听了这句话，他大声地自言自语起来，有意让玛德莱娜能够听到：
　　“是啊……这一百万……只好算了……他在立遗嘱的时候，竟没有想到这样做是多么地缺乏考虑，忘掉了起码的习俗。他没有看到，这会让我处于多么尴尬、难堪的境地……生活中，什么事都应考虑周全……他若将此遗产给我一半，也就不会有此麻烦。”
　　他坐了下来，跷起了二郎腿，同时用手捻着嘴角的胡髭。每当他遇到棘手问题而感到烦闷和怏怏不乐时，他总爱这样。
　　玛德莱娜拿起一个她每逢有空便绣几针的刺绣活儿，一边挑选绒线，一边说道：
　　“我的话已经说完，该怎么做由你考虑。”
　　杜•洛瓦沉吟不语，后来吞吞吐吐地说道：
　　“世人将永远无法理解，沃德雷克为何选中你为他唯一的继承人，而且我竟也甘心赞同。因此如按现在这种方式接受这笔遗产，就你而言将等于承认……你们俩关系暧昧，就我而言将等于承认自己甘愿趋奉，无耻之尤……所以对于我们的接受，别人会怎样想，不能不加以考虑。必须想个万全之策，使之得以避免。比如可以让他们相信，他将这笔遗产给了我们两个人，丈夫一半，妻子一半。”
　　“既然遗嘱写得明明白白，”玛德莱娜说道，“我看不出这怎么可以。”
　　“有什么难的？”杜•洛瓦说，“你可以用生前馈赠的方式将此遗产的一半分给我。我们又没有子女，这样做完全可以。
　　这样的话，便可将那些心怀叵测之徒的嘴封住。”
　　“我仍旧不明白，这怎么会使外人不去议论，”玛德莱娜有点不耐烦了，“因为遗嘱分明是白纸黑字，且有沃德雷克的签字。”
　　“我们难道要将这份遗嘱贴到墙上，让人人知晓？”杜•洛瓦气愤地说，“说到底，你这个人真是蠢得很。我们就说，德•沃德雷克伯爵给了我们一份遗产，每人一半……不就得了？……总之，没有我同意，你是拿不到这份遗产的，而要我同意，则必须分我一半，以免我成为他人的笑料。”
　　玛德莱娜又以其犀利的目光看了看他，说道：
　　“随你的便，我怎么都行。”
　　杜•洛瓦站起身，又在房内来回走了起来。他似乎仍有点犹豫不决，现在是竭力避开妻子的锐利目光：
　　“不行……绝对不行……看来还是彻底放弃为好……这样做将更加妥帖……更加恰当……更有体面……这样一来，谁也不会说三道四，什么也说不了，并使那些谨小慎微者感到由衷的佩服。”
　　然而话音刚落，他又在妻子面前停了下来：
　　“你看这样好不好，亲爱的？若你愿意，便由我单独去找一下拉马纳尔先生，把情况告诉他，听听他的意见。我将把我的顾虑和盘托出，并对他说我们已经谈妥，决定对此遗产实行平分，以免他人闲话。既然我也得到其中的一半，他人显然将无法讥笑我。个中道理非常明显：我妻子所以接受，是因为我这个做丈夫的也接受了；作为她的丈夫，我对她这样做不会有损自己的名声，总是再清楚不过的。如若不然，这件事定会闹得满城风雨。”
　　“你爱怎样就怎样吧，”玛德莱娜淡淡地说了一句。
　　杜•洛瓦的话也就更多了：
　　“情况确实如此。如果对半分，事情将变得无比明晰。一个朋友给了我们一笔遗产，他不愿对我们区别对待，不愿厚此薄彼，不愿给人这样的印象：‘我生前喜欢这一位或另一位，身后也仍然如此。’不言而喻，他更喜欢的是你，但在将其遗产给予我们两人时，他想明确表示的是，他的这种偏爱不过是一种柏拉图式的纯洁感情。可以肯定，他若想到这一点，必会交待明白的。可是他没有考虑到，更没有估计到可能产生的后果。正如你刚才所说，他每星期都要给你送来几束鲜花，死后也仍要给你留点什么，作为最后的纪念，只是没有想到……”
　　“行啦，我明白了，”玛德莱娜没好气地打断他。“你也不必再罗里罗唆了，快去见公证人吧。”
　　杜•洛瓦满脸通红，半晌说道：
　　“说得对，我这就去走一趟。”
　　他拿起帽子，临走之际又说了一句：
　　“对于沃德雷克的侄儿所索要的数额，我将努力以五万法郎解决这一棘手问题，你看怎样？”
　　“不，”玛德莱娜高傲地答道：“他要十万法郎，就如数给他吧。如你愿意，这笔钱可由我那一份出。”
　　“不行，”杜•洛瓦满面羞愧，”还是共同分担吧。每人让出五万法郎，我们还有整整一百万呢。”
　　“就这样，亲爱的玛德，一会儿见，”他接着说道。
　　他跑去向公证人讲了讲上述安排，说此安排是他妻子想出来的。
　　第二天，他们在有关文书上签了字。玛德莱娜•杜•洛瓦在此文书中以生前馈赠的方式，表示让给丈夫五十万法郎。
　　走出公证人事务所，杜•洛瓦见天气晴朗，便提议去大街上走走。他今天显得格外随和，对妻子关怀备至，温情脉脉。他脸上笑嘻嘻的，似乎对什么都感到满意，而玛德莱娜却始终是一副若有所思的样子，面容严肃。
　　时当寒气袭人的深秋，街上行人步履迅疾，似乎都是一副急匆匆的样子。杜•洛瓦领着妻子走到一家店铺前。店内的一只怀表他已看了多次，早就想购买了。
　　“我想送你一件首饰，你觉得怎样？”他向妻子问道。
　　“我无所谓，你看着办，”玛德莱娜淡淡地说。
　　他们走了进去，杜•洛瓦问：
　　“你想要什么？是项链、镯子还是耳环？”
　　店内陈列的各类金器和精美宝石，琳琅满目。玛德莱娜一见，脸上始终挂着的冷漠神情蓦然烟消云散。她兴致勃勃，怀着浓厚的好奇，逐一看了看橱柜内摆着的金银珠宝。
　　“这个镯子倒是不错，”她突然有点心动。
　　她说的是一条外形奇特的金手链，每一节上都镶着一颗不同的宝石。
　　“这条手链要卖多少？”杜•洛瓦于是问珠宝商。
　　“三千法郎，先生。”
　　“两千五怎样？如果行，我们就要了。”
　　“不行，先生，我不能卖，”珠宝商想了想，最后说道。“这样好啦，”杜•洛瓦又说，“我再出一千五百法郎买下这块怀表，加在一起就是四千法郎，以现金支付，你看怎样？如果还是不行，我们就去别处看看。”
　　店老板面有难色，但考虑再三还是同意了：
　　“好吧，先生，就这个数。”
　　杜•洛瓦随即告诉他应送往何处，然后说道：
　　“请用花体字在怀表上刻上我的姓名缩写G．R．C，并在这几个字母的上方刻一个男爵的冠冕。”
　　玛德莱娜将这一切看在眼内，感到深为惊异，不禁笑了起来。从店里出来时，她带着某种柔情挽起了杜•洛瓦的胳臂，觉得他确实为人精干，很有魄力。他现在既已有了年金收入，总该有个头衔，这是自不待言的。
　　“男爵先生，”店老板在招呼他们离去时说道，“请放心，这字星期四便可刻好。”
　　他们走到一家滑稽歌舞剧院门前，见这里正在上演一出新剧。杜•洛瓦立即说道：
　　“若你同意，我们今晚来看看戏，现在先去订个包厢。”
　　包厢还有，他们立刻订了一个。
　　“咱们找个小餐馆去吃餐饭，你看怎样？”
　　“好呀，我同意。”
　　杜•洛瓦的心情简直不知有多好，接着又想了个可供消遣的去处：
　　“我们现在去找德•马莱尔夫人，邀他们出来同我们一起吃晚饭，你看好吗？据说她丈夫已经回来，我很希望能见见他。”
　　他们因而到了德•马莱尔夫人家。杜•洛瓦心里仍想着上次同他这位情妇的那场不快，他感到庆幸的是，今日有他妻子在场，可不必作任何解释。
　　不想克洛蒂尔德已将过去的事忘得一干二净。她甚至急切地要丈夫接受他们的邀请。
　　晚餐的气氛十分愉快，整个晚上都过得很好。
　　杜•洛瓦和玛德莱娜很晚才回来。楼道里的灯已经熄灭，杜•洛瓦只得不时划根火柴，照亮楼梯。
　　到了二楼楼梯口，突然划着的火柴光焰，使楼梯边的那面镜子，在一灯黑暗中映照出两人忽隐忽现的身影，恰似来去无踪的幽灵一般。
　　杜•洛瓦高举手臂，使镜中两人的面影显得更为清晰。
　　“瞧，两个百万富翁在走上楼去，”他不无得意地笑道。
Chapter 15 Suzanne
Morocco had been conquered; France, the mistress of Tangiers, had guaranteed the debt of the annexed country. It was rumored that two ministers, Laroche-Mathieu being one of them, had made twenty millions.
As for Walter, in a few days he had become one of the masters of the world — a financier more omnipotent than a king. He was no longer the Jew, Walter, the director of a bank, the proprietor of a yellow newspaper; he was M. Walter the wealthy Israelite, and he wished to prove it.
Knowing the straitened circumstances of the Prince de Carlsbourg who owned one of the fairest mansions on Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honore, he proposed to buy it. He offered three million francs for it. The prince, tempted by the sum, accepted his offer; the next day, Walter took possession of his new dwelling. Then another idea occurred to him — an idea of conquering all Paris — an idea a la Bonaparte.
At that time everyone was raving over a painting by the Hungarian, Karl Marcovitch, exhibited by Jacques Lenoble and representing “Christ Walking on the Water.” Art critics enthusiastically declared it to be the most magnificent painting of the age. Walter bought it, thereby causing entire Paris to talk of him, to envy him, to censure or approve his action. He issued an announcement in the papers that everyone was invited to come on a certain evening to see it.
Du Roy was jealous of M. Walter’s success. He had thought himself wealthy with the five hundred thousand francs extorted from his wife, and now he felt poor as he compared his paltry fortune with the shower of millions around him. His envious rage increased daily. He cherished ill will toward everyone — toward the Walters, even toward his wife, and above all toward the man who had deceived him, made use of him, and who dined twice a week at his house. Georges acted as his secretary, agent, mouthpiece, and when he wrote at his dictation, he felt a mad desire to strangle him. Laroche reigned supreme in the Du Roy household, having taken the place of Count de Vaudrec; he spoke to the servants as if he were their master. Georges submitted to it all, like a dog which wishes to bite and dares not. But he was often harsh and brutal to Madeleine, who merely shrugged her shoulders and treated him as one would a fretful child. She was surprised, too, at his constant ill humor, and said: “I do not understand you. You are always complaining. Your position is excellent.”
His only reply was to turn his back upon her. He declared that he would not attend M. Walter’s fete — that he would not cross the miserable Jew’s threshold. For two months Mme. Walter had written to him daily, beseeching him to come to see her, to appoint a meeting where he would, in order that she might give him the seventy thousand francs she had made for him. He did not reply and threw her letters into the fire. Not that he would have refused to accept his share of the profits, but he enjoyed treating her scornfully, trampling her under foot; she was too wealthy; he would be inflexible.
The day of the exhibition of the picture, as Madeleine chided him for not going, he replied: “Leave me in peace. I shall remain at home.”
After they had dined, he said suddenly, “I suppose I shall have to go through with it. Get ready quickly.”
“I shall be ready in fifteen minutes,” she said.
As they entered the courtyard of the Hotel de Carlsbourg it was one blaze of light. A magnificent carpet was spread upon the steps leading to the entrance, and upon each one stood a man in livery, as rigid as marble.
Du Roy’s heart was torn with jealousy. He and his wife ascended the steps and gave their wraps to the footmen who approached them.
At the entrance to the drawing-room, two children, one in pink, the other in blue, handed bouquets to the ladies.
The rooms were already well filled. The majority of the ladies were in street costumes, a proof that they came thither as they would go to any exhibition. The few who intended to remain to the ball which was to follow wore evening dress.
Mme. Walter, surrounded by friends, stood in the second salon and received the visitors. Many did not know her, and walked through the rooms as if in a museum — without paying any heed to the host and hostess.
When Virginie perceived Du Roy, she grew livid and made a movement toward him; then she paused and waited for him to advance. He bowed ceremoniously, while Madeleine greeted her effusively. Georges left his wife near Mme. Walter and mingled with the guests. Five drawing- rooms opened one into the other; they were carpeted with rich, oriental rugs, and upon their walls hung paintings by the old masters. As he made his way through the throng, some one seized his arm, and a fresh, youthful voice whispered in his ear: “Ah, here you are at last, naughty Bel-Ami! Why do we never see you any more?”
It was Suzanne Walter, with her azure eyes and wealth of golden hair. He was delighted to see her, and apologized as they shook hands.
“I have been so busy for two months that I have been nowhere.”
She replied gravely: “That is too bad. You have grieved us deeply, for mamma and I adore you. As for myself, I cannot do without you. If you are not here, I am bored to death. You see I tell you so frankly, that you will not remain away like that any more. Give me your arm; I will show you ‘Christ Walking on the Water’ myself; it is at the very end, behind the conservatory. Papa put it back there so that everyone would be obliged to go through the rooms. It is astonishing how proud papa is of this house.”
As they walked through the rooms, all turned to look at that handsome man and that bewitching girl. A well-known painter said: “There is a fine couple.” Georges thought: “If my position had been made, I would have married her. Why did I never think of it? How could I have taken the other one? What folly! One always acts too hastily — one never reflects sufficiently.” And longing, bitter longing possessed him, corrupting all his pleasure, rendering life odious.
Suzanne said: “You must come often, Bel-Ami; we can do anything we like now papa is rich.”
He replied: “Oh, you will soon marry — some prince, perhaps, and we shall never meet any more.”
She cried frankly: “Oh, oh, I shall not! I shall choose some one I love very dearly. I am rich enough for two.”
He smiled ironically and said: “I give you six months. By that time you will be Madame la Marquise, Madame la Duchesse, or Madame la Princesse, and you will look down upon me, Mademoiselle.”
She pretended to be angry, patted his arm with her fan, and vowed that she would marry according to the dictates of her heart.
He replied: “We shall see; you are too wealthy.”
“You, too, have inherited some money.”
“Barely twenty thousand livres a year. It is a mere pittance nowadays.”
“But your wife has the same.”
“Yes, we have a million together; forty thousand a year. We cannot even keep a carriage on that.”
They had, in the meantime, reached the last drawing-room, and before them lay the conservatory with its rare shrubs and plants. To their left, under a dome of palms, was a marble basin, on the edges of which four large swans of delftware emitted the water from their beaks.
The journalist stopped and said to himself: “This is luxury; this is the kind of house in which to live. Why can I not have one?”
His companion did not speak. He looked at her and thought once more: “If I only had taken her!”
Suddenly Suzanne seemed to awaken from her reverie. “Come,” said she, dragging Georges through a group which barred their way, and turning him to the right. Before him, surrounded by verdure on all sides, was the picture. One had to look closely at it in order to understand it. It was a grand work — the work of a master — one of those triumphs of art which furnishes one for years with food for thought.
Du Roy gazed at it for some time, and then turned away, to make room for others. Suzanne’s tiny hand still rested upon his arm. She asked:
“Would you like a glass of champagne? We will go to the buffet; we shall find papa there.”
Slowly they traversed the crowded rooms. Suddenly Georges heard a voice say: “That is Laroche and Mme. du Roy.”
He turned and saw his wife passing upon the minister’s arm. They were talking in low tones and smiling into each other’s eyes. He fancied he saw some people whisper, as they gazed at them, and he felt a desire to fall upon those two beings and smite them to the earth. His wife was making a laughing-stock of him. Who was she? A shrewd little parvenue, that was all. He could never make his way with a wife who compromised him. She would be a stumbling-block in his path. Ah, if he had foreseen, if he had known. He would have played for higher stakes. What a brilliant match he might have made with little Suzanne! How could he have been so blind?
They reached the dining-room with its marble columns and walls hung with old Gobelins tapestry. Walter spied his editor, and hastened to shake hands. He was beside himself with joy. “Have you seen everything? Say, Suzanne, have you shown him everything? What a lot of people, eh? Have you seen Prince de Guerche? he just drank a glass of punch.” Then he pounced upon Senator Rissolin and his wife.
A gentleman greeted Suzanne — a tall, slender man with fair whiskers and a worldly air. Georges heard her call him Marquis de Cazolles, and he was suddenly inspired with jealousy. How long had she known him? Since she had become wealthy no doubt. He saw in him a possible suitor. Some one seized his arm. It was Norbert de Varenne. The old poet said: “This is what they call amusing themselves. After a while they will dance, then they will retire, and the young girls will be satisfied. Take some champagne; it is excellent.”
Georges scarcely heard his words. He was looking for Suzanne, who had gone off with the Marquis de Cazolles; he left Norbert de Varenne abruptly and went in pursuit of the young girl. The thirsty crowd stopped him; when he had made his way through it, he found himself face to face with M. and Mme. de Marelle. He had often met the wife, but he had not met the husband for some time; the latter grasped both of his hands and thanked him for the message he had sent him by Clotilde relative to the stocks.
Du Roy replied: “In exchange for that service I shall take your wife, or rather offer her my arm. Husband and wife should always be separated.”
M. de Marelle bowed. “Very well. If I lose you we can meet here again in an hour.”
The two young people disappeared in the crowd, followed by the husband. Mme. de Marelle said: “There are two girls who will have twenty or thirty millions each, and Suzanne is pretty in the bargain.”
He made no reply; his own thought coming from the lips of another irritated him. He took Clotilde to see the painting. As they crossed the conservatory he saw his wife seated near Laroche-Mathieu, both of them almost hidden behind a group of plants. They seemed to say: “We are having a meeting in public, for we do not care for the world’s opinion.”
Mme. de Marelle admired Karl Marcovitch’s painting, and they turned to repair to the other rooms. They were separated from M. de Marelle. He asked: “Is Laurine still vexed with me?”
“Yes. She refuses to see you and goes away when you are mentioned.”
He did not reply. The child’s sudden enmity grieved and annoyed him.
Suzanne met them at a door and cried: “Oh, here you are! Now, Bel- Ami, you are going to be left alone, for I shall take Clotilde to see my room.” And the two women glided through the throng. At that moment a voice at his side murmured: “Georges!”
It was Mme. Walter. She continued in a low voice: “How cruel you are! How needlessly you inflict suffering upon me. I bade Suzanne take that woman away that I might have a word with you. Listen: I must speak to you this evening — or — or — you do not know what I shall do. Go into the conservatory. You will find a door to the left through which you can reach the garden. Follow the walk directly in front of you. At the end of it you will see an arbor. Expect me in ten minutes. If you do not meet me, I swear I will cause a scandal here at once!”
He replied haughtily: “Very well, I shall be at the place you named in ten minutes.”
But Jacques Rival detained him. When he reached the alley, he saw Mme. Walter in front of him; she cried: “Ah, here you are! Do you wish to kill me?”
He replied calmly: “I beseech you, none of that, or I shall leave you at once.”
Throwing her arms around his neck, she exclaimed: “What have I done to you that you should treat me so?”
He tried to push her away: “You twisted your hair around my coat buttons the last time we met, and it caused trouble between my wife and myself.”
She shook her head: “Ah, your wife would not care. It was one of your mistresses who made a scene.”
“I have none.”
“Indeed! Why do you never come to see me? Why do you refuse to dine with me even once a week? I have no other thoughts than of you. I suffer terribly. You cannot understand that your image, always present, closes my throat, stifles me, and leaves me scarcely strength enough to move my limbs in order to walk. So I remain all day in my chair thinking of you.”
He looked at her in astonishment. These were the words of a desperate woman, capable of anything. He, however, cherished a vague project and replied: “My dear, love is not eternal. One loves and one ceases to love. When it lasts it becomes a drawback. I want none of it! However, if you will be reasonable, and will receive and treat me as a friend, I will come to see you as formerly. Can you do that?”
She murmured: “I can do anything in order to see you.”
“Then it is agreed that we are to be friends, nothing more.”
She gasped: “It is agreed”; offering him her lips she cried in her despair: “One more kiss — one last kiss!”
He gently drew back. “No, we must adhere to our rules.”
She turned her head and wiped away two tears, then drawing from her bosom a package of notes tied with pink ribbon, she held it toward Du Roy: “Here is your share of the profits in that Moroccan affair. I was so glad to make it for you. Here, take it.”
He refused: “No, I cannot accept that money.”
She became excited: “Oh, you will not refuse it now! It is yours, yours alone. If you do not take it, I will throw it in the sewer. You will not refuse it, Georges!”
He took the package and slipped it into his pocket “We must return to the house; you will take cold.”
