Милий друг

           Forestierreappearedarm-in-armwithatall,thinmanofthirtyorforty,dressedinablackcoat,withawhitecravat,adarkcomplexion,andaninsolent,self-satisfiedair.Forestiersaidtohim:"Adieu,mydearsir,"andtheotherpressedhishandwith:"Aurevoir,myfriend."Thenhedescendedthestairswhistling,hiscaneunderhisarm.

           Duroyaskedhisname.

           "ThatisJacquesRival,thecelebratedwriterandduelist.Hecametocorrecthisproofs.Garin,MontelandhearethebestwittyandrealisticwriterswehaveinParis.Heearnsthirtythousandfrancsayearfortwoarticlesaweek."

           Astheywentdownstairs,theymetastout,littlemanwithlonghair,whowasascendingthestairswhistling.Forestierbowedlow.

           "NorbertdeVarenne,"saidhe,"thepoet,theauthorof‘LesSoleilsMorts,’—averyexpensiveman.Everypoemhegivesuscoststhreehundredfrancsandthelongesthasnottwohundredlines.ButletusgointotheNapolitain,Iamgettingthirsty."

           Whentheywereseatedatatable,Forestierorderedtwoglassesofbeer.Heemptiedhisatasingledraught,whileDuroysippedhisbeerslowlyasifitweresomethingrareandprecious.Suddenlyhiscompanionasked,"Whydon’tyoutryjournalism?"

           Duroylookedathiminsurpriseandsaid:"BecauseIhaveneverwrittenanything."

           "Bah,weallhavetomakeabeginning.Icouldemployyoumyselfbysendingyoutoobtaininformation.