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diff --git a/old/7uvie10.txt b/old/7uvie10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bc9ca78 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/7uvie10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10136 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Une Vie, A Piece of String and Other Stories +by Guy de Maupassant +#22 in our series by Guy de Maupassant + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Une Vie, A Piece of String and Other Stories + +Author: Guy de Maupassant + +Release Date: December, 2004 [EBook #7114] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on March 11, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNE VIE *** + + + + +Produced by Thomas Berger, Eric Eldred, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + +GUY DE MAUPASSANT + + +UNE VIE + +A Piece of String +And Other Stories + + +Translated by +Albert M. C. McMaster, B.A. +A. E. Henderson, B.A. +Mme. Quesada and Others + + * * * * * + +VOLUME I. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: "JEANNE"] + + +CONTENTS + + +INTRODUCTION BY POL. NEVEUX + +UNE VIE (The History of a Heart) + I. The Home by the Sea + II. Happy Days + III. M. de Lamare + IV. Marriage and Disillusion + V. Corsica and a New Life + VI. Disenchantment + VII. Jeanne's Discovery +VIII. Maternity + IX. Death of La Baronne + X. Retribution + XI. The Development of Paul + XII. A New Home +XIII. Jeanne in Paris + XIV. Light at Eventide + +A VAGABOND + +THE FISHING HOLE + +THE SPASM + +IN THE WOOD + +MARTINE + +ALL OVER + +THE PARROT + +A PIECE OF STRING + + +[Illustration: Guy de Maupassant] + + +GUY DE MAUPASSANT + +A Study by Pol. Neveux + +"I entered literary life as a meteor, and I shall leave it like a +thunderbolt." These words of Maupassant to Jose Maria de Heredia on +the occasion of a memorable meeting are, in spite of their morbid +solemnity, not an inexact summing up of the brief career during which, +for ten years, the writer, by turns undaunted and sorrowful, with the +fertility of a master hand produced poetry, novels, romances and +travels, only to sink prematurely into the abyss of madness and +death.... + +In the month of April, 1880, an article appeared in the "Le Gaulois" +announcing the publication of the Soirees de Medan. It was signed by a +name as yet unknown: Guy de Maupassant. After a juvenile diatribe +against romanticism and a passionate attack on languorous literature, +the writer extolled the study of real life, and announced the +publication of the new work. It was picturesque and charming. In the +quiet of evening, on an island in the Seine, beneath poplars instead +of the Neapolitan cypresses dear to the friends of Boccaccio, amid the +continuous murmur of the valley, and no longer to the sound of the +Pyrennean streams that murmured a faint accompaniment to the tales of +Marguerite's cavaliers, the master and his disciples took turns in +narrating some striking or pathetic episode of the war. And the issue, +in collaboration, of these tales in one volume, in which the master +jostled elbows with his pupils, took on the appearance of a manifesto, +the tone of a challenge, or the utterance of a creed. + +In fact, however, the beginnings had been much more simple, and they +had confined themselves, beneath the trees of Medan, to deciding on a +general title for the work. Zola had contributed the manuscript of the +"Attaque du Moulin," and it was at Maupassant's house that the five +young men gave in their contributions. Each one read his story, +Maupassant being the last. When he had finished Boule de Suif, with a +spontaneous impulse, with an emotion they never forgot, filled with +enthusiasm at this revelation, they all rose and, without superfluous +words, acclaimed him as a master. + +He undertook to write the article for the Gaulois and, in cooperation +with his friends, he worded it in the terms with which we are +familiar, amplifying and embellishing it, yielding to an inborn taste +for mystification which his youth rendered excusable. The essential +point, he said, is to "unmoor" criticism. + +It was unmoored. The following day Wolff wrote a polemical +dissertation in the Figaro and carried away his colleagues. The volume +was a brilliant success, thanks to Boule de Suif. Despite the novelty, +the honesty of effort, on the part of all, no mention was made of the +other stories. Relegated to the second rank, they passed without +notice. From his first battle, Maupassant was master of the field in +literature. + +At once the entire press took him up and said what was appropriate +regarding the budding celebrity. Biographers and reporters sought +information concerning his life. As it was very simple and perfectly +straightforward, they resorted to invention. And thus it is that at +the present day Maupassant appears to us like one of those ancient +heroes whose origin and death are veiled in mystery. + +I will not dwell on Guy de Maupassant's younger days. His relatives, +his old friends, he himself, here and there in his works, have +furnished us in their letters enough valuable revelations and touching +remembrances of the years preceding his literary debut. His worthy +biographer, H. Edouard Maynial, after collecting intelligently all the +writings, condensing and comparing them, has been able to give us some +definite information regarding that early period. + +I will simply recall that he was born on the 5th of August, 1850, near +Dieppe, in the castle of Miromesnil which he describes in Une Vie.... + +Maupassant, like Flaubert, was a Norman, through his mother, and +through his place of birth he belonged to that strange and adventurous +race, whose heroic and long voyages on tramp trading ships he liked to +recall. And just as the author of "Education sentimentale" seems to +have inherited in the paternal line the shrewd realism of Champagne, +so de Maupassant appears to have inherited from his Lorraine ancestors +their indestructible discipline and cold lucidity. + +His childhood was passed at Etretat, his beautiful childhood; it was +there that his instincts were awakened in the unfoldment of his +prehistoric soul. Years went by in an ecstasy of physical happiness. +The delight of running at full speed through fields of gorse, the +charm of voyages of discovery in hollows and ravines, games beneath +the dark hedges, a passion for going to sea with the fishermen and, on +nights when there was no moon, for dreaming on their boats of +imaginary voyages. + +Mme. de Maupassant, who had guided her son's early reading, and had +gazed with him at the sublime spectacle of nature, put off as long as +possible the hour of separation. One day, however, she had to take the +child to the little seminary at Yvetot. Later, he became a student at +the college at Rouen, and became a literary correspondent of Louis +Bouilhet. It was at the latter's house on those Sundays in winter when +the Norman rain drowned the sound of the bells and dashed against the +window panes that the school boy learned to write poetry. + +Vacation took the rhetorician back to the north of Normandy. Now it +was shooting at Saint Julien-l'Hospitalier, across fields, bogs, and +through the woods. From that time on he sealed his pact with the +earth, and those "deep and delicate roots" which attached him to his +native soil began to grow. It was of Normandy, broad, fresh and +virile, that he would presently demand his inspiration, fervent and +eager as a boy's love; it was in her that he would take refuge when, +weary of life, he would implore a truce, or when he simply wished to +work and revive his energies in old-time joys. It was at this time +that was born in him that voluptuous love of the sea, which in later +days could alone withdraw him from the world, calm him, console him. + +In 1870 he lived in the country, then he came to Paris to live; for, +the family fortunes having dwindled, he had to look for a position. +For several years he was a clerk in the Ministry of Marine, where he +turned over musty papers, in the uninteresting company of the clerks +of the admiralty. + +Then he went into the department of Public Instruction, where +bureaucratic servility is less intolerable. The daily duties are +certainly scarcely more onerous and he had as chiefs, or colleagues, +Xavier Charmes and Leon Dierx, Henry Roujon and Rene Billotte, but his +office looked out on a beautiful melancholy garden with immense plane +trees around which black circles of crows gathered in winter. + +Maupassant made two divisions of his spare hours, one for boating, and +the other for literature. Every evening in spring, every free day, he +ran down to the river whose mysterious current veiled in fog or +sparkling in the sun called to him and bewitched him. In the islands +in the Seine between Chatou and Port-Marly, on the banks of +Sartrouville and Triel he was long noted among the population of +boatmen, who have now vanished, for his unwearying biceps, his cynical +gaiety of goodfellowship, his unfailing practical jokes, his broad +witticisms. Sometimes he would row with frantic speed, free and +joyous, through the glowing sunlight on the stream; sometimes, he +would wander along the coast, questioning the sailors, chatting with +the ravageurs, or junk gatherers, or stretched at full length amid the +irises and tansy he would lie for hours watching the frail insects +that play on the surface of the stream, water spiders, or white +butterflies, dragon flies, chasing each other amid the willow leaves, +or frogs asleep on the lily-pads. + +The rest of his life was taken up by his work. Without ever becoming +despondent, silent and persistent, he accumulated manuscripts, poetry, +criticisms, plays, romances and novels. Every week he docilely +submitted his work to the great Flaubert, the childhood friend of his +mother and his uncle Alfred Le Poittevin. The master had consented to +assist the young man, to reveal to him the secrets that make +chefs-d'oeuvre immortal. It was he who compelled him to make copious +research and to use direct observation and who inculcated in him a +horror of vulgarity and a contempt for facility. + +Maupassant himself tells us of those severe initiations in the Rue +Murillo, or in the tent at Croisset; he has recalled the implacable +didactics of his old master, his tender brutality, the paternal advice +of his generous and candid heart. For seven years Flaubert slashed, +pulverized, the awkward attempts of his pupil whose success remained +uncertain. + +Suddenly, in a flight of spontaneous perfection, he wrote Boule de +Suif. His master's joy was great and overwhelming. He died two months +later. + +Until the end Maupassant remained illuminated by the reflection of the +good, vanished giant, by that touching reflection that comes from the +dead to those souls they have so profoundly stirred. The worship of +Flaubert was a religion from which nothing could distract him, neither +work, nor glory, nor slow moving waves, nor balmy nights. + +At the end of his short life, while his mind was still clear, he wrote +to a friend: "I am always thinking of my poor Flaubert, and I say to +myself that I should like to die if I were sure that anyone would +think of me in the same manner." + +During these long years of his novitiate Maupassant had entered the +social literary circles. He would remain silent, preoccupied; and if +anyone, astonished at his silence, asked him about his plans he +answered simply: "I am learning my trade." However, under the +pseudonym of Guy de Valmont, he had sent some articles to the +newspapers, and, later, with the approval and by the advice of +Flaubert, he published, in the "Republique des Lettres," poems signed +by his name. + +These poems, overflowing with sensuality, where the hymn to the Earth +describes the transports of physical possession, where the impatience +of love expresses itself in loud melancholy appeals like the calls of +animals in the spring nights, are valuable chiefly inasmuch as they +reveal the creature of instinct, the fawn escaped from his native +forests, that Maupassant was in his early youth. But they add nothing +to his glory. They are the "rhymes of a prose writer" as Jules +Lemaitre said. To mould the expression of his thought according to the +strictest laws, and to "narrow it down" to some extent, such was his +aim. Following the example of one of his comrades of Medan, being +readily carried away by precision of style and the rhythm of +sentences, by the imperious rule of the ballad, of the pantoum or the +chant royal, Maupassant also desired to write in metrical lines. +However, he never liked this collection that he often regretted having +published. His encounters with prosody had left him with that +monotonous weariness that the horseman and the fencer feel after a +period in the riding school, or a bout with the foils. + +Such, in very broad lines, is the story of Maupassant's literary +apprenticeship. + +The day following the publication of "Boule de Suif," his reputation +began to grow rapidly. The quality of his story was unrivalled, but at +the same time it must be acknowledged that there were some who, for +the sake of discussion, desired to place a young reputation in +opposition to the triumphant brutality of Zola. + +From this time on, Maupassant, at the solicitation of the entire +press, set to work and wrote story after story. His talent, free from +all influences, his individuality, are not disputed for a moment. With +a quick step, steady and alert, he advanced to fame, a fame of which +he himself was not aware, but which was so universal, that no +contemporary author during his life ever experienced the same. The +"meteor" sent out its light and its rays were prolonged without limit, +in article after article, volume on volume. + +He was now rich and famous.... He is esteemed all the more as they +believe him to be rich and happy. But they do not know that this young +fellow with the sunburnt face, thick neck and salient muscles whom +they invariably compare to a young bull at liberty, and whose love +affairs they whisper, is ill, very ill. At the very moment that +success came to him, the malady that never afterwards left him came +also, and, seated motionless at his side, gazed at him with its +threatening countenance. He suffered from terrible headaches, followed +by nights of insomnia. He had nervous attacks, which he soothed with +narcotics and anesthetics, which he used freely. His sight, which had +troubled him at intervals, became affected, and a celebrated oculist +spoke of abnormality, asymetry of the pupils. The famous young man +trembled in secret and was haunted by all kinds of terrors. + +The reader is charmed at the saneness of this revived art and yet, +here and there, he is surprised to discover, amid descriptions of +nature that are full of humanity, disquieting flights towards the +supernatural, distressing conjurations, veiled at first, of the most +commonplace, the most vertiginous shuddering fits of fear, as old as +the world and as eternal as the unknown. But, instead of being +alarmed, he thinks that the author must be gifted with infallible +intuition to follow out thus the taints in his characters, even +through their most dangerous mazes. The reader does not know that +these hallucinations which he describes so minutely were experienced +by Maupassant himself; he does not know that the fear is in himself, +the anguish of fear "which is not caused by the presence of danger, or +of inevitable death, but by certain abnormal conditions, by certain +mysterious influences in presence of vague dangers," the "fear of +fear, the dread of that horrible sensation of incomprehensible +terror." + +How can one explain these physical sufferings and this morbid distress +that were known for some time to his intimates alone? Alas! the +explanation is only too simple. All his life, consciously or +unconsciously, Maupassant fought this malady, hidden as yet, which was +latent in him. + +Those who first saw Maupassant when the Contes de la Becasse and Bel +Ami were published were somewhat astonished at his appearance. He was +solidly built, rather short and had a resolute, determined air, rather +unpolished and without those distinguishing marks of intellect and +social position. But his hands were delicate and supple, and beautiful +shadows encircled his eyes. + +He received visitors with the graciousness of the courteous head of a +department, who resigns himself to listen to demands, allowing them to +talk as he smiled faintly, and nonplussing them by his calmness. + +How chilling was this first interview to young enthusiasts who had +listened to Zola unfolding in lyric formula audacious methods, or to +the soothing words of Daudet, who scattered with prodigality striking, +thrilling ideas, picturesque outlines and brilliant synopses. +Maupassant's remarks, in tetes-a-tetes, as in general conversation, +were usually current commonplaces and on ordinary time-worn topics. +Convinced of the superfluousness of words, perhaps he confounded them +all in the same category, placing the same estimate on a thought nobly +expressed as on a sally of coarse wit. One would have thought so, to +see the indifference with which he treated alike the chatter of the +most decided mediocrities and the conversation of the noblest minds of +the day. Not an avowal, not a confidence, that shed light on his life +work. Parsimonious of all he observed, he never related a typical +anecdote, or offered a suggestive remark. Praise, even, did not move +him, and if by chance he became animated it was to tell some practical +joke, some atelier hoaxes, as if he had given himself up to the +pleasure of hoaxing and mystifying people. + +He appeared besides to look upon art as a pastime, literature as an +occupation useless at best, while he willingly relegated love to the +performance of a function, and suspected the motives of the most +meritorious actions. + +Some say that this was the inborn basis of his personal psychology. I +do not believe it. That he may have had a low estimate of humanity, +that he may have mistrusted its disinterestedness, contested the +quality of its virtue, is possible, even certain. But that he was not +personally superior to his heroes I am unwilling to admit. And if I +see in his attitude, as in his language, an evidence of his inveterate +pessimism, I see in it also a method of protecting his secret thoughts +from the curiosity of the vulgar. + +Perhaps he overshot the mark. By dint of hearing morality, art and +literature depreciated, and seeing him preoccupied with boating, and +listening to his own accounts of love affairs which he did not always +carry on in the highest class, many ended by seeing in him one of +those terrible Normans who, all through his novels and stories, +carouse and commit social crimes with such commanding assurance and +such calm unmorality. + +He was undoubtedly a Norman, and, according to those who knew him +best, many of his traits of character show that atavism is not always +an idle word.... + +To identify Maupassant with his characters is a gross error, but is +not without precedent. We always like to trace the author in the hero +of a romance, and to seek the actor beneath the disguise. No doubt, as +Taine has said, "the works of an intelligence have not the +intelligence alone for father and mother, but the whole personality of +the man helps to produce them...." + +That is why Maupassant himself says to us, "No, I have not the soul of +a decadent, I cannot look within myself, and the effort I make to +understand unknown souls is incessant, involuntary and dominant. It is +not an effort; I experience a sort of overpowering sense of insight +into all that surrounds me. I am impregnated with it, I yield to it, I +submerge myself in these surrounding influences." + +That is, properly speaking, the peculiarity of all great novelists. +Who experiences this insight, this influence more than Balzac, or +Flaubert, in Madame Bovary? And so with Maupassant, who, pen in hand, +is the character he describes, with his passions, his hatreds, his +vices and his virtues. He so incorporates himself in him that the +author disappears, and we ask ourselves in vain what his own opinion +is of what he has just told us. He has none possibly, or if he has he +does not tell it. + +This agrees admirably with the theory of impassivity in literature, so +much in vogue when Maupassant became known. But despite that theory he +is, if one understands him, quite other than + + "A being without pity who contemplated suffering." + +He has the deepest sympathy for the weak, for the victims of the +deceptions of society, for the sufferings of the obscure. If the +successful adventurer, Lesable, and the handsome Maze are the objects +of his veiled irony, he maintains, or feels a sorrowful, though +somewhat disdainful tenderness, for poor old Savon, the old copying +clerk of the Ministry of Marine, who is the drudge of the office and +whose colleagues laugh at him because his wife deceived him, _sans +espoir d'"heritage."_ + +Why did Maupassant at the start win universal favor? It is because he +had direct genius, the clear vision of a "primitive" (an artist of the +pre-Renaissance). His materials were just those of a graduate who, +having left college, has satisfied his curiosity. Grasping the simple +and ingenious, but strong and appropriate tools that he himself has +forged, he starts out in the forest of romance, and instead of being +overcome by the enchantment of its mystery, he walks through it +unfalteringly with a joyful step.... + +He was a minstrel. Offspring of a race, and not the inheritor of a +formula, he narrated to his contemporaries, bewildered by the lyrical +deformities of romanticism, stories of human beings, simple and +logical, like those which formerly delighted our parents. + +The French reader who wished to be amused was at once at home, on the +same footing with him.... More spontaneous than the first troubadours, +he banished from his writings abstract and general types, +"romanticized" life itself, and not myths, those eternal legends that +stray through the highways of the world. + +Study closely these minstrels in recent works; read M. Joseph Bedier's +beautiful work, Les Fabliaux, and you will see how, in Maupassant's +prose, ancestors, whom he doubtless never knew, are brought to life. + +The Minstrel feels neither anger nor sympathy; he neither censures, +nor moralizes; for the self-satisfied Middle Ages cannot conceive the +possibility of a different world. Brief, quick, he despises aims and +methods, his only object is to entertain his auditors. Amusing and +witty, he cares only for laughter and ridicule.... + +But Maupassant's stories are singularly different in character. In the +nineteenth century the Gallic intellect had long since foundered amid +vileness and debauchery. In the provinces the ancient humor had +disappeared; one chattered still about nothing, but without point, +without wit; "trifling" was over, as they call it in Champagne. The +nauseating pabulum of the newspapers and low political intrigue had +withered the French intellect, that delicate, rare intellect, the last +traces of which fade away in the Alsatian stories of Erckman-Chatrian, +in the Provencal tales of Alphonse Daudet, in the novels of Emile +Pouvillon. Maupassant is not one of them. He knows nothing about +humor, for he never found it in Life.... + +His ambition was not to make one laugh; he writes for the pleasure of +recalling, without bias, what, to him, seems a halfway and dangerous +truth.... In his pessimism, Maupassant despises the race, society, +civilization and the world.... + +If Maupassant draws from anyone it is Schopenhauer and Herbert +Spencer, of whom he often speaks, although one does not know if he +studied them very deeply. In all his books, excepting, of course, in +the case of lines from the great tragic poets, one finds only one +credited reference, which in to Sir John Lubbock's work on ants, an +extract from which is introduced into Yvette. + +No one was less bookish than himself. He was a designer, and one of +the greatest in literature. His heroes, little folk, artisans or +rustics, bureaucrats or shopkeepers, prostitutes or rakes, he places +them in faintly colored, but well-defined surroundings. And, +immediately, the simplified landscape gives the keynote of the story. + +In his descriptions he resists the temptation of asserting his +personal view. He will not allow himself to see more of his landscape +than his characters themselves see. He is also careful to avoid all +refined terms and expressions, to introduce no element superior to the +characters of his heroes. + +He never makes inanimate nature intervene directly in human +tribulations; she laughs at our joys and our sorrows.... Once, only, +in one of his works, the trees join in the universal mourning--the +great, sad beeches weep in autumn for the soul, the little soul, of la +petite Roque. + +And yet Maupassant adores this nature, the one thing that moves +him.... But, in spite of this, he can control himself; the artist is +aware of the danger to his narration should he indulge in the +transports of a lover. + +With an inborn perception, Maupassant at once seizes on the principal +detail, the essential peculiarity that distinguishes a character and +builds round it. He also, in the presentation of his character, +assumes an authority that no writer, not even Balzac, ever +equalled.... + +He traces what he sees with rapid strokes. His work is a vast +collection of powerful sketches, synthetic draftings. Like all great +artists, he was a simplifier; he knew how to "sacrifice" like the +Egyptians and Greeks.... + +Thanks to his rapid methods the master "cinematographed," if I may use +the word, inexhaustible stories. Among them, each person may find +himself represented, the artist, the clerk, the thinker, and the +non-commissioned officer. + +Maupassant was always impatient to "realize" his observations. He +might forget, and above all, the flower of the sensation might lose +its perfume. In Une Vie he hastens to sum up his childhood's +recollections. As for Bel Ami, he wrote it from day to day as he +haunted the offices of Editors. + +As for his style, it is limpid, accurate, easy and strongly marked, +with a sound framework and having the suppleness of a living organism. + +Very industrious and very careful at first, Maupassant, in the fever +of production, became less careful. He early accustomed himself to +composing in his mind. "Composition amuses me," he said, "when I am +thinking it out, and not when I am writing it." ... Once he had +thought out his novels or romances, he transcribed them hurriedly, +almost mechanically. In his manuscripts, long pages follow each other +without an erasure. + +His language appears natural, easy, and at first sight seems +spontaneous. But at the price of what effort was it not acquired! ... + +In reality, in the writer, his sense of sight and smell were +perfected, to the detriment of the sense of hearing which is not very +musical. Repetitions, assonances, do not always shock Maupassant, who +is sometimes insensible to quantity as he is to harmony. He does not +"orchestrate," he has not inherited the "organ pipes" of Flaubert. + +In his vocabulary there is no research; he never even requires a rare +word.... + +Those whom Flaubert's great organ tones delighted, those whom +Theophile Gautier's frescoes enchanted, were not satisfied, and +accused Maupassant, somewhat harshly, of not being a "writer" in the +highest sense of the term. The reproach is unmerited, for there is but +one style. + +But, on the other hand, it is difficult to admit, with an eminent +academician that Maupassant must be a great writer, a classical +writer, in fact, simply because he "had no style," a condition of +perfection "in that form of literary art in which the personality of +the author should not appear, in the romance, the story, and the +drama." + +A classic, Maupassant undoubtedly is, as the critic to whom I alluded +has said, "through the simple aptness of his terms and his contempt +for frivolous ornamentation." + +He remains a great writer because, like Moliere, La Bruyere, and La +Fontaine, he is always close to nature, disdaining all studied +rhetorical effect and all literary verbosity. + +For applause and fame Maupassant cared nothing, and his proud contempt +for Orders and Academies is well known. + +In a letter to Marie Bashkirtseff he writes as follows: + +"Everything in life is almost alike to me, men, women, events. This is +my true confession of faith, and I may add what you may not believe, +which is that I do not care any more for myself than I do for the +rest. All is divided into ennui, comedy and misery. I am indifferent +to everything. I pass two-thirds of my time in being terribly bored. I +pass the third portion in writing sentences which I sell as dear as I +can, regretting that I have to ply this abominable trade." + +And in a later letter: + +"I have no taste that I cannot get rid of at my pleasure, not a desire +that I do not scoff at, not a hope that does not make me smile or +laugh. I ask myself why I stir, why I go hither or thither, why I give +myself the odious trouble of earning money, since it does not amuse me +to spend it." + +And again: + +"As for me, I am incapable of really loving my art. I am too critical, +I analyze it too much. I feel strongly how relative is the value of +ideas, words, and even of the loftiest intelligences. I cannot help +despising thought, it is so weak; and form, it is so imperfect. I +really have, in an acute, incurable form, the sense of human +impotence, and of effort which results in wretched approximations." + +For nature, Maupassant had an ardent passion.... His whole being +quivered when she bathed his forehead with her light ocean breeze. +She, alone, knew how to rock and soothe him with her waves. + +Never satisfied, he wished to see her under all aspects, and travelled +incessantly, first in his native province, amid the meadows and waters +of Normandy, then on the banks of the Seine along which he coasted, +bending to the oar. Then Brittany with its beaches, where high waves +rolled in beneath low and dreary skies, then Auvergne, with its +scattered huts amid the sour grass, beneath rocks of basalt; and, +finally, Corsica, Italy, Sicily, not with artistic enthusiasm, but +simply to enjoy the delight of grand, pure outlines. Africa, the +country of Salammbo, the desert, finally call him, and he breathes +those distant odors borne on the slow winds; the sunlight inundates +his body, "laves the dark corners of his soul." And he retains a +troubled memory of the evenings in those warm climes, where the +fragrance of plants and trees seems to take the place of air. + +Maupassant's philosophy is as little complicated as his vision of +humanity. His pessimism exceeds in its simplicity and depth that of +all other realistic writers. + +Still there are contradictions and not unimportant ones in him. The +most striking is certainly his fear of Death. He sees it everywhere, +it haunts him. He sees it on the horizon of landscapes, and it crosses +his path on lonely roads. When it is not hovering over his head, it is +circling round him as around Gustave Moreau's pale youth.... Can he, +the determined materialist, really fear the stupor of eternal sleep, +or the dispersion of the transient individuality? ... + +Another contradiction. He who says that contact with the crowd +"tortures his nerves," and who professes such contempt for mankind, +yet considers solitude as one of the bitterest torments of existence. +And he bewails the fact that he cannot live just for himself, "keep +within himself that secret place of the ego, where none can enter." + +"Alas!" said his master, "we are all in a desert." Nobody understands +anyone else and "whatever we attempt, whatever be the impulse of our +heart and the appeal of our lips, we shall always be alone!" + +In this gehenna of death, in these nostalgias of the past, in these +trances of eternal isolation, may we not find some relinquishing of +his philosophy? Certainly not, for these contradictions accentuate all +the more the pain of existence and become a new source of suffering. + +In any case, Maupassant's pessimism becomes logical in terminating in +pity, like that of Schopenhauer. I know that I am running foul of +certain admirers of the author who do not see any pity in his work, +and it is understood that he is pitiless. But examine his stories more +closely and you will find it revealed in every page, provided you go +to the very bottom of the subject. That is where it exists naturally, +almost against the desire of the writer, who does not arouse pity, nor +teach it. + +And, again, if it remains concealed from so many readers, it is +because it has nothing to do with the humanitarian pity retailed by +rhetoricians. It is philosophical and haughty, detached from any +"anthropocentric" characteristics. It is universal suffering that it +covers. And to tell the truth, it is man, the hypocritical and cunning +biped who has the least share in it. Maupassant is helpful to all +those of his fellows who are tortured by physical suffering, social +cruelty and the criminal dangers of life, but he pities them without +caring for them, and his kindness makes distinctions. + +On the other hand, the pessimist has all the tenderness of a Buddhist +for animals, whom the gospels despise. When he pities the animals, who +are worth more than ourselves, their executioners, when he pities the +elementary existences, the plants and trees, those exquisite +creations, he unbends and pours out his heart. The humbler the victim, +the more generously does he espouse its suffering. His compassion is +unbounded for all that lives in misery, that is buffeted about without +understanding why, that "suffers and dies without a word." And if he +mourned Miss Harriet, in this unaccustomed outburst of enthusiasm, it +is because, like himself, the poor outcast cherished a similar love +for "all things, all living beings." + +Such appears to me to be Maupassant, the novelist, a story-teller, a +writer, and a philosopher by turns. I will add one more trait; he was +devoid of all spirit of criticism. When he essays to demolish a +theory, one is amazed to find in this great, clear writer such lack of +precision of thought, and such weak argument. He wrote the least +eloquent and the most diffuse study of Flaubert, of "that old, dead +master who had won his heart in a manner he could not explain." And, +later, he shows the same weakness in setting forth, as in proving his +theory, in his essay on the "Evolution of the Novel," in the +introduction to Pierre et Jean. + +On the other hand, he possesses, above many others, a power of +creating, hidden and inborn, which he exercises almost unconsciously. +Living, spontaneous and yet impassive he is the glorious agent of a +mysterious function, through which he dominated literature and will +continue to dominate it until the day when he desires to become +literary. + +He is as big as a tree. The author of "Contemporains" has written that +Maupassant produced novels as an apple-tree yields apples. Never was a +criticism more irrefutable. + +On various occasions he was pleased with himself at the fertility that +had developed in him amid those rich soils where a frenzy mounts to +your brain through the senses of smell and sight. He even feels the +influence of the seasons, and writes from Provence: "The sap is rising +in me, it is true. The spring that I find just awakening here stirs +all my plant nature, and causes me to produce those literary fruits +that ripen in me, I know not how." + +The "meteor" is at its apogee. All admire and glorify him. It is the +period when Alexandre Dumas, fils, wrote to him thrice: "You are the +only author whose books I await with impatience." + +The day came, however, when this dominant impassivity became stirred, +when the marble became flesh by contact with life and suffering. And +the work of the romancer, begun by the novelist, became warm with a +tenderness that is found for the first time in Mont Oriol.... + +But this sentimental outburst that astonished his admirers quickly +dies down, for the following year, there appeared the sober Pierre et +Jean, that admirable masterpiece of typical reality constructed with +"human leaven," without any admixture of literary seasoning, or +romantic combinations. The reader finds once more in his splendid +integrity the master of yore. + +But his heart has been touched, nevertheless. In the books that +follow, his impassivity gives way like an edifice that has been slowly +undermined. With an ever-growing emotion he relates under slight +disguises all his physical distress, all the terrors of his mind and +heart. + +What is the secret of this evolution? The perusal of his works gives +us a sufficient insight into it. + +The Minstrel has been received in country houses; has been admitted to +"the ladies' apartments." He has given up composing those hurried +tales which made his fame, in order to construct beautiful romances of +love and death.... The story teller has forsaken rustics and peasants, +the comrades of the "Repues franches," for the nobility and the +wealthy. He who formerly frequented Mme. Tellier's establishment now +praises Michele de Burne. + +Ysolde replaces Macette. In "l'Ostel de Courtoisie," Maupassant +cultivates the usual abstractions of the modern Round Table: +Distinction and Moderation; Fervor and Delicacy. We see him inditing +love sonnets and becoming a knight of chivalry. The apologist of +brutal pleasures has become a devotee of the "culte de la Dame." + +Everywhere he was sought after, feted, petted.... But Maupassant never +let himself be carried away by the tinsel of his prestige, nor the +puerility of his enchantment. He despised at heart the puppets that +moved about him as he had formerly despised his short stories and his +petit bourgeois. "Ah," he cries, "I see them, their heads, their +types, their hearts and their souls! What a clinic for a maker of +books! The disgust with which this humanity inspires me makes me +regret still more that I could not become what I should most have +preferred--an Aristophanes, or a Rabelais." And he adds: "The world +makes failures of all scientists, all artists, all intelligences that +it monopolizes. It aborts all sincere sentiment by its manner of +scattering our taste, our curiosity, our desire, the little spark of +genius that burns in us." + +Maupassant had to bend to the conditions of his new life. Being well +bred, he respected, outwardly at least, the laws of artificiality and +conventionality, and bowed before the idols of the cave he had +entered.... + +If Maupassant never became the slave of worldly ideas, the creature of +instinct that was part of his being acquired the refined tastes of the +salons, and the manners of the highest civilization. + +The novelist lived for some time in these enchanted and artificial +surroundings, when, suddenly, his malady became aggravated. He was +tortured by neuralgia, and by new mysterious darting pains. His +suffering was so great that he longed to scream. At the same time, his +unhappy heart became softened and he became singularly emotional. His +early faculties were intensified and refined, and in the overtension +of his nerves through suffering his perceptions broadened, and he +gained new ideas of things. This nobler personality Maupassant owes to +those sufferings dear to great souls of whom Daudet speaks. This is +what he says: + +"If I could ever tell all, I should utter all the unexplored, +repressed and sad thoughts that I feel in the depths of my being. I +feel them swelling and poisoning me as bile does some people. But if I +could one day give them utterance they would perhaps evaporate, and I +might no longer have anything but a light, joyful heart. Who can say? +Thinking becomes an abominable torture when the brain is an open +wound. I have so many wounds in my head that my ideas cannot stir +without making me long to cry out. Why is it? Why is it? Dumas would +say that my stomach is out of order. I believe, rather, that I have a +poor, proud, shameful heart, that old human heart that people laugh +at, but which is touched, and causes me suffering, and in my head as +well; I have the mind of the Latin race, which is very worn out. And, +again, there are days when I do not think thus, but when I suffer just +the same; for I belong to the family of the thin-skinned. But then I +do not tell it, I do not show it; I conceal it very well, I think. +Without any doubt, I am thought to be one of the most indifferent men +in the world. I am sceptical, which is not the same thing, sceptical +because I am clear-sighted. And my eyes say to my heart, Hide +yourself, old fellow, you are grotesque, and it hides itself." + +This describes, in spite of reservation, the struggle between two +conflicting minds, that of yesterday, and that of to-day. But this +sensitiveness that Maupassant seeks to hide, is plain to all +clear-seeing people. + +He soon begins to be filled with regrets and forebodings. He has a +desire to look into the unknown, and to search for the inexplicable. +He feels in himself that something is undergoing destruction; he is at +times haunted by the idea of a double. He divines that his malady is +on guard, ready to pounce on him. He seeks to escape it, but on the +mountains, as beside the sea, nature, formerly his refuge, now +terrifies him. + +Then his heart expands. All the sentiments that he once reviled, he +now desires to experience. He now exalts in his books the passion of +love, the passion of sacrifice, the passion of suffering; he extols +self-sacrifice, devotion, the irresistible joy of ever giving oneself +up more and more. The hour is late, the night is at hand; weary of +suffering any longer, he hurriedly begs for tenderness and +remembrance. + +Occasionally, the Maupassant of former days protests against the +bondage of his new personality; he complains that he no longer feels +absolutely as formerly that he has no contact with anything in the +world, that sweet, strong sensation that gives one strength. "How +sensible I was," he says, "to wall myself round with indifference! If +one did not feel, but only understand, without giving fragments of +oneself to other beings! ... It is strange to suffer from the +emptiness, the nothingness, of this life, when one is resigned, as I +am, to nothingness. But, there, I cannot live without recollections, +and recollections sadden me. I can have no hope, I know, but I feel +obscurely and unceasingly the harm of this statement, and the regret +that it should be so. And the attachments that I have in life act on +my sensibility, which is too human, and not literary enough." + +Maupassant's pity now takes a pathetic turn. He no longer despises, +but holds out his hand to those unfortunates who, like himself, are +tormented on the pathway without hope. The tears that he sees flow +make him sad, and his heart bleeds at all the wounds he discovers. He +does not inquire into the quality or origin of the misfortune. He +sympathizes with all suffering; physical suffering, moral suffering, +the suffering caused by treachery, the bitter twilight of wasted +lives.... + +His mind has also become active. He desires to dabble in science. One +day he studies the Arab mystics, Oriental legends, and the next, he +studies the marine fauna, etc. His perceptions have never been so +clear. His brain is in continual activity. "It is strange," he +acknowledges, "what a different man I am becoming mentally from what I +was formerly. I can see it as I watch myself thinking, discovering, +and developing stories, weighing and analyzing the imaginary beings +that float through my imagination. I take the same enjoyment in +certain dreams, certain exaltations of mind, as I formerly took in +rowing like mad in the sunlight." + +For the first time, his assurance as a writer wavers. As his last +volumes show, he is endeavoring to transform, to renew himself. He +acquires a desire to learn the secrets of obscure and precious hearts, +to visit unknown races. He has lost his magnificent serenity.... + + * * * * * + +As his malady began to take a more definite form, he turned his steps +towards the south, only visiting Paris to see his physicians and +publishers. In the old port of Antibes beyond the causeway of Cannes, +his yacht, Bel Ami, which he cherished as a brother, lay at anchor and +awaited him. He took it to the white cities of the Genoese Gulf, +towards the palm trees of Hyeres, or the red bay trees of Antheor. + +It was during one of these idle cruises on the open sea, outside of +Agay and Saint-Raphael that he wrote "Sur l'Eau." + +It was on the sacred sea of the old poets and philosophers, on the sea +whose voice has rocked the thought of the world, that he cast into the +shadow that long lament, so heartrending and sublime, that posterity +will long shudder at the remembrance of it. The bitter strophes of +this lament seem to be cadenced by the Mediterranean itself and to be +in rhythm, like its melopoeia. + +"Sur l'Eau" is the last Will and Testament, the general confession of +Maupassant. To those who come after him he leaves the legacy of his +highest thought; then he says farewell to all that he loved, to +dreams, to starlit nights, and to the breath of roses. "Sur l'Eau" is +the book of modern disenchantment, the faithful mirror of the latest +pessimism. The journal written on board ship, disconnected and hasty, +but so noble in its disorder, has taken a place forever beside Werther +and Rene, Manfred and Oberman. + +He had for a long time, to his sorrow, seen his health failing under +the attacks of an obscure malady which left him with a sense of the +diminution of his powers and a gradual clouding of his intellect. +Symptoms of general paralysis set in, at first mistaken for neurotic +disturbances. He changed greatly. Those who met him as I did, thin and +shivering, on that rainy Sunday when they were celebrating the +inauguration of Flaubert's monument at Rouen would scarcely have +recognized him. I shall never forget, as long as I live, his face +wasted by suffering, his large eyes with a distressed expression, +which emitted dying gleams of protest against a cruel fate.... + +Maupassant retired to Cannes not far from his mother. He read medical +books and, in spite of what they taught, persisted in attributing his +sufferings to "rheumatism localized in the brain," contracted amid the +fogs on the Seine.... + +Vainly he endeavored to work, he became gloomy and the idea of suicide +impressed him more and more.... + +The months passed, however, and in June he was able to go to Divonne +to take a cure. After a very characteristic attack of optimism, he +suddenly appeared at Champel and astonished everyone by his frightful +eccentricities. One evening, however, he felt better, and read to the +poet Dorchain the beginning of his novel "The Angelus," which he +declared would be his masterpiece. When he had finished, he wept. "And +we wept also," writes Dorchain, "at seeing all that now remained of +genius, of tenderness and pity in this soul that would never again be +capable of expressing itself so as to impress other minds.... In his +accent, in his language, in his tears, Maupassant had, I know not +what, of a religious character, which exceeded his horror of life, and +his sombre terror of annihilation." + +At the end of September he again visited Cannes, but the fatal day +predicted by the physician was at hand. + +After several tragic weeks in which, from instinct, he made a +desperate fight, on the 1st of January, 1892, he felt he was +hopelessly vanquished, and in a moment of supreme clearness of +intellect, like Gerard de Nerval, he attempted suicide. Less fortunate +than the author of Sylvia, he was unsuccessful. But his mind, +henceforth "indifferent to all unhappiness," had entered into eternal +darkness. + +He was taken back to Paris and placed in Dr. Meuriot's sanatorium, +where, after eighteen months of mechanical existence, the "meteor" +quietly passed away. + + * * * * * + +UNE VIE + +OR, THE HISTORY OF A HEART + + +CHAPTER I + +THE HOME BY THE SEA + +The weather was most distressing. It had rained all night. The roaring +of the overflowing gutters filled the deserted streets, in which the +houses, like sponges, absorbed the humidity, which penetrating to the +interior, made the walls sweat from cellar to garret. Jeanne had left +the convent the day before, free for all time, ready to seize all the +joys of life, of which she had dreamed so long. She was afraid her +father would not set out for the new home in bad weather, and for the +hundredth time since daybreak she examined the horizon. Then she +noticed that she had omitted to put her calendar in her travelling +bag. She took from the wall the little card which bore in golden +figures the date of the current year, 1819. Then she marked with a +pencil the first four columns, drawing a line through the name of each +saint up to the 2d of May, the day that she left the convent. A voice +outside the door called "Jeannette." Jeanne replied, "Come in, papa." +And her father entered. Baron Simon-Jacques Le Perthuis des Vauds was +a gentleman of the last century, eccentric and good. An enthusiastic +disciple of Jean Jacques Rousseau, he had the tenderness of a lover +for nature, in the fields, in the woods and in the animals. Of +aristocratic birth, he hated instinctively the year 1793, but being a +philosopher by temperament and liberal by education, he execrated +tyranny with an inoffensive and declamatory hatred. His great strength +and his great weakness was his kind-heartedness, which had not arms +enough to caress, to give, to embrace; the benevolence of a god, that +gave freely, without questioning; in a word, a kindness of inertia +that became almost a vice. A man of theory, he thought out a plan of +education for his daughter, to the end that she might become happy, +good, upright and gentle. She had lived at home until the age of +twelve, when, despite the tears of her mother, she was placed in the +Convent of the Sacred Heart. He had kept her severely secluded, +cloistered, in ignorance of