When Georges Duroy reached the boulevard he halted again, undecided
as to which road to choose. Finally he turned toward the Madeleine
and followed the tide of people.

The large, well-patronized cafes tempted Duroy, but were he to drink
only two glasses of beer in an evening, farewell to the meager
supper the following night! Yet he said to himself: "I will take a
glass at the Americain. By Jove, I am thirsty."

He glanced at men seated at the tables, men who could afford to
slake their thirst, and he scowled at them. "Rascals!" he muttered.
If he could have caught one of them at a corner in the dark he would
have choked him without a scruple! He recalled the two years spent
in Africa, and the manner in which he had extorted money from the
Arabs. A smile hovered about his lips at the recollection of an
escapade which had cost three men their lives, a foray which had
given his two comrades and himself seventy fowls, two sheep, money,
and something to laugh about for six months. The culprits were never
found; indeed, they were not sought for, the Arab being looked upon
as the soldier's prey.

But in Paris it was different; there one could not commit such deeds
with impunity. He regretted that he had not remained where he was;
but he had hoped to improve his condition--and for that reason he
was in Paris!

He passed the Vaudeville and stopped at the Cafe Americain, debating
as to whether he should take that "glass." Before deciding, he
glanced at a clock; it was a quarter past nine. He knew that when
the beer was placed in front of him, he would drink it; and then