“So much the better; if I could but die!”
She seized his hand, kissed it passionately, and fled toward the house. He returned more leisurely, and entered the conservatory with head erect and smiling lips. His wife and Laroche were no longer there. The crowd had grown thinner. Suzanne, leaning on her sister’s arm, advanced toward him. In a few moments, Rose, whom they teased about a certain Count, turned upon her heel and left them.
Du Roy, finding himself alone with Suzanne, said in a caressing voice: “Listen, my dear little one; do you really consider me a friend?”
“Why, yes, Bel-Ami.”
“You have faith in me?”
“Perfect faith.”
“Do you remember what I said to you a while since?”
“About what?”
“About your, marriage, or rather the man you would marry.”
“Yes.”
“Well, will you promise me one thing?”
“Yes; what is it?”
“To consult me when you receive a proposal and to accept no one without asking my advice.”
“Yes, I will gladly.”
“And it is to be a secret between us — not a word to your father or mother.”
“Not a word.”
Rival approached them saying: “Mademoiselle, your father wants you in the ballroom.”
She said: “Come, Bel-Ami,” but he refused, for he had decided to leave at once, wishing to be alone with his thoughts. He went in search of his wife, and found her drinking chocolate at the buffet with two strange men. She introduced her husband without naming them.
In a short while, he asked: “Shall we go?”
“Whenever you like.”
She took his arm and they passed through the almost deserted rooms.
Madeleine asked: “Where is Mme. Walter; I should like to bid her good-bye.”
“It is unnecessary. She would try to keep us in the ballroom, and I have had enough.”
“You are right.”
On the way home they did not speak. But when they had entered their room, Madeleine, without even taking off her veil, said to him with a smile: “I have a surprise for you.”
He growled ill-naturedly: “What is it?”
“Guess.”
“I cannot make the effort.”
“The day after to-morrow is the first of January.”
“Yes.”
“It is the season for New Year’s gifts.”
“Yes.”
“Here is yours, which Laroche handed me just now.” She gave him a small black box which resembled a jewel-casket.
He opened it indifferently and saw the cross of the Legion of Honor. He turned a trifle pale, then smiled, and said: “I should have preferred ten millions. That did not cost him much.”
She had expected a transport of delight and was irritated by his indifference.
“You are incomprehensible. Nothing seems to satisfy you.”
He replied calmly: “That man is only paying his debts; he owes me a great deal more.”
She was astonished at his tone, and said: “It is very nice, however, at your age.”
He replied: “I should have much more.”
He took the casket, placed it on the mantelpiece, and looked for some minutes at the brilliant star within it, then he closed it with a shrug of his shoulders and began to prepare to retire.
“L’Officiel” of January 1 announced that M. Prosper Georges du Roy had been decorated with the Legion of Honor for exceptional services. The name was written in two words, and that afforded Georges more pleasure than the decoration itself.
An hour after having read that notice, he received a note from Mme. Walter, inviting him to come and bring his wife to dine with them that evening, to celebrate his distinction.
At first he hesitated, then throwing the letter in the fire, he said to Madeleine: “We shall dine at the Walters’ this evening.”
In her surprise she exclaimed: “Why, I thought you would never set your foot in their house again.”
His sole reply was: “I have changed my mind.”
When they arrived at Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honore, they found Mme. Walter alone in the dainty boudoir in which she received her intimate friends. She was dressed in black and her hair was powdered. At a distance she appeared like an old lady, in proximity, like a youthful one.
“Are you in mourning?” asked, Madeleine.
She replied sadly: “Yes and no. I have lost none of my relatives, but I have arrived at an age when one should wear somber colors. I wear it to-day to inaugurate it; hitherto I have worn it in my heart.”
The dinner was somewhat tedious. Suzanne alone talked incessantly. Rose seemed preoccupied. The journalist was overwhelmed with congratulations, after the meal, when all repaired to the drawing- rooms. Mme. Walter detained him as they were about to enter the salon, saying: “I will never speak of anything to you again, only come to see me, Georges. It is impossible for me to live without you. I see you, I feel you, in my heart all day and all night. It is as if I had drunk a poison which preyed upon me. I cannot bear it. I would rather be as an old woman to you. I powdered my hair for that reason to-night; but come here — come from time to time as a friend.”
He replied calmly: “Very well. It is unnecessary to speak of it again. You see I came to-day on receipt of your letter.”
Walter, who had preceded them, with his two daughters and Madeleine, awaited Du Roy near the picture of “Christ Walking on the Water.”
“Only think,” said he, “I found my wife yesterday kneeling before that painting as if in a chapel. She was praying!”
Mme. Walter replied in a firm voice, in a voice in which vibrated a secret exaltation: “That Christ will save my soul. He gives me fresh courage and strength every time that I look at Him.” And pausing before the picture, she murmured: “How beautiful He is! How frightened those men are, and how they love Him! Look at His head, His eyes, how simple and supernatural He is at the same time!”
Suzanne cried: “Why, He looks like you, Bel-Ami! I am sure He looks like you. The resemblance is striking.”
She made him stand beside the painting and everyone recognized the likeness. Du Roy was embarrassed. Walter thought it very singular; Madeleine, with a smile, remarked that Jesus looked more manly. Mme. Walter stood by motionless, staring fixedly at her lover’s face, her cheeks as white as her hair.
　　对摩洛哥的远征，已于两个月前结束。法国在夺取丹吉尔后，直达的黎波里的非洲地中海沿岸地区已全在她的占领之下。此外，这又一个被吞并的国家所欠债务，已由法国政府提供担保。
　　据说有两位部长借此机会赚了两千来万，其中就有人们常常直言不讳提到的拉罗舍—马蒂厄。
　　至于瓦尔特，巴黎谁人不知，仅股票一项，他就赚了三四千万，此外还在铜矿、铁矿和地产经营上赚了八百至一千万，真是财源广进。法国占领前，他以极低的价格购进了大片土地，占领后很快便卖给了各殖民开发公司，因此赚了大钱。
　　短短几天工夫，他便成了世界上屈指可数的富翁和实力雄厚的金融巨头，远远胜过一些国家的国王。谁见到他，都是一副敛声静气、低头哈腰的奴才相。同时他的发迹，也使许多人羡慕不已，内心深处卑鄙龌龊的想法，因而暴露于光天化日之下。
　　对他来说，“犹太人瓦尔特”、“来历不明的银行老板”、“行迹可疑的报馆经理”、“靠贿赂当选的众院议员”，所有这些带有贬损的称呼已统统成为过去。人们现在知道的他，是以色列人富翁瓦尔特先生。
　　对于自己的富有，他也确实想显示一下。
　　在圣奥诺雷关厢街拥有一幢豪华宅第，且宅第内的花园与香榭丽舍大街相通的卡尔斯堡亲王，当时在生活上相当拮据。瓦尔特得悉后，即向亲王提出由他买下这幢宅第，并要亲王在二十四小时内迁出，所有陈设均保持原样，连一把扶手椅也不用移动。他出的价钱是三百万。亲王拗不过这诱人的数额，终于拍板成交。
　　第二天，瓦尔特便在此新居安顿了下来。
　　不久，他又忽发奇想，产生了一个与波拿巴①媲美的念头，想征服整个巴黎。
　　--------
　　①波拿巴，即拿破仑。
　　匈牙利画家卡尔•马科维奇的巨幅油画《基督凌波图》，当时正在著名鉴赏家雅克•勒诺布的陈列室展出，很快引起轰动，人人竞相前往观看。
　　艺术评论家们也是交口称誉，说这幅画是本世纪最为杰出的一幅作品。
　　不想瓦尔特忽然以五十万法郎将画买了去，从而使满心欢喜的观众大失所望，同时瓦尔特也在一夜之间成了全城的议论中心。对于他的这一做法，有的羡慕，有的谩骂，有的叫好。
　　随后，他又在各报登出一则消息，邀请巴黎各界名流在一天晚上前往他家欣赏这幅出自外国名家之手的杰作，免得人们说他把画藏了起来。
　　他家将因而大门洞开，凡愿前往一睹为快者，只须在门前出示请柬，便可进入。请柬是这样写的：
　　十二月三十日晚九时，卡尔•马科维奇的《基督凌波图》将在寒舍展出，届时有电灯照明。阁下若能大驾光临，将不胜荣幸。
　　瓦尔特先生和夫人
　　请柬下方附有一行小字：午夜过后将举行舞会。
　　因此，凡愿留下者届时尽可留下。瓦尔特夫妇将在他们当中结交新友。
　　其他人在欣赏名画的同时，还可在宅第内随便走走，见见男女主人，而不管这些来自上流社会的人士是怎样傲慢或态度冷漠。这之后，他们便可趁兴而去。但瓦尔特老头深信，过一阵子，他们还会来的。因为他们对他的那些同他一样发迹的以色列兄弟常去造访。
　　当务之急是让报上经常提到的那些拥有贵族头衔但已家道中落的人士，前来看看。这样做，一来是让他们看看一个在一个半月内便赚了五千万的人，是怎样一副模样；二来是让他们亲眼目睹，来他家的人是如何地似潮水一般。除此之外，还想让他们看出，他这个以色列子弟把他们请到家里来欣赏一幅描绘基督的油画，是有着怎样的雅兴，处事是怎样地灵活。
　　他的意思不言自明：“你们看，马科维奇这幅有关宗教题材的《基督凌波图》，我是花了五十万法郎才买下来的。我虽是犹太人，但这幅画将永远放在家里，天天在眼皮底下。”
　　此邀请在社交界，特别是在众多贵妇和绔绔子弟中，引起了热烈议论，虽然它并未提出任何要求。去看这幅画，也就同到帕蒂先生的画室去看一些水彩画一样。瓦尔特得了一幅名画，他要在一天晚上敞开大门，让大家都去看看，这岂不是一件时下难遇的美事？
　　半个月来，《法兰西生活报》每天都对十二月三十日晚的这场盛会作了大量报道，想方设法把公众的兴趣激发起来。
　　见老板忽然变得如此富有，杜•洛瓦恨得咬牙切齿。
　　他费尽心机，从妻子手中强夺了五十万法郎后，本以为自己已经相当富有，现在却觉得还是很穷。周围有钱的人比比皆是，而他却一个子儿也挣不到。同他们的巨万家资相比，自己这点钱又算得了什么？
　　他的心被忌妒啮咬着，无名火与日俱增。他恨所有的人，恨瓦尔特一家，因此现已不去他家。他恨自己的妻子，因为她上了拉罗舍的当，不让他购买摩洛哥股票。他更恨这位外交部长，因为他骗了他，利用了他，竟有脸每星期两次来他家吃晚饭。他成了他的秘书，办事员和笔杆子，每当他在他面前为他捉刀时，他真想将这自命不凡处处得意的家伙活活掐死。作为一名部长，拉罗舍其实并无多少政绩。为了保住这个职位，他处心积虑地不让人看出他捞了许多。但这一点，他杜•洛瓦却看得清清楚楚，因为这陡然发迹的区区律师，一言一行是那样大胆，狂妄，那样目空一切，自以为是。
　　在杜•洛瓦家，拉罗舍现在是随意进出，完全取代了德•沃德雷克伯爵的位置，一如这位伯爵在世时的样子，且对仆人说话，俨然是一副家中主人的神气。
　　杜•洛瓦对此虽然气得浑身发抖，但不敢发作，如同一条狗，虽想咬人，但不敢张口。因此他只得迁怒玛德莱娜，动辄对她恶言恶语。每当此时，玛德莱娜总是耸耸肩，把他当作不懂事的孩子。再说他的这种喜怒无常，她也实在无法理解，常常说道：
　　“我真弄不明白，你为何总这样牢骚满腹，其实你现在的处境已经够好的了。”
　　每听到这种责问，杜•洛瓦总是转过身去，低头不语。
　　至于老板家即将举行的晚会，他早已申言自己是绝不会去的。这可恶的犹太人家，他不想再踏进一步。
　　两个月来，瓦尔特夫人是天天给他写信，求他去她家，或是约个地方，同她见上一面。她说，她要把自己为他赚的七万法郎交给他。
　　这些情急辞迫的来信，都被杜•洛瓦随手扔到了壁炉里，他一个字也没有回。他这样做，倒不是因为不想要自己应得的一份，而是有意怠慢她，鄙视她，折磨她。她是那样有钱，他不愿对她有求必应。
　　晚会举行那天，玛德莱娜对他说，他不去看看是不对的，他却答道：
　　“请别管我的事好不好，我就是不去。”
　　可是吃过晚饭之后，他又突然说道：
　　“这个罪看来还得去受，你去快点准备。”
　　玛德莱娜料定他会去的，因此说道：
　　“我只需一刻钟便可动身。”
　　他一边穿礼服，一边嘟嘟囔囔，甚至上了车也还在骂骂咧咧。
　　原属卡尔斯堡亲王的那幢宅第内，前院四角各挂了一盏电灯，恰如四个发出淡蓝色光芒的小月亮，把整个院子照得通明。正房门前的高高台阶上铺着一块华丽的地毯。每一级台阶旁都直挺挺地站着一个身穿制服的听差，看去恰似一尊尊石雕。
　　“嚯，他们可真会装腔作势！”杜•洛瓦耸了耸肩骂道，心里因嫉妒而老大不快。
　　“住嘴，”他妻子向他说道，“你也暂且装装样子吧。”
　　他们走了进去，脱下出门穿的沉重外衣，交给迎上前来的仆人。
　　好几位女士已随同丈夫前来，现也正忙着脱去身上的裘皮大衣，“这房子真气派！”的赞叹声不绝于耳。
　　宽大的前厅，四壁挂着壁毯，壁毯上绣的是马尔斯战神和维纳斯女神的恋爱故事。左右两边是气势雄伟的楼梯，拾级而上，可达二楼。用铸铁制成的栏杆，因年代久远，外表镀金已不太耀眼，但在红色大理石阶梯的衬托下，其淡淡的光芒仍隐约可见。
　　客厅门前站着两个小姑娘，其中一个穿着粉红色衣裙，另一个穿着蓝色衣裙。每有客人到来，她们便向女士们献上一束鲜花。大家都觉得这一安排别有情趣。
　　各个客厅都已是宾客满堂。
　　女士们大都服饰一般，以表明她们今晚来此同平素参观其他私人画展，并无多大不同。打算留下来参加舞会的女士，则全都是袒胸露背。
　　瓦尔特夫人在第二个客厅接待来客，身边围着一群女友。许多人因不认识她，像在博物馆参观一样，并未注意谁是此房屋的主人。
　　看到杜•洛瓦到来，她的脸色刷的一下一片苍白，且身子动了一下，想迎上前去。但她终于还是站着未动，等着他过来。杜•洛瓦彬彬有礼地向她欠了欠身，玛德莱娜则同她亲热无比，恭维的话语没完没了。杜•洛瓦于是让妻子陪同这位老板夫人，自己很快钻入人群，想去听听肯定可听到的尖锐议论。
　　五间客厅一个连着一个，全都挂着名贵的帷幔或意大利刺绣及色彩和风格迥异的东方壁毯。古代画家的名画点缀其间。一间仍保留着路易十六时代式样的小客厅，特别引人注目。客厅内的座椅全都放着丝质软垫，淡蓝色底衬上绣着一朵朵玫瑰。低矮的木质家具，漆得一片金黄，上面所罩饰物同墙上所挂帷幔一样，做工精美绝伦。
　　一些著名人士，杜•洛瓦一眼便认了出来。其中有德•黛拉希娜公爵夫人、德•拉弗内尔伯爵夫妇、德•安德勒蒙亲王将军、美若天仙的德•迪纳侯爵夫人，以及在各重要场合常可见到的男男女女。
　　有人这时拉了一下他的胳臂，同时耳际传来一阵银铃般的娇滴滴声音：
　　“啊！漂亮朋友，你这个死鬼，今天总算来了。这些日子为什么总也见不到你？”
　　披着一头金色鬈发的苏珊•瓦尔特正站在他面前，以其清澈的明眸看着他。
　　杜•洛瓦没有想到是她，心中很是高兴，遂同她握了握手，解释道：
　　“我何尝不想来？可是最近两个月，实在忙得不可开交，一直分不开身。”
　　“这可不好，”苏珊的神情非常严肃，“很不好。你让我们太伤心了，因为妈妈和我，现在都很喜欢你。特别是我，已经离不开你。你要不来，我简直闷死了。你看，我已将心里话对你说了，你要是再不来就太不应该了。现在让我挽上你的胳臂，由我带你去看《基督凌波图》。这幅画在顶里边的花房后部。我爸爸把它放在那儿，无非是想让大家在这里多走一走，炫耀一下他这幢房子。他这样做实在让人难以理解。”
