IV

He had promised himself to spin out his enjoyment, but had not been able to resist the temptation of letting it all out at once.

The effect, too, was overwhelming. No one stirred.

Duroy went on: “I will go and inform Monsieur Perthuis, and then come and wish you goodbye.”

And he went out in search of the chief, who exclaimed, on seeing him: “Ah, here you are. You know that I won’t have⁠—”

His late subordinate cut him short with: “It’s not worth while yelling like that.”

Monsieur Perthuis, a stout man, as red as a turkey cock, was choked with bewilderment.

Duroy continued: “I have had enough of this crib. I made my début this morning in journalism, where I am assured of a very good position. I have the honor to bid you good day.” And he went out. He was avenged.

As he promised, he went and shook hands with his old colleagues, who scarcely dared to speak to him, for fear of compromising themselves, for they had overheard his conversation with the chief, the door having remained open.

He found himself in the street again, with his salary in his pocket. He stood himself a substantial breakfast at a good but cheap restaurant he was acquainted with, and having again purchased the Vie Francaise , and left it on the table, went into several shops, where he bought some trifles, solely for the sake of ordering them to be sent home, and giving his name: “George Duroy,” with the addition, “I am the editor of the Vie Francaise .”

Then he gave the name of the street and the number, taking care to add: “Leave it with the doorkeeper.”