hing more to do till three o'clock, and it was not yet noon.
He had still six francs fifty centimes in his pocket, and he went and
lunched at a Bouillon Duval. Then he prowled about the boulevard, and
as three o'clock struck, ascended the staircase, in itself an
advertisement, of the _Vie Francaise_.

The messengers-in-waiting were seated with folded arms on a bench, while
at a kind of desk a doorkeeper was sorting the correspondence that had
just arrived. The entire get-up of the place, intended to impress
visitors, was perfect. Everyone had the appearance, bearing, dignity,
and smartness suitable to the ante-room of a large newspaper.

"Monsieur Walter, if you please?" inquired Duroy.

"The manager is engaged, sir," replied the doorkeeper. "Will you take a
seat, sir?" and he indicated the waiting-room, already full of people.

There were men grave, important-looking, and decorated; and men without
visible linen, whose frock-coats, buttoned up to the chin, bore upon the
breast stains recalling the outlines of continents and seas on
geographical maps. There were three women among them. One of them was
pretty, smiling, and decked out, and had the air of a gay woman; her
neighbor, with a wrinkled, tragic countenance, decked out also, but in
more severe fashion, had about her something worn and artificial which
old actresses generally have; a kind of false youth, like a scent of
stale love. The third woman, in mourning, sat in a corner, with the air
of a desolate widow. Duroy thought that she had come to ask for charity.

However, no one was ushered into the room beyond, and more than twenty
minutes had elapsed.

Duroy was seized with an idea, and going back to the doorkeeper, said:
"Monsieur Walter made an appointment for me to call on him here at three
o'clock. At all events, see whether my friend, Monsieur Forestier, is
here."

He was at once ushered along a lengthy passage, which brought him to a
large room where four gentlemen were writing at a large green-covered
table.

Forestier standing before the fireplace was smoking a cigarette and
playing at cup and ball. He was very clever at this, and kept spiking
the huge ball of yellow boxwood on the wooden point. He was counting
"Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five."

"Twenty-six," said Duroy.

His friend raised his eyes without interrupting the regular movement of
his arm, saying: "Oh! here you are, then. Yesterday I landed the ball
fifty-seven