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Unforgotten Classics
Bel Ami: The History of a Scoundrel
Bel Ami: The History of a Scoundrel
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• The book has been proof-read and corrected for spelling and grammatical errors
• A table of contents with working links to chapters is included
• Quality formatting
An excerpt from the book:
Duroy moved his effects to the apartments in Rue de Constantinople. Two or three times a week, Mme. de-Marelle paid him visits. Duroy, to counterbalance them, dined at her house every Thursday, and delighted her husband by talking agriculture to him.
It was almost the end of February. Duroy was free from care. One night, when he returned home, he found a letter under his door. He examined the postmark; it was from Cannes. Having opened it, he read:
"Cannes, Villa Jolie."
"Dear sir and friend: You told me, did you not, that I could count upon you at any time? Very well. I have a favor to ask of you; it is to come and help me—not to leave me alone during Charles's last moments. He may not live through the week, although he is not confined to his bed, but the doctor has warned me. I have not the strength nor the courage to see that agony day and night, and I think with terror of the approaching end I can only ask such a thing of you, for my husband has no relatives. You were his comrade; he helped you to your position; come, I beg of you; I have no one else to ask."
"Your friend,"
"Madeleine Forestier."
Georges murmured: "Certainly I will go. Poor Charles!"
The manager, to whom he communicated the contents of that letter, grumblingly gave his consent. He repeated: "But return speedily, you are indispensable to us."
Georges Duroy left for Cannes the next day by the seven o'clock express, after having warned Mme. de Marelle by telegram. He arrived the following day at four o'clock in the afternoon. A commissionnaire conducted him to Villa Jolie. The house was small and low, and of the Italian style of architecture.
A servant opened the door and cried: "Oh, sir, Madame is awaiting you patiently."
Duroy asked: "How is your master?"
"Not very well, sir. He will not be here long."
The floor of the drawing-room which the young man entered was covered with a Persian rug; the large windows looked upon the village and the sea.
Duroy murmured: "How cozy it is here! Where the deuce do they get the money from?"
• A table of contents with working links to chapters is included
• Quality formatting
An excerpt from the book:
Duroy moved his effects to the apartments in Rue de Constantinople. Two or three times a week, Mme. de-Marelle paid him visits. Duroy, to counterbalance them, dined at her house every Thursday, and delighted her husband by talking agriculture to him.
It was almost the end of February. Duroy was free from care. One night, when he returned home, he found a letter under his door. He examined the postmark; it was from Cannes. Having opened it, he read:
"Cannes, Villa Jolie."
"Dear sir and friend: You told me, did you not, that I could count upon you at any time? Very well. I have a favor to ask of you; it is to come and help me—not to leave me alone during Charles's last moments. He may not live through the week, although he is not confined to his bed, but the doctor has warned me. I have not the strength nor the courage to see that agony day and night, and I think with terror of the approaching end I can only ask such a thing of you, for my husband has no relatives. You were his comrade; he helped you to your position; come, I beg of you; I have no one else to ask."
"Your friend,"
"Madeleine Forestier."
Georges murmured: "Certainly I will go. Poor Charles!"
The manager, to whom he communicated the contents of that letter, grumblingly gave his consent. He repeated: "But return speedily, you are indispensable to us."
Georges Duroy left for Cannes the next day by the seven o'clock express, after having warned Mme. de Marelle by telegram. He arrived the following day at four o'clock in the afternoon. A commissionnaire conducted him to Villa Jolie. The house was small and low, and of the Italian style of architecture.
A servant opened the door and cried: "Oh, sir, Madame is awaiting you patiently."
Duroy asked: "How is your master?"
"Not very well, sir. He will not be here long."
The floor of the drawing-room which the young man entered was covered with a Persian rug; the large windows looked upon the village and the sea.
Duroy murmured: "How cozy it is here! Where the deuce do they get the money from?"
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