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。
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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。
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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。
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