the secrets of life. He wished the Sisters +to restore her to him pure at seventeen years of age, so that he might +imbue her mind with a sort of rational poetry, and by means of the +fields, in the midst of the fruitful earth, unfold her soul, enlighten +her ignorance through the aspect of love in nature, through the simple +tenderness of the animals, through the placid laws of existence. She +was leaving the convent radiant, full of the joy of life, ready for +all the happiness, all the charming incidents which her mind had +pictured in her idle hours and in the long, quiet nights. She was like +a portrait by Veronese with her fair, glossy hair, which seemed to +cast a radiance on her skin, a skin with the faintest tinge of pink, +softened by a light velvety down which could be perceived when the sun +kissed her cheek. Her eyes were an opaque blue, like those of Dutch +porcelain figures. She had a tiny mole on her left nostril and another +on the right of her chin. She was tall, well developed, with willowy +figure. Her clear voice sounded at times a little too sharp, but her +frank, sincere laugh spread joy around her. Often, with a familiar +gesture, she would raise her hands to her temples as if to arrange her +hair. + +She ran to her father and embraced him warmly. "Well, are we going to +start?" she said. He smiled, shook his head and said, pointing toward +the window, "How can we travel in such weather?" But she implored in a +cajoling and tender manner, "Oh, papa, do let us start. It will clear +up in the afternoon." "But your mother will never consent to it." +"Yes, I promise you that she will, I will arrange that." "If you +succeed in persuading your mother, I am perfectly willing." In a few +moments she returned from her mother's room, shouting in a voice that +could be heard all through the house, "Papa, papa, mamma is willing. +Have the horses harnessed." The rain was not abating; one might almost +have said that it was raining harder when the carriage drove up to the +door. Jeanne was ready to step in when the baroness came downstairs, +supported on one side by her husband and on the other by a tall +housemaid, strong and strapping as a boy. She was a Norman woman of +the country of Caux, who looked at least twenty, although she was but +eighteen at the most. She was treated by the family as a second +daughter, for she was Jeanne's foster sister. Her name was Rosalie, +and her chief duty lay in guiding the steps of her mistress, who had +grown enormous in the last few years and also had an affection of the +heart, which kept her complaining continually. The baroness, gasping +from over-exertion, finally reached the doorstep of the old residence, +looked at the court where the water was streaming and remarked: "It +really is not wise." Her husband, always pleasant, replied: "It was +you who desired it, Madame Adelaide." He always preceded her pompous +name of Adelaide with the title madame with an air of half respectful +mockery. Madame mounted with difficulty into the carriage, causing all +the springs to bend. The baron sat beside her, while Jeanne and +Rosalie were seated opposite, with their backs to the horses. +Ludivine, the cook, brought a heap of wraps to put over their knees +and two baskets, which were placed under the seats; then she climbed +on the box beside Father Simon, wrapping herself in a great rug which +covered her completely. The porter and his wife came to bid them +good-by as they closed the carriage door, taking the last orders about +the trunks, which were to follow in a wagon. So they started. Father +Simon, the coachman, with head bowed and back bent in the pouring +rain, was completely covered by his box coat with its triple cape. The +howling storm beat upon the carriage windows and inundated the +highway. + +They drove rapidly to the wharf and continued alongside the line of +tall-masted vessels until they reached the boulevard of Mont Riboudet. +Then they crossed the meadows, where from time to time a drowned +willow, its branches drooping limply, could be faintly distinguished +through the mist of rain. No one spoke. Their minds themselves seemed +to be saturated with moisture like the earth. + +The baroness leaned her head against the cushions and closed her eyes. +The baron looked out with mournful eyes at the monotonous and drenched +landscape. Rosalie, with a parcel on her knee, was dreaming in the +dull reverie of a peasant. But Jeanne, under this downpour, felt +herself revive like a plant that has been shut up and has just been +restored to the air, and so great was her joy that, like foliage, it +sheltered her heart from sadness. Although she did not speak, she +longed to burst out singing, to reach out her hands to catch the rain +that she might drink it. She enjoyed to the full being carried along +rapidly by the horses, enjoyed gazing at the desolate landscape and +feeling herself under shelter amid this general inundation. Beneath +the pelting rain the gleaming backs of the two horses emitted a warm +steam. + +Little by little the baroness fell asleep, and presently began to +snore sonorously. Her husband leaned over and placed in her hands a +little leather pocketbook. + +This awakened her, and she looked at the pocket-book with the stupid, +sleepy look of one suddenly aroused. It fell off her lap and sprang +open and gold and bank bills were scattered on the floor of the +carriage. This roused her completely, and Jeanne gave vent to her +mirth in a merry peal of girlish laughter. + +The baron picked up the money and placed it on her knees. "This, my +dear," he said, "is all that is left of my farm at Eletot. I have sold +it--so as to be able to repair the 'Poplars,' where we shall often +live in the future." + +She counted six thousand four hundred francs and quietly put them in +her pocket. This was the ninth of thirty-one farms that they had +inherited which they had sold in this way. Nevertheless they still +possessed about twenty thousand livres income annually in land +rentals, which, with proper care, would have yielded about thirty +thousand francs a year. + +Living simply as they did, this income would have sufficed had there +not been a bottomless hole always open in their house--kind-hearted +generosity. It dried up the money in their hands as the sun dries the +water in marshes. It flowed, fled, disappeared. How? No one knew. +Frequently one would say to the other, "I don't know how it happens, +but I have spent one hundred francs to-day, and I have bought nothing +of any consequence." This faculty of giving was, however, one of the +greatest pleasures of their life, and they all agreed on this point in +a superb and touching manner. + +Jeanne asked her father, "Is it beautiful now, my castle?" The baron +replied, "You shall see, my little girl." + +The storm began to abate. The vault of clouds seemed to rise and +heighten and suddenly, through a rift, a long ray of sunshine fell +upon the fields, and presently the clouds separated, showing the blue +firmament, and then, like the tearing of a veil, the opening grew +larger and the beautiful azure sky, clear and fathomless, spread over +the world. A fresh and gentle breeze passed over the earth like a +happy sigh, and as they passed beside gardens or woods they heard +occasionally the bright chirp of a bird as he dried his wings. + +Evening was approaching. Everyone in the carriage was asleep except +Jeanne. They stopped to rest and feed the horses. The sun had set. In +the distance bells were heard. They passed a little village as the +inhabitants were lighting their lamps, and the sky became also +illuminated by myriads of stars. Suddenly they saw behind a hill, +through the branches of the fir trees, the moon rising, red and full +as if it were torpid with sleep. + +The air was so soft that the windows were not closed. Jeanne, +exhausted with dreams and happy visions, was now asleep. Finally they +stopped. Some men and women were standing before the carriage door +with lanterns in their hands. They had arrived. Jeanne, suddenly +awakened, was the first to jump out. Her father and Rosalie had +practically to carry the baroness, who was groaning and continually +repeating in a weak little voice, "Oh, my God, my poor children!" She +refused all offers of refreshment, but went to bed and immediately +fell asleep. + +Jeanne and her father, the baron, took supper together. They were in +perfect sympathy with each other. Later, seized with a childish joy, +they started on a tour of inspection through the restored manor. It +was one of those high and vast Norman residences that comprise both +farmhouse and castle, built of white stone which had turned gray, +large enough to contain a whole race of people. + +An immense hall divided the house from front to rear and a staircase +went up at either side of the entrance, meeting in a bridge on the +first floor. The huge drawing-room was on the ground floor to the +right and was hung with tapestries representing birds and foliage. All +the furniture was covered with fine needlework tapestry illustrating +La Fontaine's fables, and Jeanne was delighted at finding a chair she +had loved as a child, which pictured the story of "The Fox and the +Stork." + +Beside the drawing-room were the library, full of old books, and two +unused rooms; at the left was the dining-room, the laundry, the +kitchen, etc. + +A corridor divided the whole first floor, the doors of ten rooms +opening into it. At the end, on the right, was Jeanne's room. She and +her father went in. He had had it all newly done over, using the +furniture and draperies that had been in the storeroom. + +There were some very old Flemish tapestries, with their peculiar +looking figures. At sight of her bed, the young girl uttered a scream +of joy. Four large birds carved in oak, black from age and highly +polished, bore up the bed and seemed to be its protectors. On the +sides were carved two wide garlands of flowers and fruit, and four +finely fluted columns, terminating in Corinthian capitals, supported a +cornice of cupids with roses intertwined. The tester and the coverlet +were of antique blue silk, embroidered in gold fleur de lys. When +Jeanne had sufficiently admired it, she lifted up the candle to +examine the tapestries and the allegories they represented. They were +mostly conventional subjects, but the last hanging represented a +drama. Near a rabbit, which was still nibbling, a young man lay +stretched out, apparently dead. A young girl, gazing at him, was +plunging a sword into her bosom, and the fruit of the tree had turned +black. Jeanne gave up trying to divine the meaning underlying this +picture, when she saw in the corner a tiny little animal which the +rabbit, had he lived, could have swallowed like a blade of grass; and +yet it was a lion. Then she recognized the story of "Pyramus and +Thisbe," and though she smiled at the simplicity of the design, she +felt happy to have in her room this love adventure which would +continually speak to her of her cherished hopes, and every night this +legendary love would hover about her dreams. + +It struck eleven and the baron kissed Jeanne goodnight and retired to +his room. Before retiring, Jeanne cast a last glance round her room +and then regretfully extinguished the candle. Through her window she +could see the bright moonlight bathing the trees and the wonderful +landscape. Presently she arose, opened a window and looked out. The +night was so clear that one could see as plainly as by daylight. She +looked across the park with its two long avenues of very tall poplars +that gave its name to the chateau and separated it from the two farms +that belonged to it, one occupied by the Couillard family, the other +by the Martins. Beyond the enclosure stretched a long, uncultivated +plain, thickly overgrown with rushes, where the breeze whistled day +and night. The land ended abruptly in a steep white cliff three +hundred feet high, with its base in the ocean waves. + +Jeanne looked out over the long, undulating surface that seemed to +slumber beneath the heavens. All the fragrance of the earth was in the +night air. The odor of jasmine rose from the lower windows, and light +whiffs of briny air and of seaweed were wafted from the ocean. + +Merely to breathe was enough for Jeanne, and the restful calm of the +country was like a soothing bath. She felt as though her heart was +expanding and she began dreaming of love. What was it? She did not +know. She only knew that she would adore _him_ with all her soul +and that he would cherish her with all his strength. They would walk +hand in hand on nights like this, hearing the beating of their hearts, +mingling their love with the sweet simplicity of the summer nights in +such close communion of thought that by the sole power of their +tenderness they would easily penetrate each other's most secret +thoughts. This would continue forever in the calm of an enduring +affection. It seemed to her that she felt _him_ there beside her. +And an unusual sensation came over her. She remained long musing thus, +when suddenly she thought she heard a footstep behind the house. "If +it were _he_." But it passed on and she felt as if she had been +deceived. The air became cooler. The day broke. Slowly bursting aside +the gleaming clouds, touching with fire the trees, the plains, the +ocean, all the horizon, the great flaming orb of the sun appeared. + +Jeanne felt herself becoming mad with happiness. A delirious joy, +an infinite tenderness at the splendor of nature overcame her +fluttering heart. It was _her_ sun, _her_ dawn! The beginning +of _her_ life! Thoroughly fatigued at last, she flung herself down +and slept till her father called her at eight o'clock. He walked into +the room and proposed to show her the improvements of the castle, of +_her_ castle. The road, called the parish road, connecting the +farms, joined the high road between Havre and Fecamp, a mile and a +half further on. + +Jeanne and the baron inspected everything and returned home for +breakfast. When the meal was over, as the baroness had decided that +she would rest, the baron proposed to Jeanne that they should go down +to Yport. They started, and passing through the hamlet of Etouvent, +where the poplars were, and going through the wooded slope by a +winding valley leading down to the sea, they presently perceived the +village of Yport. Women sat in their doorways mending linen; brown +fish-nets were hanging against the doors of the huts, where an entire +family lived in one room. It was a typical little French fishing +village, with all its concomitant odors. To Jeanne it was all like a +scene in a play. On turning a corner they saw before them the +limitless blue ocean. They bought a brill from a fisherman and another +sailor offered to take them out sailing, repeating his name, +"Lastique, Josephin Lastique," several times, that they might not +forget it, and the baron promised to remember. They walked home, +chattering like two children, carrying the big fish between them, +Jeanne having pushed her father's walking cane through its gills. + + * * * * * + +CHAPTER II + +HAPPY DAYS + +A delightful life commenced for Jeanne, a life in the open air. She +wandered along the roads, or into the little winding valleys, their +sides covered with a fleece of gorse blossoms, the strong sweet odor +of which intoxicated her like the bouquet of wine, while the distant +sound of the waves rolling on the beach seemed like a billow rocking +her spirit. + +A love of solitude came upon her in the sweet freshness of this +landscape and in the calm of the rounded horizon, and she would remain +sitting so long on the hill tops that the wild rabbits would bound by +her feet. + +She planted memories everywhere, as seeds are cast upon the earth, +memories whose roots hold till death. It seemed to Jeanne that she was +casting a little of her heart into every fold of these valleys. She +became infatuated with sea bathing. When she was well out from shore, +she would float on her back, her arms crossed, her eyes lost in the +profound blue of the sky which was cleft by the flight of a swallow, +or the white silhouette of a seabird. + +After these excursions she invariably came back to the castle pale +with hunger, but light, alert, a smile on her lips and her eyes +sparkling with happiness. + +The baron on his part was planning great agricultural enterprises. +Occasionally, also, he went out to sea with the sailors of Yport. On +several occasions he went fishing for mackerel and, again, by +moonlight, he would haul in the nets laid the night before. He loved +to hear the masts creak, to breathe in the fresh and whistling gusts +of wind that arose during the night; and after having tacked a long +time to find the buoys, guiding himself by a peak of rocks, the roof +of a belfry or the Fecamp lighthouse, he delighted to remain +motionless beneath the first gleams of the rising sun which made the +slimy backs of the large fan-shaped rays and the fat bellies of the +turbots glisten on the deck of the boat. + +At each meal he gave an enthusiastic account of his expeditions, and +the baroness in her turn told how many times she had walked down the +main avenue of poplars. + +As she had been advised to take exercise she made a business of +walking, beginning as soon as the air grew warm. Leaning upon +Rosalie's arm and dragging her left foot, which was rather heavier +than the right, she wandered interminably up and down from the house +to the edge of the wood, sitting down for five minutes at either end. +The walking was resumed in the afternoon. A physician, consulted ten +years before, had spoken of hypertrophy because she had suffered from +suffocation. Ever since, this word had been used to describe the +ailment of the baroness. The baron would say "my wife's hypertrophy" +and Jeanne "mamma's hypertrophy" as they would have spoken of her hat, +her dress, or her umbrella. She had been very pretty in her youth and +slim as a reed. Now she had grown older, stouter, but she still +remained poetical, having always retained the impression of "Corinne," +which she had read as a girl. She read all the sentimental love +stories it was possible to collect, and her thoughts wandered among +tender adventures in which she always figured as the heroine. Her new +home was infinitely pleasing to her because it formed such a beautiful +framework for the romance of her soul, the surrounding woods, the +waste land, and the proximity of the ocean recalling to her mind the +novels of Sir Walter Scott, which she had been devouring for some +months. On rainy days she remained shut up in her room, sending +Rosalie in a special manner for the drawer containing her "souvenirs," +which meant to the baroness all her old private and family letters. + +Occasionally, Jeanne replaced Rosalie in the walks with her mother, +and she listened eagerly to the tales of the latter's childhood. The +young girl saw herself in all these romantic stories, and was +astonished at the similarity of ideas and desires; each heart imagines +itself to have been the first to tremble at those very sensations that +awakened the hearts of the first beings, and that will awaken the +hearts of the last. + +One afternoon as the baroness and Jeanne were resting on the beach at +the end of the walk, a stout priest who was moving in their direction +greeted them with a bow, while still at a distance. He bowed when +within three feet and, assuming a smiling air, cried: "Well, Madame la +Baronne, how are you?" It was the village priest. The baroness seldom +went to church, though she liked priests, from a sort of religious +instinct peculiar to women. She had, in fact, entirely forgotten the +Abbe Picot, her priest, and blushed as she saw him. She made apologies +for not having prepared for his visit, but the good man was not at all +embarrassed. He looked at Jeanne, complimented her on her appearance +and sat down, placing his three-cornered hat on his knees. He was very +stout, very red, and perspired profusely. He drew from his pocket +every moment an enormous checked handkerchief and passed it over his +face and neck, but hardly was the task completed when necessity forced +him to repeat the process. He was a typical country priest, talkative +and kindly. + +Presently the baron appeared. He was very friendly to the abbe and +invited him to dinner. The priest was well versed in the art of being +pleasant, thanks to the unconscious astuteness which the guiding of +souls gives to the most mediocre of men who are called by the chance +of events to exercise a power over their fellows. Toward dessert he +became quite merry, with the gaiety that follows a pleasant meal, and +as if struck by an idea he said: "I have a new parishioner whom I must +present to you, Monsieur le Vicomte de Lamare." The baroness, who was +at home in heraldry, inquired if he was of the family of Lamares of +Eure. The priest answered, "Yes, madame, he is the son of Vicomte Jean +de Lamare, who died last year." After this, the baroness, who loved +the nobility above all other things, inquired the history of the young +vicomte. He had paid his father's debts, sold the family castle, made +his home on one of the three farms which he owned in the town of +Etouvent. These estates brought him in an income of five or six +thousand livres. The vicomte was economical and lived in this modest +manner for two or three years, so that he might save enough to cut a +figure in society, and to marry advantageously, without contracting +debts or mortgaging his farms. The priest added, "He is a very +charming young man, so steady and quiet, though there is very little +to amuse him in the country." The baron said, "Bring him in to see us, +Monsieur l'Abbe, it will be a distraction for him occasionally." After +the coffee the baron and the priest took a turn about the grounds and +then returned to say good-night to the ladies. + + * * * * * + +CHAPTER III + +M. DE LAMARE + +The following Sunday the baroness and Jeanne went to mass, prompted by +a feeling of respect for their pastor, and after service waited to see +the priest and invite him to luncheon the following Thursday. He came +out of the sacristy leaning familiarly on the arm of a tall young man. +As soon as he perceived the ladies, he exclaimed: + +"How fortunate! Allow me, baroness and Mlle. Jeanne, to present to you +your neighbor, M. le Vicomte de Lamare." + +The vicomte said he had long desired to make their acquaintance, and +began to converse in a well-bred manner. He had a face of which women +dream and that men dislike. His black, wavy hair shaded a smooth, +sunburnt forehead, and two large straight eyebrows, that looked almost +artificial, cast a deep and tender shadow over his dark eyes, the +whites of which had a bluish tinge. + +His long, thick eyelashes accentuated the passionate eloquence of his +expression which wrought havoc in the drawing-rooms of society, and +made peasant girls carrying baskets turn round to look at him. The +languorous fascination of his glance impressed one with the depth of +his thoughts and lent weight to his slightest words. His beard, fine +and glossy, concealed a somewhat heavy jaw. + +Two days later, M. de Lamare made his first call, just as they were +discussing the best place for a new rustic bench. The vicomte was +consulted and agreed with the baroness, who differed from her husband. + +M. de Lamare expatiated on the picturesqueness of the country and from +time to time, as if by chance, his eyes met those of Jeanne, and she +felt a strange sensation at the quickly averted glance which betrayed +tender admiration and an awakened sympathy. + +M. de Lamare's father, who had died the preceding year, had known an +intimate friend of the baroness's father, M. Cultaux, and this fact +led to an endless conversation about family, relations, dates, etc., +and names heard in her childhood were recalled, and led to +reminiscences. + +The baron, whose nature was rather uncultivated, and whose beliefs and +prejudices were not those of his class, knew little about the +neighboring families, and inquired about them from the vicomte, who +responded: + +"Oh, there are very few of the nobility in the district," just as he +might have said, "there are very few rabbits on the hills," and he +began to particularize: There was the Marquis de Coutelier, a sort of +leader of Norman aristocracy, Vicomte and Vicomtesse de Briseville, +people of excellent stock, but living to themselves, and the Comte de +Fourville, a kind of ogre, who was said to have made his wife die of +sorrow, and who lived as a huntsman in his chateau of La Vrillette, +built on a pond. There were a few parvenus among them who had bought +properties here and there, but the vicomte did not know them. + +As he left, his last glance was for Jeanne, as if it were a special +tender and cordial farewell. The baroness was delighted with him, and +the baron said: "Yes, indeed, he is a gentleman." And he was invited +to dinner the following week, and from that time came regularly. + +He generally arrived about four o'clock in the afternoon, went to join +the baroness in "her avenue," and offered her his arm while she took +her "exercise," as she called her daily walks. When Jeanne was at home +she would walk on the other side of her mother, supporting her, and +all three would walk slowly back and forth from one end of the avenue +to the other. He seldom addressed Jeanne directly, but his eye +frequently met hers. + +He went to Yport several times with Jeanne and the baron. One evening, +when they were on the beach, Pere Lastique accosted him, and without +removing his pipe, the absence of which would possibly have been more +remarkable than the loss of his nose, he said: + +"With this wind, m'sieu le baron, we could easily go to Etretat and +back to-morrow." + +Jeanne clasped her hands imploringly: + +"Oh, papa, let us do it!" + +The baron turned to M. de Lamare: + +"Will you join us, vicomte? We can take breakfast down there." + +And the matter was decided at once. From daybreak Jeanne was up and +waiting for her father, who dressed more slowly. They walked in the +dew across the level and then through the wood vibrant with the +singing of birds. The vicomte and Pere Lastique were seated on a +capstan. + +Two other sailors helped to shove off the boat from shore, which was +not easy on the shingly beach. Once the boat was afloat, they all took +their seats, and the two sailors who remained on shore shoved it off. +A light, steady breeze was blowing from the ocean and they hoisted the +sail, veered a little, and then sailed along smoothly with scarcely +any motion. To landward the high cliff at the right cast a shadow on +the water at its base, and patches of sunlit grass here and there +varied its monotonous whiteness. Yonder, behind them, brown sails were +coming out of the white harbor of Fecamp, and ahead of them they saw a +rock of curious shape, rounded, with gaps in it looking something like +an immense elephant with its trunk in the water; it was the little +port of Etretat. + +Jeanne, a little dizzy from the motion of the waves, held the side of +the boat with one hand as she looked out into the distance. It seemed +to her as if only three things in the world were really beautiful: +light, space, water. + +No one spoke. Pere Lastique, who was at the tiller, took a pull every +now and then from a bottle hidden under the seat; and he smoked a +short pipe which seemed inextinguishable, although he never seemed to +relight it or refill it. + +The baron, seated in the bow looked after the sail. Jeanne and the +vicomte seemed a little embarrassed at being seated side by side. Some +unknown power seemed to make their glances meet whenever they raised +their eyes; between them there existed already that subtle and vague +sympathy which arises so rapidly between two young people when the +young man is good looking and the girl is pretty. They were happy in +each other's society, perhaps because they were thinking of each +other. The rising sun was beginning to pierce through the slight mist, +and as its beams grew stronger, they were reflected on the smooth +surface of the sea as in a mirror. + +"How beautiful!" murmured Jeanne, with emotion. + +"Beautiful indeed!" answered the vicomte. The serene beauty of the +morning awakened an echo in their hearts. + +And all at once they saw the great arches of Etretat, like two +supports of a cliff standing in the sea high enough for vessels to +pass under them; while a sharp-pointed white rock rose in front of the +first arch. They reached shore, and the baron got out first to make +fast the boat, while the vicomte lifted Jeanne ashore so that she +should not wet her feet. Then they walked up the shingly beach side by +side, and they overheard Pere Lastique say to the baron, "My! but they +would make a pretty couple!" + +They took breakfast in a little inn near the beach, and while the +ocean had lulled their thoughts and made them silent, the breakfast +table had the opposite effect, and they chattered like children on a +vacation. The slightest thing gave rise to laughter. + +Pere Lastique, on taking his place at table, carefully hid his lighted +pipe in his cap. That made them laugh. A fly, attracted no doubt by +his red nose, persistently alighted on it, and each time it did so +they burst into laughter. Finally the old man could stand it no +longer, and murmured: "It is devilishly persistent!" whereupon Jeanne +and the vicomte laughed till they cried. + +After breakfast Jeanne suggested that they should take a walk. The +vicomte rose, but the baron preferred to bask in the sun on the beach. + +"Go on, my children, you will find me here in an hour." + +They walked straight ahead of them, passing by several cottages and +finally by a small chateau resembling a large farm, and found +themselves in an open valley that extended for some distance. They now +had a wild longing to run at large in the fields. Jeanne seemed to +have a humming in her ears from all the new and rapidly changing +sensations she had experienced. The burning rays of the sun fell on +them. On both sides of the road the crops were bending over from the +heat. The grasshoppers, as numerous as the blades of grass, were +uttering their thin, shrill cry. + +Perceiving a wood a little further on to the right, they walked over +to it. They saw a narrow path between two hedges shaded by tall trees +which shut out the sun. A sort of moist freshness in the air was +perceptible, giving them a sensation of chilliness. There was no +grass, owing to the lack of sunlight, but the ground was covered with +a carpet of moss. + +"See, we can sit down there a little while," she said. + +They sat down and looked about them at the numerous forms of life that +were in the air and on the ground at their feet, for a ray of sunlight +penetrating the dense foliage brought them into its light. + +"How beautiful it is here! How lovely it is in the country! There are +moments when I should like to be a fly or a butterfly and hide in the +flowers," said Jeanne with emotion. + +They spoke in low tones as one does in exchanging confidences, telling +of their daily lives and of their tastes, and declaring that they were +already disgusted with the world, tired of its useless monotony; it +was always the same thing; there was no truth, no sincerity in it. + +The world! She would gladly have made its acquaintance; but she felt +convinced beforehand that it was not equal to a country life, and the +more their hearts seemed to be in sympathy, the more ceremonious they +became, the more frequently their glances met and blended smiling; and +it seemed that a new feeling of benevolence was awakened in them, a +wider affection, an interest in a thousand things of which they had +never hitherto thought. + +They wended their way back, but the baron had already set off on foot +for the Chambre aux Demoiselles, a grotto in a cleft at the summit of +one of the cliffs, and they waited for him at the inn. He did not +return until five in the evening after a long walk along the cliffs. + +They got into the boat, started off smoothly with the wind at their +backs, scarcely seeming to make any headway. The breeze was irregular, +at one moment filling the sail and then letting it flap idly along the +mast. The sea seemed opaque and lifeless, and the sun was slowly +approaching the horizon. The lulling motion of the sea had made them +silent again. Presently Jeanne said, "How I should love to travel!" + +"Yes, but it is tiresome to travel alone; there should be at least +two, to exchange ideas," answered the vicomte. She reflected a moment. + +"That is true--I like to walk alone, however--how pleasant it is to +dream all alone----" + +He gazed at her intently. + +"Two can dream as well as one." + +She lowered her eyes. Was it a hint? Possibly. She looked out at the +horizon as if to discover something beyond it, and then said slowly: + +"I should like to go to Italy--and Greece--ah, yes, Greece--and to +Corsica--it must be so wild and so beautiful!" + +He preferred Switzerland on account of its chalets and its lakes. + +"No," said she, "I like new countries like Corsica, or very old +countries full of souvenirs, like Greece. It must be delightful to +find the traces of those peoples whose history we have known since +childhood, to see places where great deeds were accomplished." + +The vicomte, less enthusiastic, exclaimed: "As for me, England +attracts me very much; there is so much to be learned there." + +Then they talked about the world in general, discussing the +attractions of each country from the poles to the equator, enthusing +over imaginary scenes and the peculiar manners of certain peoples like +the Chinese and the Lapps; but they arrived at the conclusion that the +most beautiful country in the world was France, with its temperate +climate, cool in summer, mild in winter, its rich soil, its green +forests, its worship of the fine arts which existed nowhere else since +the glorious centuries of Athens. Then they were silent. The setting +sun left a wide dazzling train of light which extended from the +horizon to the edge of their boat. The wind subsided, the ripples +disappeared, and the motionless sail was red in the light of the dying +day. A limitless calm seemed to settle down on space and make a +silence amid this conjunction of elements; and by degrees the sun +slowly sank into the ocean. + +Then a fresh breeze seemed to arise, a little shiver went over the +surface of the water, as if the engulfed orb cast a sigh of +satisfaction across the world. The twilight was short, night fell with +its myriad stars. Pere Lastique took the oars, and they saw that the +sea was phosphorescent. Jeanne and the vicomte, side by side, watched +the fitful gleams in the wake of the boat. They were hardly thinking, +but simply gazing vaguely, breathing in the beauty of the evening in a +state of delicious contentment; Jeanne had one hand on the seat and +her neighbor's finger touched it as if by accident; she did not move; +she was surprised, happy, though embarrassed at this slight contact. + +When she reached home that evening and went to her room, she felt +strangely disturbed, and so affected that the slightest thing impelled +her to weep. She looked at her clock, imagining that the little bee on +the pendulum was beating like a heart, the heart of a friend; that it +was aware of her whole life, that with its quick, regular tickings it +would accompany her whole life; and she stopped the golden fly to +press a kiss on its wings. She would have kissed anything, no matter +what. She remembered having hidden one of her old dolls of former days +at the bottom of a drawer; she looked for it, took it out, and was +delighted to see it again, as people are to see loved friends; and +pressing it to her heart, she covered its painted cheeks and curly wig +with kisses. And as she held it in her arms, she thought: + +Can _he_ be the husband promised through a thousand secret +voices, whom a superlatively good Providence had thus thrown across +her path? Was he, indeed, the being created for her--the being to whom +she would devote her existence? Were they the two predestined beings +whose affection, blending in one, would beget love? + +She did not as yet feel that tumultuous emotion, that mad enchantment, +those deep stirrings which she thought were essential to the tender +passion; but it seemed to her she was beginning to fall in love, for +she sometimes felt a sudden faintness when she thought of him, and she +thought of him incessantly. His presence stirred her heart; she +blushed and grew pale when their eyes met, and trembled at the sound +of his voice. + +From day to day the longing for love increased. She consulted the +marguerites, the clouds, and coins which she tossed in the air. + +One day her father said to her: + +"Make yourself look pretty to-morrow morning." + +"Why, papa?" + +"That is a secret," he replied. + +And when she came downstairs the following morning, looking fresh and +sweet in a pretty light dress, she found the drawing-room table +covered with boxes of bonbons, and on a chair an immense bouquet. + +A covered wagon drove into the courtyard bearing the inscription, +"Lerat, Confectioner, Fecamp; Wedding Breakfasts," and from the back +of the wagon Ludivine and a kitchen helper were taking out large flat +baskets which emitted an appetizing odor. + +The Vicomte de Lamare appeared on the scene, his trousers were +strapped down under his dainty boots of patent leather, which made his +feet appear smaller. His long frock coat, tight at the waist line, was +open at the bosom showing the lace of his ruffle, and a fine neckcloth +wound several times round his neck obliged him to hold erect his +handsome brown head, with its air of serious distinction. Jeanne, in +astonishment, looked at him as though she had never seen him before. +She thought he looked the grand seigneur from his head to his feet. + +He bowed and said, smiling: + +"Well, comrade, are you ready?" + +"But what is it? What is going on?" she stammered. + +"You will know presently," said the baron. + +The carriage drove up to the door, and Madame Adelaide, in festal +array, descended the staircase, leaning on the arm of Rosalie, who was +so much affected at the sight of M. de Lamare's elegant appearance +that the baron whispered: + +"I say, vicomte, I think our maid admires you." + +The vicomte blushed up to his ears, pretended not to have heard and, +taking up the enormous bouquet, handed it to Jeanne. She accepted it, +more astonished than ever. They all four got into the carriage, and +Ludivine, who brought a cup of bouillon to the baroness to sustain her +strength, said: "Truly, madame, one would say it was a wedding!" + +They alighted as soon as they entered Yport, and as they walked +through the village the sailors, in their new clothes, still showing +the creases, came out of their homes, and shaking hands with the +baron, followed the party as if it were a procession. The vicomte, who +had offered his arm to Jeanne, walked with her at the head. + +When they reached the church they stopped, and an acolyte appeared +holding upright the large silver crucifix, followed by another boy in +red and white, who bore a chalice containing holy water. + +Then came three old cantors, one of them limping; then the trumpet +("serpent"), and last, the cure with his gold embroidered stole. He +smiled and nodded a greeting; then, with his eyes half closed, his +lips moving in prayer, his beretta well over his forehead, he followed +his surpliced bodyguard, walking in the direction of the sea. + +On the beach a crowd was standing around a new boat wreathed with +flowers. Its mast, sail and ropes were covered with long streamers of +ribbon that floated in the breeze, and the name, "Jeanne," was painted +in gold letters on the stern. + +Pere Lastique, the proprietor of this boat, built with the baron's +money, advanced to meet the procession. All the men, simultaneously, +took off their hats, and a row of pious persons wearing long black +cloaks falling in large folds from their shoulders, knelt down in a +circle at sight of the crucifix. + +The cure walked, with an acolyte on either side of him, to one end of +the boat, while at the other end, the three old cantors, in their +white surplices, with a serious air and their eyes fixed on the +psalter, sang at the top of their voices in the clear morning air. +Each time they stopped to take breath, the "serpent" continued its +bellowing alone, and as he puffed out his cheeks the musician's little +gray eyes disappeared, and the skin of his forehead and neck seemed to +distend. + +The motionless, transparent sea seemed to be taking part meditatively +in the baptism of this boat, rolling its tiny waves, no higher than a +finger, with the faint sound of a rake on the shingle. And the big +white gulls, with their wings unfurled, circled about in the blue +heavens, flying off and then coming back in a curve above the heads of +the kneeling crowd, as if to see what they were doing. + +The singing ceased after an Amen that lasted five minutes; and the +priest, in an unctuous voice, murmured some Latin words, of which one +could hear only the sonorous endings. He then walked round the boat, +sprinkling it with holy water, and next began to murmur the "Oremus," +standing alongside the boat opposite the sponsors, who remained +motionless, hand in hand. + +The vicomte had the usual grave expression on his handsome face, but +Jeanne, choking with a sudden emotion, and on the verge of fainting, +began to tremble so violently that her teeth chattered. The dream that +had haunted her for some time was suddenly beginning, as if in a kind +of hallucination, to take the appearance of reality. They had spoken +of a wedding, a priest was present, blessing them; men in surplices +were singing psalms; was it not she whom they were giving in marriage? + +Did her fingers send out an electric shock, did the emotion of her +heart follow the course of her veins until it reached the heart of her +companion? Did he understand, did he guess, was he, like herself, +pervaded by a sort of intoxication of love? Or else, did he know by +experience, alone, that no woman could resist him? She suddenly +noticed that he was squeezing her hand, gently at first, and then +tighter, tighter, till he almost crushed it. And without moving a +muscle of his face, without anyone perceiving it, he said--yes, he +certainly said: + +"Oh, Jeanne, if you would consent, this would be our betrothal." + +She lowered her head very slowly, perhaps meaning it for "yes." And +the priest, who was still sprinkling the holy water, sprinkled some on +their fingers. + +The ceremony was over. The women rose. The return was unceremonious. +The crucifix had lost its dignity in the hands of the acolyte, who +walked rapidly, the crucifix swaying to right and left, or bending +forward as though it would fall. The priest, who was not praying now, +walked hurriedly behind them; the cantors and the musician with the +"serpent" had disappeared by a narrow street, so as to get off their +surplices without delay; and the sailors hurried along in groups. One +thought prompted their haste, and made their mouths water. + +A good breakfast was awaiting them at "The Poplars." + +The large table was set in the courtyard, under the apple trees. + +Sixty people sat down to table, sailors and peasants. The baroness in +the middle, with a priest at either side of her, one from Yport, and +the other belonging to "The Poplars." The baron seated opposite her on +the other side of the table, the mayor on one side of him, and his +wife, a thin peasant woman, already aging, who kept smiling and bowing +to all around her, on the other. + +Jeanne, seated beside her co-sponsor, was in a sea of happiness. She +saw nothing, knew nothing, and remained silent, her mind bewildered +with joy. Presently she said: + +"What is your Christian name?" + +"Julien," he replied. "Did you not know?" + +But she made no reply, thinking to herself: + +"How often I shall repeat that name!" + +When the feast was over, the courtyard was given up to the sailors, +and the others went over to the other side of the chateau. The +baroness began to take her exercise, leaning on the arm of the baron +and accompanied by the two priests. Jeanne and Julien went toward the +wood and walked along one of the mossy paths. Suddenly seizing her +hands, the vicomte said: + +"Tell me, will you be my wife?" + +She lowered her head, and as he stammered: "Answer me, I implore you!" +she raised her eyes to his timidly, and he read his answer there. + + * * * * * + +CHAPTER IV + +MARRIAGE AND DISILLUSION + +The baron, one morning, entered Jeanne's room before she was up, and +sitting down at the foot of her bed, said: + +"M. le Vicomte de Lamare has asked us for your hand in marriage." + +She wanted to hide her face under the sheets. + +Her father continued: + +"We have postponed our answer for the present." + +She gasped, choking with emotion. At the end of a minute the baron, +smiling, added: + +"We did not wish to do anything without consulting you. Your mother +and I are not opposed to this marriage, but we would not seek to +influence you. You are much richer than he is; but, when it is a +question of the happiness of a life, one should not think too much +about money. He has no relations left. If you marry him, then, it +would be as if a son should come into our family; if it were anyone +else, it would be you, our daughter, who would go among strangers. The +young fellow pleases us. Would he please you?" + +She stammered, blushing up to the roots of her hair: + +"I am willing, papa." + +And the father, looking into her eyes and still smiling, murmured: + +"I half suspected it, young lady." + +She lived till evening in a condition of exhilaration, not knowing +what she was doing, mechanically thinking of one thing by mistake for +another, and with a feeling of weariness, although she had not walked +at all. + +Toward six o'clock, as she was sitting with her mother under the plane +tree, the vicomte appeared. + +Jeanne's heart began to throb wildly. The young man approached them +apparently without any emotion. When he was close beside them, he took +the baroness' hand and kissed her fingers, then raising to his lips +the trembling hand of the young girl, he imprinted upon it a long, +tender and grateful kiss. + +And the radiant season of betrothal commenced. They would chat +together alone in the corner of the parlor, or else seated on the moss +at the end of the wood overlooking the plain. Sometimes they walked in +Little Mother's Avenue; he, talking of the future, she, with her eyes +cast down, looking at the dusty footprints of the baroness. + +Once the matter was decided, they desired to waste no time in +preliminaries. It was, therefore, decided that the ceremony should +take place in six weeks, on the fifteenth of August; and that the +bride and groom should set out immediately on their wedding journey. +Jeanne, on being consulted as to which country she would like to +visit, decided on Corsica where they could be more alone than in the +cities of Italy. + +They awaited the moment appointed for their marriage without too great +impatience, but enfolded, lost in a delicious affection, expressed in +the exquisite charm of insignificant caresses, pressure of hands, long +passionate glances in which their souls seemed to blend; and, vaguely +tortured by an uncertain longing for they knew not what. + +They decided to invite no one to the wedding except Aunt Lison, the +baron's sister, who boarded in a convent at Versailles. After the +death of their father, the baroness wished to keep her sister with +her. But the old maid, possessed by the idea that she was in every +one's way, was useless, and a nuisance, retired into one of those +religious houses that rent apartments to people that live a sad and +lonely existence. She came from time to time to pass a month or two +with her family. + +She was a little woman of few words, who always kept in the +background, appeared only at mealtimes, and then retired to her room +where she remained shut in. + +She looked like a kind old lady, though she was only forty-two, and +had a sad, gentle expression. She was never made much of by her family +as a child, being neither pretty nor boisterous, she was never petted, +and she would stay quietly and gently in a corner. She had been +neglected ever since. As a young girl nobody paid any attention to +her. She was something like a shadow, or a familiar object, a living +piece of furniture that one is accustomed to see every day, but about +which one does not trouble oneself. + +Her sister, from long habit, looked upon her as a failure, an +altogether insignificant being. They treated her with careless +familiarity which concealed a sort of contemptuous kindness. She +called herself Lise, and seemed embarrassed at this frivolous youthful +name. When they saw that she probably would not marry, they changed it +from Lise to Lison, and since Jeanne's birth, she had become "Aunt +Lison," a poor relation, very neat, frightfully timid, even with her +sister and her brother-in-law, who loved her, but with an uncertain +affection verging on indifference, with an unconscious compassion and +a natural benevolence. + +Sometimes, when the baroness talked of far away things that happened +in her youth, she would say, in order to fix a date: "It was the time +that Lison had that attack." + +They never said more than that; and this "attack" remained shrouded, +as in a mist. + +One evening, Lise, who was then twenty, had thrown herself into the +water, no one knew why. Nothing in her life, her manner, gave any +intimation of this seizure. They fished her out half dead, and her +parents, raising their hands in horror, instead of seeking the +mysterious cause of this action, had contented themselves with calling +it "that attack," as if they were talking of the accident that +happened to the horse "Coco," who had broken his leg a short time +before in a ditch, and whom they had been obliged to kill. + +From that time Lise, presently Lison, was considered feeble-minded. +The gentle contempt which she inspired in her relations gradually made +its way into the minds of all those who surrounded her. Little Jeanne +herself, with the natural instinct of children, took no notice of her, +never went up to kiss her good-night, never went into her room. Good +Rosalie, alone, who gave the room all the necessary attention, seemed +to know where it was situated. + +When Aunt Lison entered the dining-room for breakfast, the little one +would go up to her from habit and hold up her forehead to be kissed; +that was all. + +If anyone wished to speak to her, they sent a servant to call her, and +if she was not there, they did not bother about her, never thought of +her, never thought of troubling themselves so much as to say: "Why, I +have not seen Aunt Lison this morning!" + +When they said "Aunt Lison," these two words awakened no feeling of +affection in anyone's mind. It was as if one had said: "The coffee +pot, or the sugar bowl." + +She always walked with little, quick, silent steps, never made a +noise, never knocking up against anything; and seemed to communicate +to surrounding objects the faculty of not making any sound. Her hands +seemed to be made of a kind of wadding, she handled everything so +lightly and delicately. + +She arrived about the middle of July, all upset at the idea of this +marriage. She brought a quantity of presents which, as they came from +her, remained almost unnoticed. On the following day they had +forgotten she was there at all. + +But an unusual emotion was seething in her mind, and she never took +her eyes off the engaged couple. She interested herself in Jeanne's +trousseau with a singular eagerness, a feverish activity, working like +a simple seamstress in her room, where no one came to visit her. + +She was continually presenting the baroness with handkerchiefs she had +hemmed herself, towels on which she had embroidered a monogram, saying +as she did so: "Is that all right, Adelaide?" And little mother, as +she carelessly examined the objects, would reply: "Do not give +yourself so much trouble, my poor Lison." + +One evening, toward the end of the month, after an oppressively warm +day, the moon rose on one of those clear, mild nights which seem to +move, stir and affect one, apparently awakening all the secret poetry +of one's soul. The gentle breath of the fields was wafted into the +quiet drawing-room. The baroness and her husband were playing cards by +the light of a lamp, and Aunt Lison was sitting beside them knitting; +while the young people, leaning on the window sill, were gazing out at +the moonlit garden. + +The linden and the plane tree cast their shadows on the lawn which +extended beyond it in the moonlight, as far as the dark wood. +Attracted by the tender charm of the night, and by this misty +illumination that lighted up the trees and the bushes, Jeanne turned +toward her parents and said: "Little father, we are going to take a +short stroll on the grass in front of the house." + +The baron replied, without looking up: "Go, my children," and +continued his game. + +They went out and began to walk slowly along the moonlit lawn as far +as the little wood at the end. The hour grew late and they did not +think of going in. The baroness grew tired, and wishing to retire, she +said: + +"We must call the lovers in." + +The baron cast a glance across the spacious garden where the two forms +were wandering slowly. + +"Let them alone," he said; "it is so delicious outside! Lison will +wait for them, will you not, Lison?" + +The old maid raised her troubled eyes and replied in her timid voice: + +"Certainly, I will wait for them." + +Little father gave his hand to the baroness, weary himself from the +heat of the day. + +"I am going to bed, too," he said, and went up with his wife. + +Then Aunt Lison rose in her turn, and leaving on the arm of the chair +her canvas with the wool and the knitting needles, she went over and +leaned on the window sill and gazed out at the night. + +The two lovers kept on walking back and forth between the house and +the wood. They squeezed each other's fingers without speaking, as +though they had left their bodies and formed part of this visible +poetry that exhaled from the earth. + +All at once Jeanne perceived, framed in the window, the silhouette of +the aunt, outlined by the light of the lamp behind her. + +"See," she said, "there is Aunt Lison looking at us." + +The vicomte raised his head, and said in an indifferent tone without +thinking: + +"Yes, Aunt Lison is looking at us." + +And they continued to dream, to walk slowly, and to love each other. +But the dew was falling fast, and the dampness made them shiver a +little. + +"Let us go in now," said Jeanne. And they went into the house. + +When they entered the drawing-room, Aunt Lison had gone back to her +work. Her head was bent over her work, and her fingers were trembling +as if she were very tired. + +"It is time to go to bed, aunt," said Jeanne, approaching her. + +Her aunt turned her head, and her eyes were red as if she had been +crying. The young people did not notice it; but suddenly M. de Lamare +perceived that Jeanne's thin shoes were covered with dew. He was +worried, and asked tenderly: + +"Are not your dear little feet cold?" + +All at once the old lady's hands shook so violently that she let fall +her knitting, and hiding her face in her hands, she began to sob +convulsively. + +The engaged couple looked at her in amazement, without moving. +Suddenly Jeanne fell on her knees, and taking her aunt's hands away +from her face, said in perplexity: + +"Why, what is the matter, Aunt Lison?" + +Then the poor woman, her voice full of tears, and her whole body +shaking with sorrow, replied: + +"It was when he asked you--are not your--your--dear little feet +cold?