Bel Ami | Page 5

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