minister. You must obtrude
yourself and yet not ask anything. But how is it you have not found
anything better than a clerkship at the station?"

Duroy replied: "I hunted everywhere and found nothing else. But I know
where I can get three thousand francs at least--as riding-master at the
Pellerin school."

Forestier stopped him: "Don't do it, for you can earn ten thousand
francs. You will ruin your prospects at once. In your office at least
no one knows you; you can leave it if you wish to at any time. But when
you are once a riding-master all will be over. You might as well be a
butler in a house to which all Paris comes to dine. When you have given
riding lessons to men of the world or to their sons, they will no
longer consider you their equal."

He paused, reflected several seconds and then asked:

"Are you a bachelor?"

"Yes, though I have been smitten several times."

"That makes no difference. If Cicero and Tiberius were mentioned would
you know who they were?"

"Yes."

"Good, no one knows any more except about a score of fools. It is not
difficult to pass for being learned. The secret is not to betray your
ignorance. Just maneuver, avoid the quicksands and obstacles, and the
rest can be found in a dictionary."

He spoke like one who understood human nature, and he smiled as the
crowd passed them by. Suddenly he began to cough and stopped to allow
the paroxysm to spend itself; then he said in a discouraged tone:

"Isn't it tiresome not to be able to get rid of this bronchitis? And
here is midsummer! This winter I shall go to Mentone. Health before
everything."

They reached the Boulevarde Poissoniere; behind a large glass door an
open paper was affixed; three people were reading it. Above the door
was printed the legend, "La Vie Francaise."

Forestier pushed open the door and said: "Come in." Duroy entered; they
ascended the stairs, passed through an antechamber in which two clerks
greeted their comrade, and then entered a kind of waiting-room.

"Sit down," said Forestier, "I shall be back in five minutes," and he
disappeared.

Duroy remained where he was; from time to time men passed him by,
entering by one door and going out by another before he had time to
glance at them.

Now they were young men, very young, with a busy air, holding sheets of
paper in their hands; now compositors, their shirts spotted with
ink--carefully carrying what were evidently fresh proofs. Occasionally
a gentleman