　　他们在人群中慢慢地走着。这英俊潇洒的少年和这楚楚动人的姑娘，立即引起了众人的注意。
　　“瞧，”一位知名画家说道，“这可是无与伦比的一对，两个人无论在哪一方面都很般配。”
　　杜•洛瓦听了，心中不禁思忖道：
　　“我要是真有能耐，当初本应娶的是这一位。这其实不难办到，我怎么就没有想到呢？相反，我糊里糊涂娶了那一个，真是昏了头！可见一个人在作出一项决定时常常显得过于匆忙而考虑不周。”
　　想到这里，他像是心里流进了滴滴苦酒，感到分外苦涩，顿时万念俱灰，觉得自己这一生也太没意思了。
　　“漂亮朋友，”苏珊这时向他说道，“你可要常来。爸爸现在是这样富有，我们什么也不用担忧，可以痛痛快快地尽情玩乐。”
　　“唉！”仍沉浸于其思绪中的杜•洛瓦说道，“你很快就要结婚的，你会嫁给一个家势煊赫但已有点败落的贵族。这样，我们以后见面的机会不会太多的。”
　　“你在说些什么！”苏珊不假思索地说，“我马上还不会结婚。我要找个我所喜欢，非常喜欢，完全喜欢的人。家里有的是钱，我要将这一生当作两个人生来度过。”
　　杜•洛瓦笑了笑，神情中带着讥讽和傲慢。接着，他指着身边来来往往的人，将他们的境遇向她一一作了介绍，说他们都出身高贵，但家道已远不如当年，靠着那依然保存的空爵位而娶了个像她这样的金融家女儿。现在，他们有的还同妻子保持着一定的关系，有的则早已离开妻子。但不论属何情况，皆自由自在，生活放荡，为众人所熟悉且备受尊敬。
　　“我敢担保，”他最后说道，“不出半年，你也会经不住这方面的诱惑而嫁给一位侯爵、公爵或亲王的。到那时，你便会高高在上，看不起我的，小姐。”
　　苏珊气愤不已，用手上的扇子在他的胳臂上打了一下，说她一定要找个自己所满意的人。
　　杜•洛瓦发出一声冷笑：“不信咱们就等着瞧，因为你们家太有钱了。”
　　“你不是也得了一笔遗产吗？”苏珊问道。
　　“唉！”杜•洛瓦难为情地叹息一声，“这笔遗产带给我的，不过是一年两万法郎的年金。在现在这种时候，这点钱又算得了什么？”
　　“你妻子不也得了一笔遗产吗？”
　　“是的，两人加在一起是一百万，每年可得年金四万。靠这点收入，连一辆像样的马车也买不了。”
　　不知不觉中，他们已来到最里边的那间客厅里，一间巨大的温室蓦然展现在眼前。虽是隆冬时节，温室里高大的热带树木却郁郁葱葱。树下种着大片大片的奇花异草。走进这深绿色的天地中，湿润泥土的清新气息和花草所发出的浓郁芳香，顿时扑鼻而来。灯光从顶部照射下来，好似飘落下一阵阵银白的雨丝。这令人振奋的柔和人造氛围，非平时所常见，其引人入胜给人以一种甜美的异样感觉。两排茂密的灌木丛之间，是一条条长满藓苔的小径，好像铺着绿色的地毯。杜•洛瓦倏地发现，左边一颗枝繁叶茂的棕榈树下，有一个大得可以沐浴的大理石水池。池边放着四个代尔夫特①所产大型瓷塑天鹅，一股股清泉从其微微张开的嘴内不断喷出。
　　--------
　　①代尔夫特，荷兰瓷都。
　　水池底部铺了一层金黄色细沙，几条来自中国的金鱼正在水中嬉戏。这些外形奇特、体大腰圆的金鱼，不仅眼球凸出，而且每块鳞片的边缘都呈蓝色，是养于水中，用于观赏的。看到这些时而到处游弋、时而一动不动的小东西，不禁使人想起中国巧夺天工的刺绣。
　　杜•洛瓦停下脚步，不觉怦然心动，心中嘀咕道：“要说富有，这才是名副其实。只有住在这样的地方，才算不枉度此生。
　　问题是别人能够做到，而我为何不能？”
　　他想了想，看自己有何办法可以施展，但这种办法岂能立时想出？他因此为自己的无能而深感懊恼。
　　他身边的苏珊这时一言未语，似乎在想着什么。他侧过眼向她看了看，刚才的想法再次涌现于脑际：
　　“我当初要是娶了这没有头脑的姑娘，也就好了。”
　　“当心！”苏珊好像突然从其悠悠遐思中惊醒过来，向他喊了一声，推着他穿过面前的人群，向右拐了过去。
　　这时，只见一簇奇异的树木，其叶片像张开五指的手掌，颤悠悠地伸向天空。就在这树丛的中央，一个人正动也不动地立于海面上。
　　别具匠心的布置，确实产生了意想不到的效果。油画的四周完全淹没于摇曳不定的绿叶丛中，使得整个画面看去像是一个深不可测、如梦如幻的黑洞。
　　观众必须仔细观看，方可看清画上原来画着一条小船。由于布置巧妙，船体部分已尽皆隐去。其实船舷上正坐着一位圣徒，手上举着一盏灯。明亮的灯光全都照在翩翩而来的基督身上。不过，在昏暗的灯影里，船上的其他圣徒仍依稀可辨。
　　基督踏着波浪往前走着，脚下的波涛立时顺从地退去，让出了一条道。圣人周围一片黑暗，只有点点繁星在夜空中闪烁。
　　提灯的信徒照着慢慢走来的基督，明灭不定的灯光中显现出圣徒们一张张惊喜的脸庞。
　　这确是一幅气魄宏大、匠心独运的名家之作。谁看了都会产生强烈的印象，令你梦牵魂萦，久久不能忘怀。
　　因此今日来此观看的人，起先都敛声静气，默然无语，过了一会儿也就若有所思地走开了，随后才会谈起这幅画的价值。
　　杜•洛瓦看了片刻，心下想道：
　　“能够买下这样的东西，确实非同小可。”
　　见不大的场地前，现在已是挤挤撞撞，他也就紧紧地夹着依然挽着他的苏珊那只纤纤细手，立即退了出来。
　　“要不要喝杯香槟？”，苏珊问他。“我们现在不妨去餐厅坐坐，或许能在那儿见到我爸爸。”
　　他们于是慢慢地往回走着，各个客厅里都挤着满满的宾客，衣香鬓影，人声鼎沸。
　　“那是拉罗舍和杜•洛瓦夫人，”杜•洛瓦忽然听到好像有人在说。话音从他耳边轻轻掠过，似乎来自很远的地方。是从哪儿传来的呢？
　　他往四下看了看，果然看到他妻子正挎着这位部长走了过来。两个人笑容满面，在低声说着什么悄悄话，不时对视的目光，柔情依依。
　　他感到，旁人好像在一边看着他们，一边发出低声议论。他真想冲过去，不管三七二十一，给这两个鬼男女狠狠几拳。
　　玛德莱娜这样做，真让他丢尽了脸。他不由地想起弗雷斯蒂埃，人们现在谈到他杜•洛瓦时，可能也在称他为“龟公”。她有什么了不起？不过是个发迹小人，表面上确有几分机灵，实际上并无多大能耐。人们所以常来他家作客，是因为不敢得罪他，知道他并非等闲之辈。不过，人们在私下议论他俩时，一定无所顾忌。这也难怪，这个女人一举一动都像在玩弄心术，名声越来越糟，因此已将他这个家弄得流言四起。同她在一起，他杜•洛瓦绝不会有什么作为的。她已成为他的绊脚石。啊，早知今日，他定使出浑身解数，好好作弄她一番！比如眼前这位可人的苏珊，他便可大加利用，使她无地自容。他怎么就瞎了眼，没有看到这一点呢？
　　他和苏珊此时已来到餐厅。餐厅很大，一排排大理石柱子，气势宏伟。墙上挂着年代久远的戈柏兰①珍贵壁毯。
　　瓦尔特一眼瞥见他这位专栏编辑，急忙走来同他握了握手，心中的喜悦显而易见：
　　--------
　　①戈柏兰，巴黎旧时著名壁毯作坊。
　　“各处都看了吗？苏珊，你是否领着他，将应走的地方都走到了？漂亮朋友，今天到的人真多，你说是不是？盖尔什亲王也来了，你见到没有？他刚才在这儿喝了杯五味子酒。”
　　说罢，他又向参议员黎梭兰迎了上去。参议员身后跟着他的妻子。这没有头脑的女人，把自己打扮得像杂货铺一样花哨。
　　一位男士这时走来向苏珊打了个招呼。此人瘦高个儿，脸上蓄着金色的络腮胡子。头已有点秃，一副社交场合到处可见的潇洒神气。杜•洛瓦已听人称呼他为德•卡佐勒侯爵。他此时忽然对这位侯爵产生了嫉妒。他是什么时候同苏珊认识的？无疑是在她家发了财之后。不用说，此人现在一定在追求苏珊。
　　有人碰了一下他的胳臂，杜•洛瓦回过头，原来是诺贝尔•德•瓦伦。老诗人头发梳得油光可鉴，身上的礼服却是皱巴巴的，一脸漠然而又疲惫的神情。
　　“今日这种场合，就是我们常说的及时行乐，”他说，“一会儿还有舞会，跳完舞便回去睡觉。这难得的机会，女孩子定会高兴异常。你何不喝杯香槟？这酒好极了。”
　　他让人将自己手上的酒杯倒满，举起杯，向此时已拿起一杯酒的杜•洛瓦敬酒道：
　　“愿头脑精明者，能战胜百万富翁。”
　　接着，他又温和地说道：
　　“倒不是因为我对他人有钱感到不舒服，或者嫉恨他们，这是我的原则立场。”
　　杜•洛瓦没有再听他说下去，因为苏珊已随着德•卡佐纳侯爵走了。他撇下诺贝尔•德•瓦伦，立刻追了上去。
　　可是恰在这时，一群人乱哄哄地涌来，想喝点什么。他因而被挡住了去路。待他好不容易挤出来时，不想却与德•马莱尔夫妇撞个满怀。
　　德•马莱尔夫人他常可见到，但她丈夫他却很久未见了。
　　德•马莱尔先生走上来紧紧握着他的双手说道：
　　“亲爱的，您上次让克洛蒂尔德捎给我的话，令我不胜感激。我因购买摩洛哥债券而赚了差不多十万法郎。没有您，这钱是赚不到的。您真是一位很重情谊的朋友。”
　　几位男士不时回转身来看着这妖娆而俏丽的褐发女人，杜•洛瓦随即说道：
　　“亲爱的，作为回报，请允许我带走您的妻子，或者说，允许我挽上她的胳膊，去走一走。一对夫妇不应总在一起，您说是吗？”
　　“完全对，”德•马莱尔先生欠了欠身。“要是我们走散了，便一小时后在此会面。”
　　“好的。”
　　两个年轻人说着挤进人群，后面跟着这位丈夫。克洛蒂尔德感慨万千，不停地说道：
　　“瓦尔特这一家真是走运。不过归根结蒂，还是因为人家有生意头脑。”
　　“瞧你说的，”杜•洛瓦反驳道，“一个人只要有能耐，便总会成功的。总之是各有各的办法。”
　　“两个女孩每人将有两三千万法郎，”克洛蒂尔德又说，“且不说苏珊长得那样漂亮。”
　　杜•洛瓦没有接茬。见他的心事被人道破，他很是不快。
　　克洛蒂尔德尚未去看《基督凌波图》，杜•洛瓦说他愿为引路。一路上，他们说说笑笑，以糟践他人为乐，对陌生人更是品头论足，无所顾忌。圣波坦这时走了过来，上衣的翻领上挂满各种勋章。他们一见，不禁开怀大笑。走在他后面的一位前任驻外大使，胸前也挂着勋章，但数目远不如圣波坦多。
　　“这个社会真是无奇不有，”杜•洛瓦忽然大发感慨。
　　布瓦勒纳也走来同他握了握手，胸前也挂了根决斗那天带过的黄绿两色绶带。
　　佩尔斯缪子爵夫人虽然身躯肥胖，但也精心打扮了一番。她此刻正在路易十六时代式样的那间小客厅里，同一位公爵说着什么。
　　“一对情人在窃窃私语，”杜•洛瓦调侃道。进入花房后，他又看到自己的妻子正坐在一簇花丛后面，身旁是拉罗舍—马蒂厄。他们这样做，分明带有这样的意思：“我们就要在这大庭广众之下幽会，别人怎样说，我们毫不在乎。”
　　德•马莱尔夫人在看了卡尔•马科维奇所绘基督后，也认为这幅画确实非同一般。此后，他们开始往回走，但她丈夫已不知往哪里去了。
　　“洛琳娜还在恨我吗？”杜•洛瓦突然问道。
　　“这还用说？她根本不想见你，别人一谈起你，她便走开。”
　　杜•洛瓦没再说什么。小家伙突然对他如此反感，真让他不知如何是好，心里备觉沉重。
　　走到一扇门边，苏珊蓦地出现在他们面前，大声喊道：“啊！你们在这儿。这样吧，漂亮朋友，你姑且独自呆一会儿。我要带克洛蒂尔德去我房间看看。”
　　两个女人匆匆走了。人群虽然密集，但她们扭动灵活的身腰，竟然顺利穿了过去。这是她们在此场合的拿手好戏。
　　“乔治！”有人这时轻轻喊了一声。杜•洛瓦回转身，原来是瓦尔特夫人。她接着压低嗓音说道：“你这个人心也太狠了，这样折磨我，对你有什么好处？我让小苏珊把你身边的那个女人带走，就是要同你谈一谈。听着，我今晚无论如何……无论如何要同你谈谈……否则……否则……我不知会做出什么事来的。你马上到花房去。花房的左边有一扇门，出了门便是花园。你沿着对面的小路一直往前走，很快可看到一个葡萄架。我们十分钟后就在那儿见面。你若不去，我马上就会撕破脸大闹起来，这绝不是戏言！”
　　“好吧，”杜•洛瓦高傲地答道，“我十分钟后一定到达你刚才说的那个地方。”
　　他们随即分了手。不过杜•洛瓦却差点因雅克•里瓦尔的纠缠，而未能准时到达。因为后者忽然走来挽上他的胳膊，神采飞扬地同他说得没完没了。他显然是从餐厅喝了酒来的。后来，杜•洛瓦在一间客厅里又遇到了德•马莱尔先生，总算把雅克•里瓦尔交给了他，自己才脱了身。他现在需要做的是，决不能让妻子或拉罗舍看到自己。所幸这一方面倒还顺利。因为他们此刻好像仍在那里热烈地谈着什么。这样，他终于到了花园里。
　　不想外面的阵阵寒气，冻得他像是掉进了冰窟窿，心中不由地想道：“他妈的，这样下去非感冒不可。”他于是将一方手帕，像领带一样系在脖颈上，沿着小径慢慢地往前走去。由于刚刚走出灯火辉煌的客厅，脚下的路一时看不太清。
　　左右两边的灌木丛，树叶早已脱落，细小的枝条在寒风中抖动。房内射出的灯光照在上面，灰蒙蒙一片。他依稀看到前边的路中央仿佛有个白晃晃的东西，原来是瓦尔特夫人正袒胸露背地站在那里。她颓丧地说道：
　　“啊，你总算来了！你难道要逼我去死？”
　　“又来了，”杜•洛瓦不慌不忙地说道，“别这样好不好？你若不听，我马上就走。”
　　瓦尔特夫人钩住他的脖颈，嘴对着嘴向他说道：
　　“我哪一点对不起你？为何总这样躲着我？说，我在哪儿得罪了你？”
　　杜•洛瓦试图将她推开，一边说道：
　　“上次见面，你将头发绕在我上衣的扣子上，弄得我妻子差点同我闹翻。”
　　瓦尔特夫人听了一怔，但很快便使劲摇着头：
　　“胡说！你妻子才不管这些呢，一定是你的哪个情妇因此同你闹了一场。”
　　“我没有情妇。”
　　“住嘴！你为何总也不来看我？为何连一星期一次同我一起吃餐晚饭也不愿？我受的苦三天三夜也说不完。我是这样地爱你，无时无刻不想的是你，你的身影总在我眼前晃动，每说一句话，总担心会带出你的名字来。这一切，你知道吗？我感到自己像是被什么东西紧紧地束缚住，像是陷入了罗网，究竟是什么，自己也说不清楚。我什么时候都在想着你，结果是喉头发紧，胸部像撕裂了似的，两腿瘫软如绵，连路也走不了。这样，我整天呆呆地僵坐在椅子上，心里却仍旧想的是你。”
　　杜•洛瓦惊异地看着她，发现他所熟悉、身体微胖、一脸调皮孩子气的她，已经是一点影子也见不到了。现在出现在他面前的，是一个烦躁不安、绝望之极，什么都能做得出来的女人。
　　一个模糊的想法开始在他的脑海中形成，只见他说道：“亲爱的，爱情并不是永恒之物。有聚有散，才是正理。像我们这样下去，必会弄得对双方都非常不利。与其这样，还不如早日分手。我说的这些，全是实情。不过，你若能表现得理智一点，把我当作你的一个朋友来接待我，对待我，我定会像往常一样，来看你的。这一点，不知你能否做到？”
　　瓦尔特夫人将她那裸露的双臂压在他穿着黑色礼服的胸前，说道：
　　“只要能见到你，让我做什么都可以。”
　　“可是说定了，”杜•洛瓦说，“我们只是普通朋友，没有其他任何关系。”
　　“当然说定了，”瓦尔特夫人嘟哝道，但紧接着便将嘴唇向他凑了过来，说道：“吻我一下……最后一次。”
　　“不行，”杜•洛瓦和蔼地拒绝道，“刚定下的规矩，岂能马上就推翻？”
　　她转过身，擦了擦夺眶而出的泪水，然后从胸衣内抽出一个用粉红色丝带捆着的纸包，递给杜•洛瓦：
　　“给，这是购买摩洛哥股票赚的钱中你所应得的一份。能为你弄点外快，我很高兴。喏，拿去吧……”
　　“不，”杜•洛瓦不想要，“这钱我不能收。”
　　“什么？”瓦尔特夫人勃然大怒，“你今天可别给我来这一套。这钱明明是你的，除了你，谁也不能要。你如不要，我就把它扔到阴沟里去。乔治，你这人怎么这样？”
　　杜•洛瓦于是接过小纸包，随即放到了口袋里。
　　“现在该回去了，”他说，“否则你会得肺炎的。”
　　“这样岂不更好？我真希望能快快死掉。”瓦尔特夫人说，同时一下拿起他的一只手，带着疯狂和绝望，没命地在上面亲了又亲。随后便恋恋不舍地跑到楼里去了。
　　杜•洛瓦于是慢条斯理地往回走着，心里打着如意算盘。
　　接着也就昂首挺胸，满面笑容地到了花房里。
　　他妻子和拉罗舍已不知哪里去了。人群已逐渐散去，留下来跳舞的人显然没有多少。她见苏珊挽着她姐姐的胳膊，双双向他走了过来。她们要他待会儿和德•拉图尔—伊夫林伯爵一起，同她们跳第一个四人舞。
　　“你们说的这位伯爵是谁？”杜•洛瓦不解地问。
　　“我姐姐新交的一个朋友，”苏珊做了个鬼脸。
　　“你真坏，苏珊，”罗莎满脸羞红，“你明明清楚，他既不是你的朋友，也不是我的朋友。”
　　“这我知道。”苏珊笑了笑。
　　罗莎一赌气，扭头走了。
　　杜•洛瓦亲热地挽起苏珊的胳膊，温和地说道：
　　“听我说，亲爱的小苏珊，你真把我当朋友看吗？”
　　“当然啦，漂亮朋友。”
　　“对我绝对信任？”
　　“绝对信任。”
　　“你刚才说的话还记得吗？”
　　“关于哪一方面？”
　　“关于你的婚事，也就是说，你将嫁给什么样的人。”
　　“记得。”
　　“很好，你可否答应我一件事？”
　　“可以。什么事？”
　　“每当有人向你求婚时，你都要同我商量，在征求我的意见之前，决不答应任何人。”
　　“好的，我一定照办。”
　　“这可是我们两人间的秘密，不可告诉你父亲和母亲。”
　　“我不会对他们说的。”
　　“你发誓？”
　　“我发誓。”
　　里瓦尔这时匆匆跑了来：
　　“小姐，你父亲叫你去跳舞。”
　　“走，漂亮朋友，”苏珊说。
　　杜•洛瓦谢绝了。脑海中忽然涌进了许多新的东西，他想马上就离去，以便冷静地考虑一下。他找了找玛德莱娜，不一会儿，发现她在餐厅里正与两位他所不认识的男士一起喝可可饮料。她把他向他们作了介绍，但没有告诉他这两人是谁。
　　过了片刻，他说道：
　　“咱们走吧。”
　　“随你的便。”
　　玛德莱娜挽上他的胳膊，穿过各间客厅，往外走去。客厅里的人已经不多了。
　　“老板的夫人在哪儿？我想同她打个招呼。”
　　“我看不必，她会挽留我们参加舞会，而我对此已无兴趣。”
　　“这倒是，你说的很对。”
　　归途中，两个人都默然无语。然而一进入房内，玛德莱娜面纱还未摘去，便笑嘻嘻地向他说道：
　　“知道吗？我有一件你意想不到的东西给你。”
　　杜•洛瓦气哼哼地嘟哝了一句：
　　“什么东西？”
　　“你猜。”
　　“我不想费这个劲儿。”
　　“你说，后天可是元旦？”
　　“是呀。”
　　“大家又该送新年礼物了。”
　　“对。”
　　“这是拉罗舍给你的新年礼物，他刚才交给我的。”
　　说着，玛德莱娜递给他一个类似首饰盒的黑色小盒。
　　杜•洛瓦漫不经心地打了开来，发现里面放着一枚荣誉团十字勋章①。
　　--------
　　①一八○二年由拿破仑设立的国家勋章，用以表彰有功之臣。
　　他的脸色顿时变得有点苍白。随后，他笑了笑，说道：
　　“我倒希望他能给我送上一千万。这玩意儿对他根本不值什么。”
　　玛德莱娜本来以为他会高兴得跳起来，不想他却如此看不上眼，因而气愤异常：
　　“你这个人实在越来越不像话了，现在已没有一件东西能使你感到满意。”
　　“这家伙不过是在还债，”杜•洛瓦不慌不忙地说道，“他欠我的可多着哩。”
　　玛德莱娜不明白他今日为何这样阴阳怪气，说道：
　　“你今年才有多大？能得到这样的勋章，已经很不错了。”
　　“什么都是相对而言，”杜•洛瓦说，“我今天得到的，本来应当更多。”
　　他拿起敞开的盒子放在壁炉上，对着那闪闪发光的勋章看了良久。然后盖上盒盖，耸了耸肩，开始宽衣上床。
　　元月一日的政府公报果然宣布，新闻记者普罗斯佩—乔治•杜•洛瓦因功勋卓越，而被授予荣誉团骑士勋章一枚。杜•洛瓦见自己的这个姓在公报上是分开写的，因而比得到勋章更感到高兴。
　　看到此消息一小时后，他收到老板夫人一封简函，求他当天和他妻子一起去她家吃晚饭，大家好好庆贺一下。去还是不去？他拿不定主意。但过了一会儿，也就将这措辞暧昧的信扔进壁炉，向玛德莱娜说道：
　　“我们今晚去瓦尔特家吃晚饭。”
　　“什么？”玛德莱娜听了一惊，“我还以为你是再也不会踏进他们家一步的。”
　　“我已改变主意，”杜•洛瓦淡淡地说了一句。
　　他们到达时，老板夫人正一个人呆在那间仍保持着路易十六时代风格的小客厅里。此客厅现已成为她专门接待好友的地方。她通身素黑，头上扑着香粉，样子十分迷人。她这个人远看像个老妇，近看却在妙龄。即使仔细观看，也让人难以分辨。
　　“你们是不是有什么人亡故了？”玛德莱娜问。
　　“可以说是，也可以说不是，”瓦尔特夫人答道，声音十分凄凉。“说不是，是因为我们并没有任何亲人故去。说是，是因为我已到达这样的年龄，距离告别此生的日子已为期不远了。今天穿上这套丧服，是想为此志哀。不管怎样，从今而后，我是心如死灰了。”
　　“决心虽然下了，”呆在一旁的杜•洛瓦心想，“但能保持下去吗？”
　　晚饭的气氛相当沉闷，只有苏珊说个不停。罗莎似乎心事重重。大家一再为杜•洛瓦举杯祝贺。
　　饭后，大家离开餐厅，在各个客厅和花房里走了走，互相间随便聊着。杜•洛瓦同老板夫人走在最后，老板夫人拉了一下他的胳臂，低声向他说道：
　　“听我说……从今而后，我是什么也不会对您说了……不过乔治，您可要常来看我。您看，我已不再对您以‘你’相称了。没有您，我是活不下去的，情况绝对如此。因此而造成的痛苦，将是任何人所难以想象的。不论白天还是黑夜，我的心灵及我身上的每一个毛孔，都感到您就在我身旁。总之，您的身影无时无刻不在我眼前晃动。这情景就好像您让我喝了一杯毒汁，这毒汁如今正在我的体内肆虐。我已经不行了，是的，我是不行了。我现在唯一的希望，就是在您面前显出一点老态来。我对头上的白发毫无掩饰，为的就是给您看的。不过，您可要以朋友的身份常来看我。”
　　她一把抓住杜•洛瓦的手，使劲捏着，揉着，指甲深深地陷进肉里。
　　“这绝无问题，不用再说了，”杜•洛瓦冷冷地说道，“您看，我今天一接到您的信，不是马上就来了嘛。”
　　同两个女儿及玛德莱娜走在前边的瓦尔特，已在《基督凌波图》旁等着杜•洛瓦。他这时笑着向杜•洛瓦说道：
　　“知道吗？我昨天见我妻子曾跪在这幅画前祷告，其一片虔诚同在教堂里一样。那样子可真把我乐坏了。”
　　“这是因为只有这位基督能拯救我的灵魂，”瓦尔特夫人解释道，其坚定的语气显示出内心的无比激动。“每次见到他，心里便感到勇气倍增，浑身充满力量。”
　　说着，她走到这立于海面的神明前，不禁连声感慨起来：
　　“他是多么地非同一般！这些人是多么地怕他，又是多么地爱他！你们看，他的头颅和眼神是多么自然而又饱含灵性！”
　　“他很像你，漂亮朋友，”苏珊突然喊道，“我对此确信无疑。你若蓄上络腮胡子，或者他将络腮胡子刮掉，就不会有什么不同了。啊，你们俩是如此相像！”
　　说着，她让杜•洛瓦站到了油画旁。众人一看，果然觉得极其相像。
　　人人都惊讶不已。瓦尔特说他简直不敢相信，玛德莱娜则笑着说，基督的神采要更为雄劲。
　　瓦尔特夫人动也不动，死死地盯着基督像旁她那情人的面
Chapter 16 Divorce
During the remainder of the winter, the Du Roys often visited the Walters. Georges, too, frequently dined there alone, Madeleine pleading fatigue and preferring to remain at home. He had chosen Friday as his day, and Mme. Walter never invited anyone else on that evening; it belonged to Bel-Ami. Often in a dark corner or behind a tree in the conservatory, Mme. Walter embraced the young man and whispered in his ear: “I love you, I love you! I love you desperately!”
