He surveyed himself some time with a complacent smile; then taking
leave of his image, he bowed low, ceremoniously, as if saluting some
grand personage.




CHAPTER III.

FIRST ATTEMPTS


When Georges Duroy reached the street, he hesitated as to what he
should do. He felt inclined to stroll along, dreaming of the future
and inhaling the soft night air; but the thought of the series of
articles ordered by M. Walter occurred to him, and he decided to
return home at once and begin work. He walked rapidly along until he
came to Rue Boursault. The tenement in which he lived was occupied
by twenty families--families of workingmen--and as he mounted the
staircase he experienced a sensation of disgust and a desire to live
as wealthy men do. Duroy's room was on the fifth floor. He entered
it, opened his window, and looked out: the view was anything but
prepossessing.

He turned away, thinking: "This won't do. I must go to work." So he
placed his light upon the table and began to write. He dipped his
pen into the ink and wrote at the head of his paper in a bold hand:
"Souvenirs of a Soldier in Africa." Then he cast about for the first
phrase. He rested his head upon his hand and stared at the blank