salary from the railway company, gave him three hundred and forty francs in his pocket. He had never owned such a sum, and thought himself possessed of wealth for an indefinite period.
Saint-Potin then took him to have a gossip in the offices of four or five rival papers, hoping that the news he was entrusted to obtain had already been gleaned by others, and that he should be able to draw it out of them—thanks to the flow and artfulness of his conversation.
When evening had come, Duroy, who had nothing more to do, thought of going again to the Folies Bergère, and putting a bold face on, he went up to the box office.
“I am George Duroy, on the staff of the Vie Francaise . I came here the other day with Monsieur Forestier, who promised me to see about my being put on the free list; I do not know whether he has thought of it.”
The list was referred to. His name was not entered.
However, the box office-keeper, a very affable man, at once said: “Pray, go in all the same, sir, and write yourself to the manager, who, I am sure, will pay attention to your letter.”
He went in and almost immediately met Rachel, the woman he had gone off with the first evening. She came up to him, saying: “Good evening, ducky. Are you quite well?”
“Very well, thanks—and you?”
“I am all right. Do you know, I have dreamed of you twice since last time?”
Duroy smiled, feeling flattered. “Ah! and what does that mean?”
“It means that you pleased me, you old dear, and that we will begin again whenever you please.”