But he always repulsed her coldly, saying: “If you persist in that, I will not come again.”
Toward the end of March people talked of the marriage of the two sisters: Rose was to marry, Dame Rumor said, Count de Latour-Ivelin and Suzanne, the Marquis de Cazolles. The subject of Suzanne’s possible marriage had not been broached again between her and Georges until one morning, the latter having been brought home by M. Walter to lunch, he whispered to Suzanne: “Come, let us give the fish some bread.”
They proceeded to the conservatory in which was the marble basin containing the fish. As Georges and Suzanne leaned over its edge, they saw their reflections in the water and smiled at them. Suddenly, he said in a low voice: “It is not right of you to keep secrets from me, Suzanne.”
She asked:
“What secrets, Bel-Ami?”
“Do you remember what you promised me here the night of the fete?”
“No.”
“To consult me every time you received a proposal.”
“Well?”
“Well, you have received one!”
“From whom?”
“You know very well.”
“No, I swear I do not.”
“Yes, you do. It is from that fop of a Marquis de Cazolles.”
“He is not a fop.”
“That may be, but he is stupid. He is no match for you who are so pretty, so fresh, so bright!”
She asked with a smile: “What have you against him?”
“I? Nothing!”
“Yes, you have. He is not all that you say he is.”
“He is a fool, and an intriguer.”
She glanced at him: “What ails you?”
He spoke as if tearing a secret from the depths of his heart: “I am- -I am jealous of him.”
She was astonished.
“You?”
“Yes, I.”
“Why?”
“Because I love you and you know it”
Then she said severely: “You are mad, Bel-Ami!”
He replied: “I know that I am! Should I confess it — I, a married man, to you, a young girl? I am worse than mad — I am culpable, wretched — I have no possible hope, and that thought almost destroys my reason. When I hear that you are going to be married, I feel murder in my heart. You must forgive me, Suzanne.”
He paused. The young girl murmured half sadly, half gaily: “It is a pity that you are married; but what can you do? It cannot be helped.”
He turned toward her abruptly and said: “If I were free would you marry me?”
She replied: “Yes, Bel-Ami, I would marry you because I love you better than any of the others.”
He rose and stammering: “Thanks — thanks — do not, I implore you, say yes to anyone. Wait a while. Promise me.”
Somewhat confused, and without comprehending what he asked, she whispered: “I promise.”
Du Roy threw a large piece of bread into the water and fled, without saying adieu, as if he were beside himself. Suzanne, in surprise, returned to the salon.
When Du Roy arrived home, he asked Madeleine, who was writing letters: “Shall you dine at the Walters’ Friday? I am going.”
She hesitated: “No, I am not well. I prefer to remain here.”
“As you like. No one will force you.” Then he took up his hat and went out.
For some time he had watched and followed her, knowing all her actions. The time he had awaited had come at length.
On Friday he dressed early, in order, as he said, to make several calls before going to M. Walter’s. At about six o’clock, after having kissed his wife, he went in search of a cab. He said to the cabman: “You can stop at No. 17 Rue Fontaine, and remain there until I order you to go on. Then you can take me to the restaurant Du Coq- Faisan, Rue Lafayette.”
The cab rolled slowly on; Du Roy lowered the shades. When in front of his house, he kept watch of it. After waiting ten minutes, he saw Madeleine come out and go toward the boulevards. When she was out of earshot, he put his head out of the window and cried: “Go on!”
The cab proceeded on its way and stopped at the Coq-Faisan. Georges entered the dining-room and ate slowly, looking at his watch from time to time. At seven-thirty he left and drove to Rue La Rochefoucauld. He mounted to the third story of a house in that street, and asked the maid who opened the door: “Is M. Guibert de Lorme at home?”
“Yes, sir.”
He was shown into the drawing-room, and after waiting some time, a tall man with a military bearing and gray hair entered. He was the police commissioner.
Du Roy bowed, then said: “As I suspected, my wife is with her lover in furnished apartments they have rented on Rue des Martyrs.”
The magistrate bowed: “I am at your service, sir.”
“Very well, I have a cab below.” And with three other officers they proceeded to the house in which Du Roy expected to surprise his wife. One officer remained at the door to watch the exit; on the second floor they halted; Du Roy rang the bell and they waited. In two or three minutes Georges rang again several times in succession. They heard a light step approach, and a woman’s voice, evidently disguised, asked:
“Who is there?”
The police officer replied: “Open in the name of the law.”
The voice repeated: “Who are you?”
“I am the police commissioner. Open, or I will force the door.”
The voice continued: “What do you want?”
Du Roy interrupted: “It is I; it is useless to try to escape us.”
The footsteps receded and then returned. Georges said: “If you do not open, we will force the door.”
Receiving no reply he shook the door so violently that the old lock gave way, and the young man almost fell over Madeleine, who was standing in the antechamber in her petticoat, her hair loosened, her feet bare, and a candle in her hand.
He exclaimed: “It is she. We have caught them,” and he rushed into the room. The commissioner turned to Madeleine, who had followed them through the rooms, in one of which were the remnants of a supper, and looking into her eyes said:
“You are Mme. Claire Madeleine du Roy, lawful wife of M. Prosper Georges du Roy, here present?”
She replied: “Yes, sir.”
“What are you doing here?”
She made no reply. The officer repeated his question; still she did not reply. He waited several moments and then said: “If you do not confess, Madame, I shall be forced to inquire into the matter.”
They could see a man’s form concealed beneath the covers of the bed. Du Roy advanced softly and uncovered the livid face of M. Laroche- Mathieu.
The officer again asked: “Who are you?”
As the man did not reply, he continued: “I am the police commissioner and I call upon you to tell me your name. If you do not answer, I shall be forced to arrest you. In any case, rise. I will interrogate you when you are dressed.”
In the meantime Madeleine had regained her composure, and seeing that all was lost, she was determined to put a brave face upon the matter. Her eyes sparkled with the audacity of bravado, and taking a piece of paper she lighted the ten candles in the candelabra as if for a reception. That done, she leaned against the mantelpiece, took a cigarette out of a case, and began to smoke, seeming not to see her husband.
In the meantime the man in the bed had dressed himself and advanced. The officer turned to him: “Now, sir, will you tell me who you are?”
He made no reply.
“I see I shall have to arrest you.”
Then the man cried: “Do not touch me. I am inviolable.”
Du Roy rushed toward him exclaiming: “I can have you arrested if I want to!” Then he added: “This man’s name is Laroche-Mathieu, minister of foreign affairs.”
The officer retreated and stammered: “Sir, will you tell me who you are?”
“For once that miserable fellow has not lied. I am indeed Laroche- Mathieu, minister,” and pointing to Georges’ breast, he added, “and that scoundrel wears upon his coat the cross of honor which I gave him.”
Du Roy turned pale. With a rapid gesture he tore the decoration from his buttonhole and throwing it in the fire exclaimed: “That is what a decoration is worth which is given by a scoundrel of your order.”
The commissioner stepped between them, as they stood face to face, saying: “Gentlemen, you forget yourselves and your dignity.”
Madeleine smoked on calmly, a smile hovering about her lips. The officer continued: “Sir, I have surprised you alone with Mme. du Roy under suspicious circumstances; what have you to say?”
“Nothing; do your duty.”
The commissioner turned to Madeleine: “Do you confess, Madame, that this gentleman is your lover?”
She replied boldly: “I do not deny it. That is sufficient.”
The magistrate made several notes; when he had finished writing, the minister, who stood ready, coat upon arm, hat in hand, asked: “Do you need me any longer, sir? Can I go?”
Du Roy addressed him with an insolent smile: “Why should you go, we have finished; we will leave you alone together.” Then, taking the officer’s arm, he said: “Let us go, sir; we have nothing more to do in this place.”
An hour later Georges du Roy entered the office of “La Vie Francaise.” M. Walter was there; he raised his head and asked: “What, are you here? Why are you not dining at my house? Where have you come from?”
Georges replied with emphasis: “I have just found out something about the minister of foreign affairs.”
“What?”
“I found him alone with my wife in hired apartments. The commissioner of police was my witness. The minister is ruined.”
“Are you not jesting?”
“No, I am not. I shall even write an article on it.”
“What is your object?”
“To overthrow that wretch, that public malefactor.”
Georges placed his hat upon a chair and added: “Woe to those whom I find in my path. I never pardon.”
The manager stammered: “But your wife?”
“I shall apply for a divorce at once.”
“A divorce?”
“Yes, I am master of the situation. I shall be free. I have a stated income. I shall offer myself as a candidate in October in my native district, where I am known. I could not win any respect were I to be hampered with a wife whose honor was sullied. She took me for a simpleton, but since I have known her game, I have watched her, and now I shall get on, for I shall be free.”
Georges rose.
“I will write the item; it must be handled prudently.”
The old man hesitated, then said: “Do so: it serves those right who are caught in such scrapes.”
　　在这一年冬天的剩余日子里，杜•洛瓦夫妇常去瓦尔特家。甚至在玛德莱娜声称自己懒得动弹而宁愿留在家里时，杜•洛瓦也照样要去同这一家人一起吃餐晚饭。
　　星期五是他所选定的固定日子。每逢这一天，除了杜•洛瓦，老板夫人谁也不会邀请，因此这美好的时光也就属于我们这位漂亮朋友一个人所有。晚饭之后，大家常玩玩牌，喂喂金鱼，像一家人似的消磨着快乐的时光。瓦尔特夫人有好几次在较为隐蔽的地方，如门背后、花房里的树丛后面或某个昏暗的角落，冷不防抓住杜•洛瓦的双臂，紧紧地将他搂在怀内，在他耳边悄悄说道：“我爱你！……我爱你！……爱得简直不知如何是好！”每一次，杜•洛瓦总是冷冷地将她推开，严肃地向她说道：“又来了，您要总是这样，我就再也不来了。”
　　三月底，两姐妹的婚事突然传得沸沸扬扬。大家都说，罗莎的未来郎君是德•拉图尔—伊夫林伯爵，苏珊的未来郎君则是德•卡佐勒侯爵。这两人已成为瓦尔特家的常客，享有非同一般的地位和待遇。
　　不过，杜•洛瓦和苏珊却相处融洽，像亲兄妹一样无拘无束。两个人常常一聊就是几小时，把什么人也不放在眼内，彼此似乎十分相投。
　　至于苏珊会嫁给谁的问题，他们一直未再提起，甚至也未谈到那些隔三岔五前来求婚的人。
　　一天上午，杜•洛瓦被老板带来家中吃午饭。饭后，瓦尔特夫人被仆人找去接待一位来访的供货商，他趁便向苏珊提议道：
　　“咱们去给金鱼喂点食怎样？”
　　两人从饭桌上各拿了一大块面包，到了花房里。
　　大理石水池四周放了些软垫，以备人们在近处观看游鱼时，可跪在上面。两个年轻人于是各拿了一块，肩并肩沿着水边跪了下来，开始向水中投扔手上捏出的小面包团。鱼儿看到后，立即摇头摆尾地游了过来。它们转动着凸出的大眼，或是来回转悠，或是潜入水下，吞食下沉的面包。随后又浮了上来，希望能再得到一块。
　　这些小东西，嘴巴不停地一张一合，身子转动自如，行动敏捷，样子十分奇特。其鲜红的躯体在池底黄沙的衬托下，截然分明，像一团团火红的光焰，不时出没于碧波之中。而一旦停止游动，其鳞片的蓝色边沿便显得分外醒目。
　　杜•洛瓦和苏珊看着自己映入水中的身影，不禁莞尔而笑。
　　“苏珊，”杜•洛瓦突然轻声说道，“心里有事而不对我说，这可不好。”
　　“你指的是什么，漂亮朋友？”苏珊问。
　　“晚会那天，就在这里，你答应过我的话，难道忘了？”
　　“没有呀。”
　　“你曾答应我，只要有人向你求婚，便先来听听我的意见。”
　　“怎么呢？”
　　“怎么！有人已经向你求婚。”
　　“谁？”
　　“你自己知道。”
　　“我向你发誓，一点也不知道。”
　　“不，你知道。就是那个花花公子德•卡佐勒侯爵。”
　　“这是怎么说呢？首先，他不是花花公子。”
　　“就算不是吧，可是他毫无头脑，整天赌博耍钱，吃喝玩乐，败尽了家产。你年轻漂亮，聪明伶俐，能同这样的门第结亲，当然是再好不过啦。”
　　“你好像非常恨他，”苏珊笑着问道。
　　“我恨他？没有的事。”
　　“不，你恨他。可他并不像你所说的。”
　　“哪里，他是个机关算尽的蠢货。”
　　苏珊稍稍侧过身，把目光从水中转移了过来：
　　“瞧你，你这是怎么啦？”
　　杜•洛瓦面露窘态，好像被追问不过而只得抖落出内心隐秘：
　　“我是……我是……我是有点嫉妒他。”
　　“你？”苏珊不免感到吃惊。
　　“是的。”
　　“怪了，这怎么会呢？”
　　“因为我爱上了你。你这个坏东西，你心里完全清楚。”
　　“你难道疯了，漂亮朋友？”苏珊突然正色道。
　　“我知道，自己确是疯了。你是一个未婚少女，而我已是一个有妇之夫。事情不是明摆着的吗？我这样做，不但是疯了，而且是犯罪，甚至可以说是无耻。因此，我是不可能有什么希望的。一想到这一点，我便恨得难以自制。这不，听说你要结婚，我气得了不得，简直要动刀杀人。苏珊，心里憋了好久的话，今天都对你说了，希望你能原谅。”
　　说到这里，他停了下来。水中的金鱼见上面再也没有面包扔下来，便像英国士兵似的排成一行，一动不动地呆在那里，目光集中在岸边两人的脸上。而这两人现在是再也不管它们了。
　　“可惜你已经结婚了，”苏珊说，语气中既带着忧伤，又含有欣喜。“有什么办法？谁也无能为力，一切都完了。”
　　杜•洛瓦猛地转过身，脸贴着脸，向她问道：
　　“要是我离了婚，你能嫁给我吗？”
　　“那当然，漂亮朋友，”苏珊不假思索地答道，“我会嫁给你的，因为我喜欢你，胜于喜欢其他任何人。”
　　“谢谢……谢谢……”杜•洛瓦站起身，结结巴巴地说，“我只求你一点，马上不要接受任何人的求婚，姑且再等一等。
　　算我求你了，这一点你能答应吗？”
　　“行，我答应你，”苏珊说，心里乱糟糟的，不知道他究竟想干什么。
　　杜•洛瓦将手中仍拿着的一大块面包往水里一扔，便慌慌忙忙地离开了苏珊，连“再见”也忘了说。
　　未经手指捻碎的大块面包，漂浮在水面上。池中金鱼纷纷直冲过去，围在四周贪婪地大口大口啃啮着，后来又将面包推到水池的另一头，翻来覆去地在面包的下方你争我夺，搅成一团，如同一朵头朝下落在水中的鲜花，不停地颤动，旋转。
　　心中既感到诧异又有点不安的苏珊，站起身，慢慢地回到客厅：漂亮朋友已经走了。
　　杜•洛瓦神色平静地回到家中，玛德莱娜正在伏案写信。
　　“瓦尔特家星期五的晚饭，你去吃吗？”他问，“我照例是要去的。”
　　“我不去了，”玛德莱娜迟疑一会儿说道，“我有点不舒服，还是留在家里算了。”
　　“去不去随你，”杜•洛瓦说，“并没有人强迫你。”
　　说罢，他又拿起帽子，出了家门。
　　很久以来，他便在注视着玛德莱娜的一举一动，不遗余力地对她进行监视和跟踪，因此对她的一切了如指掌。现在，他所期待的时刻已终于到来。玛德莱娜刚才说她“还是留在家里算了”时，其醉翁之意他一下就听了出来。
　　后来的几天，他对她分外和气，整天乐呵呵的。这是他多日来所少有的，玛德莱娜因而说他简直像是变了个人。
　　到了星期五，他很早便穿好了衣服，说是要去办点事，然后便去老板家吃晚饭。
　　六点左右，他吻别妻子，出了家门，一径走到洛雷特圣母院广场，叫了辆出租马车。
　　他向车夫说道：“请将车赶到泉水街，停在十七号对面，就呆在那里，直到我让你离开。然后请将我送到拉法耶特街的‘山鸡饭店’。”
　　车子启动后迅速向前走着，杜•洛瓦将窗帘放了下来。不久，马车停在他家对面的马路上，他开始注视门前的动静。等了约十分钟后，他见玛德莱娜从里边走了出来，向环城大道走去。
　　待她走远后，杜•洛瓦将头伸出车窗，向车夫喊了一声：
　　“可以走了。”
　　马车于是继续前行，很快将他送到本街区无人不晓的“山鸡饭店”。他走进饭店，要了几样菜，一边慢慢地吃着，一边不时地看着手腕上带着的手表。吃完饭，他又喝了一杯咖啡和两杯清醇的香槟，并点上一支上等雪茄，不慌不忙地抽着。到了七点半，他走出饭店，叫了一辆由此路过的空车，直奔拉罗什富科街。
　　车子在一幢楼前停下后，他向门房问也没问，便直接上了四楼。他扣开一扇门，向前来开门的女仆问道：“请问吉贝尔•德•洛尔姆先生在家吧？”
　　“在家，先生。”
　　进入客厅后，他等了片刻。不久，一军人模样、胸前挂着勋章的人走了进来。此人身材魁伟，虽然还很年轻，但已头发花白。
