tten
that evening worried him, and he began to think. He stored his mind with
ideas, reflections, opinions, and anecdotes as he walked along, and went
as far as the end of the Avenue des Champs Elysees, where only a few
strollers were to be seen, the heat having caused Paris to be evacuated.

Having dined at a wine shop near the Arc de Triomphe, he walked slowly
home along the outer boulevards and sat down at his table to work. But
as soon as he had the sheet of blank paper before his eyes, all the
materials that he had accumulated fled from his mind as though his brain
had evaporated. He tried to seize on fragments of his recollections and
to retain them, but they escaped him as fast as he laid hold of them, or
else they rushed on him altogether pell-mell, and he did not know how to
clothe and present them, nor which one to begin with.

After an hour of attempts and five sheets of paper blackened by opening
phrases that had no continuation, he said to himself: "I am not yet
well enough up in the business. I must have another lesson." And all at
once the prospect of another morning's work with Madame Forestier, the
hope of another long and intimate _tete-a-tete_ so cordial and so
pleasant, made him quiver with desire. He went to bed in a hurry, almost
afraid now of setting to work again and succeeding all at once.

He did not get up the next day till somewhat late, putting off and
tasting in advance the pleasure of this visit.

It was past ten when he rang his friend's bell.

The man-servant replied: "Master is engaged at his work."

Duroy had not thought that the husband might be at home. He insisted,
however, saying: "Tell him that I have called on a matter requiring
immediate attention."

After waiting five minutes he was shown into the study in which he had
passed such a pleasant morning. In the chair he had occupied Forestier
was now seated writing, in a dressing-gown and slippers and with a
little Scotch bonnet on his head, while his wife in the same white gown
leant against the mantelpiece and dictated, cigarette in mouth.

Duroy, halting on the threshold, murmured: "I really beg your pardon; I
am afraid I am disturbing you."

His friend, turning his face towards him--an angry face, too--growled:
"What is it you want now? Be quick; we are pressed for time."

The intruder, taken back, stammered: "It is nothing; I beg your
pardon."

But Forestier, growing angry, exclaimed: "Come, hang it all, don't wast