--no one ever said such things to me--to me--never--never----" + +Jeanne, surprised and compassionate, could still hardly help laughing +at the idea of an admirer showing tender solicitude for Lison; and the +vicomte had turned away to conceal his mirth. + +But the aunt suddenly rose, laying her ball of wool on the floor and +her knitting in the chair, and fled to her room, feeling her way up +the dark staircase. + +Left alone, the young people looked at one another, amused and +saddened. Jeanne murmured: + +"Poor aunt!" Julien replied. "She must be a little crazy this +evening." + +They held each other's hands and presently, gently, very gently, they +exchanged their first kiss, and by the following day had forgotten all +about Aunt Lison's tears. + +The two weeks preceding the wedding found Jeanne very calm, as though +she were weary of tender emotions. She had no time for reflection on +the morning of the eventful day. She was only conscious of a feeling +as if her flesh, her bones and her blood had all melted beneath her +skin, and on taking hold of anything, she noticed that her fingers +trembled. + +She did not regain her self-possession until she was in the chancel of +the church during the marriage ceremony. + +Married! So she was married! All that had occurred since daybreak +seemed to her a dream, a waking dream. There are such moments, when +all appears changed around us; even our motions seem to have a new +meaning; even the hours of the day, which seem to be out of their +usual time. She felt bewildered, above all else, bewildered. Last +evening nothing had as yet been changed in her life; the constant hope +of her life seemed only nearer, almost within reach. She had gone to +rest a young girl; she was now a married woman. She had crossed that +boundary that seems to conceal the future with all its joys, its +dreams of happiness. She felt as though a door had opened in front of +her; she was about to enter into the fulfillment of her expectations. + +When they appeared on the threshold of the church after the ceremony, +a terrific noise caused the bride to start in terror, and the baroness +to scream; it was a rifle salute given by the peasants, and the firing +did not cease until they reached "The Poplars." + +After a collation served for the family, the family chaplain, and the +priest from Yport, the mayor and the witnesses, who were some of the +large farmers of the district, they all walked in the garden. On the +other side of the chateau one could hear the boisterous mirth of the +peasants, who were drinking cider beneath the apple trees. The whole +countryside, dressed in their best, filled the courtyard. + +Jeanne and Julien walked through the copse and then up the slope and, +without speaking, gazed out at the sea. The air was cool, although it +was the middle of August; the wind was from the north, and the sun +blazed down unpityingly from the blue sky. The young people sought a +more sheltered spot, and crossing the plain, they turned to the right, +toward the rolling and wooded valley that leads to Yport. As soon as +they reached the trees the air was still, and they left the road and +took a narrow path beneath the trees, where they could scarcely walk +abreast. + +Jeanne felt an arm passed gently round her waist. She said nothing, +her breath came quick, her heart beat fast. Some low branches caressed +their hair, as they bent to pass under them. She picked a leaf; two +ladybirds were concealed beneath it, like two delicate red shells. + +"Look, a little family," she said innocently, and feeling a little +more confidence. + +Julien placed his mouth to her ear, and whispered: "This evening you +will be my wife." + +Although she had learned many things during her sojourn in the +country, she dreamed of nothing as yet but the poetry of love, and was +surprised. His wife? Was she not that already? + +Then he began to kiss her temples and neck, little light kisses. +Startled each time afresh by these masculine kisses to which she was +not accustomed, she instinctively turned away her head to avoid them, +though they delighted her. But they had come to the edge of the wood. +She stopped, embarrassed at being so far from home. What would they +think? + +"Let us go home," she said. + +He withdrew his arm from her waist, and as they turned round they +stood face to face, so close that they could feel each other's breath +on their faces. They gazed deep into one another's eyes with that gaze +in which two souls seem to blend. They sought the impenetrable unknown +of each other's being. They sought to fathom one another, mutely and +persistently. What would they be to one another? What would this life +be that they were about to begin together? What joys, what happiness, +or what disillusions were they preparing in this long, indissoluble +tete-a-tete of marriage? And it seemed to them as if they had never +yet seen each other. + +Suddenly, Julien, placing his two hands on his wife's shoulders, +kissed her full on the lips as she had never before been kissed. The +kiss, penetrating as it did her very blood and marrow, gave her such a +mysterious shock that she pushed Julien wildly away with her two arms, +almost falling backward as she did so. + +"Let us go away, let us go away," she faltered. + +He did not reply, but took both her hands and held them in his. They +walked home in silence, and the rest of the afternoon seemed long. The +dinner was simple and did not last long, contrary to the usual Norman +custom. A sort of embarrassment seemed to paralyze the guests. The two +priests, the mayor, and the four farmers invited, alone betrayed a +little of that broad mirth that is supposed to accompany weddings. + +They had apparently forgotten how to laugh, when a remark of the +mayor's woke them up. It was about nine o'clock; coffee was about to +be served. Outside, under the apple-trees of the first court, the bal +champetre was beginning, and through the open window one could see all +that was going on. Lanterns, hung from the branches, gave the leaves a +grayish green tint. Rustics and their partners danced in a circle +shouting a wild dance tune to the feeble accompaniment of two violins +and a clarinet, the players seated on a large table as a platform. The +boisterous singing of the peasants at times completely drowned the +instruments, and the feeble strains torn to tatters by the +unrestrained voices seemed to fall from the air in shreds, in little +fragments of scattered notes. + +Two large barrels surrounded by flaming torches were tapped, and two +servant maids were kept busy rinsing glasses and bowls in order to +refill them at the tap whence flowed the red wine, or at the tap of +the cider barrel. On the table were bread, sausages and cheese. Every +one swallowed a mouthful from time to time, and beneath the roof of +illuminated foliage this wholesome and boisterous fete made the +melancholy watchers in the dining-room long to dance also, and to +drink from one of those large barrels, while they munched a slice of +bread and butter and a raw onion. + +The mayor, who was beating time with his knife, cried: "By Jove, that +is all right; it is like the wedding of Ganache." + +A suppressed giggle was heard, but Abbe Picot, the natural enemy of +civil authority, cried: "You mean of Cana." The other did not accept +the correction. "No, monsieur le cure, I know what I am talking about; +when I say Ganache, I mean Ganache." + +They rose from table and went into the drawing-room, and then outside +to mix with the merrymakers. The guests soon left. + +They went into the house. They were surprised to see Madame Adelaide +sobbing on Julien's shoulder. Her tears, noisy tears, as if blown out +by a pair of bellows, seemed to come from her nose, her mouth and her +eyes at the same time; and the young man, dumfounded, awkward, was +supporting the heavy woman who had sunk into his arms to commend to +his care her darling, her little one, her adored daughter. + +The baron rushed toward them, saying: "Oh, no scenes, no tears, I beg +of you," and, taking his wife to a chair, he made her sit down, while +she wiped away her tears. Then, turning to Jeanne: "Come, little one, +kiss your mother and go to bed." + +What happened then? She could hardly have told, for she seemed to have +lost her head, but she felt a shower of little grateful kisses on her +lips. + +Day dawned. Julien awoke, yawned, stretched, looked at his wife, +smiled and asked: "Did you sleep well, darling?" + +She noticed that he now said "thou," and she replied, bewildered, +"Why, yes. And you?" "Oh, very well," he answered. And turning toward +her, he kissed her and then began to chat quietly. He set before her +plans of living, with the idea of economy, and this word occurring +several times, astonished Jeanne. She listened without grasping the +meaning of his words, looked at him, but was thinking of a thousand +things that passed rapidly through her mind hardly leaving a trace. + +The clock struck eight. "Come, we must get up," he said. "It would +look ridiculous for us to be late." When he was dressed he assisted +his wife with all the little details of her toilet, not allowing her +to call Rosalie. As they left the room he stopped. "You know, when we +are alone, we can now use 'thou,' but before your parents it is better +to wait a while. It will be quite natural when we come back from our +wedding journey." + +She did not go down till luncheon was ready. The day passed like any +ordinary day, as if nothing new had occurred. There was one man more +in the house, that was all. + + * * * * * + +CHAPTER V + +CORSICA AND A NEW LIFE + +Four days later the travelling carriage arrived that was to take them +to Marseilles. + +After the first night Jeanne had become accustomed to Julien's kisses +and caresses, although her repugnance to a closer intimacy had not +diminished. She thought him handsome, she loved him. She again felt +happy and cheerful. + +The farewells were short and without sadness. The baroness alone +seemed tearful. As the carriage was just starting she placed a purse, +heavy as lead, in her daughter's hand, saying, "That is for your +little expenses as a bride." + +Jeanne thrust the purse in her pocket and the carriage started. + +Toward evening Julien said: "How much money did your mother give you +in that purse?" + +She had not given it a thought, and she poured out the contents on her +knees. A golden shower filled her lap: two thousand francs. She +clapped her hands. "I shall commit all kinds of extravagance," she +said as she replaced it in the purse. + +After travelling eight days in terribly hot weather they reached +Marseilles. The following day the _Roi-Louis_, a little mail +steamer which went to Naples by way of Ajaccio, took them to Corsica. + +Corsica! Its "maquis," its bandits, its mountains! The birthplace of +Napoleon! It seemed to Jeanne that she was leaving real life to enter +into a dream, although wide awake. Standing side by side on the bridge +of the steamer, they looked at the cliffs of Provence as they passed +swiftly by them. The calm sea of deep blue seemed petrified beneath +the ardent rays of the sun. + +"Do you remember our excursion in Pere Lastique's boat?" said Jeanne. + +Instead of replying, he gave her a hasty kiss on the ear. + +The paddle-wheels struck the water, disturbing its torpor, and a long +track of foam like the froth of champagne remained in the wake of the +boat, reaching as far as the eye could see. Jeanne drank in with +delight the odor of the salt mist that seemed to go to the very tips +of her fingers. Everywhere the sea. But ahead of them there was +something gray, not clearly defined in the early dawn; a sort of +massing of strange-looking clouds, pointed, jagged, seemed to rest on +the waters. + +Presently it became clearer, its outline more distinct on the +brightening sky; a large chain of mountains, peaked and weird, +appeared. It was Corsica, covered with a light veil of mist. The sun +rose behind it, outlining the jagged crests like black shadows. Then +all the summits were bathed in light, while the rest of the island +remained covered with mist. + +The captain, a little sun-browned man, dried up, stunted, toughened +and shrivelled by the harsh salt winds, appeared on the bridge and in +a voice hoarse after twenty years of command and worn from shouting +amid the storms, said to Jeanne: + +"Do you perceive it, that odor?" + +She certainly noticed a strong and peculiar odor of plants, a wild +aromatic odor. + +"That is Corsica that sends out that fragrance, madame," said the +captain. "It is her peculiar odor of a pretty woman. After being away +for twenty years, I should recognize it five miles out at sea. I +belong to it. He, down there, at Saint Helena, he speaks of it always, +it seems, of the odor of his native country. He belongs to my family." + +And the captain, taking off his hat, saluted Corsica, saluted down +yonder, across the ocean, the great captive emperor who belonged to +his family. + +Jeanne was so affected that she almost cried. + +Then, pointing toward the horizon, the captain said: "Les +Sanguinaires." + +Julien was standing beside his wife, with his arm round her waist, and +they both looked out into the distance to see what he was alluding to. +They at length perceived some pyramidal rocks which the vessel rounded +presently to enter an immense peaceful gulf surrounded by lofty +summits, the base of which was covered with what looked like moss. + +Pointing to this verdant growth, the captain said: "Le maquis." + +As they proceeded on their course the circle of mountains appeared to +close in behind the steamer, which moved along slowly in such a lake +of transparent azure that one could sometimes see to the bottom. + +The town suddenly appeared perfectly white at the end of the gulf, on +the edge of the water, at the base of the mountains. Some little +Italian boats were anchored in the dock. Four or five rowboats came up +beside the _Roi-Louis_ to get passengers. + +Julien, who was collecting the baggage, asked his wife in a low tone: +"Twenty sous is enough, is it not, to give to the porter?" For a week +he had constantly asked the same question, which annoyed her each +time. She replied somewhat impatiently: "When one is not sure of +giving enough, one gives too much." + +He was always disputing with the hotel proprietors, with the servants, +the drivers, the vendors of all kinds, and when, by dint of +bargaining, he had obtained a reduction in price, he would say to +Jeanne as he rubbed his hands: "I do not like to be cheated." + +She trembled whenever a bill came in, certain beforehand of the +remarks that he would make about each item, humiliated at this +bargaining, blushing up to the roots of her hair beneath the +contemptuous glances of the servants as they looked after her husband, +while they held in their hand the meagre tip. + +He had a dispute with the boatmen who landed him. + +The first tree Jeanne saw was a palm. They went to a great, empty +hotel at the corner of an immense square and ordered breakfast. + +After an hour's rest they arranged an itinerary for their trip, and at +the end of three days spent in this little town, hidden at the end of +the blue gulf, and hot as a furnace enclosed in its curtain of +mountains, which keep every breath of air from it, they decided to +hire some saddle horses, so as to be able to cross any difficult pass, +and selected two little Corsican stallions with fiery eyes, thin and +unwearying, and set out one morning at daybreak. A guide, mounted on a +mule, accompanied them and carried the provisions, for inns are +unknown in this wild country. + +The road ran along the gulf and soon turned into a kind of valley, and +on toward the high mountains. They frequently crossed the dry beds of +torrents with only a tiny stream of water trickling under the stones, +gurgling faintly like a wild animal in hiding. + +The uncultivated country seemed perfectly barren. The sides of the +hills were covered with tall weeds, yellow from the blazing sun. +Sometimes they met a mountaineer, either on foot or mounted on a +little horse, or astride a donkey about as big as a dog. They all +carried a loaded rifle slung across their backs, old rusty weapons, +but redoubtable in their hands. + +The pungent odor of the aromatic herbs with which the island is +overgrown seemed to make the air heavy. The road ascended gradually +amid the long curves of the mountains. The red or blue granite peaks +gave an appearance of fairyland to the wild landscape, and on the +foothills immense forests of chestnut trees looked like green brush, +compared with the elevations above them. + +Sometimes the guide, reaching out his hand toward some of these +heights, would repeat a name. Jeanne and Julien would look where he +pointed, but see nothing, until at last they discovered something +gray, like a mass of stones fallen from the summit. It was a little +village, a hamlet of granite hanging there, fastened on like a +veritable bird's nest and almost invisible on the huge mountain. + +Walking their horses like this made Jeanne nervous. "Let us go +faster," she said. And she whipped up her horse. Then, as she did not +hear her husband following her, she turned round and laughed heartily +as she saw him coming along, pale, and holding on to his horse's mane +as it bounced him up and down. His very appearance of a "beau +cavalier" made his awkwardness and timidity all the more comical. + +They trotted along quietly. The road now ran between two interminable +forests of brush, which covered the whole side of the mountain like a +garment. This was the "Maquis," composed of scrub oak, juniper, +arbutus, mastic, privet, gorse, laurel, myrtle and boxwood, +intertwined with clematis, huge ferns, honeysuckle, cytisus, rosemary, +lavender and brambles, which covered the sides of the mountain with an +impenetrable fleece. + +They were hungry. The guide rejoined them and led them to one of those +charming springs so frequent in rocky countries, a tiny thread of iced +water issuing from a little hole in the rock and flowing into a +chestnut leaf that some passerby had placed there to guide the water +into one's mouth. + +Jeanne felt so happy that she could hardly restrain herself from +screaming for joy. + +They continued their journey and began to descend the slope winding +round the Bay of Sagone. Toward evening they passed through Cargese, +the Greek village founded by a colony of refugees who were driven from +their country. Tall, beautiful girls, with rounded hips, long hands +and slender waists, and singularly graceful, were grouped beside a +fountain. Julien called out, "Good evening," and they replied in +musical tones in the harmonious language of their own land. + +When they reached Piana they had to beg for hospitality, as in ancient +times and in desert lands. Jeanne trembled with joy as they waited for +the door to be opened after Julien knocked. Oh, this was a journey +worth while, with all the unexpected of unexplored paths. + +It happened to be the home of a young couple. They received the +travellers as the patriarchs must have received the guest sent by God. +They had to sleep on a corn husk mattress in an old moldy house. The +woodwork, all eaten by worms, overrun with long boring-worms, seemed +to emit sounds, to be alive and to sigh. + +They set off again at daybreak, and presently stopped before a forest, +a veritable forest of purple granite. There were peaks, pillars, +bell-towers, wondrous forms molded by age, the ravaging wind and the +sea mist. As much as three hundred metres in height, slender, round, +twisted, hooked, deformed, unexpected and fantastic, these amazing +rocks looked like trees, plants, animals, monuments, men, monks in +their garb, horned devils, gigantic birds, a whole population of +monsters, a menagerie of nightmares petrified by the will of some +eccentric divinity. + +Jeanne had ceased talking, her heart was full. She took Julien's hand +and squeezed it, overcome with a longing for love in presence of the +beauty of nature. + +Suddenly, as they emerged from this chaos, they saw before them +another gulf, encircled by a wall of blood-red granite. And these red +rocks were reflected in the blue waters. + +"Oh, Julien!" faltered Jeanne, unable to speak for wonder and choking +with her emotion. Two tears fell from her eyes. Julien gazed at her in +astonishment and said: + +"What is the matter, my pet?" + +She wiped away her tears, smiled and replied in a rather shaky voice: + +"Nothing--I am nervous--I do not know--it just came over me. I am so +happy that the least thing affects me." + +He could not understand these feminine attacks of "nerves," the shocks +of these vibrant beings, excited at nothing, whom enthusiasm stirs as +might a catastrophe, whom an imperceptible sensation completely +upsets, driving them wild with joy or despair. + +These tears seemed absurd to him, and thinking only of the bad road, +he said: + +"You would do better to watch your horse." + +They descended an almost impassable path to the shore of the gulf, +then turned to the right to ascend the gloomy Val d'Ota. + +But the road was so bad that Julien proposed that they should go on +foot. Jeanne was delighted. She was enchanted at the idea of walking, +of being alone with him after her late emotion. + +The guide went ahead with the mule and the horses and they walked +slowly. + +The mountain, cleft from top to bottom, spreads apart. The path lies +in this breach, between two gigantic walls. A roaring torrent flows +through the gorge. The air is icy, the granite looks black, and high +above one the glimpse of blue sky astonishes and bewilders one. + +A sudden noise made Jeanne start. She raised her eyes. An immense bird +flew away from a hollow; it was an eagle. His spread wings seemed to +brush the two walls of the gorge and he soared into the blue and +disappeared. + +Farther on there was a double gorge and the path lay between the two +in abrupt zigzags. Jeanne, careless and happy, took the lead, the +pebbles rolling away beneath her feet, fearlessly leaning over the +abysses. Julien followed her, somewhat out of breath, his eyes on the +ground for fear of becoming dizzy. + +All at once the sun shone down on them, and it seemed as if they were +leaving the infernal regions. They were thirsty, and following a track +of moisture, they crossed a wilderness of stones and found a little +spring conducted into a channel made of a piece of hollowed-out wood +for the benefit of the goatherds. A carpet of moss covered the ground +all round it, and Jeanne and Julien knelt down to drink. + +As they were enjoying the fresh cold water, Julien tried to draw +Jeanne away to tease her. She resisted and their lips met and parted, +and the stream of cold water splashed their faces, their necks, their +clothes and their hands, and their kisses mingled in the stream. + +They were a long time reaching the summit of the declivity, as the +road was so winding and uneven, and they did not reach Evisa until +evening and the house of Paoli Palabretti, a relative of their guide. + +He was a tall man, somewhat bent, with the mournful air of a +consumptive. He took them to their room, a cheerless room of bare +stone, but handsome for this country, where all elegance is ignored. +He expressed in his language--the Corsican patois, a jumble of French +and Italian--his pleasure at welcoming them, when a shrill voice +interrupted him. A little swarthy woman, with large black eyes, a skin +warmed by the sun, a slender waist, teeth always showing in a +perpetual smile, darted forward, kissed Jeanne, shook Julien's hand +and said: "Good-day, madame; good-day, monsieur; I hope you are well." + +She took their hats, shawls, carrying all on one arm, for the other +was in a sling, and then she made them all go outside, saying to her +husband: "Go and take them for a walk until dinner time." + +M. Palabretti obeyed at once and walked between the two young people +as he showed them the village. He dragged his feet and his words, +coughing frequently, and repeating at each attack of coughing: + +"It is the air of the Val, which is cool, and has struck my chest." + +He led them on a by-path beneath enormous chestnut trees. Suddenly he +stopped and said in his monotonous voice: "It is here that my cousin, +Jean Rinaldi, was killed by Mathieu Lori. See, I was there, close to +Jean, when Mathieu appeared at ten paces from us. 'Jean,' he cried, +'do not go to Albertacce; do not go, Jean, or I will kill you. I warn +you!' + +"I took Jean's arm: 'Do not go there, Jean; he will do it.' + +"It was about a girl whom they were both after, Paulina Sinacoupi. + +"But Jean cried out: 'I am going, Mathieu; you will not be the one to +prevent me.' + +"Then Mathieu unslung his gun, and before I could adjust mine, he +fired. + +"Jean leaped two feet in the air, like a child skipping, yes, +monsieur, and he fell back full on me, so that my gun went off and +rolled as far as the big chestnut tree over yonder. + +"Jean's mouth was wide open, but he did not utter a word; he was +dead." + +The young people gazed in amazement at the calm witness of this crime. +Jeanne asked: + +"And what became of the assassin?" + +Paoli Palabretti had a long fit of coughing and then said: + +"He escaped to the mountain. It was my brother who killed him the +following year. You know, my brother, Philippi Palabretti, the +bandit." + +Jeanne shuddered. + +"Your brother a bandit?" + +With a gleam of pride in his eye, the calm Corsican replied: + +"Yes, madame. He was celebrated, that one. He laid low six gendarmes. +He died at the same time as Nicolas Morali, when they were trapped in +the Niolo, after six days of fighting, and were about to die of +hunger. + +"The country is worth it," he added with a resigned air in the same +tone in which he said: "It is the air of the Val, which is cool." + +Then they went home to dinner, and the little Corsican woman behaved +as if she had known them for twenty years. + +But Jeanne was worried. When Julien again held her in his arms, would +she experience the same strange and intense sensation that she had +felt on the moss beside the spring? And when they were alone together +that evening she trembled lest she should still be insensible to his +kisses. But she was reassured, and this was her first night of love. + +The next day, as they were about to set out, she decided that she +would not leave this humble cottage, where it seemed as though a fresh +happiness had begun for her. + +She called her host's little wife into her room and, while making +clear that she did not mean it as a present, she insisted, even with +some annoyance, on sending her from Paris, as soon as she arrived, a +remembrance, a remembrance to which she attached an almost +superstitious significance. + +The little Corsican refused for some time, not wishing to accept it. +But at last she consented, saying: + +"Well, then, send me a little pistol, a very small one." + +Jeanne opened her eyes in astonishment. The other added in her ear, as +one confides a sweet and intimate secret: "It is to kill my +brother-in-law." And smiling, she hastily unwound the bandages around +the helpless arm, and showing her firm, white skin with the scratch of +a stiletto across it, now almost healed, she said: "If I had not been +almost as strong as he is, he would have killed me. My husband is not +jealous, he knows me; and, besides, he is ill, you know, and that +quiets your blood. And, besides, madame, I am an honest woman; but my +brother-in-law believes all that he hears. He is jealous for my +husband and he will surely try it again. Then I shall have my little +pistol; I shall be easy, and sure of my revenge." + +Jeanne promised to send the weapon, kissed her new friend tenderly and +they set out on their journey. + +The rest of the trip was nothing but a dream, a continual series of +embraces, an intoxication of caresses. She saw nothing, neither the +landscape, nor the people, nor the places where they stopped. She saw +nothing but Julien. + +On arriving at Bastia, they had to pay the guide. Julien fumbled in +his pockets. Not finding what he wanted, he said to Jeanne: "As you +are not using your mother's two thousand francs, give them to me to +carry. They will be safer in my belt, and it will avoid my having to +make change." + +She handed him her purse. + +They went to Leghorn, visited Florence, Genoa and all the Cornici. +They reached Marseilles on a morning when the north wind was blowing. +Two months had elapsed since they left the "Poplars." It was now the +15th of October. + +Jeanne, affected by the cold wind that seemed to come from yonder, +from far-off Normandy, felt sad. Julien had, for some time, appeared +changed, tired, indifferent, and she feared she knew not what. + +They delayed their return home four days longer, not being able to +make up their minds to leave this pleasant land of the sun. It seemed +to her that she had come to an end of her happiness. + +At length they left. They were to make all their purchases in Paris, +prior to settling down for good at the "Poplars," and Jeanne looked +forward to bringing back some treasures, thanks to her mother's +present. But the first thing she thought of was the pistol promised to +the little Corsican woman of Evisa. + +The day after they arrived she said to Julien: "Dear, will you give me +that money of mamma's? I want to make my purchases." + +He turned toward her with a look of annoyance. + +"How much do you want?" + +"Why--whatever you please." + +"I will give you a hundred francs," he replied, "but do not squander +it." + +She did not know what to say, amazed and confused. At length she +faltered: "But--I--handed you the money to----" + +He did not give her time to finish. + +"Yes, of course. Whether it is in my pocket or yours makes no +difference from the moment that we have the same purse. I do not +refuse you, do I, since I am giving you a hundred francs?" + +She took the five gold pieces without saying a word, but she did not +venture to ask for any more, and she bought nothing but the pistol. + +Eight days later they set out for the "Poplars." + + * * * * * + +CHAPTER VI + +DISENCHANTMENT + +The family and servants were awaiting them outside the white gate with +brick supports. The post-chaise drew up and there were long and +affectionate greetings. Little mother wept; Jeanne, affected, wiped +away some tears; father nervously walked up and down. + +Then, as the baggage was being unloaded, they told of their travels +beside the parlor fire. Jeanne's words flowed freely, and everything +was told, everything, in a half hour, except, perhaps, a few little +details forgotten in this rapid account. + +The young wife then went to undo her parcels. Rosalie, also greatly +affected, assisted her. When this was finished and everything had been +put away, the little maid left her mistress, and Jeanne, somewhat +fatigued, sat down. + +She asked herself what she was now going to do, seeking some +occupation for her mind, some work for her hands. She did not care to +go down again into the drawing-room, where her mother was asleep, and +she thought she would take a walk. But the country seemed so sad that +she felt a weight at her heart on only looking out of the window. + +Then it came to her that she had no longer anything to do, never again +anything to do. All her young life at the convent had been preoccupied +with the future, busied with dreams. The constant excitement of hope +filled her hours at that time, so that she was not aware of their +flight. Then hardly had she left those austere walls, where her +illusions had unfolded, than her expectations of love were at once +realized. The longed-for lover, met, loved and married within a few +weeks, as one marries on these sudden resolves, had carried her off in +his arms, without giving her time for reflection. + +But now the sweet reality of the first days was to become the everyday +reality, which closed the door on vague hopes, on the enchanting +worries of the unknown. Yes, there was nothing more to look forward +to. And there was nothing more to do, today, to-morrow, never. She +felt all this vaguely as a certain disillusion, a certain crumbling of +her dreams. + +She rose and leaned her forehead against the cold window panes. + +Then, after gazing for some time at the sky across which dark clouds +were passing, she decided to go out. + +Was this the same country, the same grass, the same trees as in May? +What had become of the sunlit cheerfulness of the leaves and the +poetry of the green grass, where dandelions, poppies and moon daisies +bloomed and where yellow butterflies fluttered as though held by +invisible wires? And this intoxication of the air teeming with life, +with fragrance, with fertilizing pollen, existed no longer! + +The avenues, soaked by the constant autumnal downpours, were covered +with a thick carpet of fallen leaves which extended beneath the +shivering bareness of the almost leafless poplars. She went as far as +the shrubbery. It was as sad as the chamber of a dying person. A green +hedge which separated the little winding walks was bare of leaves. +Little birds flew from place to place with a little chilly cry, +seeking a shelter. + +The thick curtain of elm trees that formed a protection against the +sea wind, the lime tree and the plane tree with their crimson and +yellow tints seemed clothed, the one in red velvet and the other in +yellow silk. + +Jeanne walked slowly up and down petite mere's avenue, alongside the +Couillards' farm. Something weighed on her spirit like a presentiment +of the long boredom of the monotonous life about to begin. + +She seated herself on the bank where Julien had first told her of his +love and remained there, dreaming, scarcely thinking, depressed to the +very soul, longing to lie down, to sleep, in order to escape the +dreariness of the day. + +All at once she perceived a gull crossing the sky, carried away in a +gust of wind, and she recalled the eagle she had seen down there in +Corsica, in the gloomy vale of Ota. She felt a spasm at her heart as +at the remembrance of something pleasant that is gone by, and she had +a sudden vision of the beautiful island with its wild perfume, its sun +that ripens oranges and lemons, its mountains with their rosy summits, +its azure gulfs and its ravines through which the torrents flowed. + +And the moist, severe landscape that surrounded her, with the falling +leaves and the gray clouds blown along by the wind, enfolded her in +such a heavy mantle of misery that she went back to the house to keep +from sobbing. + +Her mother was dozing in a torpid condition in front of the fire, +accustomed to the melancholy of the long days, and not noticing it any +longer. Her father and Julien had gone for a walk to talk about +business matters. Night was coming on, filling the large drawing-room +with gloom lighted by reflections of light from the fire. + +The baron presently appeared, followed by Julien. As soon as the +vicomte entered the room he rang the bell, saying: "Quick, quick, let +us have some light! It is gloomy in here." + +And he sat down before the fire. While his wet shoes were steaming in +the warmth and the mud was drying on his soles, he rubbed his hands +cheerfully as he said: "I think it is going to freeze; the sky is +clearing in the north, and it is full moon to-night; we shall have a +stinger to-night." + +Then turning to his daughter: "Well, little one, are you glad to be +back again in your own country, in your own home, with the old folks?" + +This simple question upset Jeanne. She threw herself into her father's +arms, her eyes full of tears, and kissed him nervously, as though +asking pardon, for in spite of her honest attempt to be cheerful, she +felt sad enough to give up altogether. She recalled the joy she had +promised herself at seeing her parents again, and she was surprised at +the coldness that seemed to numb her affection, just as if, after +constantly thinking of those one loves, when at a distance and unable +to see them at any moment, one should feel, on seeing them again, a +sort of check of affection, until the bonds of their life in common +had been renewed. + +Dinner lasted a long time. No one spoke much. Julien appeared to have +forgotten his wife. + +In the drawing-room Jeanne sat before the fire in a drowsy condition, +opposite little mother, who was sound asleep. Aroused by the voices of +the men, Jeanne asked herself, as she tried to rouse herself, if she, +too, was going to become a slave to this dreary lethargy of habit that +nothing varies. + +The baron approached the fire, and holding out his hands to the +glowing flame, he said, smiling: "Ah, that burns finely this evening. +It is freezing, children; it is freezing." Then, placing his hand on +Jeanne's shoulder and pointing to the fire, he said: "See here, little +daughter, that is the best thing in life, the hearth, the hearth, with +one's own around one. Nothing else counts. But supposing we retire. +You children must be tired out." + +When she was in her room, Jeanne asked herself how she could feel so +differently on returning a second time to the place that she thought +she loved. Why did she feel as though she were wounded? Why did this +house, this beloved country, all that hitherto had thrilled her with +happiness, now appear so distressing? + +Her eyes suddenly fell on her clock. The little bee was still swinging +from left to right and from right to left with the same quick, +continuous motion above the scarlet blossoms. All at once an impulse +of tenderness moved her to tears at sight of this little piece of +mechanism that seemed to be alive. She had not been so affected on +kissing her father and mother. The heart has mysteries that no +arguments can solve. + +For the first time since her marriage she was alone, Julien, under +pretext of fatigue, having taken another room. + +She lay awake a long time, unaccustomed to being alone and disturbed +by the bleak north wind which beat against the roof. + +She was awakened the next morning by a bright light that flooded her +room. She put on a dressing gown and ran to the window and opened it. + +An icy breeze, sharp and bracing, streamed into the room, making her +skin tingle and her eyes water. The sun appeared behind the trees on a +crimson sky, and the earth, covered with frost and dry and hard, rang +out beneath one's footsteps. In one night all the leaves had blown off +the trees, and in the distance beyond the level ground was seen the +long green line of water, covered with trails of white foam. + +Jeanne dressed herself and went out, and for the sake of an object she +went to call on the farmers. + +The Martins held up their hands in surprise, and Mrs. Martin kissed +her on both cheeks, and then they made her drink a glass of noyau. She +then went to the other farm. The Couillards also were surprised. Mrs. +Couillard pecked her on the ears and she had to drink a glass of +cassis. Then she went home to breakfast. + +The day went by like the previous day, cold instead of damp. And the +other days of the week resembled these two days, and all the weeks of +the month were like the first week. + +Little by little, however, she ceased to regret far-off lands. The +force of habit was covering her life with a layer of resignation +similar to the lime-stone formation deposited on objects by certain +springs. And a kind of interest for the thousand-and-one little +insignificant things of daily life, a care for the simple, ordinary +everyday occupations, awakened in her heart. A sort of pensive +melancholy, a vague disenchantment with life was growing up in her +mind. What did she lack? What did she want? She did not know. She had +no worldly desires, no thirst for amusement, no longing for +permissible pleasures. What then? Just as old furniture tarnishes in +time, so everything was slowly becoming faded to her eyes, everything +seemed to be fading, to be taking on pale, dreary shades. + +Her relations with Julien had completely changed. He seemed to be +quite different since they came back from their honeymoon, like an +actor who has played his part and resumes his ordinary manner. He +scarcely paid any attention to her or even spoke to her. All trace of +love had suddenly disappeared, and he seldom came into her room at +night. + +He had taken charge of the money and of the house, changed the leases, +worried the peasants, cut down expenses, and having adopted the +costume of a gentleman farmer, he had lost his polish and elegance as +a fiance. + +He always wore the same suit, although it was covered with spots. It +was an old velveteen shooting jacket with brass buttons, that he had +found among his former wardrobe, and with the carelessness that is +frequent with those who no longer seek to please, he had given up +shaving, and his long beard, badly cut, made an incredible change for +the worse in his appearance. His hands were never cared for, and after +each meal he drank four or five glasses of brandy. + +Jeanne tried to remonstrate with him gently, but he had answered her +so abruptly: "Won't you let me alone!" that she never ventured to give +him any more advice. + +She had adapted herself to these changes in a manner that surprised +herself. He had become a stranger to her, a stranger whose mind and +heart were closed to her. She constantly thought about it, asking +herself how it was that after having met, loved, married in an impulse +of affection, they should all at once find themselves almost as much +strangers as though they had never shared the same room. + +And how was it that she did not feel this neglect more deeply? Was +this life? Had they deceived themselves? Did the future hold nothing +further for her? + +If Julien had remained handsome, carefully dressed, elegant, she might +possibly have suffered more deeply. + +It had been agreed that after the new year the young couple should +remain alone and that the father and mother should go back to spend a +few months at their house in Rouen. The young people were not to leave +the "Poplars" that winter, so as to get thoroughly settled and to +become accustomed to each other and to the place where all their life +would be passed. They had a few neighbors to whom Julien would +introduce his wife. These were the Brisevilles, the Colteliers and the +Fourvilles. + +But the young people could not begin to pay calls because they had not +as yet been able to get a painter to alter the armorial bearings on +the carriage. + +The old family coach had been given up to his son-in-law by the baron, +and nothing would have induced him to show himself at the neighboring +chateaux if the coat-of-arms of the De Lamares were not quartered with +those of the Le Perthuis des Vauds. + +There was only one man in the district who made a specialty of +heraldic designs, a painter of Bolbec, called Bataille, who was in +demand at all the Norman castles in turn to make these precious +designs on the doors of carriages. + +At length one morning in December, just as they were finishing +breakfast, they saw an individual open the gate and walk toward the +house. He was carrying a box on his back. This was Bataille. + +They offered him some breakfast, and, while he was eating, the baron +and Julien made sketches of quarterings. The baroness, all upset as +soon as these things were discussed, gave her opinion. And even Jeanne +took part in the discussion, as though some mysterious interest had +suddenly awakened in her. + +Bataille, while eating, gave his ideas, at times taking the pencil and +tracing a design, citing examples, describing all the aristocratic +carriages in the countryside, and seemed to have brought with him in +his ideas, even in his voice, a sort of atmosphere of aristocracy. + +As soon as he had finished his coffee, they all went to the coach +house. They took off the cover of the carriage and Bataille examined +it. He then gravely gave his views as to the size he considered +suitable for the design, and after an exchange of ideas, he set to +work. + +Notwithstanding the cold, the baroness had her chair brought out so as +to watch him working, and then her foot-stove, for her feet were +freezing. She then began to chat with the painter, on all the recent +births, deaths and marriages of which she had not heard, thus adding +to the genealogical tree which she carried in her memory. + +Julien sat beside her, astride on a chair. He was smoking, spitting on +the ground, listening and following with his glances the emblazoning +of his rank. + +Presently old Simon, who was on his way to the vegetable garden, his +spade on his shoulder, stopped to look at the work; and as Bataille's +arrival had become known at the two farms, the farmers' wives soon put +in an appearance. They went into raptures, standing one at either side +of the baroness, exclaiming: "My! it requires some cleverness all the +same to fix up those things." + +The two doors could not be finished before the next day about eleven +o'clock. Every one was on hand; and they dragged the carriage outside +so as to get a better view of it. + +It was perfect. Bataille was complimented, and went off with his box +on his back. They all agreed that the painter had great ability, and +if circumstances had been favorable would doubtless have been a great +artist. + +Julien, by way of economy, had introduced great reforms which +necessitated making some changes. The old coachman had been made +gardener, Julien undertaking to drive himself, having sold the +carriage horses to avoid buying feed for them. But as it was necessary +to have some one to hold the horses when he and his wife got out of +the carriage, he had made a little cow tender named Marius into a +groom. Then in order to get some horses, he introduced a special +clause into the Couillards' and Martins' leases, by which they were +bound to supply a horse each, on a certain day every month, the date +to be fixed by him; and this would exempt them from their tribute of +poultry. + +So the Couillards brought a big yellow horse, and the Martins a small +white animal with long, unclipped coat, and the two were harnessed up +together. Marius, buried in an old livery belonging to old Simon, led +the carriage up to the front door. + +Julien, looking clean and brushed up, looked a little like his former +self; but his long beard gave him a common look in spite of all. He +looked over the horses, the carriage, and the little groom, and seemed +satisfied, the only really important thing to him being the newly +painted escutcheon. + +The baroness came down leaning on her husband's arm and got into the +carriage. Then Jeanne appeared. She began to laugh at the horses, +saying that the white one was the son of the yellow horse; then, +perceiving Marius, his face buried under his hat with its cockade, his +nose alone preventing it from covering his face altogether, his hands +hidden in his long sleeves, and the tail of his coat forming a skirt +round his legs, his feet encased in immense shoes showing in a comical +manner beneath it, and then when he threw his head back so as to see, +and lifted up his leg to walk as if he were crossing a river, she +burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. + +The baron turned round, glanced at the little bewildered groom and he, +too, burst out laughing, calling to his wife: "Look at Ma-Ma-Marius! +Is he not comical? Heavens, how funny he looks!" + +The baroness, looking out of the carriage window, was also convulsed, +so that the carriage shook on its springs. + +But Julien, pale with anger, asked: "What makes you laugh like that? +Are you crazy?" + +Jeanne, quite convulsed and unable to stop laughing, sat down on the +doorstep; the baron did the same, while, in the carriage, spasmodic +sneezes, a sort of constant chuckling, told that the baroness was +choking. Presently there was a motion beneath Marius' livery. He had, +doubtless, understood the joke, for he was shaking with laughter +beneath his hat. + +Julien darted forward in exasperation. With a box on the ear he sent +the boy's hat flying across the lawn; then, turning toward his +father-in-law, he stammered in a voice trembling with rage: "It seems +to me that you should be the last to laugh. We should not be where we +are now if you had not wasted your money and ruined your property. +Whose fault is it if you are ruined?" + +The laughter ceased at once, and no one spoke. Jeanne, now ready to +cry, got into the carriage and sat beside her mother. The baron, +silent and astonished, took his place opposite the two ladies, and +Julien sat on the box after lifting to the seat beside him the weeping +boy, whose face was beginning to swell. + +The road was dreary and appeared long. The occupants of the carriage +were silent. All three sad and embarrassed, they would not acknowledge +to one another what was occupying their thoughts. They felt that they +could not talk on indifferent subjects while these thoughts had +possession of them, and preferred to remain silent than to allude to +this painful subject. + +They drove past farmyards, the carriage jogging along unevenly with +the ill-matched animals, putting to flight terrified black hens who +plunged into the bushes and disappeared, occasionally followed by a +barking wolf-hound. + +At length they entered a wide avenue of pine trees, at the end of +which was a white, closed gate. Marius ran to open it, and they drove +in round an immense grass plot, and drew up before a high, spacious, +sad-looking building with closed shutters. + +The hall door opened abruptly, and an old, paralyzed servant wearing a +black waistcoat with red stripes partially covered by his working +apron slowly descended the slanting steps. He took the visitors' names +and led them into an immense reception room, and opened with +difficulty the Venetian blinds which were always kept closed. The +furniture had covers on it, and the clock and candelabra were wrapped +in white muslin. An atmosphere of mildew, an atmosphere of former +days, damp and icy, seemed to permeate one's lungs, heart and skin +with melancholy. + +They all sat down and waited. They heard steps in the hall above them +that betokened unaccustomed haste. The hosts were hurriedly dressing. +The baroness, who was chilled, sneezed constantly. Julien paced up and +down. Jeanne, despondent, sat beside her mother. The baron leaned +against the marble mantelpiece with his head bent down. + +Finally, one of the tall doors opened, and the Vicomte and Vicomtesse +de Briseville appeared. They were both small, thin, vivacious, of no +age in particular, ceremonious and embarrassed. + +After the first greetings, there seemed to be nothing to say. So they +began to congratulate each other for no special reason, and hoped that +these friendly relations would be kept up. It was a treat to see +people when one lived in the country the year round. + +The icy atmosphere pierced to their bones and made their voices +hoarse. The baroness was coughing now and had stopped sneezing. The +baron thought it was time to leave. The Brisevilles said: "What, so +soon? Stay a little longer." But Jeanne had risen in spite of Julien's +signals, for he thought the visit too short. + +They attempted to ring for the servant to order the carriage to the +door, but the bell would not ring. The host started out himself to +attend to it, but found that the horses had been put in the stable. + +They had to wait. Every one tried to think of something to say. +Jeanne, involuntarily shivering with cold, inquired what their hosts +did to occupy themselves all the year round. The Brisevilles were much +astonished; for they were always busy, either writing letters to their +aristocratic relations, of whom they had a number scattered all over +France, or attending to microscopic duties, as ceremonious to one +another as though they were strangers, and talking grandiloquently of +the most insignificant matters. + +At last the carriage passed the windows with its ill-matched team. But +Marius had disappeared. Thinking he was off duty until evening, he had +doubtless gone for a walk. + +Julien, perfectly furious, begged them to send him home on foot, and +after a great many farewells on both sides, they set out for the +"Poplars." + +As soon as they were inside the carriage, Jeanne and her father, in +spite of Julien's brutal behavior of the morning which still weighed +on their minds, began to laugh at the gestures and intonations of the +Brisevilles. The baron imitated the husband, and Jeanne the wife. But +the baroness, a little touchy in these particulars, said: "You are +wrong to ridicule them thus; they are people of excellent family." +They were silent out of respect for little mother, but nevertheless, +from time to time, Jeanne and her father began again. The baroness +could not forbear smiling in her turn, but she repeated: "It is not +nice to laugh at people who belong to our class." + +Suddenly the carriage stopped, and Julien called out to someone behind +it. Then Jeanne and the baron, leaning out, saw a singular creature +that appeared to be rolling along toward them. His legs entangled in +his flowing coattails, and blinded by his hat which kept falling over +his face, shaking his sleeves like the sails of a windmill, and +splashing into puddles of water, and stumbling against stones in the +road, running and bounding, Marius was following the carriage as fast +as his legs could carry him. + +As soon as he caught up with it, Julien, leaning over, seized him by +the collar of his coat, sat him down beside him, and letting go the +reins, began to shower blows on the boy's hat, which sank down to his +shoulders with the reverberations of a drum. The boy screamed, tried +to get away, to jump from the carriage, while his master, holding him +with one hand, continued beating him with the other. + +Jeanne, dumfounded, stammered: "Father--oh, father!" And the baroness, +wild with indignation, squeezed her husband's arm. "Stop him, Jack!" +she exclaimed. The baron quickly lowered the front window, and seizing +hold of his son-in-law's sleeve, he sputtered out in a voice trembling +with rage: "Have you almost finished beating that child?" + +Julien turned round in astonishment: "Don't you see what a condition +his livery is in?" + +But the baron, placing his head between them, said: "Well, what do I +care? There is no need to be brutal like that!" + +Julien got angry again: "Let me alone, please; this is not your +affair!" And he was raising his hand again when his father-in-law +caught hold of it and dragged it down so roughly that he knocked it +against the wood of the seat, and he roared at him so loud: "If you do +not stop, I shall get out, and I will see that you stop it, myself," +that Julien calmed down at once, and shrugging his shoulders without +replying, he whipped up the horses, who set out at a quick trot. + +The two women, pale as death, did not stir, and one could hear +distinctly the thumping of the baroness' heart. + +At dinner Julien was more charming than usual, as though nothing had +occurred. Jeanne, her father, and Madame Adelaide, pleased to see him +so amiable, fell in with his mood, and when Jeanne mentioned the +Brisevilles, he laughed at them himself, adding, however: "All the +same, they have the grand air." + +They made no more visits, each one fearing to revive the Marius +episode. They decided, to send New Year's cards, and to wait until the +first warm days of spring before paying any more calls. + +At Christmas they invited the cure, the mayor and his wife to dinner, +and again on New Year's Day. These were the only events that varied +the monotony of their life. The baron and his wife were to leave "The +Poplars" on the ninth of January. Jeanne wanted to keep them, but +Julien did not acquiesce, and the baron sent for a post-chaise from +Rouen, seeing his son-in-law's coolness. + +The day before their departure, as it was a clear frost, Jeanne and +her father decided to go to Yport, which they had not visited since +her return from Corsica. They crossed the wood where she had strolled +on her wedding-day, all wrapped up in the one whose lifelong companion +she had become; the wood where she had received her first kiss, +trembled at the first breath of love, had a presentiment of that +sensual love of which she did not become aware until she was in the +wild vale of Ota beside the spring where they mingled their kisses as +they drank of its waters. The trees were now leafless, the climbing +vines dead. + +They entered the little village. The empty, silent streets smelled of +the sea, of wrack, of fish. Huge brown nets were still hanging up to +dry outside the houses, or stretched out on the shingle. The gray, +cold sea, with its eternal roaring foam, was going out, uncovering the +green rocks at the foot of the cliff toward Fecamp. + +Jeanne and her father, motionless, watched the fishermen setting out +in their boats in the dusk, as they did every night, risking their +lives to keep from starving, and so poor, nevertheless, that they +never tasted meat. + +The baron, inspired at the sight of the ocean, murmured: "It is +terrible, but it is beautiful. How magnificent this sea is on which +the darkness is falling, and on which so many lives are in peril, is +it not, Jeannette?" + +She replied with a cold smile: "It is nothing to the Mediterranean." + +Her father, indignant, exclaimed: "The Mediterranean! It is oil, sugar +water, bluing water in a washtub. Look at this sea, how terrible it is +with its crests of foam! And think of all those men who have set out +on it, and who are already out of sight." + +Jeanne assented with a sigh: "Yes, if you think so." But this name, +"Mediterranean," had wrung her heart afresh, sending her thoughts back +to those distant lands where her dreams lay buried. + +Instead of returning home by the woods, they walked along the road, +mounting the ascent slowly. They were silent, sad at the thought of +the approaching separation. As they passed along beside the farmyards +an odor of crushed apples, that smell of new cider which seems to +pervade the atmosphere in this season all through Normandy, rose to +their nostrils, or else a strong smell of the cow stables. A small +lighted window at the end of the yard indicated the farmhouse. + +It seemed to Jeanne that her mind was expanding, was beginning to +understand the psychic meaning of things; and these little scattered +gleams in the landscape gave her, all at once, a keen sense of the +isolation of all human lives, a feeling that everything detaches, +separates, draws one far away from the things they love. + +She said, in a resigned tone: "Life is not always cheerful." + +The baron sighed: "How can it be helped, daughter? We can do nothing." + +The following day the baron and his wife went away, and Jeanne and +Julien were left alone. + + * * * * * + +CHAPTER VII + +JEANNE'S DISCOVERY + +Cards now became a distraction in the life of the young people. Every +morning after breakfast, Julien would play several games of bezique +with his wife, smoking and sipping brandy as he played. She would then +go up to her room and sit down beside the window, and as the rain beat +against the panes, or the wind shook the windows, she would embroider +away steadily. Occasionally she would raise her eyes and look out at +the gray sea which had white-caps on it. Then, after gazing listlessly +for some time, she would resume her work. + +She had nothing else to do, Julien having taken the entire management +of the house, to satisfy his craving for authority and his craze for +economy. He was parsimonious in the extreme, never gave any tips, cut +down the food to the merest necessaries; and as Jeanne since her +return had ordered the baker to make her a little Norman "galette" for +breakfast, he had cut down this extra expense, and condemned her to +eat toast. + +She said nothing in order to avoid recriminations, arguments and +quarrels; but she suffered keenly at each fresh manifestation of +avarice on the part of her husband. It appeared to her low and odious, +brought up as she had been in a family where money was never +considered. How often had she not heard her mother say: "Why, money is +made to be spent." Julien would now say: "Will you never become +accustomed to not throwing money away?" And each time he deducted a +few sous from some one's salary or on a note, he would say with a +smile, as he slipped the change into his pocket: "Little streams make +big rivers." + +On certain days Jeanne would sit and dream. She would gradually cease +sewing and, with her hands idle, and forgetting her surroundings, she +would weave one of those romances of her girlhood and be lost in some +enchanting adventure. But suddenly Julien's voice giving some orders +to old Simon would snatch her abruptly from her dreams, and she would +take up her work again, saying: "That is all over," and a tear would +fall on her hands as she plied the needle. + +Rosalie, formerly so cheerful and always singing, had changed. Her +rounded cheeks had lost their color, and were now almost hollow, and +sometimes had an earthy hue. Jeanne would frequently ask her: "Are you +ill, my girl?" The little maid would reply: "No, madame," while her +cheeks would redden slightly and she would retire hastily. + +At the end of January the snow came. In one night the whole plain was +covered and the trees next morning were white with icy foam. + +On one of these mornings, Jeanne was sitting warming her feet before +the fire in her room, while Rosalie, who had changed from day to day, +was making the bed. Suddenly hearing behind her a kind of moan, Jeanne +asked, without turning her head: "What is the matter?" + +The maid replied as usual: "Nothing, madame"; but her voice was weak +and trembling. + +Jeanne's thoughts were on something else, when she noticed that the +girl was not moving about the room. She called: "Rosalie!" Still no +sound. Then, thinking she might have left the room, she cried in a +louder tone: "Rosalie!" and she was reaching out her arm to ring the +bell, when a deep moan close beside her made her start up with a +shudder. + +The little servant, her face livid, her eyes haggard, was seated on +the floor, her legs stretched out, and her back leaning against the +bed. Jeanne sprang toward her. "What is the matter with you--what is +the matter?" she asked. + +The girl did not reply, did not move. She stared vacantly at her +mistress and gasped as though she were in terrible pain. Then, +suddenly, she slid down on her back at full length, clenching her +teeth to smother a cry of anguish. + +Jeanne suddenly understood, and almost distracted, she ran to the head +of the stairs, crying: "Julien, Julien!" + +"What do you want?" he replied from below. + +She hardly knew how to tell him. "It is Rosalie, who----" + +Julien rushed upstairs two steps at a time, and going abruptly into +the room, he found the poor girl had just been delivered of a child. +He looked round with a wicked look on his face, and pushing his +terrified wife out of the room, exclaimed: "This is none of your +affair. Go away. Send me Ludivine and old Simon." + +Jeanne, trembling, descended to the kitchen, and then, not daring to +go upstairs again, she went into the drawing-room, in which there had +been no fire since her parents left, and anxiously awaited news. + +She presently saw the man-servant running out of the house. Five +minutes later he returned with Widow Dentu, the nurse of the district. + +Then there was a great commotion on the stairs as though they were +carrying a wounded person, and Julien came in and told Jeanne that she +might go back to her room. + +She trembled as if she had witnessed some terrible accident. She sat +down again before the fire, and asked: "How is she?" + +Julien, preoccupied and nervous, was pacing up and down the room. He +seemed to be getting angry, and did not reply at first. Then he +stopped and said: "What do you intend to do with this girl?" + +She did not understand, and looked at her husband. "Why, what do you +mean? I do not know." + +Then suddenly flying into a rage, he exclaimed: "We cannot keep a +bastard in the house." + +Jeanne was very much bewildered, and said at the end of a long +silence: "But, my friend, perhaps we could put it out to nurse?" + +He cut her short: "And who will pay the bill? You will, no doubt." + +She reflected for some time, trying to find some way out of the +difficulty; at length she said: "Why, the father will take care of it, +of the child; and if he marries Rosalie, there will be no more +difficulty." + +Julien, as though his patience were exhausted, replied furiously: "The +father!--the father!--do you know him--the father? No, is it not so? +Well then----?" + +Jeanne, much affected, became excited: "But you certainly would not +let the girl go away like that. It would be cowardly! We will inquire +the name of the man, and we will go and find him, and he will have to +explain matters." + +Julien had calmed down and resumed his pacing up and down. "My dear," +he said, "she will not tell the name of the man; she will not tell you +any more than she will tell me--and, if he does not want her? ... We +cannot, however, keep a woman and her illegitimate child under our +roof, don't you understand?" + +Jeanne, persistent, replied: "Then he must be a wretch, this man. But +we must certainly find out who it is, and then he will have us to deal +with." + +Julien colored, became annoyed again, and said: "But--meanwhile----?" + +She did not know what course to take, and asked: "What do you +propose?" + +"Oh, I? That's very simple. I would give her some money and send her +to the devil with her brat." + +The young wife, indignant, was disgusted with him. "That shall never +be," she said. "She is my foster-sister, that girl; we grew up +together. She has made a mistake, so much the worse; but I will not +cast her out of doors on that account; and, if it is necessary, I will +bring up the child." + +Then Julien's wrath exploded: "And we should earn a fine reputation, +we, with our name and our position! And they would say of us +everywhere that we were protecting vice, harboring beggars; and decent +people would never set their foot inside our doors. What are you +thinking of? You must be crazy!" + +She had remained quite calm. "I shall never cast off Rosalie; and if +you do not wish her to stay, my mother will take her; and we shall +surely succeed in finding out the name of the father of the child." + +He left the room in exasperation, banging the door after him and +exclaiming: "What stupid ideas women have!" + +In the afternoon Jeanne went up to see the patient. The little maid, +watched over by Widow Dentu, was lying still in her bed, her eyes wide +open, while the nurse held the new-born babe in her arms. + +As soon as Rosalie perceived her mistress, she began to sob, hiding +her face in the covers and shaking with her sorrow. Jeanne wanted to +kiss her, but she avoided it by keeping her face covered. But the +nurse interfered, and drawing away the sheet, uncovered her face, and +she let Jeanne kiss her, weeping still, but more quietly. + +A meagre fire was burning in the grate; the room was cold; the child +was crying. Jeanne did not dare to speak of the little one, for fear +of another attack, and she took her maid's hand as she said +mechanically: "It will not matter, it will not matter." The poor girl +glanced furtively at the nurse, and trembled as the infant cried, and +the remembrance of her sorrow came to her mind occasionally in a +convulsive sob, while suppressed tears choked her. + +Jeanne kissed her again, and murmured softly in her ear: "We will take +good care of it, never fear, my girl." Then as she was beginning to +cry again, Jeanne made her escape. + +She came to see her every day, and each time Rosalie burst into tears +at the sight of her mistress. + +The child was put out to nurse at a neighbor's. + +Julien, however, hardly spoke to his wife, as though he had nourished +anger against her ever since she refused to send away the maid. He +referred to the subject one day, but Jeanne took from her pocket a +letter from the baroness asking them to send the girl to them at once +if they would not keep her at the "Poplars." Julien, furious, cried: +"Your mother is as foolish as you are!" but he did not insist any +more. + +Two weeks later the patient was able to get up and take up her work +again. + +One morning, Jeanne made her sit down and, taking her hands and +looking steadfastly at her, she said: + +"See here, my girl, tell me everything." + +Rosalie began to tremble, and faltered: + +"What, madame?" + +"Whose is it, this child?" + +The little maid was overcome with confusion, and she sought wildly to +withdraw her hands so as to hide her face. But Jeanne kissed her in +spite of herself, and consoled her, saying: "It is a misfortune, but +cannot be helped, my girl. You were weak, but that happens to many +others. If the father marries you, no one will think of it again." + +Rosalie sighed as if she were suffering, and from time to time made an +effort to disengage herself and run away. + +Jeanne resumed: "I understand perfectly that you are ashamed; but you +see that I am not angry, that I speak kindly to you. If I ask you the +name of the man it is for your own good, for I feel from your grief +that he has deserted you, and because I wish to prevent that. Julien +will go and look for him, you see, and we will oblige him to marry +you; and as we will employ you both, we will oblige him also to make +you happy." + +This time Rosalie gave such a jerk that she snatched her hands away +from her mistress and ran off as if she were mad. + +That evening at dinner Jeanne said to Julien: "I tried to persuade +Rosalie to tell me the name of her betrayer. I did not succeed. You +try to find out so that we can compel this miserable man to marry +her." + +But Julien became angry: "Oh! you know I do not wish to hear anything +about it. You wish to keep this girl. Keep her, but do not bother me +about her." + +Since the girl's illness he appeared to be more irritable than ever; +and he had got into the way of never speaking to his wife without +shouting as if he were in a rage, while she, on the contrary, would +lower her voice, be gentle and conciliating, to avoid all argument; +but she often wept at night after she went to bed. + +In spite of his constant irritability, her husband had become more +affectionate than customary since their return. + +Rosalie was soon quite well and less sad, although she appeared +terrified, pursued by some unknown fear, and she ran away twice when +Jeanne tried to question her again. + +Julien all at once became more amiable, and the young wife, clinging +to vain hopes, also became more cheerful. The thaw had not yet set in +and a hard, smooth, glittering covering of snow extended over the +landscape. Neither men nor animals were to be seen; only the chimneys +of the cottages gave evidence of life in the smoke that ascended from +them into the icy air. + +One evening the thermometer fell still lower, and Julien, shivering as +he left the table--for the dining-room was never properly heated, he +was so economical with the wood--rubbed his hands, murmuring: "It will +be warmer to-night, won't it, my dear?" He laughed with his jolly +laugh of former days, and Jeanne threw her arms around his neck: "I do +not feel well, dear; perhaps I shall be better to-morrow." + +"As you wish, my dear. If you are ill you must take care of yourself." +And they began to talk of other things. + +She retired early. Julien, for a wonder, had a fire lighted in her +room. As soon as he saw that it was burning brightly, he kissed his +wife on the forehead and left the room. + +The whole house seemed to be penetrated by the cold; the very walls +seemed to be shivering, and Jeanne shivered in her bed. Twice she got +up to put fresh logs on the fire and to look for dresses, skirts, and +other garments which she piled on the bed. Nothing seemed to warm her; +her feet were numbed and her lower limbs seemed to tingle, making her +excessively nervous and restless. + +Then her teeth began to chatter, her hands shook, there was a +tightness in her chest, her heart began to beat with hard, dull +pulsations, and at times seemed to stop beating, and she gasped for +breath. A terrible apprehension seized her, while the cold seemed to +penetrate to her marrow. She never had felt such a sensation, she had +never seemed to lose her hold on life like this before, never been so +near her last breath. + +"I am going to die," she thought, "I am dying----" + +And filled with terror, she jumped out of bed, rang for Rosalie, +waited, rang again, waited again, shivering and frozen. + +The little maid did not come. She was doubtless asleep, that first, +sound sleep that nothing can disturb. Jeanne, in despair, darted +toward the stairs in her bare feet, and groping her way, she ascended +the staircase quietly, found the door, opened it, and called, +"Rosalie!" She went forward, stumbled against the bed, felt all over +it with her hands and found that it was empty. It was empty and cold, +and as if no one had slept there. Much surprised, she said: "What! Has +she gone out in weather like this?" + +But as her heart began to beat tumultuously till she seemed to be +suffocating, she went downstairs again with trembling limbs in order +to wake Julien. She rushed into his room filled with the idea that she +was going to die, and longing to see him before she lost +consciousness. + +By the light of the dying embers she perceived Rosalie's head leaning +on her husband's shoulder. + +At the cry she gave they both started to their feet; she stood +motionless for a second, horrified at this discovery, and then fled to +her room; and when Julien, at his wit's end, called "Jeanne!" she was +seized with an overmastering terror of seeing him, of hearing his +voice, of listening to him explaining, lying, of meeting his gaze; and +she darted toward the stairs again and went down. + +She now ran along in the darkness, at the risk of falling downstairs, +at the risk of breaking her neck on the stone floor of the hall. She +rushed along, impelled by an imperious desire to flee, to know nothing +about it, to see no one. + +When she was at the bottom of the stairs she sat down on one of the +steps, still in her nightdress, and in bare feet, and remained in a +dazed condition. She heard Julien moving and walking about. She +started to her feet in order to escape him. He was starting to come +downstairs and called: "Listen, Jeanne!" + +No, she would not listen nor let him touch her with the tips of his +fingers; and she darted into the dining-room as if she were fleeing +from an assassin. She looked for a door of escape, a hiding place, a +dark corner, some way of avoiding him. She hid under the table. But he +was already at the door, a candle in his hand, still calling: +"Jeanne!" She started off again like a hare, darted into the kitchen, +ran round it twice like a trapped animal, and as he came near her, she +suddenly opened the door into the garden and darted out into the +night. + +The contact with the snow, into which she occasionally sank up to her +knees, seemed to give her the energy of despair. She did not feel +cold, although she had little on. She felt nothing, her body was so +numbed from the emotion of her mind, and she ran along as white as the +snow. + +She followed the large avenue, crossed the wood, crossed the ditch, +and started off across the plain. + +There was no moon, the stars were shining like sparks of fire in the +black sky; but the plain was light with a dull whiteness, and lay in +infinite silence. + +Jeanne walked quickly, hardly breathing, not knowing, not thinking of +anything. She suddenly stopped on the edge of the cliff. She stopped +short, instinctively, and crouched down, bereft of thought and of will +power. + +In the abyss before her the silent, invisible sea exhaled the salt +odor of its wrack at low tide. + +She remained thus some time, her mind as inert as her body; then, all +at once, she began to tremble, to tremble violently, like a sail +shaken by the wind. Her arms, her hands, her feet, impelled by an +invisible force, throbbed, pulsated wildly, and her consciousness +awakened abruptly, sharp and poignant. + +Old memories passed before her mental vision: the sail with him in +Pere Lastique's boat, their conversation, his nascent love, the +christening of the boat; then she went back, further back, to that +night of dreams when she first came to the "Poplars." And now! _And +now!_ Oh, her life was shipwrecked, all joy was ended, all +expectation at an end; and the frightful future full of torture, of +deception, and of despair appeared before her. Better to die, it would +all be over at once. + +But a voice cried in the distance: "Here it is, here are her steps; +quick, quick, this way!" It was Julien who was looking for her. + +Oh! she did not wish to see him again. In the abyss down yonder before +her she now heard a slight sound, the indistinct ripple of the waves +over the rocks. She rose to her feet with the idea of throwing herself +over the cliff and bidding life farewell. Like one in despair, she +uttered the last word of the dying, the last word of the young soldier +slain in battle: "Mother!" + +All at once the thought of little mother came to her mind, she saw her +sobbing, she saw her father on his knees before her mangled remains, +and in a second she felt all the pain of their sorrow. + +She sank down again into the snow; and when Julien and old Simon, +followed by Marius, carrying a lantern, seized her arm to pull her +back as she was so close to the brink, she made no attempt to escape. + +She let them do as they would, for she could not stir. She felt that +they were carrying her, and then that she was being put to bed and +rubbed with hot cloths; then she became unconscious. + +Then she had a nightmare, or was it a nightmare? She was in bed. It +was broad daylight, but she could not get up. Why? She did not know. +Then she heard a little noise on the floor, a sort of scratching, a +rustling, and suddenly a mouse, a little gray mouse, ran quickly +across the sheet. Another followed it, then a third, who ran toward +her chest with his little, quick scamper. Jeanne was not afraid, and +she reached out her hand to catch the animal, but could not catch it. +Then other mice, ten, twenty, hundreds, thousands, rose up on all +sides of her. They climbed the bedposts, ran up the tapestries, +covered the bed completely. And soon they got beneath the covers; +Jeanne felt them gliding over her skin, tickling her limbs, running up +and down her body. She saw them running from the bottom of the bed to +get into her neck under the sheets; and she tried to fight them off, +throwing her hands out to try and catch them, but always finding them +empty. + +She was frantic, wanted to escape, screamed, and it seemed as if she +were being held down, as if strong arms enfolded her and rendered her +helpless; but she saw no one. + +She had no idea of time. It must have been long, a very long time. + +Then she awoke, weary, aching, but quiet. She felt weak, very weak. +She opened her eyes and was not surprised to see little mother seated +in her room with a man whom she did not know. + +How old was she? She did not know, and thought she was a very little +girl. She had no recollection of anything. + +The big man said: "Why, she has regained consciousness." Little mother +began to weep. Then the big man resumed: "Come, be calm, baroness; I +can ensure her recovery now. But do not talk to her at all. Let her +sleep, let her sleep." + +Then it seemed to Jeanne that she remained in a state of exhaustion +for a long time, overcome by a heavy sleep as soon as she tried to +think; and she tried not to remember anything whatever, as though she +had a vague fear that the reality might come back to her. + +Once when she awoke she saw Julien, alone, standing beside her; and +suddenly it all came back to her, as if the curtain which hid her past +life had been raised. + +She felt a horrible pain in her heart, and wanted to escape once more. +She threw back the coverlets, jumped to the floor and fell down, her +limbs being too weak to support her. + +Julien sprang toward her, and she began to scream for him not to touch +her. She writhed and rolled on the floor. The door opened. Aunt Lison +came running in with Widow Dentu, then the baron, and finally little +mother, puffing and distracted. + +They put her back into bed, and she immediately closed her eyes, so as +to escape talking and be able to think quietly. + +Her mother and aunt watched over her anxiously, saying: "Do you hear +us now, Jeanne, my little Jeanne?" + +She pretended to be deaf, not to hear them, and did not answer. Night +came on and the nurse took up her position beside the bed. She did not +sleep; she kept trying to think of things that had escaped her memory +as though there were holes in it, great white empty places where +events had not been noted down. + +Little by little she began to recall the facts, and she pondered over +them steadily. + +Little mother, Aunt Lison, the baron had come, so she must have been +very ill. But Julien? What had he said? Did her parents know? And +Rosalie, where was she? And what should she do? What should she do? An +idea came to her--she would return to Rouen and live with father and +little mother as in old days. She would be a widow; that's all. + +Then she waited, listening to what was being said around her, +understanding everything without letting them see it, rejoiced at her +returning reason, patient and crafty. + +That evening, at last, she found herself alone with the baroness and +called to her in a low tone: "Little Mother!" Her own voice astonished +her, it seemed strange. The baroness seized her hands: "My daughter, +my darling Jeanne! My child, do you recognize me?" + +"Yes, little mother, but you must not weep; we have a great deal to +talk about. Did Julien tell you why I ran away in the snow?" + +"Yes, my darling, you had a very dangerous fever." + +"It was not that, mamma. I had the fever afterward; but did he tell +you what gave me the fever and why I ran away?" + +"No, my dearie." + +"It was because I found Rosalie in his room." + +Her mother thought she was delirious again and soothed her, saying: +"Go to sleep, darling, calm yourself, try to sleep." + +But Jeanne, persistent, continued: "I am quite sensible now, little +mother. I am not talking wildly as I must have done these last days. I +felt ill one night and I went to look for Julien. Rosalie was with him +in his room. I did not know what I was doing, for sorrow, and I ran +out into the snow to throw myself off the cliff." + +But the baroness reiterated, "Yes, darling, you have been very ill, +very ill." + +"It is not that, mamma. I found Rosalie in with Julien, and I will not +live with him any longer. You will take me back with you to Rouen to +live as we used to do." + +The baroness, whom the doctor had warned not to thwart Jeanne in any +way, replied: "Yes, my darling." + +But the invalid grew impatient: "I see that you do not believe me. Go +and fetch little father, he will soon understand." + +The baroness left the room and presently returned, leaning on her +husband's arm. They sat down beside the bed and Jeanne began to talk. +She told them all, quietly, in a weak voice, but clearly; all about +Julien's peculiar character, his harshness, his avarice, and, finally, +his infidelity. + +When she had finished, the baron saw that she was not delirious, but +he did not know what to think, what to determine, or what to answer. +He took her hand, tenderly, as he used to do when he put her to sleep +with stories, and said: "Listen, dearie, we must act with prudence. We +must do nothing rash. Try to put up with your husband until we can +come to some decision--promise me this?" + +"I will try, but I will not stay here after I get well," she replied. + +Then she added in a lower tone: "Where is Rosalie now?" + +"You will not see her any more," replied the baron. But she persisted: +"Where is she? I wish to know." Then he confessed that she had not +left the house, but declared that she was going to leave. + +On leaving the room the baron, filled with indignation and wounded in +his feelings as a father, went to look for Julien, and said to him +abruptly: "Sir, I have come to ask you for an explanation of your +conduct toward my daughter. You have been unfaithful to her with your +maid, which is a double insult." + +Julien pretended to be innocent, denied everything positively, swore, +took God as his witness. What proof had they? he asked. Was not Jeanne +delirious? Had she not had brain fever? Had she not run out in the +snow, in an attack of delirium, at the very beginning of her illness? +And it was just at this time, when she was running about the house +almost naked, that she pretends that she saw her maid in her husband's +room! + +And he grew angry, threatened a lawsuit, became furious. The baron, +bewildered, made excuses, begged his pardon, and held out his loyal +hand to Julien, who refused to take it. + +When Jeanne heard what her husband had said, she did not show any +annoyance, but replied: "He is lying, papa, but we shall end by +convicting him." + +For some days she remained taciturn and reserved, thinking over +matters. The third morning she asked to see Rosalie. The baron refused +to send her up, saying she had left. Jeanne persisted, saying: "Well, +let some one go and fetch her." + +She was beginning to get excited when the doctor came. They told him +everything, so that he could form an opinion. But Jeanne suddenly +burst into tears, her nerves all unstrung, and almost screamed: "I +want Rosalie; I wish to see her!" + +The doctor took hold of her hand and said in a low tone: "Calm +yourself, madame; any emotion may lead to serious consequences, for +you are enceinte." + +She was dumfounded, as though she had received a blow; and it seemed +to her that she felt the first stirrings of life within her. Then she +was silent, not even listening to what was being said, absorbed in her +own thoughts. She could not sleep that night for thinking of the new +life that was developing in her, and was sad at the thought that it +was Julien's child, and might resemble him. The following morning she +sent for the baron. "Little father," she said, "my resolution is +formed; I wish to know everything, and especially just now; you +understand, I insist, and you know that you must not thwart me in my +present condition. Listen! You must go and get M. le Cure. I need him +here to keep Rosalie from telling a lie. Then, as soon as he comes, +send him up to me, and you stay downstairs with little mother. And, +above all things, see that Julien does not suspect anything." + +An hour later the priest came, looking fatter than ever, and puffing +like the baroness. He sat down in an arm-chair and began to joke, +wiping his forehead as usual with his plaid handkerchief. "Well, +baroness, I do not think we grow any thinner; I think we make a good +pair." Then, turning toward the patient, he said: "Eh, what is this I +hear, young lady, that we are soon to have a fresh baptism? Aha, it +will not be a boat this time." And in a graver tone he added: "It will +be a defender of the country; unless"--after a moment's reflection--"it +should be the prospective mother of a family, like you, madame," +bowing to the baroness. + +The door at the end of the room opened and Rosalie appeared, beside +herself, weeping, refusing to enter the room, clinging to the door +frame, and being pushed forward by the baron. Quite out of patience, +he thrust her into the room. She covered her face with her hands and +remained standing there, sobbing. + +Jeanne, as soon as she saw her, rose to a sitting posture, whiter than +the sheets, and with her heart beating wildly. She could not speak, +could hardly breathe. At length she said, in a voice broken with +emotion: "I--I--will not--need--to question you. It--it is enough for +me to see you thus--to--to see your--your shame in my presence." + +After a pause, for she was out of breath, she continued: "I had M. le +Cure come, so that it might be like a confession, you understand." + +Rosalie, motionless, uttered little cries that were almost screams +behind her hands. + +The baron, whose anger was gaining ground, seized her arms, and +snatching her hands from her face, he threw her on her knees beside +the bed, saying: "Speak! Answer!" + +She remained on the ground, in the position assigned to Magdalens, her +cap awry, her apron on the floor, and her face again covered by her +hands. + +Then the priest said: "Come, my girl, listen to what is said to you, +and reply. We do not want to harm you, but we want to know what +occurred." + +Jeanne, leaning over, looked at her and said: "Is it true that you +were with Julien when I surprised you?" + +Rosalie moaned through her fingers, "Yes, madame." + +Then the baroness suddenly began to cry in a choking fashion, and her +convulsive sobs accompanied those of Rosalie. + +Jeanne, with her eyes fixed on the maid, said: "How long had this been +going on?" + +"Ever since he came here," faltered Rosalie. + +Jeanne could not understand. "Ever since he came--then--ever +since--ever since the spring?" + +"Yes, madame." + +"Ever since he came into this house?" + +"Yes, madame." + +And Jeanne, as if overflowing with questions, asked, speaking +precipitately: + +"But how did it happen? How did he approach you? How did he persuade +you? What did he say? When, how did you ever yield to him? How could +you ever have done it?" + +Rosalie, removing her hands from her face, and overwhelmed also with a +feverish desire to speak, said: + +"How do I know, myself? It was the day he dined here for the first +time, and he came up to my room. He had hidden himself in the loft. I +did not dare to scream for fear of making a scandal. I no longer knew +what I was doing. Then I said nothing because I liked him." + +Then Jeanne exclaimed with almost a scream: + +"But--your--your child--is his child?" + +Rosalie sobbed. + +"Yes, madame." + +Then they were both silent. The only sound to be heard was the sobs of +Rosalie and of the baroness. + +Jeanne, quite overcome, felt her tears also beginning to flow; and +they fell silently down her cheeks. + +The maid's child had the same father, as her child! Her anger was at +an end; she now was filled with a dreary, slow, profound and infinite +despair. She presently resumed in a changed, tearful voice, the voice +of a woman who has been crying: + +"When we returned from--from down there--from our journey--when did he +begin again?" + +The little maid, who had sunk down on the floor, faltered: "The first +evening." + +Each word wrung Jeanne's heart. So on the very first night of their +return to the "Poplars" he left her for this girl. That was why he +wanted to sleep alone! + +She now knew all she wanted to know, and exclaimed: "Go away, go +away!" And as Rosalie, perfectly crushed, did not stir, Jeanne called +to her father: "Take her away, carry her away!" The priest, who had +said nothing as yet, thought that the moment had arrived for him to +preach a little sermon. + +"What you have done is very wrong, my daughter, very wrong, and God +will not pardon you so easily. Consider the hell that awaits you if +you do not always act right. Now that you have a child you must behave +yourself. No doubt madame la baronne will do something for you, and we +will find you a husband." + +He would have continued speaking, but the baron, having again seized +Rosalie by the shoulders, raised her from the floor and dragged her to +the door, and threw her like a package into the corridor. As he turned +back into the room, looking paler than his daughter, the priest +resumed: "What can one do? They are all like that in the district. It +is shocking, but cannot be helped, and then one must be a little +indulgent toward the weaknesses of our nature. They never get married +until they have become enceinte, never, madame." He added, smiling: +"One might call it a local custom. So, you see, monsieur, your maid +did as all the rest do." + +But the baron, who was trembling with nervousness, interrupted him, +saying, "She! what do I care about her! It is Julien with whom I am +indignant. It is infamous, the way he has behaved, and I shall take my +daughter away." + +He walked up and down excitedly, becoming more and more exasperated: +"It is infamous to have betrayed my child, infamous! He is a wretch, +this man, a cad, a wretch! and I will tell him so. I will slap his +face. I will give him a horsewhipping!" + +The priest, who was slowly taking a pinch of snuff, seated beside the +baroness still in tears, and endeavoring to fulfill his office of a +peacemaker, said: "Come, monsieur le baron, between ourselves, he has +done what every one else does. Do you know many husbands who are +faithful?" And he added with a sly good humor: "Come now, I wager that +you have had your turn. Your hand on your heart, am I right?" The +baron had stopped in astonishment before the priest, who continued: +"Why, yes, you did just as others did. Who knows if you did not make +love to a little sugar plum like that? I tell you that every one does. +Your wife was none the less happy, or less loved; am I not right?" + +The baron had not stirred, he was much disturbed. What the priest said +was true, and he had sinned as much as any one and had not hesitated +when his wife's maids were in question. Was he a wretch on that +account? Why should he judge Julien's conduct so severely when his own +had not been above blame? + +The baroness, still struggling with her sobs, smiled faintly at the +recollection of her husband's escapades, for she belonged to the +sentimental class for whom love adventures are a part of existence. + +Jeanne, exhausted, lay with wide-open eyes, absorbed in painful +reflection. Something Rosalie had said had wounded her as though an +arrow had pierced her heart: "As for me, I said nothing, because I +liked him." + +She had liked him also, and that was the only reason why she had given +herself, bound herself for life to him, why she had renounced +everything else, all her cherished plans, all the unknown future. She +had fallen into this marriage, into this hole without any edges by +which one could climb out, into this wretchedness, this sadness, this +despair, because, like Rosalie, she had liked him! + +The door was pushed violently open and Julien appeared, with a furious +expression on his face. He had caught sight of Rosalie moaning on the +stairs, and suspected that something was up, that the maid had +probably told all. The sight of the priest riveted him to the spot. + +"Why, what's the matter?" he asked in a trembling but quiet tone. + +The baron, so violent a short while ago, did not venture to speak, +afraid of the priest's remarks, and of what his son-in-law might say +in the same strain. Little