　　杜•洛瓦向他打过招呼后说道：
　　“警长先生，果然不出我所料，我妻子同她的奸夫此刻正在他们租下的一间家具齐备的房子里吃晚饭。地点就在烈士街。”
　　“我听您的，先生，”警长欠了欠身，说道。
　　“你们采取行动是否须在九点之前？”杜•洛瓦又说，“过了这个时间，你们就不能去私人住所捉奸了。”
　　“是的，先生。冬天是七点，三月三十一日后是九点。今天是四月五号，因此可到九点。”
　　“那好，警长先生。我在楼下备有一辆马车。我们可用这辆车去警察局接您手下的人，一同前往。时间既然还早，我们到达后可在门外稍等一等。这种事，越是晚去，便越有可能当场捉住。”
　　“可以，先生。”
　　警长去穿了件大衣，把三色腰带遮盖了起来。回到客厅后，他将身子闪过一旁，让杜•洛瓦先走。杜•洛瓦因心里正在考虑着什么，不想先走，因此连声说道：“还是您先请……您先请。”
　　“走吧，先生，这是在我家里，”警长说道。
　　杜•洛瓦于是向他欠了欠身，走了出去。
　　他们先到了警察局，去接三个在局内等候的便衣警察。因为杜•洛瓦已在白天去了警察局，说当晚定可将这对贼男女当场抓住。一个警察随即上了驾辕的位置，坐在车夫身旁，另两个则钻进了车内。车子很快到了烈士街。
　　下车后，杜•洛瓦说道：“他们就在三楼，房内的布局我一清二楚。进门后有一间小客厅，接着是餐厅，卧房在最里边。三个房间彼此相通。整个楼房，除了外边的大门，没有其他出口可以逃走。不远处住着一个锁匠，你们随时可以差遣。”
　　几个人走到他所说的楼房前，时间还才是八点过一刻。大家只得默默地在门外等了二十多分钟。到八点三刻，见杜•洛瓦说了声“现在可以上去了”，众人立即到了楼梯前，对门房根本未予理会，况且门房也未看到他们。为了稳妥起见，他们在街上留了一人，把守大门。
　　四个人到达三楼后，杜•洛瓦将耳朵贴在门上听了听，接着又透过锁孔看了看。屋内寂然无声，没有一点动静。他于是伸手按了按门铃。
　　警长这时向他的两位副手说道：“你们不必进去，留在这儿待命。”
　　大家等了等。两三分钟后，杜•洛瓦又将门铃一连按了几下。屋里终于传来一点声响，接着是一阵轻微的脚步声。显然是有个人走了过来窥探动静。杜•洛瓦屈起手指用力在门上敲了敲。
　　“谁呀？”一个竭力不让人认出、好像是女人的声音问道。
　　“快开门，我们是警察局的，”警长回道。
　　“您是谁？”里边的声音又问。
　　“我是警长。快开门，否则我们就要破门而入了。”
　　“你们要做什么？”还是里边的声音。
　　“是我，”杜•洛瓦说话了。“还是开门吧，你们已无法逃出我们的手心。”
　　轻微的、显然是光着脚的脚步声远去了，但不到几秒钟又走了回来。
　　“你若还不开门，我们可要硬撞了，”杜•洛瓦说。他手握铜质门把，慢慢地用肩顶在了门上。见对方依然一声不吭，说时迟那时快，他使出全身力气猛的一下撞了过去，门上的旧锁顷刻土崩瓦解。锁上的螺丝一个个早已飞出槽孔，使得杜•洛瓦差一点倒在玛德莱娜身上。因为刚刚在门里说话的正是她。只见她头发蓬乱，两腿外露，身上只穿了件胸衣和短裙，正拿着一支蜡烛站在那里。
　　“今天要找的就是她！他们是逃不了啦，”杜•洛瓦大叫一声，冲进屋内。警长摘下帽子，跟了过去。丧魂失魄的玛德莱娜，举着蜡烛，走在后边。
　　他们穿过餐厅时，只见餐桌上杯盘狼藉：除了几块吃剩下的面包和几个喝干的香槟酒瓶，还放着一个鸡的空骨架和一瓶打开了的鹅肝酱。餐具架上放着两个装满牡蛎壳的盘子。
　　卧房里到处扔着衣物，简直像是刚刚经历过一场搏斗。一张椅子的椅背上搭着一件连衣裙，扶手椅的扶手上则挂着一条男人穿的短裤。四只短靴——其中两大两小——歪倒在床脚下。
　　这是一间连带家具出租的公寓房，不但陈设一般，且弥漫着一种闷浊的难闻气味，同旅馆中常见的相仿。这气味既有墙壁、窗帘、床垫和座椅所散发出的，也有在此公寓房住过一天或半年之久的客人留下来的。随着客人的一批批更换，这滞留不去的人体气味也就越积越浓，变成一种时时侵扰、无以名状、令人难以忍受的怪味了。这在各公共场所已是司空见惯。
　　壁炉上放着杂物：一个点心盘、一瓶查尔特勒产甜酒和两只酒杯，杯内的酒只喝了一半。铜座钟上方的人形装饰上，扣着一顶男人戴的大礼帽。
　　警长倏地转过身，两眼逼视着玛德莱娜：
　　“这一位是记者普罗斯佩—乔治•杜•洛瓦先生，您就是他的合法妻子克莱尔—玛德莱娜•杜•洛瓦夫人吗？”
　　玛德莱娜声音极低地答道：
　　“是的，先生。”
　　“您在这里做什么？”
　　她没有回答。
　　警长又问：“您在这儿做什么？此时此刻，您不在自己家里，几乎赤身露体呆在这家具齐备的房内，到这里做什么来了？”
　　他等了一会儿，见玛德莱娜依然一言不发，便又说道：“夫人，既然您不愿说，我只好自己来把情况弄清楚了。”
　　一眼可见，床上显然躺着一个人，被子盖得严严实实。
　　警长走过去，喊了一声：“先生！”
　　床上的人纹丝未动。看样子，像是背朝外，脑袋埋在枕头底下。
　　“先生，”警长碰了碰那像肩膀的地方说道，“请放明白些，不要逼我动手。”
　　被褥下的人仍旧毫无反应，仿佛死了一样。
　　杜•洛瓦抢步上前，将被头掀了掀，然后一使劲，抽去枕头，拉罗舍—马蒂厄一张毫无血色的脸也就露了出来。杜•洛瓦俯过身去，恨不得一把将他掐死，但最后只是咬牙切齿地骂了一句：
　　“既然有脸干这见不得人的丑事，也该有勇气站出来承认。”
　　“你是谁？”警长问道。少顷，见奸夫慌乱不已，一句话也答不上来，他又说道：“我是警长。快说，你叫什么？”
　　“快说，你这胆小鬼。”怒火中烧的杜•洛瓦在一旁喊道，“你要再不说，我就替你说了。”
　　“警长先生，”床上的人终于开口道，“这家伙如此侮辱我，您不能坐视不管。你们两人中究竟谁的话算数？我是回答您还是回答他？”
　　这两句话，他说得有气无力。
　　“当然是回答我，先生，”警长说道，“告诉我，你是谁？”
　　对方又闷声不响了，一个劲地用被子护住脖颈以下的躯体，眼神中透出无比的恐惧。嘴角两撇乌黑的短髭，同惨白的面色形成鲜明的对照。
　　“你还是不说？”警长又说道，“这样的话，我便只好将你先行逮捕。不管怎样，你还是先起床，待你穿好衣服，我们再审问。”
　　“可是您站在这儿，我没法起床，”对方扭动了一下身躯，只露出一个脑袋说道。
　　“为什么？”警长问。
　　“因为我……我……没穿衣服。”
　　杜•洛瓦哼的一声冷笑，一面捡起他丢在地上的衬衣，扔到床上，一面向他吼道：
　　“算了吧……快起来……你既然能够在我妻子面前脱光衣服，也该有脸当着我的面把衣服穿上。”
　　说罢，他转身回到了壁炉边。
　　玛德莱娜此时已恢复镇定。事已至此，她是什么也无所畏惧了，目光中闪耀着勇毅的光芒。她卷起一个纸卷，像有贵客光临似的，把壁炉旁七扭八歪的大烛台上插着的十枝蜡烛，一一点了起来。随后，她背靠壁炉中央，将两只光着的脚，向那奄奄一息的炉火，从后面伸了一只过去。只达胯部的衬裙，下摆部分因而被高高撩起。壁炉上放着一包呈粉红色纸包的香烟，她随手抽出一支，点燃后抽了起来。
　　为便于她的相好穿衣起床，警长也向她这边走了过来。
　　“先生，您常干这种差事吗？”玛德莱娜毫不客气地向他问道。
　　“很少很少，夫人，”警长一本正经地答道。
　　玛德莱娜发出一声冷笑：“这就好，因为这毕竟不是什么光彩的事情。”
　　她有意不看她丈夫，好像他根本就不在场似的。
　　这当儿，床上的先生正忙着穿衣。他穿上长裤和鞋靴后，一边套着背心，一边走了过来。
　　警长转过身子，向他说道：
　　“先生，现在请告诉我你的姓名。”
　　不想此人仍旧是什么也不说。
　　“既然如此，我只好将你先行逮捕。”警长说道。
　　“别碰我，你根本没有资格！”对方突然大声说道。
　　杜•洛瓦好像要对他动武似的，一个箭步冲上来，气势汹汹地向他吼道：“不要忘了……你是当场被捉。只要我愿意……就凭这一点，完全可以让他们把你抓起来。”
　　“这家伙是现任外交部长，名叫拉罗舍—马蒂厄。”他接着说道，声音特别响亮。
　　警长听了一怔，不由地后退一步，说道：
　　“说真的，先生，对于我刚才的问话，你到底是说还是不说？”
　　对方只得把心一横，大声回道：
　　“这个混蛋，这一次总算没有胡说。我确是拉罗舍—马蒂厄，现任外交部长。”
　　接着，他指了指杜•洛瓦胸前那闪着红光的小玩意儿，说道：“他身上戴的这荣誉团十字勋章，就是我给他弄的。”
　　杜•洛瓦顿时面色煞白，嚓的一下把系在扣子上的那块红绶带扯了下来，扔到了壁炉里：
　　“你这恶棍弄来的东西有什么希奇？我毫不希罕。”
　　两个人牙关紧闭，怒目而视，彼此的脸贴得很近，虽然一个瘦削，一个矮胖，但都捏紧了拳头，眼看就要动起武来。
　　警长慌忙插到他们中间，用手将两人分开：
　　“先生们，你们这是何必呢，也未免太有失身份了。”
　　双方终于未再说什么，转过身，走开了。玛德莱娜依然一动不动地在那里抽着烟，脸上挂着一丝冷笑。
　　“部长先生，”警长这时说道，“我刚才进来时，您正一个人同这位杜•洛瓦夫人呆在一起。您躺在床上，而她却几乎没穿什么，同时您的衣服在房里扔得到处都是。这已构成通奸罪，并被我当场抓住。以上事实确凿无疑，您是无法否认的。您有什么要说？”
　　“我没什么好说的，”拉罗舍—马蒂厄嘟哝道，“你该怎么办，就怎么办好了。”
　　“夫人，”警长又转向玛德莱娜，“您是否承认，这位先生是您的情夫？”
　　玛德莱娜很是爽快：“我不否认，他是我的情夫。”
　　“很好。这样一来，我的事也就完了。”
　　警长接着记了几点有关现场的情况。已穿好衣服的拉罗舍—马蒂厄，一手挎着大衣，一手提着帽子，待他写完后向他问道：
　　“先生，这里还需要我吗？要是没什么事，我就走了。”
　　“干吗走呀，先生？”杜•洛瓦转向他，毫无顾忌地讪笑道，“我们的事已经完了，你们可以重新上床。我们这就走。”
　　说着，他轻轻碰了碰警长：
　　“警长先生，我们走吧，这儿已没有我们的事了。”
　　警长对他的话显然感到有点惊异，随即跟着他往外走去。不想到了门边，杜•洛瓦忽然停了下来，示意警长先走。警长谦逊地让了让。
　　“不，先生请，”杜•洛瓦坚持道。
　　“不，还是您先请，”警长说。
　　“警长先生，请不必客气，”杜•洛瓦彬彬有礼欠了欠身，带着一种嘲讽的口吻说道。“我们今日在此，可以说也就是在我自己家里。”
　　出了门后，只见他小心翼翼，轻轻将门重新关好。
　　一小时后，乔治•杜•洛瓦到了《法兰西生活报》。
　　瓦尔特先生已先他一步到达。老板对他的这家报纸现在仍十分关注，事无巨细都要亲自过问。报纸发行量的大大增加，为其扩充银行业务提供了很大便利。
　　杜•洛瓦走进他的办公室后，老板抬起头来向他问道：“啊，你来了。今天是怎么啦？为什么没来我家吃晚饭？这是从哪儿来？”
　　杜•洛瓦完全清楚，自己的话会使对方多么地惊讶不止，因此一字一顿地说道：
　　“我刚刚把我们的外交部长拉下了马？”
　　瓦尔特以为他在开玩笑：
　　“什么？拉下了马……”
　　“是的，内阁马上就要改组，情况就是这样。这僵尸一般的家伙，早就该把他拉下来了。”
　　老板直愣愣地看着他，以为他喝醉了：
　　“哎呀，你在胡说什么！”
　　“我说的是真的。拉罗舍—马蒂厄和我妻子通奸，刚才被我当场抓住。整个情况，警方也亲眼目睹。这位部长大人现在算是完了。”
　　瓦尔特呆若木鸡，将眼镜一把推上前额：
　　“你这不是在同我开玩笑吧？”
　　“当然不是。我打算马上就此写一篇报道。”
　　“你想怎样？”
　　“让这个流氓、恶棍、混入政府部门的骗子永世不得翻身！”
　　杜•洛瓦把帽子放在扶手椅上，接着又说道：
　　“谁要是挡我的道，可要小心点，我是决不轻饶的。”
　　老板似乎仍莫名其妙，嗫嚅着问道：
　　“可是……你妻子呢？”
　　“明天早上，我就正式提出离婚，把她还给死鬼弗雷斯蒂埃。”
　　“离婚？”
　　“当然，她让我丢尽了脸。为了能把他们当场捉住，我不得不对他们睁一只眼闭一只眼。现在好了，主动权已掌握在我手中。”
　　瓦尔特仍然有点懵里懵懂，只是惊恐地看着他，心下想道：“天哪，这家伙可不是等闲之辈！”
　　“我现在无拘无束……”杜•洛瓦又说，“钱也有了一点。今年十月议会改选时，我将去我家乡参加竞选，我在那边已有一定名气。在众人眼中，我这个妻子是个很糟糕的女人。同她在一起，我不论做什么一直不能堂堂正正，获得人们的尊敬。她把我当傻瓜，给我灌迷魂汤，把我弄得服服帖帖。不想她的行藏很快被我识破，她的一举一动也就在我的严密监视之下了，这个臭婊子。”
　　他哈哈一笑，又接着说道：
　　“可怜弗雷斯蒂埃戴了绿帽子……自己竟毫未察觉，依然是那样自信，心里什么事也没有。他留给我的这个骚货，总算被我甩掉了。我现在一身轻，什么都可以去试他一试。”
　　他岔开两腿，骑坐在椅子上，又得意地复述了一遍其内心想法：“我完全可以什么都去试他一试。”
　　眼镜仍放在脑门上的瓦尔特老头，一直在瞪着大眼看着他，心中不由地嘀咕道：
　　“是的，这个混蛋，现在什么都做得出来。”
　　“我要去写那篇报道了，”杜•洛瓦站了起来。“此事可马虎不得。您想必也已看出，文章一发表，将够这位部长受的。他已成了落水狗，谁也救不了他。《法兰西生活报》已无必要顾及他的面子。”
　　瓦尔特沉吟片刻，最后拿定主意道：
　　“去写你的报道吧，他既已到了这步田地，我们也爱莫能助。”
Chapter 17 The Final Plot
Three months had elapsed. Georges du Roy’s divorce had been obtained. His wife had resumed the name of Forestier.
As the Walters were going to Trouville on the fifteenth of July, they decided to spend a day in the country before starting.
The day chosen was Thursday, and they set out at nine o’clock in the morning in a large six-seated carriage drawn by four horses. They were going to lunch at Saint-Germain. Bel-Ami had requested that he might be the only young man in the party, for he could not bear the presence of the Marquis de Cazolles. At the last moment, however, it was decided that Count de Latour-Ivelin should go, for he and Rose had been betrothed a month. The day was delightful. Georges, who was very pale, gazed at Suzanne as they sat in the carriage and their eyes met.
Mme. Walter was contented and happy. The luncheon was a long and merry one. Before leaving for Paris, Du Roy proposed a walk on the terrace. They stopped on the way to admire the view; as they passed on, Georges and Suzanne lingered behind. The former whispered softly: “Suzanne, I love you madly.”
She whispered in return: “I love you too, Bel-Ami.”
He continued: “If I cannot have you for my wife, I shall leave the country.”
She replied: “Ask papa. Perhaps he will consent.”
He answered impatiently: “No, I repeat that it is useless; the door of the house would be closed against me. I would lose my position on the journal, and we would not even meet. Those are the consequences a formal proposal would produce. They have promised you to the Marquis de Cazolles; they hope you will finally say ‘yes’ and they are waiting.”
“What can we do?”
“Have you the courage to brave your father and mother for my sake?”
“Yes.”
“Truly?”
“Yes.”
“Well! There is only one way. It must come from you and not from me. You are an indulged child; they let you say anything and are not surprised at any audacity on your part. Listen, then! This evening on returning home, go to your mother first, and tell her that you want to marry me. She will be very much agitated and very angry.”
Suzanne interrupted him: “Oh, mamma would be glad.”
He replied quickly: “No, no, you do not know her. She will be more vexed than your father. But you must insist, you must not yield; you must repeat that you will marry me and me alone. Will you do so?”
“I will.”
“And on leaving your mother, repeat the same thing to your father very decidedly.”
“Well, and then —”
“And then matters will reach a climax! If you are determined to be my wife, my dear, dear, little Suzanne, I will elope with you.”
She clapped her hands, as all the charming adventures in the romances she had read occurred to her, and cried:
“Oh, what bliss! When will you elope with me?”
He whispered very low: “To-night!”
“Where shall we go?”
“That is my secret. Think well of what you are doing. Remember that after that flight you must become my wife. It is the only means, but it is dangerous — very dangerous — for you.”
“I have decided. Where shall I meet you?”
“Meet me about midnight in the Place de la Concorde.”
“I will be there.”
He clasped her hand. “Oh, how I love you! How brave and good you are! Then you do not want to marry Marquis de Cazolles?”
“Oh, no!”
Mme. Walter, turning her head, called out: “Come, little one; what are you and Bel-Ami doing?”
They rejoined the others and returned by way of Chatou. When the carriage arrived at the door of the mansion, Mme. Walter pressed Georges to dine with them, but he refused, and returned home to look over his papers and destroy any compromising letters. Then he repaired in a cab with feverish haste to the place of meeting. He waited there some time, and thinking his ladylove had played him false, he was about to drive off, when a gentle voice whispered at the door of his cab: “Are you there, Bel-Ami?”
“Is it you, Suzanne?”
“Yes.”
“Ah, get in.” She entered the cab and he bade the cabman drive on.
He asked: “Well, how did it all pass off?”
She murmured faintly:
“Oh, it was terrible, with mamma especially.”
“Your mamma? What did she say? Tell me!”
“Oh, it was frightful! I entered her room and made the little speech I had prepared. She turned pale and cried: ‘Never!’ I wept, I protested that I would marry only you; she was like a mad woman; she vowed I should be sent to a convent. I never saw her like that, never. Papa, hearing her agitated words, entered. He was not as angry as she was, but he said you were not a suitable match for me. As they had vexed me, I talked louder than they, and papa with a dramatic air bade me leave the room. That decided me to fly with you. And here I am; where shall we go?”
He replied, encircling her waist with his arm: “It is too late to take the train; this cab will take us to Sevres where we can spend the night, and to-morrow we will leave for La Roche-Guyon. It is a pretty village on the banks of the Seine between Mantes and Bonnieres.”
The cab rolled on. Georges took the young girl’s hand and kissed it respectfully. He did not know what to say to her, being unaccustomed to Platonic affection. Suddenly he perceived that she was weeping. He asked in affright:
“What ails you, my dear little one?”
She replied tearfully: “I was thinking that poor mamma could not sleep if she had found out that I was gone!”
* * * * * * *
Her mother indeed was not asleep.
When Suzanne left the room, Mine. Walter turned to her husband and asked in despair: “What does that mean?”
“It means that that intriguer has influenced her. It is he who has made her refuse Cazolles. You have flattered and cajoled him, too. It was Bel-Ami here, Bel-Ami there, from morning until night. Now you are paid for it!”
“I?”
“Yes, you. You are as much infatuated with him as Madeleine, Suzanne, and the rest of them. Do you think that I did not see that you could not exist for two days without him?”
She rose tragically: “I will not allow you to speak to me thus. You forget that I was not brought up like you, in a shop.”
With an oath, he left the room, banging the door behind him.
When he was gone, she thought over all that had taken place. Suzanne was in love with Bel-Ami, and Bel-Ami wanted to marry Suzanne! No, it was not true! She was mistaken; he would not be capable of such an action; he knew nothing of Suzanne’s escapade. They would take Suzanne away for six months and that would end it.
She rose, saying: “I cannot rest in this uncertainty. I shall lose my reason. I will arouse Suzanne and question her.”
She proceeded to her daughter’s room. She entered; it was empty; the bed had not been slept in. A horrible suspicion possessed her and she flew to her husband. He was in bed, reading.
She gasped: “Have you seen Suzanne?”
“No — why?”
“She is — gone! she is not in her room.”
With one bound he was out of bed; he rushed to his daughter’s room; not finding her there, he sank into a chair. His wife had followed him.
“Well?” she asked.
He had not the strength to reply: he was no longer angry; he groaned: “He has her — we are lost.”
“Lost, how?”
“Why, he must marry her now!”
She cried wildly: “Marry her, never! Are you mad?”
He replied sadly: “It will do no good to yell! He has disgraced her. The best thing to be done is to give her to him, and at once, too; then no one will know of this escapade.”
