Chapter 8

DEATH AND A PROPOSAL

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?"

The rustling of a gown caused him to turn. Mme. Forestier extended
both her hands, saying:

"How kind of you to come."

She was a trifle paler and thinner, but still as bright as ever, and
perhaps prettier for being more delicate. She whispered: "It is
terrible--he knows he cannot be saved and he tyrannizes over me. I
have told him of your arrival. But where is your trunk?"

Duroy replied: "I left it at the station, not knowing which hotel