



Produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team. HTML version by Al Haines.










BEL AMI

OR

THE HISTORY OF A SCOUNDREL


A NOVEL

BY

GUY DE MAUPASSANT




TABLE OF CONTENTS

     CHAPTER I.   POVERTY
    CHAPTER II.   MADAME FORESTIER
   CHAPTER III.   FIRST ATTEMPTS
    CHAPTER IV.   DUROY LEARNS SOMETHING
     CHAPTER V.   THE FIRST INTRIGUE
    CHAPTER VI.   A STEP UPWARD
   CHAPTER VII.   A DUEL WITH AN END
  CHAPTER VIII.   DEATH AND A PROPOSAL
    CHAPTER IX.   MARRIAGE
     CHAPTER X.   JEALOUSY
    CHAPTER XI.   MADAME WALTER TAKES A HAND
   CHAPTER XII.   A MEETING AND THE RESULT
  CHAPTER XIII.   MADAME MARELLE
   CHAPTER XIV.   THE WILL
    CHAPTER XV.   SUZANNE
   CHAPTER XVI.   DIVORCE
  CHAPTER XVII.   THE FINAL PLOT
 CHAPTER XVIII.   ATTAINMENT




BEL-AMI




CHAPTER I.

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