She repeated in great agitation: “Never; he shall never have Suzanne.”
Overcome, Walter murmured: “But he has her. And he will keep her as long as we do not yield; therefore, to avoid a scandal we must do so at once.”
But his wife replied: “No, no, I will never consent.”
Impatiently he returned: “It is a matter of necessity. Ah, the scoundrel — how he has deceived us! But he is shrewd at any rate. She might have done better as far as position, but not intelligence and future, is concerned. He is a promising young man. He will be a deputy or a minister some day.”
Mme. Walter, however, repeated wildly: “I will never let him marry Suzanne! Do you hear — never!”
In his turn he became incensed, and like a practical man defended Bel-Ami. “Be silent! I tell you he must marry her! And who knows? Perhaps we shall not regret it! With men of his stamp one never knows what may come about. You saw how he downed Laroche-Mathieu in three articles, and that with a dignity which was very difficult to maintain in his position as husband. So, we shall see.”
Mme. Walter felt a desire to cry aloud and tear her hair. But she only repeated angrily: “He shall not have her!”
Walter rose, took up his lamp, and said: “You are silly, like all women! You only act on impulse. You do not know how to accommodate yourself to circumstances. You are stupid! I tell you he shall marry her; it is essential.” And he left the room.
Mme. Walter remained alone with her suffering, her despair. If only a priest were at hand! She would cast herself at his feet and confess all her errors and her agony — he would prevent the marriage! Where could she find a priest? Where should she turn? Before her eyes floated, like a vision, the calm face of “Christ Walking on the Water,” as she had seen it in the painting. He seemed to say to her: “Come unto Me. Kneel at My feet. I will comfort and instruct you as to what to do.”
She took the lamp and sought the conservatory; she opened the door leading into the room which held the enormous canvas, and fell upon her knees before it. At first she prayed fervently, but as she raised her eyes and saw the resemblance to Bel-Ami, she murmured: “Jesus — Jesus —” while her thoughts were with her daughter and her lover. She uttered a wild cry, as she pictured them together — alone- -and fell into a swoon. When day broke they found Mme. Walter still lying unconscious before the painting. She was so ill, after that, that her life was almost despaired of.
M. Walter explained his daughter’s absence to the servants by saying to them that she had been sent to a convent for a short time. Then he replied to a long letter from Du Roy, giving his consent to his marriage with his daughter. Bel-Ami had posted that epistle when he left Paris, having prepared it the night of his departure. In it he said in respectful terms that he had loved the young girl a long time; that there had never been any understanding between them, but that as she came to him to say: “I will be your wife,” he felt authorized in keeping her, in hiding her, in fact, until he had obtained a reply from her parents, whose wishes were to him of more value than those of his betrothed.
Georges and Suzanne spent a week at La Roche-Guyon. Never had the young girl enjoyed herself so thoroughly. As she passed for his sister, they lived in a chaste and free intimacy, a kind of living companionship. He thought it wiser to treat her with respect, and when he said to her: “We will return to Paris to-morrow; your father has bestowed your hand upon me” she whispered naively: “Already? This is just as pleasant as being your wife.”
　　三个月已经过去。杜•洛瓦同玛德莱娜的夫妻关系终于已在最近正式了结。后者的姓如今仍随前夫，她因而还是叫玛德莱娜•弗雷斯蒂埃。瓦尔特一家定于七月十五日前往特鲁维尔度假，他们决定在动身之前先邀请一两位朋友，去乡下玩上一天。
　　日子定在星期四。到了这一天，早上九点，大家便乘坐一辆有六个座位的大型长途马车出发了。马车由四匹马拉着，是向驿站租来的。
　　他们将去圣热尔曼的“亨利四世餐馆”吃午饭。在这一行人中，杜•洛瓦自然是不可缺少的一员。他曾希望不要邀请德•卡佐勒侯爵同往，因为侯爵那副面孔时时出现在他面前，他实在受不了。然而到最后一刻，大家决定还是把德•拉图尔—
　　伊夫林伯爵也带上。决定是在出发的前一天通知他的。
　　马车迅速驶过香榭丽舍大街，然后从布洛涅林苑穿了过去。
　　明朗的夏日，天青气爽，又不太热。蔚蓝的天空是那样明净，简直可以看到翱翔的燕子身后留下的一道道弧线。
　　三位女士坐在车厢的里侧：两个女孩一边一个，她们的母亲坐在中间。三位男士背朝车头，坐在车厢的外侧：两位客人一边一个，中间坐的是瓦尔特。
　　马车驶过塞纳河后，便沿着瓦莱里恩山脚前行，不久到达布吉瓦尔，然后仍沿着这条河一直走到佩克。
　　德•拉图尔—伊夫林伯爵年龄稍大。一脸长长的络腮胡子是那样轻柔，微风吹来，轻轻飘拂。杜•洛瓦见了，心中不禁大为感慨：“他这满脸的胡子经风这样一吹，真是好看极了。”伯爵此时正含情脉脉地注视着罗莎，他们已在一个月前正式订婚。
　　杜•洛瓦面色苍白，不时目不转睛地看着面色也很苍白的苏珊。他们都心有灵犀，两人的目光一旦相遇，便好像在那里喁喁私语，互相倾诉衷肠，但很快也就慌忙躲开了。瓦尔特夫人神色安然，一副心恬意适的样子。
　　午饭吃了很长时间，现在该回巴黎了。动身之前，杜•洛瓦提议在门外的平台上略走一走。
　　大家先领略了一下四周的景色，然后沿着胸墙一字儿排开，无不陶醉在眼前一望无际的莽莽原野中。连绵不绝的山岗下，塞纳河像一条卧于绿茵场上的巨蟒，逶迤流向麦松—拉菲特。右侧山顶上，有较小管道伸向四方的马尔里渡槽，像一条其大无比的尺蠖僵卧在那里，在天边留下了巨大身影。山下的马尔里城则消失在一片郁郁葱葱的绿树丛中。
　　四周原野辽阔，大小村落星罗棋布。韦济内的几口水塘宛如几块明镜散布于稀疏的树林中。左侧天际，高高耸立的萨特鲁维尔钟楼显得分外夺目。
　　看到这里，瓦尔特不由地感叹道：“这美丽的景致真是天下少有，连瑞士恐怕也难以找到。”
　　接着，大家慢慢地在平台上走了走，尽情领略这如画的景色。
　　杜•洛瓦和苏珊走在后边。同众人拉开一段距离后，杜•洛瓦压低嗓音向苏珊说道：
　　“苏珊，我爱你。为了你，我现在已是神魂颠倒。”
　　“我也一样，漂亮朋友，”苏珊说。
　　“要是我不能把你娶过来，”杜•洛瓦又说，“我想我会离开巴黎，离开这个国家的。”
　　“你为何不同我爸爸去说，他或许会同意的。”
　　杜•洛瓦作了个不耐烦的动作：
　　“我已经对你说过不下十次了，这完全是徒劳。你父亲不仅会将我赶出报馆，而且会从此不许我进你家大门一步。这样一来，我恐怕就再也见不到你了。因此，我若按常规去向你父亲说出我的想法，等待我们的肯定是这种结局。他们已将你许给德•卡佐勒侯爵，就差你点头同意。他们在等待着这一天。”
　　“那该怎么办呢？”苏珊问。
　　杜•洛瓦从侧面瞟了她一眼，有点吞吞吐吐：
　　“你是爱我爱得了不得，什么事也敢去做吗？”
　　“当然，”苏珊不假思索地说。
　　“不管它看来是多么地荒唐？”
　　“是的。”
　　“不管它看来是多么地违背人之常情？”
　　“是的。”
　　“这么说，你也敢同你父母对着干？”
　　“是的。”
　　“真的吗？”
　　“当然。”
　　“那好，现在唯一的办法是，由你来采取行动，而不是我。他们对你一向非常娇惯，什么都依着你。因此，你若有什么非同寻常之举，他们是不会奇怪的。听着，今晚回去后，你先去你母亲房内，对她说你要嫁给我。她一定会感到意外而大为光火……”
　　“哪里，她会同意的，”苏珊打断了他。
　　“不，”杜•洛瓦接着说道，“你对她并不了解。她的反应一定比你父亲还要激烈，肯定是坚决反对。你可要顶住，决不让步。你就说，除了我，你谁也不嫁。这一点，你能做到吗？”
　　“能做到。”
　　“从你母亲房内出来，你再去找你父亲，郑重其事而又非常坚决地把同样的话对他复述一遍。”
　　“好的，然后呢？”
　　“然后就事关重大了。亲爱的苏珊，要是你确实决心已定，非我不嫁……我打算……带你私奔！”
　　“私奔？”苏珊高兴得差点拍起手来，“啊，这该多有意思！
　　什么时候私奔呢？”
　　转眼之间，她在书上读到过的许多古往今来富于诗意的诱人冒险故事，如夜间出走、乘车远逃和投宿野店，纷纷涌现于她的脑际。这迷人的梦境，如今就要成为现实了。她因而又急切地问道：“我们哪天走呢？”
　　“就在……今天晚上，”杜•洛瓦低声答道。
　　“咱们去哪儿？”苏珊激动得一阵战栗。
　　“这我马上还不能讲。你现在要做的是，对自己的行动好好考虑一下。你应当知道，一旦走出家门，你就只能嫁给我了。除此之外，我们没有别的办法。而且这对你来说……是相当危险的。”
　　“我决心已定……”苏珊说，“你就说吧，我去哪儿同你会面？”
　　“你能一个人从家里出来吗？”
　　“能。有扇小门，我知道怎样开。”
　　“那好。午夜时分，待守门人睡下后，你悄悄走出来，到协和广场来找我。我乘坐的马车就停在紧对着海军部的广场上。”
　　“好，我一定来。”
　　“真的？”
　　“当然是真的。”
　　杜•洛瓦拿起苏珊的手，紧紧地握着：
　　“啊！我是多么地爱你！你真好，也真勇敢，这么说，你是不想嫁给德•卡佐勒先生了？”
　　“是的。”
　　“你父亲听你说出这个意思时，他是否气得不得了？”
　　“我想是的，他说要把我送到修道院办的寄宿学校里去。”
　　“你看，这种事情来不得一点心软。”
　　“我不会心软的。”
　　苏珊两眼看着远处辽阔的天际，心里却被私奔的念头完全占据。她将同他一起……走到比这天际更远的地方……她竟也会私奔！……心里为此而感到无比的荣耀。至于这样做会对她的名声造成怎样可怕的后果，她是不管的，甚至完全懵然无知。
　　瓦尔特夫人这时转过身来，向她喊道：
　　“到这儿来，小苏珊，你在同漂亮朋友说些什么？”
　　他们俩于是赶上了众人，大家在谈论着不久将要去的海滨浴场。
　　为了不走同一条路，一行人踏上了经沙图返回巴黎的归程。
　　途中，杜•洛瓦始终一言未发。他想，要是苏珊确能拿出一点勇气的话，他是定会成功的。三个月来，为了引诱她，征服她，他一直柔情蜜蜜，对她使出了浑身解数，终于使她爱上了他，而这正是他这位情场得意的老手所擅长的。
　　他首先让她拒绝了德•卡佐勒先生的求婚，现在又让她答应和他私奔，因为这是他所能求助的唯一办法。
　　他知道，瓦尔特夫人是决不会同意将女儿嫁给他的。她还在爱着他，而且会永远如此，其一片真情，简直难以理论。为遏制她的感情，他对她始终若即若离。他感到，她虽然正为自己的满腔激情无以满足而深深苦恼着，但她决不会就此罢休，更不会让他娶她的女儿苏珊。
　　可是他一旦将苏珊从家里弄出来而掌握在自己手中，也就可同她父亲平起平坐，进行谈判了。
　　心里想着这些，他对别人此时同他说的话语，自然也就未能听进多少，因此只是哼哼而已。车到巴黎，他才从这沉沉思绪中摆脱出来。
　　苏珊也陷入了沉思。耳边时时回荡的马铃声，使她觉得仿佛走在一条漫无尽头的大路上。大地洒满银白的月光，路旁是黑魆魆的丛林和不时出现的乡村客店。马夫们每次更换马匹都是那样匆忙，因为不言而喻，后面必定有人紧紧地追了过来。
　　马车驰进府邸大院后，主人要杜•洛瓦吃了饭再走，他谢绝了。
　　回到住所后，他随便吃了点东西，把身份证找了出来，好像要出远门似的。接着，他整理了一下同各个方面的往来书信，把一些与己不利的信付之一炬，其他的信则藏了起来。将这一切都办妥后，他坐下来给朋友写了几封信。
　　这当儿，他不时地往墙上的挂钟瞟上一眼，心下想道：“那边一定闹得不可开交了。”想到这里，他又有点不安起来，不知道自己的苦心孤诣最后会不会以失败而告终。可是一转念，他又觉得没什么可担心的。天无绝人之路，即使失败，他杜•洛瓦总会有办法对付的。不过话虽如此，今晚这场冒险实在非同寻常。
　　十一点左右，他出了家门，在马路上溜达了一会儿，便叫了辆出租马车，到了协和广场，在距海军部门外拱廊不远的地方停了下来。
　　每隔一会儿，他便划根火柴看看表。时间已临近午夜，他越来越坐立不安，不时将头伸向车窗外张望。
　　远处一座大钟敲了十二下，接着是近处的一座隆隆作响。不想此钟的钟声刚落，又有两座同时响了起来。最后则是很远很远的一座又响了一阵。现在，钟声已全部停息，杜•洛瓦不由地心想：“完了，她没有来，也不会来了。”
　　他决心等下去，哪怕是等到天明。决不可在这时候匆匆离去。
　　不久，耳际传来钟打十二点一刻的声响，接着是十二点半和十二点三刻。到一点钟时，各处的大钟又像刚才报告午夜已到时那样，相继敲了一下。此时此刻，杜•洛瓦对苏珊的到来是不抱任何希望了，虽然他仍坐在那里，绞尽脑汁猜想她可能会遇到的情况。不想就在这时，车门边突然伸进一个女人的脑袋，向里边问道：“是你吗，漂亮朋友？”
　　杜•洛瓦猛的一惊，半晌说不出话来：
　　“苏珊，是你？”
　　“对，是我。”
　　他拧了半天，才将门把拧开，说道：“啊！……你来了……
　　你来了……快上来。”
　　苏珊跳上车，一下扑在他的怀内。他随即向车夫喊了一声，车子也就启动了。
　　苏珊仍在喘息，没有言语。
　　“来，把经过情况给我讲讲，”杜•洛瓦说。
　　“啊！可怕极了，特别是在我妈那里，”苏珊气弱声嘶。
　　“是吗？你妈怎么啦？她说了些什么？快告诉我。”杜•洛瓦慌乱不已，周身颤抖。
　　“啊！真是太可怕了。我走进她的房内，把准备好的那番话对她讲了讲。她立刻脸色煞白，向我嚷道：‘不行，绝对不行！’我哭了起来，气愤得很，说我非嫁你不可。我看她那样子，马上就会动手打我，简直像疯了一样。她说明天就将我送进寄宿学校，那气势汹汹的样子，我从未见过。这时候，爸爸来了，听她说了许多颠三倒四的话，爸爸倒没有像她那样发火，不过他说，你同我家是不相宜的。
　　“见他们如此反对，我也发起火来，叫的比他们还响。爸爸于是叫我出去，样子凶极了，同他的身份毫不相称。既然如此，我也就决心跟你远走高飞，所以我就来了。我们现在去哪儿？”
　　杜•洛瓦一直温柔地搂着苏珊的身腰，对她的话一字也没漏过，心房怦怦直跳。他不觉对这两人恨得咬牙切齿。不过他们的女儿此刻已在他手中，他们就等着瞧吧。他因而答道：“现已太晚，火车是赶不上了。我们就坐这辆车，到塞夫勒去暂且过一夜，明天去拉罗舍—吉昂。那是一个美丽的村子，位于芒特和博尼埃之间的塞纳河畔。”
　　“可是我没带衣物，身边一无所有，”苏珊说。
　　“这有什么？到了那边总有办法的。”杜•洛瓦漫不经心地笑了笑。
　　马车在街上走着。杜•洛瓦拿起苏珊的一只手，恭恭敬敬地在上面轻轻亲了一下。他对这种柏拉图式的爱情还不太习惯，因此一时不知应同她说些什么。不想这时，他发现她哭了，立时慌了手脚：
　　“你怎么啦，我亲爱的？”
　　苏珊已哭得泪人一般：“我可怜的妈妈要是发现我已离家出走，她这时候是不可能睡安稳觉的。”
　　瓦尔特夫人此时确实没有睡。
　　苏珊走出她的房间后，房内便只剩下她和她丈夫了。
　　只见她带着万分的沮丧，疯也似地向丈夫问道：
　　“天哪！这究竟是怎么回事？”
　　“问题明摆着，”瓦尔特狂怒道，“苏珊被这精于心计的家伙迷住了心窍。她拒绝同卡佐勒成婚，就是他捣的鬼。他自然是看上了她非同一般的嫁资。”
　　接着，他愤怒地在房内走来走去，又说道：
　　“你也是，老招他来，不断地恭维他，奉承他，把他宠得简直不成样子。一天到晚，左一个漂亮朋友，右一个漂亮朋友。现在好了，遭到这样的报应。”
　　“你说是我……我招他来的？”瓦尔特夫人面如死灰，嗫嚅着说。
　　“是的，就是你！”瓦尔特冲着她吼道，“你、苏珊、马莱尔的妻子及其他几个人，都被他迷得像是着了魔。只要有两天没见他来，你就像掉了魂似的坐立不安，你以为我看不出来？”
　　她挺直身子，神态庄重地说道：
　　“不许你这样同我说话。我可不像你，不是在店铺里长大的。”
　　瓦尔特一惊，呆呆地愣了一会儿，忿忿地骂了声“他妈的”，便开了门走了出去，同时将门砰的一声带上。
　　丈夫走后，瓦尔特夫人下意识地走到镜子前照了照，似乎想看看自己是不是在梦中，因为眼前这一切实在太可怕，简直令人不可思议。苏珊爱上了漂亮朋友，而漂亮朋友竟也愿意娶她！不，这不是真的，一定是她弄错了。他长得那样帅，女儿一时迷上他，想得到一位这样的丈夫，是很自然的。这不过是一时的冲动。问题是他，他总不致于会同她串通起来吧？瓦尔特夫人想来想去，越想越糊涂，如同一个人遇到巨大不幸时所常有的。不，苏珊的一时头脑发热，漂亮朋友不可能知道。
　　就这样，她一会儿觉得杜•洛瓦可能为人奸诈，什么都做得出来，一会儿又觉得他可能并不知情。翻来覆去，想了很久。要是这件事是他的主谋，他这个人也就太鲜廉寡耻了。结果会如何呢？就她所看到的来说，这将会造成多大的危险，带来多少难以想像的痛苦。
　　要是他什么也不知道，事情倒还有挽回的余地。他们夫妇俩带着苏珊去外面呆上半年，一切也就会过去的。可是这样一来，她以后还能再见到他吗？因为迄今为止，她还在爱着他。这爱情的箭矢已深深地扎进她的心坎里，要想把它拔掉，是不可能了。
　　没有他，她一天也活不了，还不如死了干净。
　　她思前想后，不禁忧虑重重，没了主意。同时头也开始疼起来，脑海中思绪如麻，昏昏沉沉，使她感到非常难受。她越想越急躁，越想越为自己弄不清事情的原委而恼火。她看了看墙上的挂钟：一点已过，心下不由地想道：“我不能一个人在这儿苦思冥想，否则会发疯的。还是去叫醒苏珊，问问她，把事情弄清楚。”
　　为了不弄出声响，她光着脚，手上拿着蜡烛，到了女儿房间门口，轻轻打开门，走了进去。床上被褥纹丝未动，她起初有点摸不着头脑，以为女儿还在同她父亲理论。但一转念，觉得情况不对，于是慌忙向丈夫的房间跑去。等她一股劲冲到那里时，她已经是面色苍白，气喘吁吁了。丈夫已经躺下，但还在看书。
　　见她这副模样，他不由地一惊：
　　“怎么回事儿？你这是怎么啦？”
　　她嗫嚅着说：
　　“看到苏珊没有？”
　　“我？没有呀，发生什么事了？”
　　“她已经……走了，我没在她的房内……找到她。”
　　瓦尔特一下跳下床，穿上拖鞋，连睡裤也没来得及穿，只披了件睡衣，便向女儿的房间奔了过去。
　　他向房内扫了一眼，一切不言自明：苏珊已离家出走。
　　他将手上的灯随手放在地上，颓丧地倒在一把扶手椅上。
　　他妻子此时已赶了上来，问道：
　　“怎么样？”
　　他已无力回答，连火也懒得发了，只是叹了一声：
　　“完了，苏珊已在他手里，我们完了。”
　　妻子未明白他的意思：
　　“怎么，完了？”
　　“唉！自然完了。现在唯一的办法是将苏珊嫁给他。”
　　妻子歇斯底里发出一声吼叫：
　　“嫁给他？没门儿。你难道疯了？”
　　“你嚷也没用，”瓦尔特凄然地答道，“苏珊既已被他拐走，名声已受到玷污。如果将她嫁给他，也还是个万全之计。只要好好解决，这件丑事也就不会张扬出去。”
　　妻子暴跳如雷，一个劲地喊道：
　　“不行，绝对不行！他这是痴心妄想。我决不同意！”
　　“可是苏珊已在他手中，”瓦尔特颓丧地说，“这一手，他做得很漂亮。我们一天不让步，他就一天不会放苏珊回来。因此要想不把事情闹大，必须马上作出让步。”
　　妻子有口难言，痛不欲生，只是不停地说道：
　　“不！不行！我决不同意！”
　　“事情已没有商量的余地，只能这样，”瓦尔特有点不耐烦了。“啊，这个恶棍，他狠狠地把我们捉弄了一番……不过话说回来，此人到底非同一般。我们这样的家庭，要找个出身高贵的人并不难，难的是找个精明强干而有出息的人。他可是前程远大，用不了多久，就会当上议员和部长的。”
　　“不……你听到没有……我决不同意把苏珊嫁给他！”妻子仍在歇斯底里地叫喊。
　　“住嘴……”瓦尔特不禁心头火起，并作为一个注重实际的人而开始替漂亮朋友说话了。“再说一遍，我们现在只能如此……也必须如此。以后的事，谁能说得清？也许我们将来不会为将女儿嫁给他而感到后悔。他这样的人将来究竟会怎样，谁也拿不准。你也看到了，他只写了三篇文章，就把拉罗舍—马蒂厄这个蠢货从部长座位上拉了下来。事情做得干净利落，一点不失体面，这对他这个做丈夫的来说，是很不容易的。因此对于他，我们还是应当往前看。不管怎样，我们现在的情况是，木已成舟，无法改变了。”
　　她真想扑在地上打滚，一边大喊大叫，一边揪自己的头发，狠狠地发泄一通。因此口中仍在吼叫：
　　“不要把苏珊给他……我……不……同……意！”
　　瓦尔特站起身，提起放在地上的灯，说道：
　　“唉！同其他娘儿们一样，你的脑筋也死得很。你们这些人不管遇到什么事，总爱感情用事，不知道按情况的需要而有所退让……真是愚蠢得很。我可是对你说了，苏珊必须嫁给他……我们只能这样。”
　　他趿着拖鞋走出了房间。穿着睡衣的身影活像一个滑稽可笑的幽灵，在这万籁俱寂的深宅大院中慢慢地走过那宽阔的走廊，悄然无声地回到自己的房间里。
　　他妻子仍茫然地站在那里，心中经受着难以言状的煎熬。再说，她还是没有弄懂这究竟是怎么回事儿，只是感到自己的心在滴血。过了一会儿，她觉得自己不能总这样僵立在这里等待天明。她感到自己非常想逃离这里，非常想迈开大步往前飞奔，去寻求他人的帮助。此时此刻，她实在太需要他人来搭救一把。
　　她想了想，自己可向谁求助，什么人能来拉她一把，但未想出。神甫！对，神甫！身边此时若有一位神甫，她定会扑到他的脚下，向他倾诉一切，把自己的过失和苦恼向他和盘托出。神甫听了后，定会明白为何不能将苏珊嫁给那丧尽天良的家伙，并设法加以阻止。
　　因此她必须马上找个神甫。可是深更半夜上哪儿去找？然而她又不能就这样呆着。
　　不想她的眼前随即出现了一个幻影：基督正神色安详地立在水面上。这影像是如此清晰，同她在画上见到的一模一样。他好像在喊她，对她说：“来，跪到我的脚下来。我会给你以安慰，并告诉你该怎样做。”
　　她于是拿起蜡烛，走出房间，往楼下的花房走去。《基督凌波图》已改放在花房尽头的一间门上镶着玻璃的小屋里，以免花房内的潮气把画弄坏。
　　这间小屋因而也就像是一座小教堂立在那里，门外树影婆娑，到处长着奇花异草。
　　瓦尔特夫人进入花房后心头不禁一怔，因为以前每次来这里，举目所见处处光亮耀眼，而今天这里却笼罩在一片深沉的黑暗中。空气中弥漫着枝叶繁茂的热带植物发出的浓郁气息。由于通向花园的各扇大门早已关上，这积存于玻璃拱顶下的花草气息因而变得相当闷浊。不过，它虽使人感到呼吸困难，头晕目眩，仿佛处于一种死气沉沉的沉闷状态中，但也在人的肌肤上激起一种荡人心魄的快感，令人心向往之。
　　可怜的瓦尔特夫人在黑暗里踽踽独行，心中不禁十分惶恐，因为借着手中摇曳不定的烛光，那些来自南国的树木看去是那样奇特，有的酷似面目狰狞的魔鬼，有的却像是一个个人站在那里。
　　这时，她蓦地看到画上的基督，于是打开小屋的门，走进去跪了下来。
　　她立刻便狂热地祷告起来，口中喃喃自语，说着美好的祝福话语，一片痴心而又带着分外的绝望，祈求基督的保佑。这之后，随着她激动的心绪逐渐平息下来，她举目向基督看了看，不由地感到深深地骇异。因为在她脚下那昏暗的烛光照耀下，基督的相貌同漂亮朋友竟是如此相像，她现在所看到的简直不是这位神明，而是她的情夫。这眼神，这宽宽的前额，这冷漠而又傲慢的面部表情，分明都是她的情夫乔治的！“基督！基督！基督！”她仍在一个劲地祷告着，但“乔治”两字却在不知不觉中涌到了嘴边。她忽然想起，此时此刻杜•洛瓦也许已占有她女儿。他们现在一定呆在某个地方的一间房间里。他和苏珊在一起！
　　“基督！……基督！”她不停地祷告着，但心里却想的是他们……想的是她女儿和她的情夫！他们正单独呆在一间房间里……而现在已是深夜。她看到了他们，而且非常清楚，他们就呆在她面前这放油画的地方。他们相视而笑，互相拥抱。房内很暗，床幔露出一条缝隙。她站起身向他们走去，想揪住女儿的头发，把她从杜•洛瓦的怀内拖出来。她要掐住她的喉咙，把她活活掐死。她恨死了她女儿，因为她竟然同这个人睡在一起。她已经碰到了她……不想她的手所接触到的，却是那幅油画，却是基督的脚。