mother was weeping more copiously than +ever; but Jeanne had raised herself with her hands and looked, +breathing quickly, at the one who had caused her such cruel sorrow. +She stammered out: "The fact is, we know all, all your rascality +since--since the day you first entered this house--we know that the +child of this maid is your child, just as--as--mine is--they will be +brothers." Overcome with sorrow at this thought, she buried herself in +the sheets and wept bitterly. + +Julien stood there gaping, not knowing what to say or do. The priest +came to the rescue. + +"Come, come, do not give way like that, my dear young lady, be +sensible." He rose, approached the bed and placed his warm hand on the +despairing girl's forehead. This seemed to soothe her strangely. She +felt quieted, as if this strong peasant's hand, accustomed to the +gesture of absolution, to kindly consolations, had conveyed by its +touch some mysterious solace. + +The good man, still standing, continued: "Madame, we must always +forgive. A great sorrow has come to you; but God in His mercy has +balanced it by a great happiness, since you will become a mother. This +child will be your comfort. In his name I implore you, I adjure you to +forgive M. Julien's error. It will be a new bond between you, a pledge +of his future fidelity. Can you remain apart in your heart from him +whose child you bear?" + +She did not reply, crushed, mortified, exhausted as she was, without +even strength for anger or resentment. Her nerves seemed relaxed, +almost severed, she seemed to be scarcely alive. + +The baroness, who seemed incapable of resentment, and whose mind was +unequal to prolonged effort, murmured: "Come, come, Jeanne." + +Then the priest took the hand of the young man and leading him up to +the bed, he placed his hand in that of his wife, and gave it a little +tap as though to unite them more closely. Then laying aside his +professional tone and manner, he said with a satisfied air: "Well, +now, that's done. Believe me, that is the best thing to do." The two +hands, joined for a moment, separated immediately. Julien, not daring +to kiss Jeanne, kissed his mother-in-law on the forehead, turned on +his heel, took the arm of the baron, who acquiesced, happy at heart +that the thing had been settled thus, and they went out together to +smoke a cigar. + +The patient, overcome, dozed off, while the priest and little mother +talked in a low tone. + +The priest explained and propounded his ideas, to which the baroness +assented by nodding her head. He said in conclusion: "Well, then, that +is understood; you will give this girl the Barville farm, and I will +undertake to find her a husband, a good, steady fellow. Oh! with a +property worth twenty thousand francs we shall have no lack of +suitors. There will be more than enough to choose from." + +The baroness was smiling now, quite happy, with the remains of two +tears that had dried on her cheeks. + +She repeated: "That is settled. Barville is worth at least twenty +thousand francs, but it will be settled on the child, the parents +having the use of it during their lifetime." + +The cure rose, shook little mother's hand, saying: "Do not disturb +yourself, Madame la Baronne, do not disturb yourself; I know what an +effort it is." + +As he went out he met Aunt Lison coming to see her patient. She +noticed nothing; they told her nothing; and she knew nothing, as +usual. + + * * * * * + +CHAPTER VIII + +MATERNITY + +Rosalie had left the house. Jeanne felt no joy at the thought of being +a mother, she had had so much sorrow. She awaited the advent of her +child without curiosity, still filled with the apprehension of unknown +misfortunes. + +A big woman, big as a house, had taken Rosalie's place and supported +the baroness in her monotonous walks along her avenue. The baron gave +his arm to Jeanne, who was now always ailing, while Aunt Lison, +uneasy, and busied about the approaching event, held her other hand, +bewildered at this mystery which she would never know. + +They all walked along like this almost in silence for hours at a time, +while Julien was riding about the country on horseback, having +suddenly acquired this taste. Nothing ever came to disturb their +dreary life. The baron, his wife, and the vicomte paid a visit to the +Fourvilles, whom Julien seemed to be already well acquainted with, +without one knowing just how. Another ceremonious visit was exchanged +with the Brisevilles, who were still hidden in their manor house. + +One afternoon, about four o'clock, two persons, a lady and gentleman +on horseback, rode up into the courtyard of the chateau. Julien, +greatly excited, ran up to Jeanne's room. "Quick, quick, come +downstairs; here are the Fourvilles. They have just come as neighbors, +knowing your condition. Tell them that I have gone out, but that I +will be back. I will just go and make myself presentable." + +Jeanne, much surprised, went downstairs. A pale, pretty young woman +with a sad face, dreamy eyes, and lustreless, fair hair, looking as +though the sunlight had never kissed it, quietly introduced her +husband, a kind of giant, or ogre with a large red mustache. She +added: "We have several times had the pleasure of meeting M. de +Lamare. We heard from him how you were suffering, and we would not put +off coming to see you as neighbors, without any ceremony. You see that +we came on horseback. I also had the pleasure the other day of a visit +from madame, your mother, and the baron." + +She spoke with perfect ease, familiar but refined. Jeanne was charmed, +and fell in love with her at once. "This is a friend," she thought. + +The Comte de Fourville, on the contrary, seemed like a bear in the +drawing-room. As soon as he was seated, he placed his hat on the chair +next him, did not know what to do with his hands, placed them on his +knees, then on the arms of the chair, and finally crossed his fingers +as if in prayer. + +Suddenly Julien entered the room. Jeanne was amazed and did not +recognize him. He was shaved. He looked handsome, elegant, and +attractive as on the day of their betrothal. He shook the comte's +hairy paw, kissed the hand of the comtesse, whose ivory cheeks colored +up slightly while her eyelids quivered. + +He began to speak; he was charming as in former days. His large eyes, +the mirrors of love, had become tender again. And his hair, lately so +dull and unkempt, had regained its soft, glossy wave, with the use of +a hairbrush and perfumed oil. + +At the moment that the Fourvilles were taking their leave the +comtesse, turning toward him, said: "Would you like to take a ride on +Thursday, dear vicomte?" + +As he bowed and murmured, "Why, certainly, madame," she took Jeanne's +hand and said in a sympathetic and affectionate tone, with a cordial +smile: "Oh! when you are well, we will all three gallop about the +country. It will be delightful. What do you say?" + +With an easy gesture she held up her riding skirt and then jumped into +the saddle with the lightness of a bird, while her husband, after +bowing awkwardly, mounted his big Norman steed. As they disappeared +outside the gate, Julien, who seemed charmed, exclaimed: "What +delightful people! those are friends who may be useful to us." + +Jeanne, pleased also without knowing why, replied: "The little +comtesse is charming, I feel that I shall love her, but the husband +looks like a brute. Where did you meet them?" + +He rubbed his hands together good humoredly. "I met them by chance at +the Brisevilles'. The husband seems a little rough. He cares for +nothing but hunting, but he is a real noble for all that." + +The dinner was almost cheerful, as though some secret happiness had +come into the house. + +Nothing new happened until the latter days of July, when Jeanne was +taken ill. As she seemed to grow worse, the doctor was sent for and at +the first glance recognized the symptoms of a premature confinement. + +Her sufferings presently abated a little, but she was filled with a +terrible anguish, a despairing sinking, something like a presentiment, +the mysterious touch of death. It is in these moments when it comes so +near to us that its breath chills our hearts. + +The room was full of people. Little mother, buried in an armchair, was +choking with grief. The baron, his hands trembling, ran hither and +thither, carrying things, consulting the doctor and losing his head. +Julien paced up and down, looking concerned, but perfectly calm, and +Widow Dentu stood at the foot of the bed with an appropriate +expression, the expression of a woman of experience whom nothing +astonishes. The cook, Ludivine, and Aunt Lison remained discreetly +concealed behind the door of the lobby. + +Toward morning Jeanne became worse, and as her involuntary screams +escaped from between her closed teeth, she thought incessantly of +Rosalie, who had not suffered, who had hardly moaned, who had borne +her child without suffering and without difficulty, and in her +wretched and troubled mind she continually compared their conditions +and cursed God, whom she had formerly thought to be just. She rebelled +at the wicked partiality of fate and at the wicked lies of those who +preach justice and goodness. + +At times her sufferings were so great that her mind was a blank. She +had neither strength, life nor knowledge for anything but suffering. + +All at once her sufferings ceased. The nurse and the doctor leaned +over her and gave her all attention. Presently she heard a little cry +and, in spite of her weakness, she unconsciously held out her arms. +She was suddenly filled with joy, with a glimpse of a new-found +happiness which had just unfolded. Her child was born, she was +soothed, happy, happy as she never yet had been. Her heart and her +body revived; she was now a mother. She felt that she was saved, +secure from all despair, for she had here something to love. + +From now on she had but one thought--her child. She was a fanatical +mother, all the more intense because she had been deceived in her +love, deceived in her hopes. She would sit whole days beside the +window, rocking the little cradle. + +The baron and little mother smiled at this excess of tenderness, but +Julien, whose habitual routine had been interfered with and his +overweening importance diminished by the arrival of this noisy and +all-powerful tyrant, unconsciously jealous of this mite of a man who +had usurped his place in the house, kept on saying angrily and +impatiently: "How wearisome she is with her brat!" + +She became so obsessed by this affection that she would pass the +entire night beside the cradle, watching the child asleep. As she was +becoming exhausted by this morbid life, taking no rest, growing weaker +and thinner and beginning to cough, the doctor ordered the child to be +taken from her. She got angry, wept, implored, but they were deaf to +her entreaties. His nurse took him every evening, and each night his +mother would rise, and in her bare feet go to the door, listen at the +keyhole to see if he was sleeping quietly, did not wake up and wanted +nothing. + +Julien found her here one night when he came home late, after dining +with the Fourvilles. After that they locked her in her room to oblige +her to stay in bed. + +The baptism took place at the end of August. The baron was godfather +and Aunt Lison godmother. The child was named Pierre-Simon-Paul and +called Paul for short. + +At the beginning of September Aunt Lison left without any commotion. +Her absence was as little felt as her presence. + +One evening after dinner the priest appeared. He seemed embarrassed as +if he were burdened by some mystery, and after some idle remarks, he +asked the baroness and her husband to grant him a short interview in +private. + +They all three walked slowly down the long avenue, talking with +animation, while Julien, who was alone with Jeanne, was astonished, +disturbed and annoyed at this secret. + +He accompanied the priest when he took his leave, and they went off +together toward the church where the Angelus was ringing. + +As it was cool, almost cold, the others went into the drawing-room. +They were all dozing when Julien came in abruptly, his face red, +looking very indignant. + +From the door he called out to his parents-in-law, without remembering +that Jeanne was there: "Are you crazy, for God's sake! to go and throw +away twenty thousand francs on that girl?" + +No one replied, they were so astonished. He continued, bellowing with +rage: "How can one be so stupid as that? Do you wish to leave us +without a sou?" + +The baron, who had recovered his composure, attempted to stop him: +"Keep still! Remember that you are speaking before your wife." + +But Julien was trembling with excitement: "As if I cared; she knows +all about it, anyway. It is robbing her." + +Jeanne, bewildered, looked at him without understanding. She faltered: +"What in the world is the matter?" + +Julien then turned toward her, to try and get her on his side as a +partner who has been cheated out of an unexpected fortune. He +hurriedly told her about the conspiracy to marry off Rosalie and about +the gift of the Barville property, which was worth at least twenty +thousand francs. He said: "Your parents are crazy, my dear, crazy +enough to be shut up! Twenty thousand francs! twenty thousand francs! +Why, they have lost their heads! Twenty thousand francs for a +bastard!" + +Jeanne listened without emotion and without anger, astonished at her +own calmness, indifferent now to everything but her own child. + +The baron was raging, but could find nothing to say. He finally burst +forth and, stamping his foot, exclaimed: "Think of what you are +saying; it is disgusting. Whose fault was it if we had to give this +girl-mother a dowry? Whose child is it? You would like to abandon it +now!" + +Julien, amazed at the baron's violence, looked at him fixedly. He then +resumed in a calmer tone: "But fifteen hundred francs would be quite +enough. They all have children before they are legally married. It +makes no difference whose child it is, in any case. Instead of giving +one of your farms, to the value of twenty thousand francs, in addition +to making the world aware of what has happened, you should, to say the +least, have had some regard for our name and our position." + +He spoke in a severe tone like a man who stood on his rights and was +convinced of the logic of his argument. The baron, disturbed at this +unexpected discussion, stood there gaping at him. Julien then, seeing +his advantage, concluded: "Happily, nothing has yet been settled. I +know the young fellow who is going to marry her. He is an honest chap +and we can make a satisfactory arrangement with him. I will take +charge of the matter." + +And he went out immediately, fearing no doubt to continue the +discussion, and pleased that he had had the last word, a proof, he +thought, that they acquiesced in his views. + +As soon as he had left the room, however, the baron exclaimed: "Oh, +that is going too far, much too far!" + +But Jeanne, happening to look up at her father's bewildered face, +began to laugh with her clear, ringing laugh of former days, when +anything amused her. She said: "Father, father, did you hear the tone +in which he said: 'Twenty thousand francs?'" + +Little mother, whose mirth was as ready as her tears, as she recalled +her son-in-law's angry expression, his indignant exclamations and his +refusal to allow the girl whom he had led astray to be given money +that did not belong to him, delighted also at Jeanne's mirth, gave way +to little bursts of laughter till the tears came to her eyes. The +baron caught the contagion, and all three laughed to kill themselves +as they used to do in the good old days. + +As soon as they quieted down a little Jeanne said: "How strange it is +that all this does not affect me. I look upon him now as a stranger. I +cannot believe that I am his wife. You see how I can laugh at +his--his--want of delicacy." + +And without knowing why they all three embraced each other, smiling +and happy. + +Two days later, after breakfast, just as Julien had started away from +the house on horseback, a strapping young fellow from twenty-one to +twenty-five years old, clad in a brand-new blue blouse with wide +sleeves buttoning at the wrist, slyly jumped over the gate, as though +he had been there awaiting his opportunity all the morning, crept +along the Couillards' ditch, came round the chateau, and cautiously +approached the baron and his wife, who were still sitting under the +plane-tree. + +He took off his cap and advanced, bowing in an awkward manner. As soon +as he was close to them he said: "Your servant, Monsieur le Baron, +madame and the company." Then, as no one replied, he said: "It is I, I +am Desire Lecocq." + +As the name conveyed nothing to them, the baron asked, "What do you +want?" + +Then, altogether upset at the necessity of explaining himself, the +young fellow stuttered out as he gazed alternately at his cap, which +he held in his hands, and at the roof of the chateau: "It was M'sieu +le Cure who said something to me about this matter----" And then he +stopped, fearing he might say too much and compromise his own +interests. + +The other, lowering his voice, blurted out: "That matter of your +maid--Rosalie----" + +Jeanne, who had guessed what was coming, had risen and moved away with +her infant in her arms. + +"Come nearer," said the baron, pointing to the chair his daughter had +just left. The peasant sat down, murmuring: "You are very good." Then +he waited as though he had no more to say. After a long silence, he +screwed up courage, and looking up at the sky, remarked: "There's fine +weather for the time of year. But the earth will be none the better +for it, as the seed is already sown." And then he was silent again. + +The baron was growing impatient. He plunged right into the subject and +said drily: "Then it is you who are going to marry Rosalie?" + +The man at once became uneasy, his Norman caution being on the alert. +He replied with more animation, but with a tinge of defiance: "That +depends; perhaps yes, perhaps no; it depends." + +The baron, annoyed at this hedging, exclaimed angrily: "Answer +frankly, damn it! Was this what you came here for? Yes or no! Will you +marry her? Yes or no!" + +The bewildered man looked steadfastly at his feet: "If it is as M'sieu +le Cure said, I will take her, but if it is as M'sieu Julien said, I +will not take her." + +"What did M. Julien tell you?" + +"M'sieu Julien told me fifteen hundred francs and M'sieu le Cure told +me that I should have twenty thousand. I will do it for twenty +thousand, but I will not do it for fifteen hundred." + +The baroness, who was buried in her easy chair, began to giggle at the +anxious expression of the peasant, who, not understanding this +frivolity, glanced at her angrily out of the corner of his eye and +waited in silence. + +The baron, who was embarrassed at this bargaining, cut it short by +saying: "I told M. le Cure that you should have the Barville farm +during your lifetime and that then it would revert to the child. It is +worth twenty thousand francs. I do not go back on my word. Is it +settled? Yes or no!" + +The man smiled with a humble and satisfied expression, and suddenly +becoming loquacious, said: "Oh, in that case, I will not say no. That +was all that stood in my way. When M'sieu le Cure spoke to me, I was +ready at once, by gosh! and I was very pleased to accommodate the +baron who was giving me that. I said to myself, 'Is it not true that +when people are willing to do each other favors, they can always find +a way and can make it worth while?' But M'sieu Julien came to see me, +and it was only fifteen hundred francs. I said to myself: 'I must see +about that,' and so I came here. That is not to say that I did not +trust you, but I wanted to know. Short accounts make long friends. Is +not that true, M'sieu le Baron?" + +The baron interrupted him by asking, "When do you wish to get +married?" + +The man became timid again, very much embarrassed, and finally said, +hesitatingly: "I will not do it until I get a little paper." + +This time the baron got angry: "Doggone it! you will have the marriage +contract. That is the best kind of paper." + +But the peasant was stubborn: "Meanwhile I might take a little turn; +it will not be dark for a while." + +The baron rose to make an end of the matter: "Answer yes or no at +once. If you do not wish her, say so; I have another suitor." + +The fear of a rival terrified the crafty Norman. He suddenly made up +his mind and held out his hand, as after buying a cow, saying: "Put it +there, M'sieu le Baron; it is a bargain. Whoever draws back is a +skunk!" + +The baron shook his hand, then called out: "Ludivine!" The cook +appeared at the window. "Bring us a bottle of wine." They clinked +glasses to seal the matter and the young peasant went off with a light +tread. + +Nothing was said to Julien about this visit. The contract was drawn up +with all secrecy and as soon as the banns were published the wedding +took place one Monday morning. + +A neighbor carried the child to church, walking behind the bride and +groom, as a sure sign of good luck. And no one in all the district was +surprised; they simply envied Desire Lecocq. "He was born with a +caul," they said, with a sly smile into which there entered no +resentment. + +Julien was terribly angry and made such a scene that his parents-in-law +cut short their visit to the "Poplars." Jeanne was only moderately +sad at their departure, for little Paul had become for her an +inexhaustible source of happiness. + + * * * * * + +CHAPTER IX + +DEATH OF LA BARONNE + +As Jeanne's health was quite restored, they determined to go and +return the Fourvilles' visit and also to call on the Marquis de +Coutelier. + +Julien had bought at a sale a new one-horse phaeton, so that they +could go out twice a month. They set out one fine December morning, +and after driving for two hours across the plains of Normandy, they +began to descend a little slope into a little valley, the sides of +which were wooded, while the valley itself was cultivated. After an +abrupt turn in the valley they saw the Chateau of Vrillette, a wooded +slope on one side of it and a large pond on the other, out of which +rose one of its walls and which was bounded by a wood of tall pine +trees that formed the other side of the valley. + +Julien explained all the portions of the building to Jeanne, like one +who knows his subject thoroughly, and went into raptures over its +beauty, adding; "It is full of game, this country. The comte loves to +hunt here. This is a true seignorial residence." + +The hall door was opened and the pale comtesse appeared, coming +forward to meet the visitors, all smiles, and wearing a long-trained +dress, like a chatelaine of olden times. She looked a fitting lady of +the lake, born to inhabit this fairy castle. + +The comtesse took both Jeanne's hands, as if she had known her all her +life, and made her sit down beside her in a low chair, while Julien, +all of whose forgotten elegance seemed to have revived within the past +five months, chatted and smiled quietly and familiarly. + +The comtesse and he talked of their horseback rides. She was laughing +at his manner of mounting a horse and called him "Le Chevalier +Trebuche," and he smiled also, having nicknamed her "The Amazon +Queen." A gun fired beneath the windows caused Jeanne to give a little +scream. It was the comte, who had killed a teal. + +His wife called to him. A sound of oars was heard, a boat grinding +against the stones, and he appeared, enormous, booted, followed by two +drenched dogs of a ruddy color like himself, who lay down on the mat +outside the door. + +He seemed more at his ease in his own home, and was delighted to see +his visitors. He put some wood on the fire, sent for madeira and +biscuits and then exclaimed suddenly: "Why, you will take dinner with +us, of course." + +Jeanne, whose child was never out of her thoughts, declined. He +insisted, and as she could not be persuaded, Julien made a gesture of +annoyance. She feared to arouse his ugly, quarrelsome temper, and +although she was very unhappy at the thought that she should not see +Paul until the next day, she consented to stay. + +The afternoon was delightful. They first visited the springs which +bubbled up at the foot of a mossy rock and then took a row on the +pond. At one end of the boat Julien and the comtesse, wrapped in +shawls, were smiling happily like those who have nothing left to wish +for. + +A huge fire was blazing in the spacious reception room, which imparted +a sense of warmth and contentment. The comte seized his wife in his +arms and lifted her from the floor as though she had been a child and +gave her a hearty kiss on each cheek, like a man satisfied with the +world. + +Jeanne, smiling, looked at this good giant whom one would have thought +was an ogre at the very sight of his mustaches, and she thought: "How +one may be deceived each day about everybody." Then, almost +involuntarily, she glanced at Julien standing in the doorway, looking +horribly pale and with his eyes fixed on the comte. She approached him +and said in a low tone: "Are you ill? What is the matter with you?" He +answered her angrily: "Nothing. Let me alone! I was cold." + +When they went into the dining-room the count asked if he might let +his dogs come in, and they settled themselves one on either side of +their master. + +After dinner, as Jeanne and Julien were preparing to leave, M. de +Fourville kept them a little longer to look at some fishing by +torchlight. When they finally set out, wrapped up in their cloaks and +some rugs they had borrowed, Jeanne said almost involuntarily: "What a +fine man that giant is!" Julien, who was driving, replied: "Yes, but +he does not always restrain himself before company." + +A week later they called on the Couteliers, who were supposed to be +the chief noble family in the province. Their property of Remenil +adjoined the large town of Cany. The new chateau built in the reign of +Louis XIV. was hidden in a magnificent park enclosed by walls. The +ruins of the old chateau could be seen on an eminence. They were +ushered into a stately reception room by men servants in livery. In +the middle of the room a sort of column held an immense bowl of Sevres +ware and on the pedestal of the column an autograph letter from the +king, under glass, requested the Marquis Leopold-Herve-Joseph-Germer +de Varneville de Rollebosc de Coutelier to receive this present from +his sovereign. + +Jeanne and Julien were looking at this royal gift when the marquis and +marquise entered the room. + +They were very ceremonious people whose minds, sentiments and words +seemed always to be on stilts. They spoke without waiting for an +answer, smiling complacently, appearing always to be fulfilling the +duty imposed on them by their position, of showing civilities to the +inferior nobility of the region. + +Jeanne and Julien, somewhat taken aback, endeavored to be agreeable, +but although they felt too embarrassed to remain any longer, they did +not know exactly how to take their leave. The marquise herself put an +end to the visit naturally and simply by bringing the conversation to +a close like a queen giving a dismissal. + +On the way home Julien said: "If you like, we will make this our first +and last call; the Fourvilles are good enough for me." Jeanne was of +the same opinion. December passed slowly and the shut-in life began +again as in the previous year. But Jeanne did not find it wearisome, +as she was always taken up with Paul, whom Julien looked at askance, +uneasy and annoyed. Often when the mother held the child in her arms, +kissing it frantically as women do their children, she would hold it +up to its father, saying: "Give him a kiss; one would suppose you did +not love him." He would hardly touch with his lips the child's smooth +forehead, walking all round it, as though he did not wish to touch the +restless little fists. Then he would walk away abruptly as though from +something distasteful. + +The mayor, the doctor and the cure came to dinner occasionally, and +sometimes it was the Fourvilles, with whom they were becoming more and +more intimate. The comte appeared to worship Paul. He held him on his +knees during the whole visit and sometimes during the whole afternoon, +playing with him and amusing him and then kissing him tenderly as +mothers do. He always lamented that he had no children of his own. + +Comtesse Gilberte again mentioned the rides they all four were going +to take together. Jeanne, a little weary of the monotonous days and +nights, was quite happy in anticipation of these plans, and for a week +amused herself making a riding habit. + +They always set out two and two, the comtesse and Julien ahead, the +count and Jeanne a hundred feet behind them, talking quietly, like +good friends, for such they had become through the sympathy of their +straightforward minds and simple hearts. The others often spoke in a +low tone, sometimes bursting into laughter and looking quickly at each +other, as though their eyes were expressing what they dared not utter. +And they would suddenly set off at a gallop, impelled by a desire to +flee, to get away, far away. + +Then Gilberte would seem to be growing irritable. Her sharp voice, +borne on the breeze, occasionally reached the ears of the loitering +couple. The comte would smile and say to Jeanne: "She does not always +get out of bed the right side, that wife of mine." + +One evening as they were coming home the comtesse was teasing her +mount, spurring it and then checking it abruptly. They heard Julien +say several time: "Take care, take care; you will be thrown." "So much +the worse," she replied; "it is none of your business," in a hard +clear tone that resounded across the fields as though the words hung +in the air. + +The animal reared, plunged and champed the bit. The comte, uneasy, +shouted: "Be careful, Gilberte!" Then, as if in defiance, with one of +those impulses of a woman whom nothing can stop, she struck her horse +brutally between the ears. The animal reared in anger, pawed the air +with his front feet and, landing again on his feet, gave a bound and +darted across the plain at full speed. + +First it crossed the meadow, then plunging into a ploughed field +kicked up the damp rich earth behind it, going so fast that one could +hardly distinguish its rider. Julien remained transfixed with +astonishment, calling out in despair: "Madame, madame!" but the comte +was rather annoyed, and, bending forward on his heavy mount, he urged +it forward and started out at such a pace, spurring it on with his +voice, his gestures and the spur, that the huge horseman seemed to be +carrying the heavy beast between his legs and to be lifting it up as +if to fly. They went at incredible speed, straight ahead, and Jeanne +saw the outline of the wife and of the husband fleeing getting smaller +and disappearing in the distance, as if they were two birds pursuing +each other to the verge of the horizon. + +Julien, approaching Jeanne slowly, murmured angrily: "I think she is +crazy to-day." And they set out together to follow their friends, who +were now hidden by the rising ground. + +At the end of about a quarter of an hour they saw them returning and +presently joined them. The comte, perspiring, his face red, but +smiling, happy and triumphant, was holding his wife's trembling horse +in his iron grasp. Gilberte was pale, her face sad and drawn, and she +was leaning one hand on her husband's shoulder as if she were going to +faint. Jeanne understood now that the comte loved her madly. + +After this the comtesse for some months seemed happier than she had +ever been. She came to the "Poplars" more frequently, laughed +continually and kissed Jeanne impulsively. One might have said that +some mysterious charm had come into her life. Her husband was also +quite happy and never took his eyes off her. He said to Jeanne one +evening: "We are very happy just now. Gilberte has never been so nice +as this. She never is out of humor, never gets angry. I feel that she +loves me; until now I was not sure of it." + +Julien also seemed changed, no longer impatient, as though the +friendship between the two families had brought peace and happiness to +both. The spring was singularly early and mild. Everything seemed to +be coming to life beneath the quickening rays of the sun. Jeanne was +vaguely troubled at this awakening of nature. Memories came to her of +the early days of her love. Not that her love for Julien was renewed; +that was over, over forever. But all her being, caressed by the +breeze, filled with the fragrance of spring, was disturbed as though +in response to some invisible and tender appeal. She loved to be +alone, to give herself up in the sunlight to all kinds of vague and +calm enjoyment which did not necessitate thinking. + +One morning as she was in a reverie a vision came to her, a swift +vision of the sunlit nook amid the dark foliage in the little wood +near Etretat. It was there that she had for the first time trembled, +when beside the young man who loved her then. It was there that he had +uttered for the first time the timid desire of his heart. It was there +that she thought that she had all at once reached the radiant future +of her hopes. She wished to see this wood again, to make a sort of +sentimental and superstitious pilgrimage, as though a return to this +spot might somehow change the current of her life. Julien had been +gone since daybreak, she knew not whither. She had the little white +horse, which she sometimes rode, saddled, and she set out. It was one +of those days when nothing seemed stirring, not a blade of grass, not +a leaf. All seemed wrapped in a golden mist beneath the blazing sun. +Jeanne walked her horse, soothed and happy. + +She descended into the valley which leads to the sea, between the +great arches in the cliff that are called the "Gates" of Etretat, and +slowly reached the wood. The sunlight was streaming through the still +scanty foliage. She wandered about the little paths, looking for the +spot. + +All at once, as she was going along one of the lower paths, she +perceived at the farther end of it two horses tied to a tree and +recognized them at once; they belonged to Gilberte and Julien. The +loneliness of the place was beginning to be irksome to her, and she +was pleased at this chance meeting, and whipped up her horse. + +When she reached the two patient animals, who were probably accustomed +to these long halts, she called. There was no reply. A woman's glove +and two riding whips lay on the beaten-down grass. So they had no +doubt sat down there awhile and then walked away leaving their horses +tied. + +She waited a quarter of an hour, twenty minutes, surprised, not +understanding what could be keeping them. She had dismounted. She sat +there, leaning against a tree trunk. Suddenly a thought came to her as +she glanced again at the glove, the whips and the two horses left tied +there, and she sprang to her saddle with an irresistible desire to +make her escape. + +She started off at a gallop for the "Poplars." She was turning things +over in her mind, trying to reason, to put two and two together, to +compare facts. How was it that she had not suspected this sooner? How +was it that she had not noticed anything? How was it she had not +guessed the reason of Julien's frequent absences, the renewal of his +former attention to his appearance and the improvement in his temper? +She now recalled Gilberte's nervous abruptness, her exaggerated +affection and the kind of beaming happiness in which she seemed to +exist latterly and that so pleased the comte. + +She reined in her horse, as she wanted to think, and the quick pace +disturbed her ideas. + +As soon as the first emotion was over she became almost calm, without +jealousy or hatred, but filled with contempt. She hardly gave Julien a +thought; nothing he might do could astonish her. But the double +treachery of the comtesse, her friend, disgusted her. Everyone, then, +was treacherous, untruthful and false. And tears came to her eyes. One +sometimes mourns lost illusions as deeply as one does the death of a +friend. + +She resolved, however, to act as though she knew nothing, to close the +doors of her heart to all ordinary affection and to love no one but +Paul and her parents and to endure other people with an undisturbed +countenance. + +As soon as she got home she ran to her son, carried him up to her room +and kissed him passionately for an hour. + +Julien came home to dinner, smiling and attentive, and appeared +interested as he asked: "Are not father and little mother coming this +year?" + +She was so grateful to him for this little attention that she almost +forgave him for the discovery she had made in the wood, and she was +filled all of a sudden with an intense desire to see without delay the +two beings in the world whom she loved next to Paul, and passed the +whole evening writing to them to hasten their journey. + +They promised to be there on the 20th of May and it was now the 7th. + +She awaited their arrival with a growing impatience, as though she +felt, in addition to her filial affection, the need of opening her +heart to honest hearts, to talk with frankness to pure-minded people, +devoid of all infamy, all of whose life, actions and thoughts had been +upright at all times. + +What she now felt was a sort of moral isolation, amid all this +immorality, and, although she had learned suddenly to disseminate, +although she received the comtesse with outstretched hand and smiling +lips, she felt this consciousness of hollowness, this contempt for +humanity increasing and enveloping her, and the petty gossip of the +district gave her a still greater disgust, a still lower opinion of +her fellow creatures. + +The immorality of the peasants shocked her, and this warm spring +seemed to stir the sap in human beings as well as in plants. Jeanne +did not belong to the race of peasants who are dominated by their +lower instincts. Julien one day awakened her aversion anew by telling +her a coarse story that had been told to him and that he considered +very amusing. + +When the travelling carriage stopped at the door and the happy face of +the baron appeared at the window Jeanne was stirred with so deep an +emotion, such a tumultuous feeling of affection as she had never +before experienced. But when she saw her mother she was shocked and +almost fainted. The baroness, in six months, had aged ten years. Her +heavy cheeks had grown flabby and purple, as though the blood were +congested; her eyes were dim and she could no longer move about unless +supported under each arm. Her breathing was difficult and wheezing and +affected those near her with a painful sensation. + +When Jeanne had taken them to their room, she retired to her own in +order to have a good cry, as she was so upset. Then she went to look +for her father, and throwing herself into his arms, she exclaimed, her +eyes still full of tears: "Oh, how mother is changed! What is the +matter with her? Tell me, what is the matter?" He was much surprised +and replied: "Do you think so? What an idea! Why, no. I have never +been away from her. I assure you that I do not think she looks ill. +She always looks like that." + +That evening Julien said to his wife: "Your mother is in a pretty bad +way. I think she will not last long." And as Jeanne burst out sobbing, +he became annoyed. "Come, I did not say there was no hope for her. You +always exaggerate everything. She is changed, that's all. She is no +longer young." + +The baroness was not able to walk any distance and only went out for +half an hour each day to take one turn in her avenue and then she +would sit on the bench. And when she felt unequal to walking to the +end of her avenue, she would say: "Let us stop; my hypertrophy is +breaking my legs today." She hardly ever laughed now as she did the +previous year at anything that amused her, but only smiled. As she +could see to read excellently, she passed hours reading "Corinne" or +Lamartine's "Meditations." Then she would ask for her drawer of +"souvenirs," and emptying her cherished letters on her lap, she would +place the drawer on a chair beside her and put back, one by one, her +"relics," after she had slowly gone over them. And when she was alone, +quite alone, she would kiss some of them, as one kisses in secret a +lock of hair of a loved one passed away. + +Sometimes Jeanne, coming in abruptly, would find her weeping and would +exclaim: "What is the matter, little mother?" And the baroness, +sighing deeply, would reply: "It is my 'relics' that make me cry. They +stir remembrances that were so delightful and that are now past +forever, and one is reminded of persons whom one had forgotten and +recalls once more. You seem to see them, to hear them and it affects +you strangely. You will feel this later." + +When the baron happened to come in at such times he would say gently: +"Jeanne, dearie, take my advice and burn your letters, all of +them--your mother's, mine, everyone's. There is nothing more dreadful, +when one is growing old, than to look back to one's youth." But Jeanne +also kept her letters, was preparing a chest of "relics" in obedience +to a sort of hereditary instinct of dreamy sentimentality, although +she differed from her mother in every other way. + +The baron was obliged to leave them some days later, as he had some +business that called him away. + +One afternoon Jeanne took Paul in her arms and went out for a walk. +She was sitting on a bank, gazing at the infant, whom she seemed to be +looking at for the first time. She could hardly imagine him grown up, +walking with a steady step, with a beard on his face and talking in a +big voice. She heard someone calling and raised her head. Marius came +running toward her. + +"Madame, Madame la Baronne is very bad!" + +A cold chill seemed to run down her back as she started up and walked +hurriedly toward the house. + +As she approached she saw a number of persons grouped around the plane +tree. She darted forward and saw her mother lying on the ground with +two pillows under her head. Her face was black, her eyes closed and +her breathing, which had been difficult for twenty years, now quite +hushed. The nurse took the child out of Jeanne's arms and carried it +off. + +Jeanne, with drawn, anxious face, asked: "What happened? How did she +come to fall? Go for the doctor, somebody." Turning round, she saw the +old cure, who had heard of it in some way. He offered his services and +began rolling up the sleeves of his cassock. But vinegar, eau de +cologne and rubbing the invalid proved ineffectual. + +"She should be undressed and put to bed," said the priest. + +Joseph Couillard, the farmer, was there and old Simon and Ludivine. +With the assistance of Abbe Picot, they tried to lift the baroness, +but after an attempt were obliged to bring a large easy chair from the +drawing-room and place her in it. In this way they managed to get her +into the house and then upstairs, where they laid her on her bed. + +Joseph Couillard set out in hot haste for the doctor. As the priest +was going to get the holy oil, the nurse, who had "scented a death," +as the servants say, and was on the spot, whispered to him: "Do not +put yourself out, monsieur; she is dead. I know all about these +things." + +Jeanne, beside herself, entreated them to do something. The priest +thought it best to pronounce the absolution. + +They watched for two hours beside this lifeless, discolored body. +Jeanne, on her knees, was sobbing in an agony of grief. + +When the door opened and the doctor appeared, Jeanne darted toward +him, stammering out what she knew of the accident, but seeing the +nurse exchange a meaning glance with the doctor, she stopped to ask +him: "Is it serious? Do you think it is serious?" + +He said presently: "I am afraid--I am afraid--it is all over. Be +brave, be brave." + +Jeanne, extending her arms, threw herself on her mother's body. Julien +just then came in. He stood there amazed, visibly annoyed, without any +exclamation of sorrow, any appearance of grief, taken so unawares that +he had not time to prepare a suitable expression of countenance. He +muttered: "I was expecting it, I felt that the end was near." Then he +took out his handkerchief, wiped his eyes, knelt down, crossed +himself, and then rising to his feet, attempted to raise his wife. But +she was clasping the dead body and kissing it, and it became necessary +to carry her away. She appeared to be out of her mind. + +At the end of an hour she was allowed to come back. There was no +longer any hope. The room was arranged as a death chamber. Julien and +the priest were talking in a low tone near the window. It was growing +dark. The priest came over to Jeanne and took her hands, trying to +console her. He spoke of the defunct, praised her in pious phrases and +offered to pass the night in prayer beside the body. + +But Jeanne refused, amid convulsive sobs. She wished to be alone, +quite alone on this last night of farewell. Julien came forward: "But +you must not do it; we will stay together." She shook her head, unable +to speak. At last she said: "It is my mother, my mother. I wish to +watch beside her alone." The doctor murmured: "Let her do as she +pleases; the nurse can stay in the adjoining room." + +The priest and Julien consented, more interested in their own rest. +Then Abbe Picot knelt down in his turn, and as he rose and left the +room, he said: "She was a saint" in the same tone as he said "Dominus +vobiscum." + +The vicomte in his ordinary tone then asked: "Are you not going to eat +something?" Jeanne did not reply, not knowing he was speaking to her, +and he repeated: "You had better eat something to keep up your +stomach." She replied in a bewildered manner: "Send at once for papa." +And he went out of the room to send someone on horseback to Rouen. + +She remained plunged in a sort of motionless grief, seeing nothing, +feeling nothing, understanding nothing. She only wanted to be alone. +Julien came back. He had dined and he asked her again: "Won't you take +something?" She shook her head. He sat down with an air of resignation +rather than sadness, without speaking, and they both sat there silent, +till at length Julien arose, and approaching Jeanne, said: "Would you +like to stay alone now?" She took his hand impulsively and replied: +"Oh, yes! leave me!" + +He kissed her forehead, murmuring: "I will come in and see you from +time to time." He went out with Widow Dentu, who rolled her easy chair +into the next room. + +Jeanne shut the door and opened the windows wide. She felt the soft +breath from the mown hay that lay in the moonlight on the lawn. It +seemed to harrow her feelings like an ironical remark. + +She went back to the bed, took one of the cold, inert hands and looked +at her mother earnestly. She seemed to be sleeping more peacefully +than she had ever done, and the pale flame of the tapers which +flickered at every breath made her face appear to be alive, as if she +had stirred. Jeanne remembered all the little incidents of her +childhood, the visits of little mother to the "parloir" of the +convent, the manner in which she handed her a little paper bag of +cakes, a multitude of little details, little acts, little caresses, +words, intonations, familiar gestures, the creases at the corner of +her eyes when she laughed, the big sigh she gave when she sat down. + +And she stood there looking at her, repeating half mechanically: "She +is dead," and all the horror of the word became real to her. It was +mamma lying there--little mother--Mamma Adelaide who was dead. She +would never move about again, nor speak, nor laugh, nor sit at dinner +opposite little father. She would never again say: "Good-morning, +Jeannette." She was dead! + +And she fell on her knees in a paroxysm of despair, her hands +clutching the sheet, her face buried in the covers as she cried in a +heartrending tone: "Oh, mamma, my poor mamma!" Then feeling that she +was losing her reason as she had done on the night when she fled +across the snow, she rose and ran to the window to drink in the fresh +air. The soothing calmness of the night entered her soul and she began +to weep quietly. + +Presently she turned back into the room and sat down again beside +her mother. Other remembrances came to her: those of her own +life--Rosalie, Gilberte, the bitter disillusions of her heart. +Everything, then, was only misery, grief, unhappiness and death. +Everyone tried to deceive, everyone lied, everyone made you suffer and +weep. Where could one find a little rest and happiness? In another +existence no doubt, when the soul is freed from the trials of earth. +And she began to ponder on this insoluble mystery. + +A tender and curious thought came to her mind. It was to read over in +this last watch, as though they were a litany, the old letters that +her mother loved. It seemed to her that she was about to perform a +delicate and sacred duty which would give pleasure to little mother in +the other world. + +She rose, opened the writing desk and took from the lower drawer ten +little packages of yellow letters, tied and arranged in order, side by +side. She placed them all on the bed over her mother's heart from a +sort of sentiment and began to read them. They were old letters that +savored of a former century. The first began, "My dear little +granddaughter," then again "My dear little girl," "My darling," "My +dearest daughter," then "My dear child," "My dear Adelaide," "My dear +daughter," according to the periods--childhood, youth or young +womanhood. They were all full of little insignificant details and +tender words, about a thousand little matters, those simple but +important events of home life, so petty to outsiders: "Father has the +grip; poor Hortense burnt her finger; the cat, 'Croquerat,' is dead; +they have cut down the pine tree to the right of the gate; mother lost +her prayerbook on the way home from church, she thinks it was stolen." + +All these details affected her. They seemed like revelations, as +though she had suddenly entered the past secret heart life of little +mother. She looked at her lying there and suddenly began to read +aloud, to read to the dead, as though