he profession
of arms, had become a kind of box of tricks in which something of
everything was to be found.

But the wish to succeed reigned sovereign in it.

He had, without noticing it, began to dream again as he did every
evening. He pictured to himself some splendid love adventure which
should bring about all at once the realization of his hopes. He married
the daughter of some banker or nobleman met with in the street, and
captivated at the first glance.

The shrill whistle of a locomotive which, issuing from the tunnel like a
big rabbit bolting out of its hole, and tearing at full speed along the
rails towards the machine shed where it was to take its rest, awoke him
from his dream.

Then, repossessed by the vague and joyful hope which ever haunted his
mind, he wafted a kiss into the night, a kiss of love addressed to the
vision of the woman he was awaiting, a kiss of desire addressed to the
fortune he coveted. Then he closed his window and began to undress,
murmuring:

"I shall feel in a better mood for it to-morrow. My thoughts are not
clear to-night. Perhaps, too, I have had just a little too much to
drink. One can't work well under those circumstances."

He got into bed, blew out his light, and went off to sleep almost
immediately.

He awoke early, as one awakes on mornings of hope and trouble, and
jumping out of bed, opened his window to drink a cup of fresh air, as he
phrased it.

The houses of the Rue de Rome opposite, on the other side of the broad
railway cutting, glittering in the rays of the rising sun, seemed to be
painted with white light. Afar off on the right a glimpse was caught of
the slopes of Argenteuil, the hills of Sannois, and the windmills of
Orgemont through a light bluish mist; like a floating and transparent
veil cast onto the horizon.

Duroy remained for some minutes gazing at the distant country side, and
he murmured: "It would be devilish nice out there a day like this." Then
he bethought himself that he must set to work, and that at once, and
also send his concierge's lad, at a cost of ten sous, to the office to
say that he was ill.

He sat down at his table, dipped his pen in the ink, leaned his forehead
on his hand, and sought for ideas. All in vain, nothing came.

He was not discouraged, however. He thought, "Bah! I am not accustomed
to it. It is a trade to be learned like all other trades. I must have
some help the first time. I will go and find Forestier, who will