　　她大叫一声，仰面倒了下去。放在地上的蜡烛随即被碰翻，很快熄灭了。
　　后来怎样呢？她久久地沉陷于梦幻中，梦见许多古怪而又可怕的事情。眼前总浮现着紧紧搂在一起的乔治和苏珊，站在一旁的耶稣基督，在为他们的可恶爱情祝福。
　　她隐约感到自己并不是躺在房间里。她想站起身，离开这地方，但周身麻木，手脚瘫软，怎么也动不了，只有头脑还较为清醒，但也充斥着许多荒诞离奇、虚无缥缈的可怕梦幻。来自南国的植物，因形状古怪，香味浓郁而常会使人昏昏欲睡，做出这种颠三倒四，甚至危及生命的恶梦来。
　　天亮后，人们在《基督凌波图》前发现她时，她已是人事不知，气息奄奄了。她的身体状况是那样糟，谁都担心她是活不了多久了。不想第二天，她又恢复了知觉，且一醒过来便呜咽不止。
　　关于苏珊的失踪，对仆人说的是，已临时决定将她送到一所寄宿学校去了。这期间，瓦尔特先生收到了杜•洛瓦一封长信。他立刻作了回复，同意将女儿嫁给他。
　　杜•洛瓦这封长信是在他离开巴黎时投入邮筒的，因为他在动身前的头天晚上就写好了。这封信言辞殷殷，说他早就对姑娘产生爱慕之心了，不过他们之间并未山盟海誓，私订终身。只是在她主动跑来对他说，定要与他终身相伴时，他才觉得有必要将她留下来，甚至藏起来，直到她父母给予正式答复。虽然他觉得，他们的结合主要取决于姑娘本人的意愿，但父母的同意却可使之具有合法性。
　　他要瓦尔特先生把信寄到邮局，他的一位朋友会设法转寄给他。
　　现在，他终于如愿得偿，因此将苏珊带回巴黎，送到了她父母身边。他自己则打算过一段时候再露面。
　　他们俩在塞纳河边的一个名叫拉罗舍—吉昂的地方呆了六天。
　　苏珊从未像这次外出玩得那样痛快，完全是一副无忧无虑牧羊女的样子。由于在外人面前，杜•洛瓦一直把她说成是自己的妹妹，两人的相处因而亲密无间，无拘无束，很有一点纯洁初恋的味道。因为杜•洛瓦觉得，自己对她还是以不操之过急为好。他们到达那里的第二天，苏珊便买了些内衣和村姑穿的衣服，走到河边钓起鱼来，头上戴着顶大草帽，草帽上插着几朵野花。她觉得这地方真是美极了，且有一座年代久远的钟楼和一座古堡，古堡内陈列着精致的壁毯。
　　杜•洛瓦穿着一件在当地一家商店买的短上装，不时带着苏珊在河边漫步，或在水上泛舟。他们情爱甚笃，时时相拥，激动得浑身发颤。在她，完全是一副天真烂漫的心态，而他却有点难以自持了。不过他终究不是那种一时冲动，便忘乎所以的人。因此当他对苏珊说：“你父亲已同意把你嫁给我，我们明天就回巴黎”，苏珊竟有点恋恋不舍：“这样快就走？做你的妻子可真有意思！”
Chapter 18 Attainment
It was dark in the apartments in the Rue de Constantinople, when Georges du Roy and Clotilde de Marelle, having met at the door, entered them. Without giving him time to raise the shades, the latter said:
“So you are going to marry Suzanne Walter?”
He replied in the affirmative, adding gently: “Did you not know it?”
She answered angrily: “So you are going to marry Suzanne Walter? For three months you have deceived me. Everyone knew of it but me. My husband told me. Since you left your wife you have been preparing for that stroke, and you made use of me in the interim. What a rascal you are!”
He asked: “How do you make that out? I had a wife who deceived me; I surprised her, obtained a divorce, and am now going to marry another. What is more simple than that?”
She murmured: “What a villain!”
He said with dignity: “I beg of you to be more careful as to what you say.”
She rebelled at such words from him: “What! Would you like me to handle you with gloves? You have conducted yourself like a rascal ever since I have known you, and now you do not want me to speak of it. You deceive everyone; you gather pleasure and money everywhere, and you want me to treat you as an honest man.”
He rose; his lips twitched: “Be silent or I will make you leave these rooms.”
She cried: “Leave here — you will make me — you? You forget that it is I who have paid for these apartments from the very first, and you threaten to put me out of them. Be silent, good-for-nothing! Do you think I do not know how you stole a portion of Vaudrec’s bequest from Madeleine? Do you think I do not know about Suzanne?”
He seized her by her shoulders and shook her. “Do not speak of that; I forbid you.”
“I know you have ruined her!”
He would have taken anything else, but that lie exasperated him. He repeated: “Be silent — take care”— and he shook her as he would have shaken the bough of a tree. Still she continued; “You were her ruin, I know it.” He rushed upon her and struck her as if she had been a man. Suddenly she ceased speaking, and groaned beneath his blows. Finally he desisted, paced the room several times in order to regain his self-possession, entered the bedroom, filled the basin with cold water and bathed his head. Then he washed his hands and returned to see what Clotilde was doing. She had not moved. She lay upon the floor weeping softly. He asked harshly:
“Will you soon have done crying?”
She did not reply. He stood in the center of the room, somewhat embarrassed, somewhat ashamed, as he saw the form lying before him. Suddenly he seized his hat. “Good evening. You can leave the key with the janitor when you are ready. I will not await your pleasure.”
He left the room, closed the door, sought the porter, and said to him: “Madame is resting. She will go out soon. You can tell the proprietor that I have given notice for the first of October.”
His marriage was fixed for the twentieth; it was to take place at the Madeleine. There had been a great deal of gossip about the entire affair, and many different reports were circulated. Mme. Walter had aged greatly; her hair was gray and she sought solace in religion.
In the early part of September “La Vie Francaise” announced that Baron du Roy de Cantel had become its chief editor, M. Walter reserving the title of manager. To that announcement were subjoined the names of the staff of art and theatrical critics, political reporters, and so forth. Journalists no longer sneered in speaking of “La Vie Francaise;” its success had been rapid and complete. The marriage of its chief editor was what was called a “Parisian event,” Georges du Roy and the Walters having occasioned much comment for some time.
The ceremony took place on a clear, autumn day. At ten o’clock the curious began to assemble; at eleven o’clock, detachments of officers came to disperse the crowd. Soon after, the first guests arrived; they were followed by others, women in rich costumes, men, grave and dignified. The church slowly began to fill. Norbert de Varenne espied Jacques Rival, and joined him.
“Well,” said he, “sharpers always succeed.”
His companion, who was not envious, replied: “So much the better for him. His fortune is made.”
Rival asked: “Do you know what has become of his wife?”
The poet smiled. “Yes and no — she lives a very retired life, I have been told, in the Montmartre quarter. But — there is a but — for some time I have read political articles in ‘La Plume,’ which resemble those of Forestier and Du Roy. They are supposed to be written by a Jean Le Dol, a young, intelligent, handsome man — something like our friend Georges — who has become acquainted with Mme. Forestier. From that I have concluded that she likes beginners and that they like her. She is, moreover, rich; Vaudrec and Laroche-Mathieu were not attentive to her for nothing.”
Rival asked: “Tell me, is it true that Mme. Walter and Du Roy do not speak?”
“Yes. She did not wish to give him her daughter’s hand. But he threatened the old man with shocking revelations. Walter remembered Laroche-Mathieu’s fate and yielded at once; but his wife, obstinate like all women, vowed that she would never address a word to her son-in-law. It is comical to see them together! She looks like the statue of vengeance, and he is very uncomfortable, although he tries to appear at his ease.”
Suddenly the beadle struck the floor three times with his staff. All the people turned to see what was coming, and the young bride appeared in the doorway leaning upon her father’s arm. She looked like a beautiful doll, crowned with a wreath of orange blossoms. She advanced with bowed head. The ladies smiled and murmured as she passed them. The men whispered:
“Exquisite, adorable!”
M. Walter walked by her side with exaggerated dignity. Behind them came four maids of honor dressed in pink and forming a charming court for so dainty a queen.
Mme. Walter followed on the arm of Count de Latour-Ivelin’s aged father. She did not walk; she dragged herself along, ready to faint at every step. She had aged and grown thinner.
Next came Georges du Roy with an old lady, a stranger. He held his head proudly erect and wore upon his coat, like a drop of blood, the red ribbon of the Legion of Honor.
He was followed by the relatives: Rose, who had been married six weeks, with a senator; Count de Latour-Ivelin with Viscountess de Percemur. Following them was a motley procession of associates and friends of Du Roy, country cousins of Mme. Walter’s, and guests invited by her husband.
The tones of the organ filled the church; the large doors at the entrance were closed, and Georges kneeled beside his bride in the choir. The new bishop of Tangiers, cross in hand, miter on head, entered from the sacristy, to unite them in the name of the Almighty. He asked the usual questions, rings were exchanged, words pronounced which bound them forever, and then he delivered an address to the newly married couple.
The sound of stifled sobs caused several to turn their heads. Mme. Walter was weeping, her face buried in her hands. She had been obliged to yield; but since the day on which she had told Du Roy: “You are the vilest man I know; never speak to me again, for I will not answer you,” she had suffered intolerable anguish. She hated Suzanne bitterly; her hatred was caused by unnatural jealousy. The bishop was marrying a daughter to her mother’s lover, before her and two thousand persons, and she could say nothing; she could not stop him. She could not cry: “He is mine, that man is my lover. That union you are blessing is infamous.”
Several ladies, touched by her apparent grief, murmured: “How affected that poor mother is!”
The bishop said: “You are among the favored ones of the earth. You, sir, who are raised above others by your talent — you who write, instruct, counsel, guide the people, have a grand mission to fulfill — a fine example to set.”
Du Roy listened to him proudly. A prelate of the Roman Church spoke thus to him. A number of illustrious people had come thither on his account. It seemed to him that an invisible power was impelling him on. He would become one of the masters of the country — he, the son of the poor peasants of Canteleu. He had given his parents five thousand francs of Count de Vaudrec’s fortune and he intended sending them fifty thousand more; then they could buy a small estate and live happily.
The bishop had finished his harangue, a priest ascended the altar, and the organ pealed forth. Suddenly the vibrating tones melted into delicate, melodious ones, like the songs of birds; then again they swelled into deep, full tones and human voices chanted over their bowed heads. Vauri and Landeck of the Opera were singing.
Bel-Ami, kneeling beside Suzanne, bowed his head. At that moment he felt almost pious, for he was filled with gratitude for the blessings showered upon him. Without knowing just whom he was addressing, he offered up thanks for his success. When the ceremony was over, he rose, and, giving his arm to his wife, they passed into the sacristy. A stream of people entered. Georges fancied himself a king whom the people were coming to greet. He shook hands, uttered words which signified nothing, and replied to congratulations with the words: “You are very kind.”
Suddenly he saw Mme. de Marelle, and the recollection of all the kisses he had given her and which she had returned, of all their caresses, of the sound of her voice, possessed him with the mad desire to regain her. She was so pretty, with her bright eyes and roguish air! She advanced somewhat timidly and offered him her hand. He took, retained, and pressed it as if to say: “I shall love you always, I am yours.”
Their eyes met, smiling, bright, full of love. She murmured in her soft tones: “Until we meet again, sir!” and he gaily repeated her words.
Others approached, and she passed on. Finally the throng dispersed. Georges placed Suzanne’s hand upon his arm to pass through the church with her. It was filled with people, for all had resumed their seats in order to see them leave the sacred edifice together. He walked along slowly, with a firm step, his head erect. He saw no one. He only thought of himself.
When they reached the threshold he saw a crowd gathered outside, come to gaze at him, Georges du Roy. The people of Paris envied him. Raising his eyes, he saw beyond the Place de la Concorde, the chamber of deputies, and it seemed to him that it was only a stone’s throw from the portico of the Madeleine to that of the Palais Bourbon.
Leisurely they descended the steps between two rows of spectators, but Georges did not see them; his thoughts had returned to the past, and before his eyes, dazzled by the bright sunlight, floated the image of Mme. de Marelle, rearranging the curly locks upon her temples before the mirror in their apartments.
