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Jacques Rival received the arrivals at the entrance to his apartments, then he pointed to a small staircase which led to the cellar in which were his shooting-gallery and fencing-room, saying: "Downstairs, ladies, downstairs. The match will take place in the subterranean apartments." Pressing Du Roy's hand, he said: "Good evening, Bel-Ami." Du Roy was surprised: "Who told you about that name?"
Suddenly the vibrating tones melted into delicate, melodious ones, like the songs of birds; then again they swelled into deep, full tones and human voices chanted over their bowed heads. Vauri and Landeck of the Opera were singing. Bel-Ami, kneeling beside Suzanne, bowed his head. At that moment he felt almost pious, for he was filled with gratitude for the blessings showered upon him.
Mme. de Marelle entered and cast herself into his arms, saying: "Good afternoon, Bel-Ami." Perceiving that his embrace was colder than usual, she glanced up at him and asked: "What ails you?" "Take a seat," said he. "We must talk seriously." She seated herself without removing her hat, and waited. He cast down his eyes; he was preparing to commence.
Who can read in "Bel-Ami" the terribly graphic description of the consumptive journalist's demise, his frantic clinging to life, and his refusal to credit the slow and merciless approach of death, without feeling that the question asked at Naishapur many centuries ago is still waiting for the solution that is always promised but never comes?
The child's sudden enmity grieved and annoyed him. Suzanne met them at a door and cried: "Oh, here you are! Now, Bel-Ami, you are going to be left alone, for I shall take Clotilde to see my room." And the two women glided through the throng. At that moment a voice at his side murmured: "Georges!" It was Mme. Walter. She continued in a low voice: "How cruel you are!
Rival replied: "Mme. Walter, who thinks it very pretty." Mme. Walter blushed. "Yes, I confess that if I knew you better, I should do as little Laurine, and I should call you Bel-Ami, too. It suits you admirably." Du Roy laughed. "I beg you to do so, Madame." She cast down her eyes. "No, we are not well enough acquainted." He murmured: "Permit me to hope that we shall become so."
As Georges and Suzanne leaned over its edge, they saw their reflections in the water and smiled at them. Suddenly, he said in a low voice: "It is not right of you to keep secrets from me, Suzanne." She asked: "What secrets, Bel-Ami?" "Do you remember what you promised me here the night of the fete?" "No." "To consult me every time you received a proposal." "Well?" "Well, you have received one!"
Her mother said to her: "You do not call M. Duroy Bel-Ami to-day." The child blushed as if it were a gross indiscretion to reveal her secret. When the Forestiers arrived, Duroy was startled at Charles's appearance. He had grown thinner and paler in a week and coughed incessantly; he said they would leave for Cannes on the following Thursday at the doctor's orders.
The purport of the story is clear to those who recognize the ideas that governed Maupassant's work, and even the hasty reader or critic, on reading "Mont Oriol," which was published two years later and is based on a combination of the motifs which inspired "Une Vie" and "Bel-Ami," will reconsider former hasty judgments, and feel, too, that beneath the triumph of evil which calls forth Maupassant's satiric anger there lies the substratum on which all his work is founded, viz: the persistent, ceaseless questioning of a soul unable to reconcile or explain the contradiction between love in life and inevitable death.
Then as the cabman started up his horse, she cried: "Adieu, Bel-Ami!" and the old coupe rumbled off. For three weeks Duroy received Mme. de Marelle every two or three days, sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the evening. As he was awaiting her one afternoon, a noise on the staircase drew him to his door. A child screamed. A man's angry voice cried: "What is the brat howling about?"