to distract, to console her. + +And the dead woman appeared to be pleased. + +Jeanne tossed the letters as she read them to the foot of the bed. She +untied another package. It was a new handwriting. She read: "I cannot +do without your caresses. I love you so that I am almost crazy." + +That was all; no signature. + +She put back the letter without understanding its meaning. The address +was certainly "Madame la Baronne Le Perthuis des Vauds." + +Then she opened another: "Come this evening as soon as he goes out; we +shall have an hour together. I worship you." In another: "I passed the +night longing in vain for you, longing to look into your eyes, to +press my lips to yours, and I am insane enough to throw myself from +the window at the thought that you are another's...." + +Jeanne was perfectly bewildered. What did that mean? To whom, for +whom, from whom were these words of love? + +She went on reading, coming across fresh impassioned declarations, +appointments with warnings as to prudence, and always at the end the +six words: "Be sure to burn this letter!" + +At last she opened an ordinary note, accepting an invitation to +dinner, but in the same handwriting and signed: "Paul d'Ennemare," +whom the baron called, whenever he spoke of him, "My poor old Paul," +and whose wife had been the baroness' dearest friend. + +Then a suspicion, which immediately became a certainty, flashed across +Jeanne's mind: He had been her mother's lover. + +And, almost beside herself, she suddenly threw aside these infamous +letters as she would have thrown off some venomous reptile and ran to +the window and began to cry piteously. Then, collapsing, she sank down +beside the wall, and hiding her face in the curtain so that no one +should hear her, she sobbed bitterly as if in hopeless despair. + +She would have remained thus probably all night, if she had not heard +a noise in the adjoining room that made her start to her feet. It +might be her father. And all the letters were lying on the floor! He +would have to open only one of them to know all! Her father! + +She darted into the other room and seizing the letters in handfuls, +she threw them all into the fireplace, those of her grandparents as +well as those of the lover; some that she had not looked at and some +that had remained tied up in the drawers of the desk. She then took +one of the tapers that burned beside the bed and set fire to this pile +of letters. When they were reduced to ashes she went back to the open +window, as though she no longer dared to sit beside the dead, and +began to cry again with her face in her hands: "Oh, my poor mamma! oh, +my poor mamma!" + +The stars were paling. It was the cool hour that precedes the dawn. +The moon was sinking on the horizon and turning the sea to mother of +pearl. The recollection of the night she passed at the window when she +first came to the "Poplars" came to Jeanne's mind. How far away it +seemed, how everything was changed, how different the future now +seemed! + +The sky was becoming pink, a joyous, love-inspiring, enchanting pink. +She looked at it in surprise, as at some phenomenon, this radiant +break of day, and asked herself if it were possible that, on a planet +where such dawns were found, there should be neither joy nor +happiness. + +A noise at the door made her start. It was Julien. "Well," he said, +"are you not very tired?" + +She murmured, "No," happy at being no longer alone. "Go and rest now," +he said. She kissed her mother a long, sad kiss; then she went to her +room. + +The next day passed in the usual attentions to the dead. The baron +arrived toward evening. He wept for some time. + +The funeral took place the following day. After pressing a last kiss +on her mother's icy forehead and seeing the coffin nailed down, Jeanne +left the room. The invited guests would soon arrive. + +Gilberte was the first to come, and she threw herself sobbing on her +friend's shoulder. Women in black presently entered the room one after +another, people whom Jeanne did not know. The Marquise de Coutelier +and the Vicomtesse de Briseville embraced her. She suddenly saw Aunt +Lison gliding in behind her. She turned round and kissed her tenderly. + +Julien came in, dressed all in black, elegant, very important, pleased +at seeing so many people. He asked his wife some question in a low +tone and added confidentially: "All the nobility are here; it will be +a fine affair." And he walked away, gravely bowing to the ladies. Aunt +Lison and Comtesse Gilberte alone remained with Jeanne during the +service for the dead. The comtesse kissed her repeatedly, exclaiming: +"My poor dear, my poor dear!" + +When Comte de Fourville came to fetch his wife he was also crying as +though it were for his own mother. + + * * * * * + +CHAPTER X + +RETRIBUTION + +The following days were very sad and dreary, as they always are when +there has been a death in the house. And, in addition, Jeanne was +crushed at the thought of what she had discovered; her last shred of +confidence had been destroyed with the destruction of her faith. +Little father, after a short stay, went away to try and distract his +thoughts from his grief, and the large house, whose former masters +were leaving it from time to time, resumed its usual calm and +monotonous course. + +Then Paul fell ill, and Jeanne was almost beside herself, not sleeping +for ten days, and scarcely tasting food. He recovered, but she was +haunted by the idea that he might die. Then what should she do? What +would become of her? And there gradually stole into her heart the hope +that she might have another child. She dreamed of it, became obsessed +with the idea. She longed to realize her old dream of seeing two +little children around her; a boy and a girl. + +But since the affair of Rosalie she and Julien had lived apart. A +reconciliation seemed impossible in their present situation. Julien +loved some one else, she knew it; and the very thought of suffering +his approach filled her with repugnance. She had no one left whom she +could consult. She resolved to go and see Abbe Picot and tell him, +under the seal of confession, all that weighed upon her mind in this +matter. + +He was reading from his breviary in his little garden planted with +fruit trees when she arrived. + +After a few minutes' conversation on indifferent matters, she +faltered, her color rising: "I want to confess, Monsieur l'Abbe." + +He looked at her in astonishment, as he pushed his spectacles back on +his forehead; then he began to laugh. "You surely have no great sins +on your conscience." This embarrassed her greatly, and she replied: +"No, but I want to ask your advice on a subject that is so--so--so +painful that I dare not mention it casually." + +He at once laid aside his jovial manner and assumed his priestly +attitude. "Well, my child, I will listen to you in the confessional; +come along." + +But she held back, undecided, restrained by a kind of scruple at +speaking of these matters, of which she was half ashamed, in the +seclusion of an empty church. + +"Or else, no--Monsieur le Cure--I might--I might--if you wish, tell +you now what brings me here. Let us go and sit over there, in your +little arbor." + +They walked toward it, and Jeanne tried to think how she could begin. +They sat down in the arbor, and then, as if she were confessing +herself, she said: "Father----" then hesitated, and repeated: +"Father----" and was silent from emotion. + +He waited, his hands crossed over his paunch. Seeing her +embarrassment, he sought to encourage her: "Why, my daughter, one +would suppose you were afraid; come, take courage." + +She plucked up courage, like a coward who plunges headlong into +danger. "Father, I should like to have another child." He did not +reply, as he did not understand her. Then she explained, timid and +unable to express herself clearly: + +"I am all alone in life now; my father and my husband do not get along +together; my mother is dead; and--and----" she added with a shudder, +"the other day I nearly lost my son! What would have become of me +then?" + +She was silent. The priest, bewildered, was gazing at her. "Come, get +to the point of your subject." + +"I want to have another child," she said. Then he smiled, accustomed +to the coarse jokes of the peasants, who were not embarrassed in his +presence, and he replied, with a sly motion of his head: + +"Well, it seems to me that it depends only on yourself." + +She raised her candid eyes to his face, and said, hesitating with +confusion: "But--but--you understand that since--since--what you know +about--about that maid--my husband and I have lived--have lived quite +apart." + +Accustomed to the promiscuity and undignified relations of the +peasants, he was astonished at the revelation. All at once he thought +he guessed at the young woman's real desire, and looking at her out of +the corner of his eye, with a heart full of benevolence and of +sympathy for her distress, he said: "Oh, I understand perfectly. I +know that your widowhood must be irksome to you. You are young and in +good health. It is natural, quite natural." + +He smiled, bearing out his easy-going character of a country priest, +and tapping Jeanne lightly on the hand, he said: "That is permissible, +very permissible indeed, according to the commandments. You are +married, are you not? Well, then, what is the harm?" + +She, in her turn, had not understood his hidden meaning; but as soon +as she saw through it, she blushed scarlet, shocked, and with tears in +her eyes exclaimed: "Oh, Monsieur le Cure, what are you saying? What +are you thinking of? I swear to you--I swear to you----" And sobs +choked her words. + +He was surprised and sought to console her: "Come, I did not mean to +hurt your feelings. I was only joking a little; there is no harm in +that when one is decent. But you may rely on me, you may rely on me. I +will see M. Julien." + +She did not know what to say. She now wished to decline this +intervention, which she thought clumsy and dangerous, but she did not +dare to do so, and she went away hurriedly, faltering: "I am grateful +to you, Monsieur le Cure." + +A week passed. One day at dinner Julien looked at her with a peculiar +expression, a certain smiling curve of the lips that she had noticed +when he was teasing her. He was even almost ironically gallant toward +her, and as they were walking after dinner in little mother's avenue, +he said in a low tone: "We seem to have made up again." + +She did not reply, but continued to look on the ground at a sort of +track that was almost effaced now that the grass was sprouting anew. +They were the footprints of the baroness, which were vanishing as does +a memory. And Jeanne was plunged in sadness; she felt herself lost in +life, far away from everyone. + +"As for me, I ask nothing better. I was afraid of displeasing you," +continued Julien. + +The sun was going down, the air was mild. A longing to weep came over +Jeanne, one of those needs of unbosoming oneself to a kindred spirit, +of unbending and telling one's griefs. A sob rose in her throat; she +opened her arms and fell on Julien's breast, and wept. He glanced down +in surprise at her head, for he could not see her face which was +hidden on his shoulder. He supposed that she still loved him, and +placed a condescending kiss on the back of her head. + +They entered the house and he followed her to her room. And thus they +resumed their former relations, he, as a not unpleasant duty, and she, +merely tolerating him. + +She soon noticed, however, that his manner had changed, and one day +with her lips to his, she murmured: "Why are you not the same as you +used to be?" + +"Because I do not want any more children," he said jokingly. + +She started. "Why not?" + +He appeared greatly surprised. "Eh, what's that you say? Are you +crazy? No, indeed! One is enough, always crying and bothering +everyone. Another baby! No, thank you!" + +At the end of a month she told the news to everyone, far and wide, +with the exception of Comtesse Gilberte, from reasons of modesty and +delicacy. + +What the priest had foreseen finally came to pass. She became +enceinte. Then, filled with an unspeakable happiness, she locked her +door every night when she retired, vowing herself from henceforth to +eternal chastity, in gratitude to the vague divinity she adored. + +She was now almost quite happy again. Her children would grow up and +love her; she would grow old quietly, happy and contented, without +troubling herself about her husband. + +Toward the end of September, Abbe Picot called on a visit of ceremony +to introduce his successor, a young priest, very thin, very short, +with an emphatic way of talking, and with dark circles round his +sunken eyes. + +The old abbe had been appointed Dean of Goderville. + +Jeanne was really sorry to lose the old man, who had been associated +with all her recollections as a young woman. He had married her, +baptized Paul, and buried the baroness. She could not imagine Etouvent +without Abbe Picot and his paunch passing along by the farms, and she +loved him because he was cheerful and natural. + +But he did not seem very cheerful at the thought of his promotion. "It +is a wrench, it is a wrench, madame la comtesse. I have been here for +eighteen years. Oh, the place does not bring in much, and is not +wealthy. The men have no more religion than they need, and the women, +look you, the women have no morals. But nevertheless, I loved it." + +The new cure appeared impatient, and said abruptly: "When I am here +all that will have to be changed." He looked like an angry boy, thin +and frail in his somewhat worn, though clean cassock. + +Abbe Picot looked at him sideways, as he did when he was in a joking +mood, and said: "You see, abbe, in order to prevent those happenings, +you will have to chain up your parishioners; and even that would not +be of much use." The little priest replied sharply: "We shall see." +And the older man smiled as he took a pinch of snuff, and said: "Age +will calm you down, abbe, and experience also. You will drive away +from the church the remaining faithful ones, and that is all the good +it will do. In this district they are religious, but pig-headed; be +careful. Faith, when I see a girl come to confess who looks rather +stout, I say to myself: 'She is bringing me a new parishioner,' and I +try to get her married. You cannot prevent them from making mistakes; +but you can go and look for the man, and prevent him from deserting +the mother. Get them married, abbe, get them married, and do not +trouble yourself about anything else." + +"We think differently," said the young priest rudely; "it is useless +to insist." And Abbe Picot once more began to regret his village, the +sea which he saw from his parsonage, the little valleys where he +walked while repeating his breviary, glancing up at the boats as they +passed. + +As the two priests took their leave, the old man kissed Jeanne, who +was on the verge of tears. + +A week later Abbe Tolbiac called again. He spoke of reforms which he +intended to accomplish, as a prince might have done on taking +possession of a kingdom. Then he requested the vicomtesse not to miss +the service on Sunday, and to communicate a all the festivals. "You +and I," he said, "we are at the head of the district; we must rule it +and always set them an example to follow. We must be of one accord so +that we may be powerful and respected. The church and the chateau in +joining forces will make the peasants obey and fear us." + +Jeanne's religion was all sentiment; she had all a woman's dream +faith, and if she attended at all to her religious duties, it was from +a habit acquired at the convent, the baron's advanced ideas having +long since overthrown her convictions. Abbe Picot contented himself +with what observances she gave him, and never blamed her. But his +successor, not seeing her at mass the preceding Sunday, had come to +call, uneasy and stern. + +She did not wish to break with the parsonage, and promised, making up +her mind to be assiduous in attendance the first few weeks, out of +politeness. + +Little by little, however, she got into the habit of going to church, +and came under the influence of this delicate, upright and dictatorial +abbe. A mystic, he appealed to her in his enthusiasm and zeal. He set +in vibration in her soul the chord of religious poetry that all women +possess. His unyielding austerity, his disgust for ordinary human +interests, his love of God, his youthful and untutored inexperience, +his harsh words, and his inflexible will, gave Jeanne an idea of the +stuff martyrs were made of; and she let herself be carried away, all +disillusioned as she was, by the fanaticism of this child, the +minister of God. + +He led her to Christ, the consoler, showing her how the joy of +religion will calm all sorrow; and she knelt at the confessional, +humbling herself, feeling herself small and weak in presence of this +priest, who appeared to be about fifteen. + +He was, however, very soon detested in all the countryside. Inflexibly +severe toward himself, he was implacably intolerant toward others, and +the one thing that especially roused his wrath and indignation was +love. The young men and girls looked at each other slyly across the +church, and the old peasants who liked to joke about such things +disapproved his severity. All the parish was in a ferment. Soon the +young men all stopped going to church. + +The cure dined at the chateau every Thursday, and often came during +the week to chat with his penitent. She became enthusiastic like +himself, talked about spiritual matters, handling all the antique and +complicated arsenal of religious controversy. + +They walked together along the baroness' avenue, talking of Christ and +the apostles, the Virgin Mary and the Fathers of the Church as though +they were personally acquainted with them. + +Julien treated the new priest with great respect, saying constantly: +"That priest suits me, he does not back down." And he went to +confession and communion, setting a fine example. He now went to the +Fourvilles' nearly every day, gunning with the husband, who was never +happy without him, and riding with the comtesse, in spite of rain and +storm. The comte said: "They are crazy about riding, but it does my +wife good." + +The baron returned to the chateau about the middle of November. He was +changed, aged, faded, filled with a deep sadness. And his love for his +daughter seemed to have gained in strength, as if these few months of +dreary solitude had aggravated his need of affection, confidence and +tenderness. Jeanne did not tell him about her new ideas, and her +friendship for the Abbe Tolbiac. The first time he saw the priest he +conceived a great aversion to him. And when Jeanne asked him that +evening how he liked him, he replied: "That man is an inquisitor! He +must be very dangerous." + +When he learned from the peasants, whose friend he was, of the +harshness and violence of the young priest, of the kind of persecution +which he carried on against all human and natural instincts, he +developed a hatred toward him. He, himself, was one of the old race of +natural philosophers who bowed the knee to a sort of pantheistic +Divinity, and shrank from the catholic conception of a God with +bourgeois instincts, Jesuitical wrath, and tyrannical revenge. To him +reproduction was the great law of nature, and he began from farm to +farm an ardent campaign against this intolerant priest, the persecutor +of life. + +Jeanne, very much worried, prayed to the Lord, entreated her father; +but he always replied: "We must fight such men as that, it is our duty +and our right. They are not human." + +And he repeated, shaking his long white locks: "They are not human; +they understand nothing, nothing, nothing. They are moving in a morbid +dream; they are anti-physical." And he pronounced the word +"anti-physical" as though it were a malediction. + +The priest knew who his enemy was, but as he wished to remain ruler of +the chateau and of Jeanne, he temporized, sure of final victory. He +was also haunted by a fixed idea. He had discovered by chance the +amours of Julien and Gilberte, and he desired to put a stop to them at +all costs. + +He came to see Jeanne one day and, after a long conversation on +spiritual matters, he asked her to give her aid in helping him to +fight, to put an end to the evil in her own family, in order to save +two souls that were in danger. + +She did not understand, and did not wish to know. He replied: "The +hour has not arrived. I shall see you some other time." And he left +abruptly. + +The winter was coming to a close, a rotten winter, as they say in the +country, damp and mild. The abbe called again some days later and +hinted mysteriously at one of those shameless intrigues between +persons whose conduct should be irreproachable. It was the duty, he +said, of those who were aware of the facts to use every means to bring +it to an end. He took Jeanne's hand and adjured her to open her eyes +and understand and lend him her aid. + +This time she understood, but she was silent, terrified at the thought +of all that might result in the house that was now peaceful, and she +pretended not to understand. Then he spoke out clearly. + +She faltered: "What do you wish me to do, Monsieur l'Abbe?" + +"Anything, rather than permit this infamy. Anything, I say. Leave him. +Flee from this impure house!" + +"But I have no money; and then I have no longer any courage; and, +besides, how can I go without any proof? I have not the right to do +so." + +The priest arose trembling: "That is cowardice, madame; I am mistaken +in you. You are unworthy of God's mercy!" + +She fell on her knees: "Oh, I pray you not to leave me, tell me what +to do!" + +"Open M. de Fourville's eyes," he said abruptly. "It is his place to +break up this intrigue." + +This idea filled her with terror. "Why, he would kill them, Monsieur +l'Abbe! And I should be guilty of denouncing them! Oh, never that, +never!" + +He raised his hand as if to curse her in his fury: "Remain in your +shame and your crime; for you are more guilty than they are. You are +the complaisant wife! There is nothing more for me to do here." And he +went off so furious that he trembled all over. + +She followed him, distracted and ready to do as he suggested. But he +strode along rapidly, shaking his large blue umbrella in his rage. He +perceived Julien standing outside the gate superintending the lopping +of the trees, so he turned to the left to go across the Couillard +farm, and he said: "Leave me alone, madame, I have nothing further to +say to you." + +Jeanne was entreating him to give her a few days for reflection, and +then if he came back to the chateau she would tell him what she had +done, and they could take counsel together. + +Right in his road, in the middle of the farmyard, a group of children, +those of the house and some neighbor's children, were standing around +the kennel of Mirza, the dog, looking curiously at something with +silent and concentrated attention. In the midst of them stood the +baron, his hands behind his back, also looking on with curiosity. One +would have taken him for a schoolmaster. When he saw the priest +approaching, he moved away so as not to have to meet him and speak to +him. + +The priest did not call again; but the following Sunday from the +pulpit he hurled imprecations, curses and threats against the chateau, +anathematizing the baron, and making veiled allusions, but timidly, to +Julien's latest intrigue. The vicomte was furious, but the dread of a +shocking scandal kept him silent. At each service thereafter the +priest declared his indignation, predicting the approach of the hour +when God would smite all his enemies. + +Julien wrote a firm, but respectful letter to the archbishop; the abbe +was threatened with suspension. He was silent thereafter. + +Gilberte and Julien now frequently met him during their rides reading +his breviary, but they turned aside so as not to pass him by. Spring +had come and reawakened their love. As the foliage was still sparse +and the grass damp, they used to meet in a shepherd's movable hut that +had been deserted since autumn. But one day when they were leaving it, +they saw the Abbe Tolbiac, almost hidden in the sea rushes on the +slope. + +"We must leave our horses in the ravine," said Julien, "as they can be +seen from a distance and would betray us." One evening as they were +coming home together to La Vrillette, where they were to dine with the +comte, they met the cure of Etouvent coming out of the chateau. He +stepped to the side of the road to let them pass, and bowed without +their eyes meeting. They were uneasy for a few moments, but soon +forgot it. + +One afternoon, Jeanne was reading beside the fire while a storm of +wind was raging outside, when she suddenly perceived Comte Fourville +coming on foot at such a pace that she thought some misfortune had +happened. + +She ran downstairs to meet him, and when she saw him she thought he +must be crazy. He wore a large quilted cap that he wore only at home, +his hunting jacket, and looked so pale that his red mustache, usually +the color of his skin, now seemed like a flame. His eyes were haggard, +rolling as though his mind were vacant. + +He stammered: "My wife is here, is she not?" Jeanne, losing her +presence of mind, replied: "Why, no, I have not seen her to-day." + +He sat down as if his legs had given way. He then took off his cap and +wiped his forehead with his handkerchief mechanically several times. +Then starting up suddenly, he approached Jeanne, his hands stretched +out, his mouth open, as if to speak, to confide some great sorrow to +her. Then he stopped, looked at her fixedly and said as though he were +wandering: "But it is your husband--you also----" And he fled, going +toward the sea. + +Jeanne ran after him, calling him, imploring him to stop, her heart +beating with apprehension as she thought: "He knows all! What will he +do? Oh, if he only does not find them!" + +But she could not come up to him, and he disregarded her appeals. He +went straight ahead without hesitation, straight to his goal. He +crossed the ditch, then, stalking through the sea rushes like a giant, +he reached the cliff. + +Jeanne, standing on the mound covered with trees, followed him with +her eyes until he was out of sight. Then she went into the house, +distracted with grief. + +He had turned to the right and started to run. Threatening waves +overspread the sea, big black clouds were scudding along madly, +passing on and followed by others, each of them coming down in a +furious downpour. The wind whistled, moaned, laid the grass and the +young crops low and carried away big white birds that looked like +specks of foam and bore them far into the land. + +The hail which followed beat in the comte's face, filling his ears +with noise and his heart with tumult. + +Down yonder before him was the deep gorge of the Val de Vaucotte. +There was nothing before him but a shepherd's hut beside a deserted +sheep pasture. Two horses were tied to the shafts of the hut on +wheels. What might not happen to one in such a tempest as this? + +As soon as he saw them the comte crouched on the ground and crawled +along on his hands and knees as far as the lonely hut and hid himself +beneath the hut that he might not be seen through the cracks. The +horses on seeing him became restive. He slowly cut their reins with +the knife which he held open in his hand, and a sudden squall coming +up, the animals fled, frightened at the hail which rattled on the +sloping roof of the wooden hut and made it shake on its wheels. + +The comte then kneeling upright, put his eye to the bottom of the door +and looked inside. He did not stir; he seemed to be waiting. + +A little time elapsed and then he suddenly rose to his feet, covered +with mud from head to foot. He frantically pushed back the bolt which +closed the hut on the outside, and seizing the shafts, he began to +shake the hut as though he would break it to pieces. Then all at once +he got between the shafts, bending his huge frame, and with a +desperate effort dragged it along like an ox, panting as he went. He +dragged it, with whoever was in it, toward the steep incline. + +Those inside screamed and banged with their fists on the door, not +understanding what was going on. + +When he reached the top of the cliff he let go the fragile dwelling, +which began to roll down the incline, going ever faster and faster, +plunging, stumbling like an animal and striking the ground with its +shafts. + +An old beggar hidden in a ditch saw it flying over his head and heard +frightful screams coming from the wooden box. + +All at once a wheel was wrenched off and it fell on its side and began +to roll like a ball, as a house torn from its foundations might roll +from the summit of a mountain. Then, reaching the ledge of the last +ravine, it described a circle, and, falling to the bottom, burst open +as an egg might do. It was no sooner smashed on the stones than the +old beggar, who had seen it going past, went down toward it slowly +amid the rushes, and with the customary caution of a peasant, not +daring to go directly to the shattered hut, he went to the nearest +farm to tell of the accident. + +They all ran to look at it and raised the wreck of the hut. They found +two bodies, bruised, crushed and bleeding. The man's forehead was +split open and his whole face crushed; the woman's jaw was hanging, +dislocated in one of the jolts, and their shattered limbs were soft as +pulp. + +"What were they doing in that shanty?" said a woman. + +The old beggar then said that they had apparently taken refuge in it +to get out of the storm and that a furious squall must have blown the +hut over the cliff. He said he had intended to take shelter there +himself, when he saw the horses tied to it, and understood that some +one else must be inside. "But for that," he added in a satisfied tone, +"I might have rolled down in it." Some one remarked: "Would not that +have been a good thing?" + +The old man, in a furious rage, said: "Why would it have been a good +thing? Because I am poor and they are rich! Look at them now." And +trembling, ragged and dripping with rain, he pointed to the two dead +bodies with his hooked stick and exclaimed: "We are all alike when we +get to this." + +The comte, as soon as he saw the hut rolling down the steep slope, ran +off at full speed through the blinding storm. He ran in this way for +several hours, taking short cuts, leaping across ditches, breaking +through the hedges, and thus got back home at dusk, not knowing how +himself. + +The frightened servants were awaiting his return and told him that the +two horses had returned riderless some little time before, that of +Julien following the other one. + +Then M. de Fourville reeled and in a choked voice said: "Something +must have happened to them in this dreadful weather. Let every one +help to look for them." + +He started off himself, but he was no sooner out of sight than he +concealed himself in a clump of bushes, watching the road along which +she whom he even still loved with an almost savage passion was to +return dead, dying or maybe crippled and disfigured forever. + +And soon a carriole passed by carrying a strange burden. + +It stopped at the chateau and passed through the gate. It was that, it +was she. But a fearful anguish nailed him to the spot, a fear to know +the worst, a dread of the truth, and he did not stir, hiding as a +hare, starting at the least sound. + +He waited thus an hour, two hours perhaps. The buggy did not come out. +He concluded that his wife was expiring, and the thought of seeing +her, of meeting her gaze filled him with so much horror that he +suddenly feared to be discovered in his hiding place and of being +compelled to return and be present at this agony, and he then fled +into the thick of the wood. Then all of a sudden it occurred to him +that she perhaps might be needing his care, that no one probably could +properly attend to her. Then he returned on his tracks, running +breathlessly. + +On entering the chateau he met the gardener and called out to him, +"Well?" The man did not dare answer him. Then M. de Fourville almost +roared at him: "Is she dead?" and the servant stammered: "Yes, M. le +Comte." + +He experienced a feeling of immense relief. His blood seemed to cool +and his nerves relax somewhat of their extreme tension, and he walked +firmly up the steps of his great hallway. + +The other wagon had reached "The Poplars." Jeanne saw it from afar. +She descried the mattress; she guessed that a human form was lying +upon it, and understood all. Her emotion was so vivid that she swooned +and fell prostrate. + +When she regained consciousness her father was holding her head and +bathing her temples with vinegar. He said hesitatingly: "Do you know?" +She murmured: "Yes, father." But when she attempted to rise she found +herself unable to do so, so intense was her agony. + +That very night she gave birth to a stillborn infant, a girl. + +Jeanne saw nothing of the funeral of Julien; she knew nothing of it. +She merely noticed at the end of a day or two that Aunt Lison was +back, and in her feverish dreams which haunted her she persistently +sought to recall when the old maiden lady had left "The Poplars," at +what period and under what circumstances. She could not make this out, +even in her lucid moments, but she was certain of having seen her +subsequent to the death of "little mother." + + * * * * * + +CHAPTER XI + +THE DEVELOPMENT OF PAUL + +Jeanne did not leave her room for three months and was so wan and pale +that no one thought she would recover. But she picked up by degrees. +Little father and Aunt Lison never left her; they had both taken up +their abode at "The Poplars." The shock of Julien's death had left her +with a nervous malady. The slightest sound made her faint and she had +long swoons from the most insignificant causes. + +She had never asked the details of Julien's death. What did it matter +to her? Did she not know enough already? Every one thought it was an +accident, but she knew better, and she kept to herself this secret +which tortured her: the knowledge of his infidelity and the +remembrance of the abrupt and terrible visit of the comte on the day +of the catastrophe. + +And now she was filled with tender, sweet and melancholy recollections +of the brief evidences of love shown her by her husband. She +constantly thrilled at unexpected memories of him, and she seemed to +see him as he was when they were betrothed and as she had known him in +the hours passed beneath the sunlight in Corsica. All his faults +diminished, all his harshness vanished, his very infidelities appeared +less glaring in the widening separation of the closed tomb. And +Jeanne, pervaded by a sort of posthumous gratitude for this man who +had held her in his arms, forgave all the suffering he had caused her, +to remember only moments of happiness they had passed together. Then, +as time went on and month followed month, covering all her grief and +reminiscences with forgetfulness, she devoted herself entirely to her +son. + +He became the idol, the one thought of the three beings who surrounded +him, and he ruled as a despot. A kind of jealousy even arose among his +slaves. Jeanne watched with anxiety the great kisses he gave his +grandfather after a ride on his knee, and Aunt Lison, neglected by him +as she had been by every one else and treated often like a servant by +this little tyrant who could scarcely speak as yet, would go to her +room and weep as she compared the slight affection he showed her with +the kisses he gave his mother and the baron. + +Two years passed quietly, and at the beginning of the third winter it +was decided that they should go to Rouen to live until spring, and the +whole family set out. But on their arrival in the old damp house, that +had been shut up for some time, Paul had such a severe attack of +bronchitis that his three relatives in despair declared that he could +not do without the air of "The Poplars." They took him back there and +he got well. + +Then began a series of quiet, monotonous years. Always around the +little one, they went into raptures at everything he did. His mother +called him Poulet, and as he could not pronounce the word, he said +"Pol," which amused them immensely, and the nickname of "Poulet" stuck +to him. + +The favorite occupation of his "three mothers," as the baron called +his relatives, was to see how much he had grown, and for this purpose +they made little notches in the casing of the drawing-room door, +showing his progress from month to month. This ladder was called +"Poulet's ladder," and was an important affair. + +A new individual began to play a part in the affairs of the +household--the dog "Massacre," who became Paul's inseparable +companion. + +Rare visits were exchanged with the Brisevilles and the Couteliers. +The mayor and the doctor alone were regular visitors. Since the +episode of the mother dog and the suspicion Jeanne had entertained of +the priest on the occasion of the terrible death of the comtesse and +Julien, Jeanne had not entered the church, angry with a divinity that +could tolerate such ministers. + +The church was deserted and the priest came to be looked on as a +sorcerer because he had, so they said, driven out an evil spirit from +a woman who was possessed, and although fearing him the peasants came +to respect him for this occult power as well as for the unimpeachable +austerity of his life. + +When he met Jeanne he never spoke. This condition of affairs +distressed Aunt Lison, and when she was alone, quite alone with Paul, +she talked to him about God, telling him the wonderful stories of the +early history of the world. But when she told him that he must love +Him very much, the child would say: "Where is He, auntie?" "Up there," +she would say, pointing to the sky; "up there, Poulet, but do not say +so." She was afraid of the baron. + +One day, however, Poulet said to her: "God is everywhere, but He is +not in church." He had told his grandfather of his aunt's wonderful +revelations. + +When Paul was twelve years old a great difficulty arose on the subject +of his first communion. + +Lison came to Jeanne one morning and told her that the little fellow +should no longer be kept without religious instruction and from his +religious duties. His mother, troubled and undecided, hesitated, +saying that there was time enough. But a month later, as she was +returning a call at the Brisevilles', the comtesse asked her casually +if Paul was going to make his first communion that year. Jeanne, +unprepared for this, answered, "Yes," and this simple word decided +her, and without saying a word to her father, she asked Aunt Lison to +take the boy to the catechism class. + +All went well for a month, but one day Paul came home with a +hoarseness and the following day he coughed. On inquiry his mother +learned that the priest had sent him to wait till the lesson was over +at the door of the church, where there was a draught, because he had +misbehaved. So she kept him at home and taught him herself. But the +Abbe Tobiac, despite Aunt Lison's entreaties, refused to admit him as +a communicant on the ground that he was not thoroughly taught. + +The same thing occurred the following year, and the baron angrily +swore that the child did not need to believe all that tomfoolery, so +it was decided that he should be brought up as a Christian, but not as +an active Catholic, and when he came of age he could believe as he +pleased. + +The Brisevilles ceased to call on her and Jeanne was surprised, +knowing the punctiliousness of these neighbors in returning calls, but +the Marquise de Coutelier haughtily told her the reason. Considering +herself, in virtue of her husband's rank and fortune, a sort of queen +of the Norman nobility, the marquise ruled as a queen, said what she +thought, was gracious or the reverse as occasion demanded, +admonishing, restoring to favor, congratulating whenever she saw fit. +So when Jeanne came to see her, this lady, after a few chilling +remarks, said drily: "Society is divided into two classes: those who +believe in God and those who do not believe in Him. The former, even +the humblest, are our friends, our equals; the latter are nothing to +us." + +Jeanne, perceiving the insinuation, replied: "But may one not believe +in God without going to church?" + +"No, madame," answered the marquise. "The faithful go to worship God +in His church, just as one goes to see people in their homes." + +Jeanne, hurt, replied: "God is everywhere, madame. As for me, who +believes from the bottom of my heart in His goodness, I no longer feel +His presence when certain priests come between Him and me." + +The marquise rose. "The priest is the standard bearer of the Church, +madame. Whoever does not follow the standard is opposed to Him and +opposed to us." + +Jeanne had risen in her turn and said, trembling: "You believe, +madame, in a partisan God. I believe in the God of upright people." +She bowed and took her leave. + +The peasants also blamed her among themselves for not having let +Poulet make his first communion. They themselves never attended +service or took the sacrament unless it might be at Easter, according +to the rule ordained by the Church; but for boys it was quite another +thing, and they would have all shrunk in horror at the audacity of +bringing up a child outside this recognized law, for religion is +religion. + +She saw how they felt and was indignant at heart at all these +discriminations, all these compromises with conscience, this general +fear of everything, the real cowardice of all hearts and the mask of +respectability assumed in public. + +The baron took charge of Paul's studies and made him study Latin, his +mother merely saying: "Above all things, do not get over tired." + +As soon as the boy was at liberty he went down to work in the garden +with his mother and his aunt. + +He now loved to dig in the ground, and all three planted young trees +in the spring, sowed seed and watched it growing with the deepest +interest, pruned branches and cut flowers for bouquets. + +Poulet was almost fifteen, but was a mere child in intelligence, +ignorant, silly, suppressed between petticoat government and this kind +old man who belonged to another century. + +One evening the baron spoke of college, and Jeanne at once began to +sob. Aunt Lison timidly remained in a dark corner. + +"Why does he need to know so much?" asked his mother. "We will make a +gentleman farmer of him. He can cultivate his land, as many of the +nobility do. He will live and grow old happily in this house, where we +have lived before him and where we shall die. What more can one do?" + +But the baron shook his head. "What would you say to him if he should +say to you when he is twenty-five: 'I amount to nothing, I know +nothing, all through your fault, the fault of your maternal +selfishness. I feel that I am incapable of working, of making +something of myself, and yet I was not intended for a secluded, simple +life, lonely enough to kill one, to which I have been condemned by +your shortsighted affection.'" + +She was weeping and said entreatingly: "Tell me, Poulet, you will not +reproach me for having loved you too well?" And the big boy, in +surprise, promised that he never would. "Swear it," she said. "Yes, +mamma." "You want to stay here, don't you?" "Yes, mamma." + +Then the baron spoke up loud and decidedly: "Jeanne, you have no right +to make disposition of this life. What you are doing is cowardly and +almost criminal; you are sacrificing your child to your own private +happiness." + +She hid her face in her hands, sobbing convulsively, and stammered out +amid her tears: "I have been so unhappy--so unhappy! Now, just as I am +living peacefully with him, they want to take him away from me. What +will become of me now--all by myself?" Her father rose and, sitting +down beside her, put his arms round her. "And how about me, Jeanne?" + +She put her arms suddenly round his neck, gave him a hearty kiss and +with her voice full of tears, she said: "Yes, you are right perhaps, +little father. I was foolish, but I have suffered so much. I am quite +willing he should go to college." + +And without knowing exactly what they were going to do with him, +Poulet in his turn began to weep. + +Then the three mothers began to kiss him and pet him and encourage +him. When they retired to their rooms it was with a weight at their +hearts, and they all wept, even the baron, who had restrained himself +up to that. + +It was decided that when the term began to put the young boy to school +at Havre, and during the summer he was petted more than ever; his +mother sighed often as she thought of the separation. She prepared his +wardrobe as if he were going to undertake a ten years' voyage. One +October morning, after a sleepless night, the two women and the baron +got into the carriage with him and set out on their journey. + +They had previously selected his place in the dormitory and his desk +in the school room. Jeanne, aided by Aunt Lison, spent the whole day +in arranging his clothes in his little wardrobe. As it did not hold a +quarter of what they had brought, she went to look for the +superintendent to ask for another. The treasurer was called, but he +pointed out that all that amount of clothing would only be in the way +and would never be needed, and he refused, on behalf of the directors, +to let her have another chest of drawers. Jeanne, much annoyed, +decided to hire a room in a small neighboring hotel, begging the +proprietor to go himself and take Poulet whatever he required as soon +as the boy asked for it. + +They then took a walk on the pier to look at the ships coming and +going. They went into a restaurant to dine, but they were none of them +able to eat, and looked at one another with moistened eyes as the +dishes were brought on and taken away almost untouched. + +They now returned slowly toward the school. Boys of all ages were +arriving from all quarters, accompanied by their families or by +servants. Many of them were crying. + +Jeanne held Poulet in a long embrace, while Aunt Lison remained in the +background, her face hidden in her handkerchief. The baron, however, +who was becoming affected, cut short the adieus by dragging his +daughter away. They got into the carriage and went back through the +darkness to "The Poplars," the silence being broken by an occasional +sob. + +Jeanne wept all the following day and on the day after drove to Havre +in the phaeton. Poulet seemed to have become reconciled to the +separation. For the first time in his life he now had playmates, and +in his anxiety to join them he could scarcely sit still on his chair +when his mother called. She continued her visits to him every other +day and called to take him home on Sundays. Not knowing what to do +with herself while school was in session until recreation time, she +would remain sitting in the reception room, not having the strength or +the courage to go very far from the school. The superintendent sent to +ask her to come to his office and begged her not to come so +frequently. She paid no attention to his request. He therefore +informed her that if she continued to prevent her son from taking his +recreation at the usual hours, obliging him to work without a change +of occupation, they would be forced to send him back home again, and +the baron was also notified to the same effect. She was consequently +watched like a prisoner at "The Poplars." + +She became restless and worried and would ramble about for whole days +in the country, accompanied only by Massacre, dreaming as she walked +along. Sometimes she would remain seated for a whole afternoon, +looking out at the sea from the top of the cliff; at other times she +would go down to Yport through the wood, going over the ground of her +former walks, the memory of which haunted her. How long ago--how long +ago it was--the time when she had gone over these same paths as a +young girl, carried away by her dreams. + +Poulet was not very industrious at school; he was kept two years in +the fourth form. The third year's work was only tolerable and he had +to begin the second over again, so that he was in rhetoric when he was +twenty. + +He was now a big, fair young man, with downy whiskers and a faint sign +of a mustache. He now came home to "The Poplars" every Sunday, riding +over in a couple of hours, his mother, Aunt Lison and the baron +starting out early to go and meet him. + +Although he was a head taller than his mother, she always treated him +as though he were a child, and when he returned to school in the +evening she would charge him anxiously not to go too fast and to think +of his poor mother, who would break her heart if anything happened to +him. + +One Saturday morning she received a letter from Paul, saying that he +would not be home on the following day because some friends had +arranged an excursion and had invited him. She was tormented with +anxiety all day Sunday, as though she dreaded some misfortune, and on +Thursday, as she could endure it no longer, she set out for Havre. + +He seemed to be changed, though she could not have told in what +manner. He appeared excited and his voice seemed deeper. And suddenly, +as though it were the most natural thing in the world, he said: "I +say, mother, as long as you have come to-day, I want to tell you that +I will not be at 'The Poplars' next Sunday, for we are going to have +another excursion." + +She was amazed, smothering, as if he had announced his departure for +America. At last, recovering herself, she said: "Oh, Poulet, what is +the matter with you? Tell me what is going on." + +He began to laugh, and kissing her, replied: "Why, nothing, nothing, +mamma. I am going to have a good time with my friends; I am just at +that age." + +She had nothing to say, but when she was alone in the carriage all +manner of ideas came into her mind. She no longer recognized him, her +Poulet, her little Poulet of former days. She felt for the first time +that he was grown up, that he no longer belonged to her, that he was +going to live his life without troubling himself about the old people. +It seemed to her that one day had wrought this