　　读者所熟悉的君士坦丁堡街那间小套房现在是一片漆黑，在公寓大门边相遇的乔治•杜•洛瓦和克洛蒂尔德•德•马莱尔匆匆进入房间后，杜•洛瓦还没来得及打开百叶窗，克洛蒂尔德便向他问道：
　　“这么说，你要娶苏珊•瓦尔特了？”
　　杜•洛瓦轻轻点了点头，说道：
　　“你不知道？”
　　克洛蒂尔德怒不可遏，站在他面前气冲冲地说道：
　　“你要娶苏珊•瓦尔特！这也未免太过分了，实在太过分！三个月来，你对我甜言蜜语，把我瞒得死死的。这件事现在谁不知道，只有我蒙在鼓里。到后来，还是我丈夫告诉我的！”
　　杜•洛瓦发出一声冷笑，但心里毕竟有点歉疚。把帽子放在壁炉上后，他在一把扶手椅上坐了下来。
　　克洛蒂尔德目不转睛地盯着他，又忿忿地低声说道：
　　“看来同你妻子分手后，你便开始这精心谋划了。而你竟煞有介事地继续让我作你的情妇，给你暂时补一补缺。你这个人怎么这样卑鄙？”
　　杜•洛瓦没好气地说道：
　　“怎么这样说呢？我妻子欺骗了我，并被我当场抓住。我设法同她离了婚，现在打算另娶一个。这有什么不对？”
　　克洛蒂尔德气得浑身发抖，说道：
　　“啊！你竟是这样一个满肚子坏水的危险家伙！”
　　杜•洛瓦笑了笑：
　　“是啊，上当的总是些傻瓜和白痴！”
　　克洛蒂尔德没有理他，接着往下说道：
　　“对于你的为人，我怎么没有从一开始就看出来呢？可是我哪里能想到，你竟会坏得这样出奇？”
　　杜•洛瓦突然摆出一副威严的神情：
　　“请你放尊重些，不要太过分了。”
　　经他这样一说，克洛蒂尔德更是火冒三丈：
　　“什么？你难道也配我同你客客气气，温文尔雅？自从我认识你以来，你对我的种种表现就是一个十足的无赖。这些话，你竟有脸不让我说。哪个人没有上过你的当？哪个人没有被你利用过？你到处寻欢作乐，到处骗取钱财，而你竟要在我面前摆出一副正人君子的样子！”
　　杜•洛瓦站起身，嘴唇气得直打哆嗦：
　　“住嘴，否则我就把你从这里赶出去。”
　　“把我从这里赶出去……把我从这里赶出去……你……你……你要把我从这里赶出去？……”克洛蒂尔德嘟哝道。
　　怒火中烧的她，现在是气得连话也说不出来了。不想这怒火忽然像是冲开了闸门，一下迸发了出来：
　　“把我从这里赶出去？你难道忘了，这套房间从第一天起，就是我出钱租下的？当然，你有时也付过房租。可是是谁租下来的？……是我……是谁把它保留下来的？……是我……而你竟要把我从这里赶出去，还是闭上你的臭嘴吧，流氓！沃德雷克留给玛德莱娜的遗产，你从她手中夺走了一半，你以为我不知道吗？你也一定以为我不知道，你是怎样同苏珊发生关系，然后迫使她嫁给你……”
　　杜•洛瓦双手按住她的肩头，使劲将她摇了摇：
　　“不要提她，不许你把她也拉进来！”
　　克洛蒂尔德大声喊道：
　　“你同她睡了觉，还有脸不让我说？”
　　她不论说什么，杜•洛瓦皆可忍受，唯独这无中生有的捏造，却是他所不能忍受的。她刚才当着他的面，把他的那些丑行都喊叫着抖落了出来，这已在他心中激起一股股怒火。现在，她竟又对这即将成为他妻子的姑娘，说出这种毫无根据的话来，他不禁恨得手心发痒，要对她报以拳脚了。
　　他因而又说道：
　　“住口……你要再不住口……我可要不客气了……”他一边说，一边摇晃着她的身子，好像在摇一根树杈，要把树杈上的果实摇落下来。
　　不想蓬头散发的克洛蒂尔德仍带着凶狠的目光，张着大嘴咆哮道：
　　“我就说，你同她睡了觉！”
　　杜•洛瓦松开手，在她脸上狠狠扇了一耳光，使她一个跟头栽倒在墙边。不甘示弱的克洛蒂尔德用手支撑起身子，向他转过头来，又声嘶力竭地重复了一遍：
　　“我就说，你同她睡了觉！”
　　杜•洛瓦一个箭步冲过去，伏在她身上，像揍一个男人一样，对她抡起了拳头。
　　克洛蒂尔德再也硬不起来了，只是在杜•洛瓦的重击之下不住地呻吟。她动也不动，脸藏在墙脚下，发出痛苦的叫唤。
　　杜•洛瓦停住手，站了起来，在房内走了几步，使自己平静下来。接着一转念，走进卧室，拧开水龙头放了盆凉水，把头在水里浸了浸并洗了洗手。然后一边仔细地擦着手，一边走回来看她怎样了。
　　克洛蒂尔德仍躺在地上呜咽啜泣。
　　杜•洛瓦不耐烦地问道：
　　“你号丧什么，还有完没完？”
　　克洛菩尔德没答理他。他站在房间中央，对着这躺在面前的女人，心中不免感到有点羞愧和尴尬。
　　他于是把心一横，拿起壁炉上的帽子，向她说道：
　　“我走了。房间钥匙，你走的时候交给门房好了。我就不等你了。”
　　走出房间并关好房门后，他到了门房那儿，对他说道：“太太还在房里，她一会儿就走。请告诉房东，这房子我打算从十月一日走不来住了。今天是八月十六日，到这一天还有些日子。”
　　说完，他大步走了出去，因为给新娘的礼物尚未备齐，得抓紧去办。
　　婚期定在十月二十日两院复会以后。婚礼将在玛德莱娜教堂举行。外间传说很多，但真实情况谁也未能弄清。各种说法都有，有人说新娘曾被拐走，但实情如何，谁也拿不准。
　　仆人传出的说法是，瓦尔特夫人已不再同她那未来的女婿说话。定下这门亲事的那天晚上，她让人在深夜把女儿送往寄宿学校后，曾在一气之下服毒自杀。
　　她被人发现时，已经快要气绝了。今后要彻底恢复过来，显然是不可能了。她现在已完全成了一名老妇，头发尽皆花白。与此同时，她已变得非常虔诚。教堂于星期天举办的大型弥撒，她是每场必到。
　　九月初，《法兰西生活报》宣布，该报主编已改由杜•洛瓦•德•康泰勒男爵担任；至于报社经理，则仍是瓦尔特先生。
　　报社在人员上作了大大扩充，靠金钱而从历史悠久、实力雄厚的各大报馆挖了许多有名的专栏编辑、本地新闻编辑和政治编辑，以及艺术评论员和戏剧评论员。
　　新闻界德高望重的老报人在谈到《法兰西生活报》时，过去那种轻蔑的神情如今是再也见不到了。甚至那些对该报当初所作所为曾有微言的严肃作家，也因其在短时间内所取得的全面成功，而开始对它刮目相看。
　　鉴于一个时期来，乔治•杜•洛瓦和瓦尔特一家已成为人们经常议论的话题，这位大主编的婚礼也就成了巴黎的一件大事。姓名常常见诸报端的社会名流，都纷纷表示届时要前往祝贺。
　　婚礼举行那天，时当初秋，明丽的阳光洒遍大地。
　　早上八点，位于罗亚尔街的玛德莱娜教堂全体员工便忙着在教堂门前高高的台阶上铺了一块大红地毯。街上行人禁止通行，巴黎市民由此得知这里将举行重大活动。
　　上班的机关职员、青年女工和商店店员纷纷驻足观看，很想一睹这些为一场婚礼而如此耗费的阔佬，究竟是什么模样。
　　十点左右，驻足观看者越积越多。不过大多只是呆上几分钟，见婚礼一时半刻还不会举行，也就走开了。
　　但是到了十一点，围观者又已是黑压压一片。这时来了一些警察，开始疏散行人。
　　不久，首批宾客终于到来。这些人显然是想占个好位置，好将整个仪式看个清楚。因此，他们都在教堂大厅靠近中间过道的椅子上坐了下来。
　　接着，其他宾客陆续到来。女士们花团锦簇，裙裾窸窣，男士则大都已谢顶，个个神情严肃，步履庄重，比平时显得益发端庄。
　　大厅里已渐渐坐满了人。灿烂的阳光从敞开的大门直射进来，把头几排亲友座席照得一片明亮。大厅尽头似乎仍有点昏暗，同门外长驱直入的耀眼阳光相比，祭坛上的烛光是显得多么昏黄，渺小而又苍白。
　　旧友相聚，彼此很快认出，于是纷纷点头致意，不久便三三两两地聚到一起。文人骚客在此场合的表现，历来不如社交人士。他们在低声说着话，目光在女人们身上转来转去。
　　诺贝尔•德•瓦伦正在找一位熟友，忽见雅克•里瓦尔就坐在几排位置中间，于是向他走了过去。
　　“看到没有？”他说，“到底是有心计者神通广大。”
　　对方对他们的这位仁兄倒并不怎样嫉妒，因此说道：“这样也好，他现在总算有了个归宿。”
　　接着，他们就各自在人群中见到的人，一一向对方说了说。
　　“你知道他前妻的近况吗？”里瓦尔突然问道。
　　“可以说既知道也不知道，”诗人笑道，“据说她住在蒙马特区，平时深居简出。不过且慢……我最近在《笔杆报》上看到几篇政论文章，文笔同弗雷斯蒂埃和杜•洛瓦的文章如出一辙。作者名叫让•勒多尔，此人年轻英俊，为人聪颖，同我们的朋友杜•洛瓦属同一类型，且与他的前妻过从甚密。我因而认为她喜欢同后起之秀为伍，而且会始终如此。况且她非常富有。作为她家的常客，沃德雷克和拉罗舍—马蒂厄在这方面不会对她毫无助益。”
　　“玛德莱娜这个小娘们确实不错，”里瓦尔说道，“不但聪明伶俐，而且生得一副肌肤玉骨！如果脱了衣服，一定非常迷人。不过奇怪的是，杜•洛瓦的离婚既然无人不晓，他怎么又能到教堂里来举行婚礼呢？”
　　“他到教堂里来举行婚礼，”诺贝尔•德•瓦伦答道，“是因为在教会看来，他的前次婚姻可不算数。”
　　“这是怎么回事？”
　　“不知是因为未加考虑还是出于节约，我们这位漂亮朋友当初同玛德莱娜•弗雷斯蒂埃结婚时，认为去区政府登个记也就可以了。因此他们未去教堂接受神甫的祝福，而这在神圣的教会看来，不过是同居而已。这样，他今天是以未婚男子的身份来教堂的，教堂对他倒也非常卖力，将其豪华陈设全都摆了出来，这可要我们的瓦尔特老头破费一点。”
　　宾客仍在源源不断地到来，大厅里的喧闹声越来越大。有的人甚至在说话时声音很响。几位要人成了人们注视的中心，他们则为自己能引起众人的关注而备感荣耀，因此神态庄重，十分注意保持自己在这大庭广众之下的仪表。他们觉得自己是各种喜庆活动所必不可少的装饰，是烘托气氛的高雅摆设，所以对于自己在这种时候该如何表现，非常老练。
　　“亲爱的，”里瓦尔这时又说道，“你是常到老板家去的，瓦尔特夫人和杜•洛瓦彼此间真的是一句话也不说吗？”
　　“是的，她不愿把女儿嫁给他。但杜•洛瓦好像在摩洛哥发现的尸体问题上拿住了瓦尔特什么把柄，因此对他发出威胁，若不将女儿嫁给他，便将一切公之与众。想起拉罗舍—马蒂厄的前车之鉴，瓦尔特只得立刻让步。然而姑娘的母亲却和所有的女人一样固执，她当即发誓，从此再也不同这未来的女婿说话。他们俩走到一起时，那样子可真滑稽。一个面无表情，完全像是一尊雕像，一尊复仇女神的雕像；另一个却窘态百出，尽管他依然谈笑自若，视若无睹，因为此人有着非凡的自制力。”
　　这当儿，几位报界同行走过来同他们握了握手，就一些政治方面的问题同他们稍稍谈了几句。聚集在教堂门外的民众所发出的嘈杂声，宛如海洋深处隐约传来的涛声，随着长驱直入的阳光而传入大厅，直冲拱顶。这样一来，大厅内那些绅士淑女的窃窃私语，也就变得相形见绌了。
　　守门卫士忽然用其长戈在木板地上击了三下。随着一阵衣裙的窸窣声和椅子的挪动声，众人纷纷将身子转了过去，只见新娘挽着她父亲的胳膊，出现在阳光灿烂的门边。
　　她看去依然橡是一个非常精致的玩具娃娃，通身披着洁白的婚纱，头上插着几朵桔黄色小花。
　　她在门外停了一会儿，然后迈过门槛，进入大厅。管风琴于是发出震耳欲聋的声响，报告新娘已经到来。
　　她款款而行，脑袋低垂，但并无羞色。神情虽略显激动，但举止大方，仪态迷人，实在生得娇小柔媚。女士们微笑着看着她走过，不禁发出低声赞叹，男士们也赞不绝口：“她可真是一个美艳绝伦、世所罕见的尤物！”瓦尔特步履庄重，但不太自然，略显苍白的面庞，鼻梁上端端正正架着一副眼镜。
　　个个长得眉清目秀，且穿着一式粉红色衣装的四位女傧相，走在他们后面，为这国色天香的“王后”侍候于侧。男傧相也是精心挑选来的，不但体态匀称，而且步伐整齐，仿佛由芭蕾舞教师悉心指点过。
　　接下来便是瓦尔特夫人了。手上挽着现年七十二岁的德•拉图尔—伊夫林侯爵，即她另一个女婿的父亲，她与其说是在队列中走着，不如说是在一步步往前蹭，每挪动一步都有可能要昏厥过去。她的脚好似粘在了地板上，两腿瘫软如绵，怦怦直跳的心房简直像是要跳出胸膛。
　　她是瘦多了，满头白发下，那张面庞是那样苍白，两颊是那样凹陷。
　　她两眼直视，对身旁的宾客看也不看一眼，也许仍在为心头的伤痛而苦苦不能解脱。
　　队列中随后出现的，是同一陌生老妇走在一起的乔治•杜•洛瓦。
　　他昂着头，眉心微锁，凝重的目光也直勾勾地向着前方，嘴角的胡髭高高翘起。他的俊美实在无可挑剔，且身材修长，两腿笔直，步履冉冉。他穿着一套剪裁合度的礼服，肩上披着一条血红色荣誉勋位绶带。
　　接着走来的是新人的亲属：刚结婚六星期的罗莎同参议员黎梭兰走在一起，她丈夫德•拉图尔—伊夫林伯爵则同佩尔斯缪子爵夫人走在一起。
　　最后是杜•洛瓦的亲友所组成的一支杂七杂八的队伍。这些人，杜•洛瓦已带到他的新家去同大家相识。他们都是巴黎市井的知名人物，且个个古道热肠，只要与你见上一面，很快便可与你结为知己。其中大都为杜•洛瓦的远亲，有的是暴发户，有的则是穷愁潦倒、行为不端的没落贵族。这后一种人中，有的并已成家，那景况就更惨了。比如他们当中有德•贝尔维涅先生、德•邦若兰侯爵、德•拉沃耐尔伯爵和夫人、德•拉莫拉诺公爵、德•克拉瓦洛亲王和瓦尔莱阿里骑士。此外是瓦尔特请来的几位客人，有德•盖尔什亲王、德•费拉辛纳公爵和夫人，以及迷人的德•杜纳侯爵夫人。还有几位是瓦尔特夫人的亲戚，在这一群人中，他们还保留着外省人朴实无华的仪表。
　　管风琴一直在不停地响着，其闪闪发光的钢管奏出的响亮而有节奏的乐曲，把人间的悲欢离合全都倾诉了出来。两扇大门这时隆隆关闭，明丽的阳光好像被驱赶了出去，大厅里顿时一片昏暗。
　　杜•洛瓦和新娘现在已在祭坛上跪下，与烛光熊熊的祭台遥遥相对。来自丹吉尔的新任主教，头戴主教帽，手持神杖，从圣器室走了出来。他将以天主的名义为他们证婚。
　　他按照惯例向他们问了几句，接着让他们交换指环，并说了几句要他们永结同心的话语。此后，他发表了一篇饱含天主教精神的祝辞，以华丽的词藻把夫妻间必不可少的忠诚说了很久很久。他身材高大而又肥胖，气度很不寻常。大腹便便正是这些高级教士所具威严的象征。
　　人群中忽听有人哭泣，几个人不由地回过头去。原来是瓦尔特夫人双手捂着脸，在抽抽噎噎。
　　在女儿的婚事上，她不得不作了让步。因为若不让步，她又能怎样？女儿回来后到她房内来看她时，她连亲也没有亲她，立刻把她赶了出去。杜•洛瓦来见她时是那样毕恭毕敬，她当即压低嗓音向他说道：“你是我所认识的人中最为卑鄙龌龊的小人，请从今而后别再同我说话，我不会答理你的。”自那时以来，她始终处于难以言喻的痛苦中，终日长吁短叹。她恨苏珊，这刻骨铭心的恨发自她那过于浓烈的情思和无以排解的嫉妒。因为她作为母亲和情人而在内心深处郁结的这种奇异嫉恨是那样强烈而又不便与外人言，它像一处灼热作痛的伤口，令她终日不得安宁。
　　而现在，她的女儿和情夫却在一位主教的主持下，当着两千宾客和她本人的面，在这神圣的教堂里堂而皇之地举行婚礼！她能说什么呢？她能站出来加以阻止吗？她能向主教大声疾呼，对他说，“这个男人是我的，他是我的情人，你今天主持的这场婚礼，是对世间人伦肆无忌惮的玷污”吗？
　　好几位女士见此情景深为感动，悄悄说道：
　　“瞧这可怜的母亲在把女儿嫁出去时，是多么地伤心！”
　　主教的祝辞已变得更加抑扬顿挫了：
　　“你们是世间最幸福的人，你们最为富有，也最受尊敬。特别是您，先生，您才华超群，并通过您的道德文章而给芸芸众生以指点和启迪，成为民众的引路人。您身上肩负着伟大的使命，您要给他们做出表率来……”
　　听了这一席话，踌躇满志的杜•洛瓦不禁有点飘飘然。罗马教会的一位高级神职人员今天居然对他说出了这样的话语！他清楚地感到，前来为他祝贺的大批社会名流，此刻正站在他身后。他觉得，仿佛有一股力量在推着他，把他高高托了起来。他这个康特勒贫苦农民的儿子不想也有今天，成了世间的一位主宰！
　　倏忽之间，他仿佛看到，在那俯瞰卢昂河谷的山岗上，他的父亲和母亲正在其简陋的酒店里，为前来喝酒的当地老乡热情地张罗着。从德•沃德雷克伯爵留下的遗产中分得一份后，他曾给他们寄去五千法郎。现在，他要再给他们寄上五万法郎，让他们置点薄产，颐养天年。
　　主教的祝辞已经结束。一个披着金色长袍的教士登上祭坛，管风琴又奏起了颂扬新婚夫妇的乐曲。
　　起初，琴声激越，如汹涌澎湃的波涛长时间如雷震耳，其高亢雄浑的气势简直像是要掀掉屋顶，冲向蓝天。随后，这响彻大厅、撼人心魄的乐声，忽然缓和了下来。轻快活泼的音符在空中嬉戏，如阵阵轻风掠过耳边。婉转的曲调欢快而又柔媚，酷似小鸟在天空翱翔。不想过了一会儿，这幽雅的乐曲又突然一改其轻歌曼舞而再度变得高昂洪亮起来，其雷霆万钧的磅礴之势令人骇异，好像一粒沙子在转瞬之间变成了浩瀚的广宇。
　　最后，有人唱了起来，歌声在垂首而立的人群上空回荡。歌唱者是来自歌剧院的沃里和朗德克。大厅里香烟缭绕，芳香扑鼻。祭坛上，教士主持的祭献业已开始，为的是祈求天主降临人间，对乔治•杜•洛瓦男爵的婚礼予以确认。
　　跪在苏珊身旁的杜•洛瓦脑袋低垂。此时此刻，他感到自己好像已成为一名虔诚的信徒，对天上神明对他的如此垂顾和恩宠感激莫名。自己能取得今日的成功，他不知该感谢谁，于是将一腔感念都给了神明。
　　弥撒结束后，他站起身，挽着他的妻子走进圣器室。举座宾客排成长长的队列，从他面前走过。杜•洛瓦喜不自胜，觉得自己俨然成了万民朝贺的君王。他不停地向贺喜的客人躬身行礼，同他们一一握手，口中并客套连连，对他们的恭维之辞总要说上一句：“感谢光临”。
　　后来，他突然发现德•马莱尔夫人走了过来。两人间过去的热吻和温情，以及她的温存体贴、说话的声音和芳唇的韵味，不禁油然涌上心头，使他热血沸腾，真想一把将她拥入怀内，同她重享床笫之乐。她容貌较好，目光热烈，身段迷人，而且时时显出一副顽皮的样子。杜•洛瓦心想：“不管怎样，让她做个情妇，还是满不错的。”
　　德•马莱尔夫人略带不安，怯生生地走到他面前，向他伸过一只手来。他接过来握在手中，感到她那纤纤细手在悄悄向他传递信息，其轻轻捏握不仅表示她已原谅了他，而且表示愿同他重修旧好。他于是将这只小手使劲握了握，意思分明是：
　　“我始终爱着你，我是你的。”
　　他们的目光因而相遇，这含笑的目光闪闪发亮，充满爱意。只见她娇媚地向他嘟哝一声：“回头见，先生。”
　　他也快乐地向她说道：“回头见，夫人。”
　　她迈着轻盈的步伐走开了。
　　其他人还在向这边涌来，他面前的这条人流总也走不完。到后来，前来道贺的客人终于少了起来。及至最后一人离去，杜•洛瓦也就重新挽起苏珊的胳膊，穿过大厅，往门外走去。
　　大厅里，道贺完毕的客人又回到了各自的位置上，目送这一对新人从身边走过。杜•洛瓦昂着头，神色安详，慢慢地走着，目光向着阳光灿烂的门外。他感到周身出现一阵阵战栗，这是人在处于极度幸福中时所常有的。他一个人也没有看见，心中只想着他自己。
　　走到门边，他见门外万头攒动，挤着一片闹哄哄的人群。这些人来到这里，显然是想一睹他乔治•杜•洛瓦的丰采。全巴黎人如今都在看着他，羡慕他。
　　他抬起头来，协和广场对面的众议院立刻映入他的眼帘。
　　他觉得自己好像就要从脚下的玛德莱娜教堂跃入那波旁宫里。
　　他一步步走下教堂门前高耸的阶梯，两旁挤满围观的人群。不过这些人，他根本视而未见，因为他的思绪此刻又回到了过去那些日子。耀眼的阳光下，德•马莱尔夫人的倩影总浮现在他的眼前，见她正对着镜子梳理那卷曲的云鬓。每次从床上下来，她的头发总是一片蓬乱。