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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 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