When the cashier had given him the change out of his five francpiece, George Duroy left the restaurant. As he had a good carriage, both naturally and from his military training, he drew himself up, tw...

“Monsieur Forestier, if you please?” “Third floor, the door on the left,” the concierge had replied, in a voice the amiable tone of which betokened a certain consideration for the tenant, and George D...

When George Duroy found himself in the street he hesitated as to what he should do. He wanted to run, to dream, to walk about thinking of the future as he breathed the soft night air, but the thought ...

George Duroy slept badly, so excited was he by the wish to see his article in print. He was up as soon as it was daylight, and was prowling about the streets long before the hour at which the porters ...

Two months had gone by, September was at hand, and the rapid fortune which Duroy had hoped for seemed to him slow in coming. He was, above all, uneasy at the mediocrity of his position, and did not se...

George Duroy woke up chapfallen the next morning. He dressed himself slowly, and then sat down at his window and began to reflect. He felt a kind of aching sensation all over, just as though he had re...

Charles’s absence gave Duroy increased importance in the editorial department of the Vie Francaise. He signed several leaders besides his “Echoes,” for the governor insisted on everyone assuming the r...

His duel had given Duroy a position among the leader-writers of the Vie Francaise, but as he had great difficulty in finding ideas, he made a specialty of declamatory articles on the decadence of mora...

George Duroy had returned to all his old habits. Installed at present in the little ground-floor suite of rooms in the Rue de Constantinople, he lived soberly, like a man preparing a new existence for...

The Du Roys had been back in Paris a couple of days, and the journalist had taken up his old work pending the moment when he should definitely assume Forestier’s duties, and give himself wholly up to ...

On reaching the office next day, Du Roy sought out Boisrenard. “My dear fellow,” said he, “I have a service to ask of you. It has been thought funny for some time past to call me Forestier. I begin to...

The Place de la Trinité lay, almost deserted, under a dazzling July sun. An oppressive heat was crushing Paris. It was as though the upper air, scorched and deadened, had fallen upon the city⁠—a thick...

Autumn had come. The Du Roys had passed the whole of the summer in Paris, carrying on a vigorous campaign in the Vie Francaise during the short vacation of the deputies. Although it was only the begin...

The church was draped with black, and over the main entrance a huge scutcheon, surmounted by a coronet, announced to the passersby that a gentleman was being buried. The ceremony was just over, and th...

The conquest of Morocco had been accomplished two months back. France, mistress of Tangiers, held the whole of the African shore of the Mediterranean as far as Tripoli, and had guaranteed the debt of ...

During the remainder of the winter the Du Roys often visited the Walters. George even dined there by himself continually, Madeleine saying she was tired, and preferring to remain at home. He had adopt...

Three months had elapsed. Du Roy’s divorce had just been granted. His wife had resumed the name of Forestier, and, as the Walters were to leave on the 15th of July for Trouville, it was decided that h...

It was dark in the little suite of rooms in the Rue de Constantinople; for George Du Roy and Clotilde de Marelle, having met at the door, had gone in at once, and she had said to him, without giving h...