kind--I am much obliged--be sure I shall not forget."

Forestier interrupted him: "That's all right, take another glass of
beer. Waiter, two more glasses!" When he had paid the score, the
journalist asked: "Would you like a stroll for an hour?"

"Certainly."

They turned toward the Madeleine. "What shall we do?" asked Forestier.
"They say that in Paris an idler can always find amusement, but it is
not true. A turn in the Bois is only enjoyable if you have a lady with
you, and that is a rare occurrence. The cafe concerts may divert my
tailor and his wife, but they do not interest me. So what can we do?
Nothing! There ought to be a summer garden here, open at night, where a
man could listen to good music while drinking beneath the trees. It
would be a pleasant lounging place. You could walk in alleys bright
with electric light and seat yourself where you pleased to hear the
music. It would be charming. Where would you like to go?"

Duroy did not know what to reply; finally he said: "I have never been
to the Folies Bergeres. I should like to go there."

His companion exclaimed: "The Folies Bergeres! Very well!"

They turned and walked toward the Faubourg Montmartre. The brilliantly
illuminated building loomed up before them. Forestier entered, Duroy
stopped him. "We forgot to pass through the gate."

The other replied in a consequential tone: "I never pay," and
approached the box-office.

"Have you a good box?"

"Certainly, M. Forestier."

He took the ticket handed him, pushed open the door, and they were
within the hall. A cloud of tobacco smoke almost hid the stage and the
opposite side of the theater. In the spacious foyer which led to the
circular promenade, brilliantly dressed women mingled with black-coated
men.

Forestier forced his way rapidly through the throng and accosted an
usher.

"Box 17?"

"This way, sir."

The friends were shown into a tiny box, hung and carpeted in red, with
four chairs upholstered in the same color. They seated themselves. To
their right and left were similar boxes. On the stage three men were
performing on trapezes. But Duroy paid no heed to them, his eyes
finding more to interest them in the grand promenade. Forestier
remarked upon the motley appearance of the throng, but Duroy did not
listen to him. A woman, leaning her arms upon the edge of her loge, was
staring at him. She was a tall, voluptuous brunette, her face whitened
with enamel, her black eyes penciled, an