change in him. Was it +possible that this was her son, her poor little boy who had helped her +to replant the lettuce, this great big bearded youth who had a will of +his own! + +For three months Paul came home only occasionally, and always seemed +impatient to get away again, trying to steal off an hour earlier each +evening. Jeanne was alarmed, but the baron consoled her, saying: "Let +him alone; the boy is twenty years old." + +One morning, however, an old man, poorly dressed, inquired in +German-French for "Madame la Vicomtesse," and after many ceremonious +bows, he drew from his pocket a dilapidated pocketbook, saying: "Che un +betit bapier bour fous," and unfolding as he handed it to her a piece +of greasy paper. She read and reread it, looked at the Jew, read it +over again and asked: "What does it mean?" + +He obsequiously explained: "I will tell you. Your son needed a little +money, and as I knew that you are a good mother, I lent him a trifle +to help him out." + +Jeanne was trembling. "But why did he not ask me?" The Jew explained +at length that it was a question of a debt that must be paid before +noon the following day; that Paul not being of age, no one would have +lent him anything, and that his "honor would have been compromised" +without this little service that he had rendered the young man. + +Jeanne tried to call the baron, but had not the strength to rise, she +was so overcome by emotion. At length she said to the usurer: "Would +you have the kindness to ring the bell?" + +He hesitated, fearing some trap, and then stammered out: "If I am +intruding, I will call again." She shook her head in the negative. He +then rang, and they waited in silence, sitting opposite each other. + +When the baron came in he understood the situation at once. The note +was for fifteen hundred francs. He paid one thousand, saying close to +the man's face: "And on no account come back." The other thanked him +and went his way. + +The baron and Jeanne set out at once for Havre. On reaching the +college they learned that Paul had not been there for a month. The +principal had received four letters signed by Jeanne saying that his +pupil was not well and then to tell how he was getting along. Each +letter was accompanied by a doctor's certificate. They were, of +course, all forged. They were all dumbfounded, and stood there looking +at each other. + +The principal, very much worried, took them to the commissary of +police. Jeanne and her father stayed at a hotel that night. The +following day the young man was found in the apartment of a courtesan +of the town. His grandfather and mother took him back to "The Poplars" +and not a word was exchanged between them during the whole journey. + +A week later they discovered that he had contracted fifteen thousand +francs' worth of debts within the last three months. His creditors had +not come forward at first, knowing that he would soon be of age. + +They entered into no discussion about it, hoping to win him back by +gentleness. They gave him dainty food, petted him, spoiled him. It was +spring and they hired a boat for him at Yport, in spite of Jeanne's +fears, so that he might amuse himself on the water. + +They would not let him have a horse, for fear he should ride to Havre. + +He was there with nothing to do and became irritable and occasionally +brutally so. The baron was worried at the discontinuance of his +studies. Jeanne, distracted at the idea of a separation, asked herself +what they could do with him. + +One evening he did not come home. They learned that he had gone out in +a boat with two sailors. His mother, beside herself with anxiety, went +down to Yport without a hat in the dark. Some men were on the beach, +waiting for the boat to come in. There was a light on board an +incoming boat, but Paul was not on board. He had made them take him to +Havre. + +The police sought him in vain; he could not be found. The woman with +whom he had been found the first time had also disappeared without +leaving any trace; her furniture was sold and her rent paid. In Paul's +room at "The Poplars" were found two letters from this person, who +seemed to be madly in love with him. She spoke of a voyage to England, +having, she said, obtained the necessary funds. + +The three dwellers in the chateau lived silently and drearily, their +minds tortured by all kinds of suppositions. Jeanne's hair, which had +become gray, now turned perfectly white. She asked in her innocence +why fate had thus afflicted her. + +She received a letter from the Abbe Tolbiac: "Madame, the hand of God +is weighing heavily on you. You refused Him your child; He took him +from you in His turn to cast him into the hands of a prostitute. Will +not you open your eyes at this lesson from Heaven? God's mercy is +infinite. Perhaps He may pardon you if you return and fall on your +knees before Him. I am His humble servant. I will open to you the door +of His dwelling when you come and knock at it." + +She sat a long time with this letter on her lap. Perhaps it was true +what the priest said. And all her religious doubts began to torment +her conscience. And in her cowardly hesitation, which drives to church +the doubting, the sorrowful, she went furtively one evening at +twilight to the parsonage, and kneeling at the feet of the thin abbe, +begged for absolution. + +He promised her a conditional pardon, as God could not pour down all +His favors on a roof that sheltered a man like the baron. "You will +soon feel the effects of the divine mercy," he declared. + +Two days later she did, indeed, receive a letter from her son, and in +her discouragement and grief she looked upon this as the commencement +of the consolation promised her by the abbe. The letter ran: + +"My Dear Mamma: Do not be uneasy. I am in London, in good health, in +very great need of money. We have not a sou left, and we do not have +anything to eat some days. The one who is with me, and whom I love +with all my heart, has spent all that she had so as not to leave +me--five thousand francs--and you see that I am bound in honor to +return her this sum in the first place. So I wish you would be kind +enough to advance me fifteen thousand francs of papa's fortune, for I +shall soon be of age. This will help me out of very serious +difficulties. + +"Good-by, my dear mamma. I embrace you with all my heart, and also +grandfather and Aunt Lison. I hope to see you soon. + +"Your son, + +"Vicomte Paul de Lamare." + +He had written to her! He had not forgotten her then. She did not care +anything about his asking for money! She would send him some as long +as he had none. What did money matter? He had written to her! And she +ran, weeping for joy, to show this letter to the baron. Aunt Lison was +called and read over word by word this paper that told of him. They +discussed each sentence. + +Jeanne, jumping from the most complete despair to a kind of +intoxication of hope, took Paul's part. "He will come back, he will +come back as he has written." + +The baron, more calm, said: "All the same he left us for that +creature, so he must love her better than us, as he did not hesitate +about it." + +A sudden and frightful pang struck Jeanne's heart, and immediately she +was filled with hatred of this woman who had stolen her son from her, +an unappeasable, savage hate, the hatred of a jealous mother. Until +now all her thoughts had been given to Paul. She scarcely took into +consideration that a girl had been the cause of his vagaries. But the +baron's words had suddenly brought before her this rival, had revealed +her fatal power, and she felt that between herself and this woman a +struggle was about to begin, and she also felt that she would rather +lose her son than share his affection with another. And all her joy +was at an end. + +They sent him the fifteen thousand francs and heard nothing more from +him for five months. + +Then a business man came to settle the details of Julien's +inheritance. Jeanne and the baron handed over the accounts without any +discussion, even giving up the interest that should come to his +mother. When Paul came back to Paris he had a hundred and twenty +thousand francs. He then wrote four letters in six months, giving his +news in concise terms and ending the letters with coldly affectionate +expressions. "I am working," he said; "I have obtained a position on +the stock exchange. I hope to go and embrace you at 'The Poplars' some +day, my dear parents." + +He did not mention his companion, and this silence implied more than +if he had filled four pages with news of her. Jeanne, in these cold +letters, felt this woman in ambush, the implacable, eternal enemy of +mothers, the courtesan. + +The three lonely beings discussed the best plan to follow in order to +rescue Paul, but could decide on nothing. A voyage to Paris? What good +would it do? + +"Let his passion exhaust itself. He will come back then of his own +accord," said the baron. + +Some time passed without any further news. But one morning they were +terrified at the receipt of a despairing letter: + +"My Poor Mamma: I am lost. There is nothing left for me to do but to +blow out my brains unless you come to my aid. A speculation that gave +every prospect of success has fallen through, and I am eighty-five +thousand dollars in debt. I shall be dishonored if I do not pay +up--ruined--and it will henceforth be impossible for me to do +anything. I am lost. I repeat that I would rather blow out my brains +than undergo this disgrace. I should have done so already, probably, +but for the encouragement of a woman of whom I never speak to you, +and who is my providence. + +"I embrace you from the bottom of my heart, my dear mamma--perhaps for +the last time. Good-by. + +"Paul." + +A package of business papers accompanying the letter gave the details +of the failure. + +The baron answered by return mail that they would see what could be +done. Then he set out for Havre to get advice and he mortgaged some +property to raise the money which was sent to Paul. + +The young man wrote three letters full of the most heartfelt thanks +and passionate affection, saying he was coming home at once to see his +dear parents. + +But he did not come. + +A whole year passed. Jeanne and the baron were about to set out for +Paris to try and make a last effort, when they received a line to say +that he was in London again, setting an enterprise on foot in +connection with steamboats under the name of "Paul de Lamare & Co." He +wrote: "This will give me an assured fortune, and perhaps great +wealth, and I am risking nothing. You can see at once what a splendid +thing it is. When I see you again I shall have a fine position in +society. There is nothing but business these days to help you out of +difficulties." + +Three months later the steamboat company failed and the manager was +being sought for on account of certain irregularities in business +methods. Jeanne had a nervous attack that lasted several hours and +then she took to her bed. + +The baron again went to Havre to make inquiries, saw some lawyers, +some business men, some solicitors and bailiffs and found that the +liabilities of the De Lamare concern were two hundred and thirty-five +thousand francs, and he once more mortgaged some property. The chateau +of "The Poplars" and the two farms and all that went with them were +mortgaged for a large sum. + +One evening as he was arranging the final details in the office of a +business man, he fell over on the floor with a stroke of apoplexy. + +A man was sent on horseback to notify Jeanne, but when she arrived he +was dead. + +She took his body back to "The Poplars," so overcome that her grief +was numbness rather than despair. + +Abbe Tolbiac refused to permit the body to be brought to the church, +despite the distracted entreaties of the two women. The baron was +interred at twilight without any religious ceremony. + +Paul learned of the event through one of the men who was settling up +his affairs. He was still in hiding in England. He wrote to make +excuses for not having come home, saying that he had learned of his +grandfather's death too late. "However, now that you have helped me +out of my difficulties, my dear mamma, I shall go back to France and +hope to embrace you soon." + +Jeanne was so crushed in spirit that she appeared not to understand +anything. Toward the end of the winter Aunt Lison, who was now +sixty-eight, had an attack of bronchitis that developed into pneumonia, +and she died quietly, murmuring with her last breath: "My poor +little Jeanne, I will ask God to take pity on you." + +Jeanne followed her to the grave, and as the earth fell on her coffin +she sank to the ground, wishing that she might die also, so as not to +suffer, to think. A strong peasant woman lifted her up and carried her +away as if she had been a child. + +When she reached the chateau Jeanne, who had spent the last five +nights at Aunt Lison's bedside, allowed herself to be put to bed +without resistance by this unknown peasant woman, who handled her with +gentleness and firmness, and she fell asleep from exhaustion, overcome +with weariness and suffering. + +She awoke about the middle of the night. A night light was burning on +the mantelpiece. A woman was asleep in her easy chair. Who was this +woman? She did not recognize her, and leaning over the edge of her +bed, she sought to examine her features by the dim light of the wick +floating in oil in a tumbler of water. + +It seemed to her that she had seen this face. But when, but where? The +woman was sleeping peacefully, her head to one side and her cap on the +floor. She might be about forty or forty-five. She was stout, with a +high color, squarely built and powerful. Her large hands hung down at +either side of the chair. Her hair was turning gray. Jeanne looked at +her fixedly, her mind in the disturbed condition of one awaking from a +feverish sleep after a great sorrow. + +She had certainly seen this face! Was it in former days? Was it of +late years? She could not tell, and the idea distressed her, upset her +nerves. She rose noiselessly to take another look at the sleeping +woman, walking over on tiptoe. It was the woman who had lifted her up +in the cemetery and then put her to bed. She remembered this +confusedly. + +But had she met her elsewhere at some other time of her life or did +she only imagine she recognized her amid the confused recollections of +the day before? And how did she come to be there in her room and why? + +The woman opened her eyes and, seeing Jeanne, she rose to her feet +suddenly. They stood face to face, so close that they touched one +another. The stranger said crossly: "What! are you up? You will be +ill, getting up at this time of night. Go back to bed!" + +"Who are you?" asked Jeanne. + +But the woman, opening her arms, picked her up and carried her back to +her bed with the strength of a man. And as she laid her down gently +and drew the covers over her, she leaned over close to Jeanne and, +weeping as she did so, she kissed her passionately on the cheeks, her +hair, her eyes, the tears falling on her face as she stammered out: +"My poor mistress, Mam'zelle Jeanne, my poor mistress, don't you +recognize me?" + +"Rosalie, my girl!" cried Jeanne, throwing her arms round her neck and +hugging her as she kissed her, and they sobbed together, clasped in +each other's arms. + +Rosalie was the first to regain her calmness. "Come," she said, "you +must be sensible and not catch cold." And she covered her up warm and +straightened the pillow under her former mistress' head. The latter +continued to sob, trembling all over at the recollections that were +awakened in her mind. She finally inquired: "How did you come back, my +poor girl?" + +"Pardi! do you suppose I was going to leave you all alone like that, +now?" replied Rosalie. + +"Light a candle, so I may see you," said Jeanne. And when the candle +was brought to the bedside they looked at each other for some time +without speaking a word. Then Jeanne, holding out her hand to her +former maid, murmured: "I should not have recognized you, my girl, you +have changed greatly; did you know it? But not as much as I have." And +Rosalie, looking at this white-haired woman, thin and faded, whom she +had left a beautiful and fresh young woman, said: "That is true, you +have changed, Madame Jeanne, and more than you should. But remember, +however, that we have not seen each other for twenty-five years." + +They were silent, thinking over the past. At length Jeanne said +hesitatingly: "Have you been happy?" + +Rosalie, fearful of awakening certain painful souvenirs, stammered +out: "Why--yes--yes--madame. I have nothing much to complain of. I +have been happier than you have--that is sure. There was only one +thing that always weighed on my heart, and that was that I did not +stay here--" And she stopped suddenly, sorry she had referred to that +unintentionally. But Jeanne replied gently: "How could you help it, my +girl? One cannot always do as they wish. You are a widow now, also, +are you not?" Then her voice trembled with emotion as she said: "Have +you other--other children?" + +"No, madame." + +"And he--your--your boy--what has become of him? Has he turned out +well?" + +"Yes, madame, he is a good boy and works industriously. He has been +married for six months, and he can take my farm now, since I have come +back to you." + +Jeanne murmured in a trembling voice: "Then you will never leave me +again, my girl?" + +"No, indeed, madame, I have arranged all that." + +Jeanne, in spite of herself, began to compare their lives, but without +any bitterness, for she was now resigned to the unjust cruelty of +fate. She said: "And your husband, how did he treat you?" + +"Oh, he was a good man, madame, and not lazy; he knew how to make +money. He died of consumption." + +Then Jeanne, sitting up in bed, filled with a longing to know more, +said: "Come, tell me everything, my girl, all about your life. It will +do me good just now." + +Rosalie, drawing up her chair, began to tell about herself, her home, +her people, entering into those minute details dear to country people, +describing her yard, laughing at some old recollection that reminded +her of good times she had had, and raising her voice by degrees like a +farmer's wife accustomed to command. She ended by saying: "Oh, I am +well off now. I don't have to worry." Then she became confused again, +and said in a lower tone: "It is to you that I owe it, anyhow; and you +know I do not want any wages. No, indeed! No, indeed! And if you will +not have it so, I will go." + +Jeanne replied: "You do not mean that you are going to serve me for +nothing?" + +"Oh, yes, indeed, madame. Money! You give me money! Why, I have almost +as much as you. Do you know what is left to you will all your jumble +of mortgages and borrowing, and interests unpaid which are mounting up +every year? Do you know? No, is it not so? Well, then, I can promise +you that you have not even ten thousand francs income. Not ten +thousand, do you understand? But I will settle all that for you, and +very quickly." + +She had begun talking loud again, carried away in her indignation at +these interests left unpaid, at this threatening ruin. And as a faint, +tender smile passed over the face of her mistress, she cried in a tone +of annoyance: "You must not laugh, madame, for without money we are +nothing but laborers." + +Jeanne took hold of her hands and kept them in her own; then she said +slowly, still full of the idea that haunted her: "Oh, I have had no +luck. Everything has gone against me. Fate has a grudge against my +life." + +But Rosalie shook her head: "You must not say that, madame. You +married badly, that's all. One should not marry like that, anyway, +without knowing anything about one's intended." + +And they went on talking about themselves just as two old friends +might have done. + +The sun rose while they were still talking. + + * * * * * + +CHAPTER XII + +A NEW HOME + +In a week's time Rosalie had taken absolute control of everything and +everyone in the chateau. Jeanne was quite resigned and obeyed +passively. Weak and dragging her feet as she walked, as little mother +had formerly done, she went out walking leaning on Rosalie's arm, the +latter lecturing her and consoling her with abrupt and tender words as +they walked slowly along, treating her mistress as though she were a +sick child. + +They always talked of bygone days, Jeanne with tears in her throat, +and Rosalie in the quiet tone of a phlegmatic peasant. The servant +kept referring to the subject of unpaid interests; and at last +requested Jeanne to give her up all the business papers that Jeanne, +in her ignorance of money matters, was hiding from her, out of +consideration for her son. + +After that, for a week, Rosalie went to Fecamp every day to have +matters explained to her by a lawyer whom she knew. + +One evening, after having put her mistress to bed, she sat down by the +bedside and said abruptly: "Now that you are settled quietly, madame, +we will have a chat." And she told her exactly how matters stood. + +When everything was settled, there would be about seven thousand +francs of income left, no more. + +"We cannot help it, my girl," said Jeanne. "I feel that I shall not +make old bones, and there will be quite enough for me." + +But Rosalie was annoyed: "For you, madame, it might be; but M. +Paul--will you leave nothing for him?" + +Jeanne shuddered. "I beg you not to mention him again. It hurts me too +much to think about him." + +"But I wish to speak about him, because you see you are not brave, +Madame Jeanne. He does foolish things. Well! what of it? He will not +do so always; and then he will marry and have children. He will need +money to bring them up. Pay attention to me: you must sell 'The +Poplars.'" + +Jeanne sprang up in a sitting posture. "Sell 'The Poplars'! Do you +mean it? Oh, never, never!" + +But Rosalie was not disturbed. "I tell you that you will sell the +place, madame, because it must be done." And then she explained her +calculations, her plans, her reasons. + +Once they had sold "The Poplars" and the two farms belonging to it to +a buyer whom she had found, they would keep four farms situated at St. +Leonard, which, free of all mortgage, would bring in an income of +eight thousand three hundred francs. They would set aside thirteen +hundred francs a year for repairs and for the upkeep of the property; +there would then remain seven thousand francs, five thousand of which +would cover the annual expenditures and the other two thousand would +be put away for a rainy day. + +She added: "All the rest has been squandered; there is an end of it. +And then I am to keep the key, you understand. As for M. Paul, he will +have nothing left, nothing; he would take your last sou from you." + +Jeanne, who was weeping silently, murmured: + +"But if he has nothing to eat?" + +"He can come and eat with us if he is hungry. There will always be a +bed and some stew for him. Do you believe he would have acted as he +has done if you had not given him a sou in the first place?" + +"But he was in debt, he would have been disgraced." + +"When you have nothing left, will that prevent him from making fresh +debts? You have paid his debts, that is all right; but you will not +pay any more; it is I who am telling you this. Now goodnight, madame." + +And she left the room. + +Jeanne did not sleep, she was so upset at the idea of selling "The +Poplars," of going away, of leaving this house to which all her life +was linked. + +When Rosalie came into the room next morning she said to her: "My poor +girl, I never could make up my mind to go away from here." + +But the servant grew angry: "It will have to be, however, madame; the +lawyer will soon be here with the man who wants to buy the chateau. +Otherwise, in four years you will not have a rap left." + +Jeanne was crushed, and repeated: "I could not do it; I never could." + +An hour later the postman brought her a letter from Paul asking for +ten thousand francs. What should she do? At her wit's end, she +consulted Rosalie, who threw up her hands, exclaiming: "What was I +telling you, madame? Ah! You would have been in a nice fix, both of +you, if I had not come back." And Jeanne, bending to her servant's +will, wrote as follows to the young man: + +"My Dear Son: I can do nothing more for you. You have ruined me; I am +even obliged to sell 'The Poplars.' But never forget that I shall +always have a home whenever you want to seek shelter with your old +mother, to whom you have caused much suffering. Jeanne." + +When the notary arrived with M. Jeoffrin, a retired sugar refiner, she +received them herself, and invited them to look over the chateau. + +A month later, she signed a deed of sale, and also bought herself a +little cottage in the neighborhood of Goderville, on the high road to +Montiviliers, in the hamlet of Batteville. + +Then she walked up and down all alone until evening, in little +mother's avenue, with a sore heart and troubled mind, bidding +distracted and sobbing farewells to the landscape, the trees, the +rustic bench under the plane tree, to all those things she knew so +well and that seemed to have become part of her vision and her soul, +the grove, the mound overlooking the plain, where she had so often +sat, and from where she had seen the Comte de Fourville running toward +the sea on that terrible day of Julian's death, to an old elm whose +upper branches were missing, against which she had often leaned, and +to all this familiar garden spot. + +Rosalie came out and took her by the arm to make her come into the +house. + +A tall young peasant of twenty-five was waiting outside the door. He +greeted her in a friendly manner as if he had known her for some time: +"Good-morning, Madame Jeanne. I hope you are well. Mother told me to +come and help you move. I would like to know what you are going to +take away, seeing that I shall do it from time to time so as not to +interfere with my farm work." + +It was her maid's son, Julien's son, Paul's brother. + +She felt as if her heart stopped beating; and yet she would have liked +to embrace this young fellow. + +She looked at him, trying to find some resemblance to her husband or +to her son. He was ruddy, vigorous, with fair hair and his mother's +blue eyes. And yet he looked like Julien. In what way? How? She could +not have told, but there was something like him in the whole makeup of +his face. + +The young man resumed: "If you could show me at once, I should be much +obliged." + +But she had not yet decided what she was going to take with her, as +her new home was very small; and she begged him to come back again at +the end of the week. + +She was now entirely occupied with getting ready to move, which +brought a little variety into her very dreary and hopeless life. She +went from room to room, picking out the furniture which recalled +episodes in her life, old friends, as it were, who have a share in our +life and almost of our being, whom we have known since childhood, and +to which are linked our happy or sad recollections, dates in our +history; silent companions of our sad or sombre hours, who have grown +old and become worn at our side, their covers torn in places, their +joints shaky, their color faded. + +She selected them, one by one, sometimes hesitating and troubled, as +if she were taking some important step, changing her mind every +instant, weighing the merits of two easy chairs or of some old +writing-desk and an old work table. + +She opened the drawers, sought to recall things; then, when she had +said to herself, "Yes, I will take this," the article was taken down +into the dining-room. + +She wished to keep all the furniture of her room, her bed, her +tapestries, her clock, everything. + +She took away some of the parlor chairs, those that she had loved as a +little child; the fox and the stork, the fox and the crow, the ant and +the grasshopper, and the melancholy heron. + +Then, while wandering about in all the corners of this dwelling she +was going to forsake, she went one day up into the loft, where she was +filled with amazement; it was a chaos of articles of every kind, some +broken, others tarnished only, others taken up there for no special +reason probably, except that they were tired of them or that they had +been replaced by others. She saw numberless knick-knacks that she +remembered, and that had disappeared suddenly, trifles that she had +handled, those old little insignificant articles that she had seen +every day without noticing, but which now, discovered in this loft, +assumed an importance as of forgotten relics, of friends that she had +found again. + +She went from one to the other of them with a little pang, saying: +"Why, it was I who broke that china cup a few evenings before my +wedding. Ah! there is mother's little lantern and a cane that little +father broke in trying to open the gate when the wood was swollen with +the rain." + +There were also a number of things that she did not remember that had +belonged to her grandparents or to their parents, dusty things that +appeared to be exiled in a period that is not their own, and that +looked sad at their abandonment, and whose history, whose experiences +no one knows, for they never saw those who chose them, bought them, +owned them, and loved them; never knew the hands that had touched them +familiarly, and the eyes that looked at them with delight. + +Jeanne examined carefully three-legged chairs to see if they recalled +any memories, a copper warming pan, a damaged foot stove that she +thought she remembered, and a number of housekeeping utensils unfit +for use. + +She then put together all the things she wished to take, and going +downstairs, sent Rosalie up to get them. The servant indignantly +refused to bring down "that rubbish." But Jeanne, who had not much +will left, held her own this time, and had to be obeyed. + +One morning the young farmer, Julien's son, Denis Lecoq, came with his +wagon for the first load. Rosalie went back with him in order to +superintend the unloading and placing of furniture where it was to +stand. + +Rosalie had come back and was waiting for Jeanne, who had been out on +the cliff. She was enchanted with the new house, declaring it was much +more cheerful than this old box of a building, which was not even on +the side of the road. + +Jeanne wept all the evening. + +Ever since they heard that the chateau was sold, the farmers were not +more civil to her than necessary, calling her among themselves "the +crazy woman," without knowing exactly why, but doubtless because they +guessed with their animal instinct at her morbid and increasing +sentimentality, at all the disturbance of her poor mind that had +undergone so much sorrow. + +The night before they left she chanced to go into the stable. A growl +made her start. It was Massacre, whom she had hardly thought of for +months. Blind and paralyzed, having reached a great age for an animal, +he existed in a straw bed, taken care of by Ludivine, who never forgot +him. She took him in her arms, kissed him, and carried him into the +house. As big as a barrel, he could scarcely carry himself along on +his stiff legs, and he barked like the wooden dogs that one gives to +children. + +The day of departure finally came. Jeanne had slept in Julien's old +room, as hers was dismantled. She got up exhausted and short of breath +as if she had been running. The carriage containing the trunks and the +rest of the furniture was in the yard ready to start. Another +two-wheeled vehicle was to take Jeanne and the servant. Old Simon and +Ludivine were to stay until the arrival of a new proprietor, and then +to go to some of their relations, Jeanne having provided a little +income for them. They had also saved up some money, and being now very +old and garrulous, they were not of much use in the house. Marius had +long since married and left. + +About eight o'clock it began to rain, a fine icy rain, driven by a +light breeze. On the kitchen table, some cups of cafe au lait were +steaming. Jeanne sat down and sipped hers, then rising, she said, +"Come along." + +She put on her hat and shawl, and while Rosalie was putting on her +overshoes, she said in a choking voice: "Do you remember, my girl, how +it rained when we left Rouen to come here?" + +As she said this, she put her two hands to her breast and fell over on +her back, unconscious. She remained thus over an hour, apparently +dead. Then she opened her eyes and was seized with convulsions +accompanied by floods of tears. + +When she was a little calmer she was so weak that she could not stand +up, and Rosalie, fearing another attack if they delayed their +departure, went to look for her son. They took her up and carried her +to the carriage, placed her on the wooden bench covered with leather; +and the old servant got in beside her, wrapped her up with a big +cloak, and holding an umbrella over her head, cried: "Quick, Denis, +let us be off." The young man climbed up beside his mother and whipped +up the horse, whose jerky pace made the two women bounce about +vigorously. + +As they turned the corner to enter the village, they saw some one +stalking along the road; it was Abbe Tolbiac, who seemed to be +watching for them to go by. He stopped to let the carriage pass. He +was holding up his cassock with one hand, to keep it out of the mud, +and his thin legs, encased in black stockings, ended in a pair of +enormous muddy shoes. + +Jeanne lowered her eyes so as not to meet his glance, and Rosalie, who +had heard all about him, flew into a rage. "Peasant! Peasant!" she +murmured; and then seizing her son's hand: "Give him a good slash with +the whip." + +But the young man, just as they were passing the priest, made the +wheel of the wagon, which was going at full speed, sink into a rut, +splashing the abbe with mud from head to foot. + +Rosalie was delighted and turned round to shake her fist at him, while +the priest was wiping off the mud with his big handkerchief. + +All at once Jeanne exclaimed: "We have forgotten Massacre!" They +stopped, and, getting down, Denis ran to fetch the dog, while Rosalie +held the reins. He presently reappeared, carrying in his arms the +shapeless and crippled animal, which he placed at the feet of the two +women. + + * * * * * + +CHAPTER XIII + +JEANNE IN PARIS + +Two hours later the carriage stopped at a little brick house built in +the middle of a lot planted with pear trees at the side of the high +road. + +Four trellised arbors covered with honeysuckle and clematis formed the +four corners of the garden, which was divided into little beds of +vegetables separated by narrow paths bordered with fruit trees. + +A very high box hedge enclosed the whole property, which was separated +by a field from the neighboring farm. There was a blacksmith's shop +about a hundred feet further along the road. There were no other +houses within three-quarters of a mile. + +The house commanded a view of the level district of Caux, covered with +farms surrounded by their four double rows of tall trees which +enclosed the courtyard planted with apple trees. + +As soon as they reached the house, Jeanne wanted to rest; but Rosalie +would not allow her to do so for fear she would begin to think of the +past. + +The carpenter from Goderville was there, and they began at once to +place the furniture that had already arrived while waiting for the +last load. This required a good deal of thought and planning. + +At the end of an hour the wagon appeared at the gate and had to be +unloaded in the rain. When night fell the house was in utter disorder, +with things piled up anyhow. Jeanne, tired out, fell asleep as soon as +she got into bed. + +She had no time to mourn for some days, as there was so much to be +done. She even took a certain pleasure in making her new house look +pretty, the thought that her son would come back there haunting her +continually. The tapestries from her old room were hung in the +dining-room, which also had to serve as a parlor; and she took special +pains with one of the two rooms on the first floor, which she thought +of as "Poulet's room." + +She kept the other room herself, Rosalie sleeping above, next to the +loft. The little house, furnished with care, was very pretty, and +Jeanne was happy there at first, although she seemed to lack +something, but she did not know what. + +One morning the lawyer's clerk from Fecamp brought her three thousand +six hundred francs, the price of the furniture left at "The Poplars," +and valued by an upholsterer. She had a little thrill of pleasure at +receiving this money, and as soon as the man had gone, she ran to put +on her hat, so as to get to Goderville as quickly as possible to send +Paul this unexpected sum. + +But as she was hurrying along the high road she met Rosalie coming +from market. The servant suspected something, without at once guessing +the facts; and when she discovered them, for Jeanne could hide nothing +from her, she placed her basket on the ground that she might get angry +with more comfort. + +She began to scold with her fists on her hips; then taking hold of her +mistress with her right arm and taking her basket in her left, and +still fuming, she continued on her way to the house. + +As soon as they were in the house the servant asked to have the money +handed over to her. Jeanne gave all but six hundred francs, which she +held back; but Rosalie soon saw through her tricks, and she was +obliged to hand it all over. However, she consented to her sending +this amount to the young man. + +A few days later he wrote: "You have rendered me a great service, my +dear mother, for we were in the greatest distress." + +Jeanne, however, could not get accustomed to Batteville. It seemed to +her as if she could not breathe as she did formerly, that she was more +lonely, more deserted, more lost than ever. She went out for a walk, +got as far as the hamlet of Verneuil, came back by the Trois-Mares, +came home, then suddenly wanted to start out again, as if she had +forgotten to go to the very place she intended. + +And every day she did the same thing without knowing why. But one +evening a thought came to her unconsciously which revealed to her the +secret of her restlessness. She said as she was sitting down to +dinner: "Oh, how I long to see the sea!" + +That was what she had missed so greatly, the sea, her big neighbor for +twenty-five years, the sea with its salt air, its rages, its scolding +voice, its strong breezes, the sea which she sought from her window at +"The Poplars" every morning, whose air she breathed day and night, the +sea which she felt close to her, which she had taken to loving +unconsciously as she would a person. + +Winter was approaching, and Jeanne felt herself overcome by an +unconquerable discouragement. It was not one of those acute griefs +which seemed to wring the heart, but a dreary, mournful sadness. + +Nothing roused her. No one paid any attention to her. The high road +before her door stretched to right and left with hardly any passersby. +Occasionally a dogcart passed rapidly, driven by a red-faced man, with +his blouse puffed out by the wind, making a sort of blue balloon; +sometimes a slow-moving wagon, or else two peasants, a man and a +woman, who came near, passed by, and disappeared in the distance. + +As soon as the grass began to grow again, a young girl in a short +skirt passed by the gate every morning with two thin cows who browsed +along the side of the road. She came back every evening with the same +sleepy face, making a step every ten minutes as she walked behind the +animals. + +Jeanne dreamed every night that she was still at "The Poplars." She +seemed to be there with father and little mother, and sometimes even +with Aunt Lison. She did over again things forgotten and done with, +thought she was supporting Madame Adelaide in her walk along the +avenue. And each awakening was attended with tears. + +She thought continually of Paul, wondering what he was doing--how he +was--whether he sometimes thought of her. As she walked slowly in the +by-roads between the farms, she thought over all these things which +tormented her, but above all else, she cherished an intense jealousy +of the woman who had stolen her son from her. It was this hatred alone +which prevented her from taking any steps, from going to look for him, +to see him. It seemed to her that she saw that woman standing on the +doorsill asking: "What do you want here, madame?" Her mother's pride +revolted at the possibility of such a meeting. And her haughty pride +of a good woman whose character is blameless made her all the more +indignant at the cowardice of a man subjugated by an unworthy passion. + +When autumn returned with its long rains, its gray sky, its dark +clouds, such a weariness of this kind of life came over her that she +determined to make a great effort to get her Poulet back; he must have +got over his infatuation by this time. + +She wrote him an imploring letter: + +"My Dear Child: I am going to entreat you to come back to me. Remember +that I am old and delicate, all alone the whole year round except for +a servant maid. I am now living in a little house on the main road. It +is very lonely, but if you were here all would be different for me. I +have only you in the world, and I have not seen you for seven years! +You were my life, my dream, my only hope, my one love, and you failed +me, you deserted me! + +"Oh, come back, my little Poulet--come and embrace me. Come back to +your old mother, who holds out her despairing arms towards you. + +"Jeanne." + +He replied a few days later: + +"My Dear Mother: I would ask nothing better than to go and see you, +but I have not a penny. Send me some money and I will come. I wanted, +in any case, to see you to talk to you about a plan that would make it +possible for me to do as you ask. + +"The disinterestedness and love of the one who has been my companion +in the dark days through which I have passed can never be forgotten by +me. It is not possible for me to remain any longer without publicly +recognizing her love and her faithful devotion. She has very pleasing +manners, which you would appreciate. She is also educated and reads a +good deal. In fact, you cannot understand what she has been to me. I +should be a brute if I did not show her my gratitude. I am going, +therefore, to ask you to give me your permission to marry her. You +will forgive all my follies and we will all live together in your new +house. + +"If you knew her you would at once give your consent. I can assure you +that she is perfect and very distingue. You will love her, I am sure. +As for me, I could not live without her. + +"I shall expect your reply with impatience, my dear mother, and we +both embrace you with all our heart. + +"Your son, + +"Vicomte Paul de Lamare." + +Jeanne was crushed. She remained motionless, the letter on her lap, +seeing through the cunning of this girl who had had such a hold on her +son for so long, and had not let him come to see her once, biding her +time until the despairing old mother could no longer resist the desire +to clasp her son in her arms, and would weaken and grant all they +asked. + +And grief at Paul's persistent preference for this creature wrung her +heart. She said: "He does not love me. He does not love me." + +Rosalie just then entered the room. Jeanne faltered: "He wants to +marry her now." + +The maid was startled. "Oh, madame, you will not allow that. M. Paul +must not pick up that rubbish." + +And Jeanne, overcome with emotion, but indignant, replied: "Never +that, my girl. And as he will not come here, I am going to see him, +myself, and we shall see which of us will carry the day." + +She wrote at once to Paul to prepare him for her visit, and to arrange +to meet him elsewhere than in the house inhabited by that baggage. + +While awaiting a reply she made her preparations for departure. +Rosalie began to pack her mistress' clothes in an old trunk, but as +she was folding a dress, one of those she had worn in the country, she +exclaimed: "Why, you have nothing to put on your back. I will not +allow you to go like that. You would be a disgrace to everyone; and +the Parisian ladies would take you for a servant." + +Jeanne let her have her own way, and the two women went together to +Goderville to choose some material, which was given a dressmaker in +the village. Then they went to the lawyer, M. Roussel, who spent a +fortnight in the capital every year, in order to get some information; +for Jeanne had not been in Paris for twenty-eight years. + +He gave them lots of advice on how to avoid being run over, on methods +of protecting yourself from thieves, advising her to sew her money up +inside the lining of her coat, and to keep in her pocket only what she +absolutely needed. He spoke at length about moderate priced +restaurants, and mentioned two or three patronized by women, and told +them that they might mention his name at the Hotel Normandie. + +Jeanne had never yet seen the railroad, though trains had been running +between Paris and Havre for six years, and were revolutionizing the +whole country. + +She received no answer from Paul, although she waited a week, then two +weeks, going every morning to meet the postman, asking him +hesitatingly: "Is there anything for me, Pere Malandain?" And the man +always replied in his hoarse voice: "Nothing again, my good lady." + +It certainly must be this woman who was keeping Paul from writing. + +Jeanne, therefore, determined to set out at once. She wanted to take +Rosalie with her, but the maid refused for fear of increasing the +expense of the journey. She did not allow her mistress to take more +than three hundred francs, saying: "If you need more you can write to +me and I will go to the lawyer and ask him to send it to you. If I +give you any more, M. Paul will put it in his pocket." + +One December morning Denis Lecoq came for them in his light wagon and +took them to the station. Jeanne wept as she kissed Rosalie good-by, +and got into the train. Rosalie was also affected and said: "Good-by, +madame, bon voyage, and come back soon!" + +"Good-by, my girl." + +A whistle and the train was off, beginning slowly and gradually going +with a speed that terrified Jeanne. In her compartment there were two +gentlemen leaning back in the two corners of the carriage. + +She looked at the country as they swept past, the trees, the farms, +the villages, feeling herself carried into a new life, into a new +world that was no longer the life of her tranquil youth and of her +present monotonous existence. + +She reached Paris that evening. A commissionaire took her trunk and +she followed him in great fear, jostled by the crowd and not knowing +how to make her way amid this mass of moving humanity, almost running +to keep up with the man for fear of losing sight of him. + +On reaching the hotel she said at the desk: "I was recommended here by +M. Roussel." + +The proprietress, an immense woman with a serious face, who was seated +at the desk, inquired: + +"Who is he--M. Roussel?" + +Jeanne replied in amazement: "Why, he is the lawyer at Goderville, who +stops here every year." + +"That's very possible," said the big woman, "but I do not know him. Do +you wish a room?" + +"Yes, madame." + +A boy took her satchel and led the way upstairs. She felt a pang at +her heart. Sitting down at a little table she sent for some luncheon, +as she had eaten nothing since daybreak. As she ate, she was thinking +sadly of a thousand things, recalling her stay here on the return from +her wedding journey, and the first indication of Julien's character +betrayed while they were in Paris. But she was young then, and +confident and brave. Now she felt old, embarrassed, even timid, weak +and disturbed at trifles. When she had finished her luncheon she went +over to the window and looked down on the street filled with people. +She wished to go out, but was afraid to do so. She would surely get +lost. She went to bed, but the noise, the feeling of being in a +strange city, kept her awake. About two o'clock in the morning, just +as she was dozing off, she heard a woman scream in an adjoining room; +she sat up in bed and then she thought she heard a man laugh. As +daylight dawned the thought of Paul came to her, and she dressed +herself before it was light. + +Paul lived in the Rue du Sauvage, in the old town. She wanted to go +there on foot so as to carry out Rosalie's economical advice. The +weather was delightful, the air cold enough to make her skin tingle. +People were hurrying along the sidewalks. She walked as fast as she +could, according to directions given her, along a street, at the end +of which she was to turn to the right and then to the left, when she +would come to a square where she must make fresh inquiries. She did +not find the square, and went into a baker's to ask her way, and he +directed her differently. She started off again, went astray, inquired +her way again, and finally got lost completely. + +Half crazy, she now walked at random. She had made up her mind to call +a cab, when she caught sight of the Seine. She then walked along the +quays. + +After about an hour she found the Rue Sauvage, a sort of dark alley. +She stopped at a door, so overcome that she could not move. + +He was there, in that house--Poulet. + +She felt her knees and hands trembling; but at last she entered the +door, and walking along a passage, saw the janitor's quarters. She +said, as she held out a piece of money: "Would you go up and tell M. +Paul de Lamare that an old lady, a friend of his mother's, is +downstairs, and wishes to see him?" + +"He does not live here any longer, madame," replied the janitor. + +A shudder went over her. She faltered: + +"Oh! Where--where is he living now?" + +"I do not know." + +She grew dizzy as though she were about to fall over, and stood there +for some moments without being able to speak. At length, with a great +effort, she collected her senses and murmured: + +"How long is it since he left?" + +"About two weeks ago. They went off like that, one evening, and never +came back. They were in debt everywhere in the neighborhood, so you +can understand that they did not care to leave their address." + +Jeanne saw lights before her eyes, flashes of flame, as though a gun +had been fired off in front of her eyes. But she had one fixed idea in +her mind, and that sustained her, and kept her outwardly calm and +rational. She wished to find Poulet and know all about him. + +"Then he said nothing when he was going away?" + +"Nothing at all; they ran off to escape their debts, that's all." + +"But he surely sends someone to get his mail." + +"More frequently than I send it. He never got more than ten letters a +year. I took one up to them, however, two days before they left." + +That was probably her letter. She said abruptly: "Listen! I am his +mother, his own mother, and I have come to look for him. Here are ten +francs for you. If you can get any news or any particulars about him, +come and see me at the Hotel Normandie, Rue du Havre, and I will pay +you well." + +"You may count on me, madame," he replied. + +She left him and began to walk away without caring whither she went. +She hurried along as though she were on some important business, +knocking up against people with packages, crossing the streets without +paying attention to the approaching vehicles, and being sworn at by +the drivers, stumbling on the curb of the sidewalk, and tearing along +straight ahead in utter despair. + +All at once she found herself in a garden, and was so tired that she +sat down on a bench to rest. She stayed there some time apparently, +weeping without being conscious of it, for passersby stopped to look +at her. Then she felt very cold, and rose to go on her way; but her +legs would scarcely carry her, she was so weak and distressed. + +She wanted to go into a restaurant and get a cup of bouillon, but a +sort of shame, of fear, of modesty at her grief being observed held +her back. She would pause at the door, look in, see all the people +sitting at table eating, and would turn away, saying: "I will go into +the next one." But she had not the courage. + +Finally she went into a bakery and bought a crescent and ate it as she +walked along. She was very thirsty, but did not know where to go to +get something to drink, so did without it. + +Presently she found herself in another garden surrounded by arcades. +She recognized the Palais Royal. Being tired and warm, she sat down +here for an hour or two. + +A crowd of people came in, a well-dressed crowd, chatting, smiling, +bowing to each other, that happy crowd of beautiful women and wealthy +men who live only for dress and amusement. Jeanne felt bewildered in +the midst of this brilliant assemblage, and got up to make her escape. +But suddenly the thought came to her that she might meet Paul in this +place; and she began to wander about, looking into the faces, going +and coming incessantly with her quick step from one end of the garden +to the other. + +People turned round to look at her, others laughed as they pointed her +out. She noticed it and fled, thinking that they were doubtless amused +at her appearance and at her dress of green plaid, selected by +Rosalie, and made according to her ideas by the dressmaker at +Goderville. + +She no longer dared even to ask her way of passersby, but at last she +ventured to do so and found her way back to the hotel. + +The following day she went to the police department to ask them to +look for her child. They could promise her nothing, but said they +would do all they could. She wandered about the streets hoping that +she might come across him. And she felt more alone in this bustling +crowd, more lost, more wretched than in the lonely country. + +That evening when she came back to the hotel she was informed that a +man had come to see her from M. Paul, and that he would come back +again the following day. Her heart began to beat violently and she +never closed her eyes that night. If it should be he! Yes, it +assuredly was, although she would not have recognized him from the +description they gave her. + +About nine o'clock the following morning there was a knock at the +door. She cried: "Come in!" ready to throw herself into certain +outstretched arms. But an unknown person appeared; and while he +excused himself for disturbing her, and explained his business, which +was to collect a debt of Paul's, she felt the tears beginning to +overflow, and wiped them away with her finger before they fell on her +cheeks. + +He had learned of her arrival through the janitor of the Rue Sauvage, +and as he could not find the young man, he had come to see his mother. +He handed her a paper, which she took without knowing what she was +doing and read the figures--ninety francs--which she paid without a +word. + +She did not go out that day. + +The next day other creditors came. She gave them all that she had left +except twenty francs and then wrote to Rosalie to explain matters to +her. + +She passed her days wandering about, waiting for Rosalie's answer, not +knowing what to do, how to kill the melancholy, interminable hours, +having no one to whom she could say an affectionate word, no one who +knew her sorrow. She now longed to return home to her little house at +the side of the lonely high road. A few days before she thought she +could not live there, she was so overcome with grief, and now she felt +that she could never live anywhere else but there where her serious +character had been formed. + +One evening the letter at last came, enclosing two hundred francs. +Rosalie wrote: + +"Madame Jeanne: Come back at once, for I shall not send you any more. +As for M. Paul, it is I who will go and get him when we know where he +is. + +"With respect, your servant, + +"Rosalie." + +Jeanne set out for Batteville one very cold, snowy morning. + + * * * * * + +CHAPTER XIV + +LIGHT AT EVENTIDE + +Jeanne never went out now, never stirred about. She rose at the same +hour every day, looked out at the weather and then went downstairs and +sat before the parlor fire. + +She would remain for days motionless, gazing into the fire, thinking +of nothing in particular. It would grow dark before she stirred, +except to put a fresh log on the fire. Rosalie would then bring in the +lamp and exclaim: "Come, Madame Jeanne, you must stir about or you +will have no appetite again this evening." + +She lived over the past, haunted by memories of her early life and her +wedding journey down yonder in Corsica. Forgotten landscapes in that +isle now rose before her in the blaze of the fire, and she recalled +all the little details, all the little incidents, the faces she had +seen down there. The head of the guide, Jean Ravoli, haunted her, and +she sometimes seemed to hear his voice. + +Then she remembered the sweet years of Paul's childhood, when they +planted salad together and when she knelt in the thick grass beside +Aunt Lison, each trying what they could do to please the child, and +her lips murmured: "Poulet, my little Poulet," as though she were +talking to him. Stopping at this word, she would try to trace it, +letter by letter, in space, sometimes for hours at a time, until she +became confused and mixed up the letters and formed other words, and +she became so nervous that she was almost crazy. + +She had all the peculiarities of those who live a solitary life. The +least thing out of its usual place irritated her. + +Rosalie often obliged her to walk and took her on the high road, but +at the end of twenty minutes she declared she could not take another +step and sat down on the side of the road. + +She soon became averse to all movement and stayed in bed as late as +possible. Since her childhood she had retained one custom, that of +rising the instant she had drunk her cafe au lait in the morning. But +now she would lie down again and begin to dream, and as she was daily +growing more lazy, Rosalie would come and oblige her to get up and +almost force her to get dressed. + +She seemed no longer to have any will power, and each time the maid +asked her a question or wanted her advice or opinion she would say: +"Do as you think best, my girl." + +She imagined herself pursued by some persistent ill luck and was like +an oriental fatalist, and having seen her dreams all fade away and her +hopes crushed, she would sometimes hesitate a whole day or longer +before undertaking the simplest thing, for fear she might be on the +wrong road and it would turn out badly. She kept repeating: "Talk of +bad luck--I have never had any luck in life." + +Then Rosalie would say: "What would you do if you had to work for your +living, if you were obliged to get up every morning at six o'clock to +go out to your work? Many people have to do that, nevertheless, and +when they grow too old they die of want." + +Jeanne replied: "Remember that I am all alone; that my son has +deserted me." And Rosalie would get very angry: "That's another thing! +Well, how about the sons who are drafted into the army and those who +go to America?" + +America to her was an undefined country, where one went to make a +fortune and whence one never returned. She continued: "There always +comes a time when people have to part, for old people and young people +are not made to live together." And she added fiercely: "Well, what +would you say if he were dead?" + +Jeanne had nothing more to say. + +One day in spring she had gone up to the loft to look for something +and by chance opened a box containing old calendars which had been +preserved after the manner of some country folks. + +She took them up and carried them downstairs. They were of all sizes, +and she laid them out on the table in the parlor in regular order. +Suddenly she spied the earliest, the one she had brought with her to +"The Poplars." She gazed at it for some time, at the days crossed off +by her the morning she left Rouen, the day after she left the convent, +and she wept slow, sorrowful tears, the tears of an old woman at sight +of her wretched life spread out before her on this table. + +One morning the maid came into her room earlier than usual, and +placing the bowl of cafe au lait on the little stand beside her bed, +she said: "Come, drink it quickly. Denis is waiting for us at the +door. We are going to 'The Poplars,' for I have something to attend +to down there." + +Jeanne dressed herself with trembling hands, almost fainting at the +thought of seeing her dear home once more. + +The sky was cloudless and the nag, who was inclined to be frisky, +would suddenly start off at a gallop every now and then. As they +entered the commune of Etouvent Jeanne's heart beat so that she could +hardly breathe. + +They unharnessed the horse at the Couillard place, and while Rosalie +and her son were attending to their own affairs, the farmer and his +wife offered to let Jeanne go over the chateau, as the proprietor was +away and they had the keys. + +She went off alone, and when she reached the side of the chateau from +which there was a view of the sea she turned round to look. Nothing +had changed on the outside. When she turned the heavy lock and went +inside the first thing she did was to go up to her old room, which she +did not recognize, as it had been newly papered and furnished. But the +view from the window was the same, and she stood and gazed out at the +landscape she had so loved. + +She then wandered all over the house, walking quietly all alone in +this silent abode as though it were a cemetery. All her life was +buried here. She went down to the drawing-room, which was dark with +its closed shutters. As her eyes became accustomed to the dim light +she recognized some of the old hangings. Two easy chairs were drawn up +before the fire, as if some one had just left them, and as Jeanne +stood there, full of old memories, she suddenly seemed to see her +father and mother sitting there, warming their feet at the fire. + +She started back in terror and knocked up against the edge of the +door, against which she leaned to support herself, still staring at +the armchairs. + +The vision had vanished. + +She remained bewildered for some minutes. Then she slowly recovered +her composure and started to run away, for fear she might become +insane. She chanced to look at the door against which she had been +leaning and saw there "Poulet's ladder." + +All the little notches were there showing the age and growth of her +child. Here was the baron's writing, then hers, a little smaller, and +then Aunt Lison's rather shaky characters. And she seemed to see her +boy of long ago with his fair hair standing before her, leaning his +little forehead against the door while they measured his height. + +And she kissed the edge of the door in a frenzy of affection. + +But some one was calling her outside. It was Rosalie's voice: "Madame +Jeanne, Madame Jeanne, they are waiting breakfast for you." She went +out in a dream and understood nothing of what they were saying to her. +She ate what they gave her, heard them talking, but about what she +knew not, let them kiss her on the cheeks and kissed them in return +and then got into the carriage. + +When they lost sight of the chateau behind the tall trees she felt a +wrench at her heart, convinced that she had bid a last farewell to her +old home. + +When they reached Batteville and just as she was going into her new +house, she saw something white under the door. It was a letter that +the postman had slipped under the door while she was out. She +recognized Paul's writing and opened it, trembling with anxiety. He +wrote: + +"My Dear Mother: I have not written sooner because I did not wish you +to make a useless journey to Paris when it was my place to go and see +you. I am just now in great sorrow and in great straits. My wife is +dying after giving birth to a little girl three days ago, and I have +not one sou. I do not know what to do with the child, whom my +janitor's wife is bringing up on the bottle as well as she can, but I +fear I shall lose her. Could you not take charge of it? I absolutely +do not know what to do, and I have no money to put her out to nurse. +Answer by return mail. + +"Your son, who loves you, + +"Paul." + +Jeanne sank into a chair and had scarcely strength to call Rosalie. +When the maid came into the room they read the letter over together +and then remained silent for some time, face to face. + +At last Rosalie said: "I am going to fetch the little one, madame. We +cannot leave it like that." + +"Go, my girl," replied Jeanne. + +Then they were silent until the maid said: "Put on your hat, madame, +and we will go to Goderville to see the lawyer. If she is going to +die, the other one, M. Paul must marry her for the little one's sake +later on." + +Jeanne, without replying, put on her hat. A deep, inexpressible joy +filled her heart, a treacherous joy that she sought to hide at any +cost, one of those things of which one is ashamed, although cherishing +it in one's soul--her son's sweetheart was going to die. + +The lawyer gave the servant minute instructions, making her repeat +them several times. Then, sure that she could make no mistake, she +said: "Do not be afraid. I will see to it now." + +She set out for Paris that very night. + +Jeanne passed two days in such a troubled condition that she could not +think. The third morning she received merely a line from Rosalie +saying she would be back on the evening train. That was all. + +About three o'clock she drove in a neighbor's light wagon to the +station at Beuzeville to meet Rosalie. + +She stood on the platform, looking at the railroad track as it +disappeared on the horizon. She looked at the clock. Ten minutes +still--five minutes still--two minutes more. Then the hour of the +train's arrival, but it was not in sight. Presently, however, she saw +a cloud of white smoke and gradually it drew up in the station. She +looked anxiously and at last perceived Rosalie carrying a sort of +white bundle in her arms. + +She wanted to go over toward her, but her knees seemed to grow weak +and she was afraid of falling. + +But the maid had seen her and came forward with her usual calm manner +and said: "How do you do, madame? Here I am back again, but not +without some difficulty." + +"Well?" faltered Jeanne. + +"Well," answered Rosalie, "she died last night. They were married and +here is the little girl." And she held out the child, who could not be +seen under her wraps. + +Jeanne took it mechanically and they left the station and got into the +carriage. + +"M. Paul will come as soon as the funeral is over--to-morrow about +this time, I believe," resumed Rosalie. + +Jeanne murmured "Paul" and then was silent. + +The wagon drove along rapidly, the peasant clacking his tongue to urge +on the horse. Jeanne looked straight ahead of her into the clear sky +through which the swallows darted in curves. Suddenly she felt a +gentle warmth striking through to her skin; it was the warmth of the +little being who was asleep on her lap. + +Then she was overcome with an intense emotion, and uncovering gently +the face of the sleeping infant, she raised it to her lips and kissed +it passionately. + +But Rosalie, happy though grumpy, stopped her; "Come, come, Madame +Jeanne, stop that; you will make it cry." + +And then she added, probably in answer to her own thoughts: "Life, +after all, is not as good or as bad as we believe it to be." + + + * * * * * + + +A VAGABOND + +He was a journeyman carpenter, a good workman and a steady fellow, +twenty-seven years old, but, although the eldest son, Jacques Randel +had been forced to live on his family for two months, owing to the +general lack of work. He had walked about seeking work for over a +month and had left his native town, Ville-Avary, in La Manche, because +he could find nothing to do and would no longer deprive his family of +the bread they needed themselves, when he was the strongest of them +all. His two sisters earned but little as charwomen. He went and +inquired at the town hall, and the mayor's secretary told him that he +would find work at the Labor Agency, and so he started, well provided +with papers and certificates, and carrying another pair of shoes, a +pair of trousers and a shirt in a blue handkerchief at the end of his +stick. + +And he had walked almost without stopping, day and night, along +interminable roads, in sun and rain, without ever reaching that +mysterious country where workmen find work. At first he had the fixed +idea that he must only work as a carpenter, but at every carpenter's +shop where he applied he was told that they had just dismissed men on +account of work being so slack, and, finding himself at the end of his +resources, he made up his mind to undertake any job that he might come +across on the road. And so by turns he was a navvy, stableman, +stonecutter; he split wood, lopped the branches of trees, dug wells, +mixed mortar, tied up fagots, tended goats on a mountain, and all for +a few pence, for he only obtained two or three days' work occasionally +by offering himself at a shamefully low price, in order to tempt the +avarice of employers and peasants. + +And now for a week he had found nothing, and had no money left, and +nothing to eat but a piece of bread, thanks to the charity of some +women from whom he had begged at house doors on the road. It was +getting dark, and Jacques Randel, jaded, his legs failing him, his +stomach empty, and with despair in his heart, was walking barefoot on +the grass by the side of the road, for he was taking care of his last +pair of shoes, as the other pair had already ceased to exist for a +long time. It was a Saturday, toward the end of autumn. The heavy gray +clouds were being driven rapidly through the sky by the gusts of wind +which whistled among the trees, and one felt that it would rain soon. +The country was deserted at that hour on the eve of Sunday. Here and +there in the fields there rose up stacks of wheat straw, like huge +yellow mushrooms, and the fields looked bare, as they had already been +sown for the next year. + +Randel was hungry, with the hunger of some wild animal, such a hunger +as drives wolves to attack men. Worn out and weakened with fatigue, he +took longer strides, so as not to take so many steps, and with heavy +head, the blood throbbing in his temples, with red eyes and dry mouth, +he grasped his stick tightly in his hand, with a longing to strike the +first passerby who might be going home to supper. + +He looked at the sides of the road, imagining he saw potatoes dug up +and lying on the ground before his eyes; if he had found any he would +have gathered some dead wood, made a fire in the ditch and have had a +capital supper off the warm, round vegetables with which he would +first of all have warmed his cold hands. But it was too late in the +year, and he would have to gnaw a raw beetroot which he might pick up +in a field as he had done the day before. + +For the last two days he had talked to himself as he quickened his +steps under the influence of his thoughts. He had never thought much +hitherto, as he had given all his mind, all his simple faculties to +his mechanical work. But now fatigue and this desperate search for +work which he could not get, refusals and rebuffs, nights spent in the +open air lying on the grass, long fasting, the contempt which he knew +people with a settled abode felt for a vagabond, and that question +which he was continually asked, "Why do you not remain at home?" +distress at not being able to use his strong arms which he felt so +full of vigor, the recollection of the relations he had left at home +and who also had not a penny, filled him by degrees with rage, which +had been accumulating every day, every hour, every minute, and which +now escaped his lips in spite of himself in short, growling sentences. + +As he stumbled over the stones which tripped his bare feet, he +grumbled: "How wretched! how miserable! A set of hogs--to let a man +die of hunger--a carpenter--a set of hogs--not two sous--not two +sous--and now it is raining--a set of hogs!" + +He was indignant at the injustice of fate, and cast the blame on men, +on all men, because nature, that great, blind mother, is unjust, cruel +and perfidious, and he repeated through his clenched teeth: "A set of +hogs" as he looked at the thin gray smoke which rose from the roofs, +for it was the dinner hour. And, without considering that there is +another injustice which is human, and which is called robbery and +violence, he felt inclined to go into one of those houses to murder +the inhabitants and to sit down to table in their stead. + +He said to himself: "I have no right to live now, as they are letting +me die of hunger, and yet I only ask for work--a set of hogs!" And the +pain in his limbs, the gnawing in his heart rose to his head like +terrible intoxication, and gave rise to this simple thought in his +brain: "I have the right to live because I breathe and because the air +is the common property of everybody. So nobody has the right to leave +me without bread!" + +A fine, thick, icy cold rain was coming down, and he stopped and +murmured: "Oh, misery! Another month of walking before I get home." He +was indeed returning home then, for he saw that he should more easily +find work in his native town, where he was known--and he did not mind +what he did--than on the highroads, where everybody suspected him. As +the carpentering business was not prosperous, he would turn day +laborer, be a mason's hodman, a ditcher, break stones on the road. If +he only earned a franc a day, that would at any rate buy him something +to eat. + +He tied the remains of his last pocket handkerchief round his neck to +prevent the cold rain from running down his back and chest, but he +soon found that it was penetrating the thin material of which his +clothes were made, and he glanced about him with the agonized look of +a man who does not know where to hide his body and to rest his head, +and has no place of shelter in the whole world. + +Night came on and wrapped the country in obscurity, and in the +distance, in a meadow, he saw a dark spot on the grass; it was a cow, +and so he got over the ditch by the roadside and went up to her +without exactly knowing what he was doing. When he got close to her +she raised her great head to him, and he thought: "If I only had a jug +I could get a little milk." He looked at the cow and the cow looked at +him, and then, suddenly giving her a kick in the side, he said: "Get +up!" + +The animal got up slowly, letting her heavy udders hang down. Then the +man lay down on his back between the animal's legs and drank for a +long time, squeezing her warm, swollen teats, which tasted of the +cowstall, with both hands, and he drank as long as she gave any milk. +But the icy rain began to fall more heavily, and he saw no place of +shelter on the whole of that bare plain. He was cold, and he looked at +a light which was shining among the trees in the window of a house. + +The cow had lain down again heavily, and he sat down by her side and +stroked her head, grateful for the nourishment she had given him. The +animal's strong, thick breath, which came out of her nostrils like two +jets of steam in the evening air, blew on the workman's face, and he +said: "You are not cold inside there!" He put his hands on her chest +and under her stomach to find some warmth there, and then the idea +struck him that he might pass the night beside that large, warm +animal. So he found a comfortable place and laid his head on her side, +and then, as he was worn out with fatigue, fell asleep immediately. + +He woke up, however, several times, with his back or his stomach half +frozen, according as he put one or the other against the animal's +flank. Then he turned over to warm and dry that part of his body which +had remained exposed to the night air, and soon went soundly to sleep +again. + +The crowing of a cock woke him; the day was breaking, it was no longer +raining, and the sky was bright. The cow was resting with her muzzle +on the ground, and he stooped down, resting on his hands, to kiss +those wide, moist nostrils, and said: "Good-by, my beauty, until next +time. You are a nice animal. Good-by." Then he put on his shoes and +went off, and for two hours walked straight before him, always +following the same road, and then he felt so tired that he sat down on +the grass. It was broad daylight by that time, and the church bells +were ringing; men in blue blouses, women in white caps, some on foot, +some in carts, began to pass along the road, going to the neighboring +villages to spend Sunday with friends or relations. + +A stout peasant came in sight, driving before him a score of +frightened, bleating sheep, with the help of an active dog. Randel got +up, and raising his cap, said: "You do not happen to have any work for +a man who is dying of hunger?" But the other, giving an angry look at +the vagabond, replied: "I have no work for fellows whom I meet on the +road." + +And the carpenter went back and sat down by the side of the ditch +again. He waited there for a long time, watching the country people +pass and looking for a kind, compassionate face before he renewed his +request, and finally selected a man in an overcoat, whose stomach was +adorned with a gold chain. "I have been looking for work," he said, +"for the last two months and cannot find any, and I have not a sou in +my pocket." But the would-be gentleman replied: "You should have read +the notice which is stuck up at the entrance to the village: 'Begging +is prohibited within the boundaries of this parish.' Let me tell you +that I am the mayor, and if you do not get out of here pretty quickly +I shall have you arrested." + +Randel, who was getting angry, replied: "Have me arrested if you like; +I should prefer it, for, at any rate, I should not die of hunger." And +he went back and sat down by the side of his ditch again, and in about +a quarter of an hour two gendarmes appeared on the road. They were +walking slowly side by side, glittering in the sun with their shining +hats, their yellow accoutrements and their metal buttons, as if to +frighten evildoers, and to put them to flight at a distance. He knew +that they were coming after him, but he did not move, for he was +seized with a sudden desire to defy them, to be arrested by them, and +to have his revenge later. + +They came on without appearing to have seen him, walking heavily, with +military step, and balancing themselves as if they were doing the +goose step; and then, suddenly, as they passed him, appearing to have +noticed him, they stopped and looked at him angrily and threateningly, +and the brigadier came up to him and asked: "What are you doing here?" +"I am resting," the man replied calmly. "Where do you come from?" "If +I had to tell you all the places I have been to it would take me more +than an hour." "Where are you going to?" "To Ville-Avary." "Where is +that?" "In La Manche." "Is that where you belong?" "It is." "Why did +you leave it?" "To look for work." + +The brigadier turned to his gendarme and said in the angry voice of a +man who is exasperated at last by an oft-repeated trick: "They all say +that, these scamps. I know all about it." And then he continued: "Have +you any papers?" "Yes, I have some." "Give them to me." + +Randel took his papers out of his pocket, his certificates, those +poor, worn-out, dirty papers which were falling to pieces, and gave +them to the soldier, who spelled them through, hemming and hawing, and +then, having seen that they were all in order, he gave them back to +Randel with the dissatisfied look of a man whom some one cleverer than +himself has tricked. + +After a few moments' further reflection, he asked him: "Have you any +money on you?" "No." "None whatever?" "None." "Not even a sou?" "Not +even a sou!" "How do you live then?" "On what people give me." "Then +you beg?" And Randel answered resolutely: "Yes, when I can." + +Then the gendarme said: "I have caught you on the highroad in the act +of vagabondage and begging, without any resources or trade, and so I +command you to come with me." The carpenter got up and said: "Wherever +you please." And, placing himself between the two soldiers, even +before he had received the order to do so, he added: "Well, lock me +up; that will at any rate put a roof over my head when it rains." + +And they set off toward the village, the red tiles of which could be +seen through the leafless trees, a quarter of a league off. Service +was about to begin when they went through the village. The square was +full of people, who immediately formed two lines to see the criminal +pass. He was being followed by a crowd of excited children. Male and +female peasants looked at the prisoner between the two gendarmes, with +hatred in their eyes and a longing to throw stones at him, to tear his +skin with their nails, to trample him under their feet. They asked +each other whether he had committed murder or robbery. The butcher, +who was an ex-spahi, declared that he was a deserter. The tobacconist +thought that he recognized him as the man who had that very morning +passed a bad half-franc piece off on him, and the ironmonger declared +that he was the murderer of Widow Malet, whom the police had been +looking for for six months. + +In the municipal court, into which his custodians took him, Randel saw +the mayor again, sitting on the magisterial bench, with the +schoolmaster by his side. "Aha! aha!" the magistrate exclaimed, "so +here you are again, my fine fellow. I told you I should have you +locked up. Well, brigadier, what is he charged with?" + +"He is a vagabond without house or home, Monsieur le Maire, without +any resources or money, so he says, who was arrested in the act of +begging, but he is provided with good testimonials, and his papers are +all in order." + +"Show me his papers," the mayor said. He took them, read them, reread, +returned them and then said: "Search him." So they searched him, but +found nothing, and the mayor seemed perplexed, and asked the workman: + +"What were you doing on the road this morning?" "I was looking for +work." "Work? On the highroad?" "How do you expect me to find any if I +hide in the woods?" + +They looked at each other with the hatred of two wild beasts which +belong to different hostile species, and the magistrate continued: "I +am going to have you set at liberty, but do not be brought up before +me again." To which the carpenter replied: "I would rather you locked +me up; I have had enough running about the country." But the +magistrate replied severely: "Be silent." And then he said to the two +gendarmes: "You will conduct this man two hundred yards from the +village and let him continue his journey." + +"At any rate, give me something to eat," the workman said, but the +other grew indignant: "Have we nothing to do but to feed you? Ah! ah! +ah! that is rather too much!" But Randel went on firmly: "If you let +me nearly die of hunger again, you will force me to commit a crime, +and then, so much the worse for you other fat fellows." + +The mayor had risen and he repeated: "Take him away immediately or I +shall end by getting angry." + +The two gendarmes thereupon seized the carpenter by the arms and +dragged him out. He allowed them to do it without resistance, passed +through the village again and found himself on the highroad once more; +and when the men had accompanied him two hundred yards beyond the +village, the brigadier said: "Now off with you and do not let me catch +you about here again, for if I do, you will know it." + +Randel went off without replying or knowing where he was going. He +walked on for a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes, so stupefied +that he no longer thought of anything. But suddenly, as he was passing +a small house, where the window was half open, the smell of the soup +and boiled meat stopped him suddenly, and hunger, fierce, devouring, +maddening hunger, seized him and almost drove him against the walls of +the house like a wild beast. + +He said aloud in a grumbling voice: "In Heaven's name! they must give +me some this time!" And he began to knock at the door vigorously with +his stick, and as no one came he knocked louder and called out: "Hey! +hey! you people in there, open the door!" And then, as nothing +stirred, he went up to the window and pushed it wider open with his +hand, and the close warm air of the kitchen, full of the smell of hot +soup, meat and cabbage, escaped into the cold outer air, and with a +bound the carpenter was in the house. Two places were set at the +table, and no doubt the proprietors of the house, on going to church, +had left their dinner on the fire, their nice Sunday boiled beef +and vegetable soup, while there was a loaf of new bread on the +chimney-piece, between two bottles which seemed full. + +Randel seized the bread first of all and broke it with as much +violence as if he were strangling a man, and then he began to eat +voraciously, swallowing great mouthfuls quickly. But almost +immediately the smell of the meat attracted him to the fireplace, and, +having taken off the lid of the saucepan, he plunged a fork into it +and brought out a large piece of beef tied with a string. Then he took +more cabbage, carrots and onions until his plate was full, and, having +put it on the table, he sat down before it, cut the meat into four +pieces, and dined as if he had been at home. When he had eaten nearly +all the meat, besides a quantity of vegetables, he felt thirsty and +took one of the bottles off the mantelpiece. + +Scarcely had he poured the liquor into his glass when he saw it was +brandy. So much the better; it was warming and would instill some fire +into his veins, and that would be all right, after being so cold; and +he drank some. He certainly enjoyed it, for he had grown unaccustomed +to it, and he poured himself out another glassful, which he drank +at two gulps. And then almost immediately he felt quite merry and +light-hearted from the effects of the alcohol, just as if some great +happiness filled his heart. + +He continued to eat, but more slowly, and dipping his bread into the +soup. His skin had become burning, and especially his forehead, where +the veins were throbbing. But suddenly the church bells began to ring. +Mass was over, and instinct rather than fear, the instinct of +prudence, which guides all beings and makes them clear-sighted in +danger, made the carpenter get up. He put the remains of the loaf into +one pocket and the brandy bottle into the other, and he furtively went +to the window and looked out into the road. It was still deserted, so +he jumped out and set off walking again, but instead of following the +highroad he ran across the fields toward a wood he saw a little way +off. + +He felt alert, strong, light-hearted, glad of what he had done, and so +nimble that he sprang over the enclosure of the fields at a single +bound, and as soon as he was under the trees he took the bottle out of +his pocket again and began to drink once more, swallowing it down as +he walked, and then his ideas began to get confused, his eyes grew +dim, and his legs as elastic as springs, and he started singing the +old popular song: + + _"Oh! what joy, what joy it is, + To pick the sweet, wild strawberries."_ + +He was now walking on thick, damp, cool moss, and that soft carpet +under his feet made him feel absurdly inclined to turn head over heels +as he used to do when a child, so he took a run, turned a somersault, +got up and began over again. And between each time he began to sing +again: + + _"Oh! what joy, what joy it is, + To pick the sweet, wild strawberries."_ + +Suddenly he found himself above a deep road, and in the road he saw a +tall girl, a servant, who was returning to the village with two pails +of milk. He watched, stooping down, and with his eyes as bright as +those of a dog who scents a quail, but she saw him, raised her head +and said: "Was that you singing like that?" He did not reply, however, +but jumped down into the road, although it was a fall of at least six +feet and when she saw him suddenly standing in front of her, she +exclaimed: "Oh! dear, how you frightened me!" + +But he did not hear her, for he was drunk, he was mad, excited by +another requirement which was more imperative than hunger, more +feverish than alcohol; by the irresistible fury of the man who has +been deprived of everything for two months, and who is drunk; who is +young, ardent and inflamed by all the appetites which nature has +implanted in the vigorous flesh of men. + +The girl started back from him, frightened at his face, his eyes, his +half-open mouth, his outstretched hands, but he seized her by the +shoulders, and without a word, threw her down in the road. + +She let her two pails fall, and they rolled over noisily, and all the +milk was spilt, and then she screamed lustily, but it was of no avail +in that lonely spot. + +When she got up the thought of her overturned pails suddenly filled +her with fury, and, taking off one of her wooden sabots, she threw it +at the man to break his head if he did not pay her for her milk. + +But he, mistaking the reason of this sudden violent attack, somewhat +sobered, and frightened at what he had done, ran off as fast as he +could, while she threw stones at him, some of which hit him in the +back. + +He ran for a long time, very long, until he felt more tired than he +had ever been before. His legs were so weak that they could scarcely +carry him; all his ideas were confused, he lost recollection of +everything and could no longer think about anything, and so he sat +down at the foot of a tree, and in five minutes was fast asleep. He +was soon awakened, however, by a rough shake, and, on opening his +eyes, he saw two cocked hats of shiny leather bending over him, and +the two gendarmes of the morning, who were holding him and binding his +arms. + +"I knew I should catch you again," said the brigadier jeeringly. But +Randel got up without replying. The two men shook him, quite ready to +ill treat him if he made a movement, for he was their prey now. He had +become a jailbird, caught by those hunters of criminals who would not +let him go again. + +"Now, start!" the brigadier said, and they set off. It was late +afternoon, and the autumn twilight was setting in over the land, and +in half an hour they reached the village, where every door was open, +for the people had heard what had happened. Peasants and peasant women +and girls, excited with anger, as if every man had been robbed and +every woman attacked, wished to see the wretch brought back, so that +they might overwhelm him with abuse. They hooted him from the first +house in the village until they reached the Hotel de Ville, where the +mayor was waiting for him to be himself avenged on this vagabond, and +as soon as he saw him approaching he cried: + +"Ah! my fine fellow! here we are!" And he rubbed his hands, more +pleased than he usually was, and continued: "I said so. I said so, the +moment I saw him in the road." + +And then with increased satisfaction: + +"Oh, you blackguard! Oh, you dirty blackguard! You will get your +twenty years, my fine fellow!" + + + * * * * * + + +THE FISHING HOLE + +"Cuts and wounds which caused death." Such was the charge upon which +Leopold Renard, upholsterer, was summoned before the Court of Assizes. + +Round him were the principal witnesses, Madame Flameche, widow of the +victim, and Louis Ladureau, cabinetmaker, and Jean Durdent, plumber. + +Near the criminal was his wife, dressed in black, an ugly little +woman, who looked like a monkey dressed as a lady. + +This is how Renard (Leopold) recounted the drama: + +"Good heavens, it is a misfortune of which I was the prime victim all +the time, and with which my will has nothing to do. The facts are +their own commentary, Monsieur le President. I am an honest man, a +hard-working man, an upholsterer, living in the same street for the +last sixteen years, known, liked, respected and esteemed by all, as my +neighbors can testify, even the porter's wife, who is not amiable +every day. I am fond of work, I am fond of saving, I like honest men +and respectable amusements. That is what has ruined me, so much the +worse for me; but as my will had nothing to do with it, I continue to +respect myself. + +"Every Sunday for the last five years my wife and I have spent the day +at Passy. We get fresh air, and, besides, we are fond of fishing. Oh! +we are as fond of it as we are of little onions. Melie inspired me +with that enthusiasm, the jade, and she is more enthusiastic than I +am, the scold, seeing that all the mischief in this business is her +fault, as you will see immediately. + +"I am strong and mild tempered, without a pennyworth of malice in me. +But she! oh! la! la! she looks like nothing; she is short and thin. +Very well, she does more mischief than a weasel. I do not deny that +she has some good qualities; she has some, and very important ones for +a man in business. But her character! Just ask about it in the +neighborhood, and even the porter's wife, who has just sent me about +my business ... she will tell you something about it. + +"Every day she used to find fault with my mild temper: 'I would not +put up with this! I would not put up with that.' If I had listened +to her, Monsieur le President, I should have had at least three +hand-to-hand fights a month...." + +Madame Renard interrupted him: "And for good reasons, too; they laugh +best who laugh last." + +He turned toward her frankly: "Well, I can't blame you, since you were +not the cause of it." + +Then, facing the President again, he said: + +"I will continue. We used to go to Passy every Saturday evening, so as +to begin fishing at daybreak the next morning. It is a habit which has +become second nature with us, as the saying is. Three years ago this +summer I discovered a place, oh! such a spot. Oh, dear, dear! In the +shade, eight feet of water at least and perhaps ten, a hole with +cavities under the bank, a regular nest for fish and a paradise for +the fisherman. I might look upon that fishing hole as my property, +Monsieur le President, as I was its Christopher Columbus. Everybody in +the neighborhood knew it, without making any opposition. They would +say: 'That is Renard's place'; and nobody would have gone there, not +even Monsieur Plumeau, who is well known, be it said without any +offense, for poaching on other people's preserves. + +"Well, I returned to this place of which I felt certain, just as if I +had owned it. I had scarcely got there on Saturday, when I got into +_Delila_, with my wife. _Delila_ is my Norwegian boat, which +I had built by Fournaire, and which is light and safe. Well, as I +said, we got into the boat and we were going to set bait, and for +setting bait there is none to be compared with me, and they all know +it. You want to know with what I bait? I cannot answer that question; +it has nothing to do with the accident. I cannot answer; that is my +secret. There are more than three hundred people who have asked me; I +have been offered glasses of brandy and liqueur, fried fish, +matelotes, to make me tell. But just go and try whether the chub will +come. Ah! they have tempted my stomach to get at my secret, my recipe. +Only my wife knows, and she will not tell it any more than I will. Is +not that so, Melie?" + +The president of the court interrupted him. + +"Just get to the facts as soon as you can," and the accused continued: +"I am getting to them, I am getting to them. Well, on Saturday, July +8, we left by the twenty-five past five train and before dinner we +went to set bait as usual. The weather promised to keep fine and I +said to Melie: 'All right for tomorrow.' And she replied: 'It looks +like it.' We never talk more than that together. + +"And then we returned to dinner. I was happy and thirsty, and that was +the cause of everything. I said to Melie: 'Look here, Melie, it is +fine weather, suppose I drink a bottle of _Casque a meche_.' That +is a weak white wine which we have christened so, because if you drink +too much of it it prevents you from sleeping and takes the place of a +nightcap. Do you understand me? + +"She replied: 'You can do as you please, but you will be ill again and +will not be able to get up tomorrow.' That was true, sensible and +prudent, clearsighted, I must confess. Nevertheless I could not +resist, and I drank my bottle. It all came from that. + +"Well, I could not sleep. By Jove! it kept me awake till two o'clock +in the morning, and then I went to sleep so soundly that I should not +have heard the angel sounding his trump at the last Judgment. + +"In short, my wife woke me at six o'clock and I jumped out of bed, +hastily put on my trousers and jersey, washed my face and jumped on +board _Delila_. But it was too late, for when I arrived at my +hole it was already occupied! Such a thing had never happened to me in +three years, and it made me feel as if I were being robbed under my +own eyes. I said to myself: 'Confound it all! confound it!' And then +my wife began to nag at me. 'Eh! what about your _Casque a +meche?_ Get along, you drunkard! Are you satisfied, you great +fool?' I could say nothing, because it was all true, but I landed all +the same near the spot and tried to profit by what was left. Perhaps +after all the fellow might catch nothing and go away. + +"He was a little thin man in white linen coat and waistcoat and a +large straw hat, and his wife, a fat woman, doing embroidery, sat +behind him. + +"When she saw us take up our position close to them she murmured: 'Are +there no other places on the river?' My wife, who was furious, +replied: 'People who have any manners make inquiries about the habits +of the neighborhood before occupying reserved spots.' + +"As I did not want a fuss, I said to her: 'Hold your tongue, Melie. +Let them alone, let them alone; we shall see.' + +"Well, we fastened _Delila_ under the willows and had landed and +were fishing side by side, Melie and I, close to the two others. But +here, monsieur, I must enter into details. + +"We had only been there about five minutes when our neighbor's line +began to jerk twice, thrice, and then he pulled out a chub as thick as +my thigh; rather less, perhaps, but nearly as big! My heart beat, the +perspiration stood on my forehead and Melie said to me: 'Well, you +sot, did you see that?' + +"Just then Monsieur Bru, the grocer of Poissy, who is fond of gudgeon +fishing, passed in a boat and called out to me: 'So somebody has taken +your usual place, Monsieur Renard?' And I replied--: 'Yes, Monsieur +Bru, there are some people in this world who do not know the rules of +common politeness.' + +"The little man in linen pretended not to hear, nor his fat lump of a +wife, either." + +Here the president interrupted him a second time: "Take care, you are +insulting the widow, Madame Flameche, who is present." + +Renard made his excuses: "I beg your pardon, I beg your pardon; my +anger carried me away. Well, not a quarter of an hour had passed when +the little man caught another chub, and another almost immediately, +and another five minutes later. + +"Tears were in my eyes, and I knew that Madame Renard was boiling with +rage, for she kept on nagging at me: 'Oh, how horrid! Don't you see +that he is robbing you of your fish? Do you think that you will catch +anything? Not even a frog, nothing whatever. Why, my hands are +tingling, just to think of it.' + +"But I said to myself: 'Let us wait until twelve o'clock. Then this +poacher will go to lunch and I shall get my place again. As for me, +Monsieur le President, I lunch on that spot every Sunday. We bring our +provisions in _Delila_. But there! At noon the wretch produced a +chicken in a newspaper, and while he was eating, he actually caught +another chub! + +"Melie and I had a morsel also, just a bite, a mere nothing, for our +heart was not in it. + +"Then I took up my newspaper to aid my digestion. Every Sunday I read +the _Gil Blas_ in the shade by the side of the water. It is +Columbine's day, you know; Columbine, who writes the articles in +the _Gil Blas_. I generally put Madame Renard into a rage by +pretending to know this Columbine. It is not true, for I do not know +her and have never seen her, but that does not matter. She writes very +well, and then she says things that are pretty plain for a woman. She +suits me and there are not many of her sort. + +"Well, I began to tease my wife, but she got angry immediately, and +very angry, so I held my tongue. At that moment our two witnesses who +are present here, Monsieur Ladureau and Monsieur Durdent, appeared on +the other side of the river. We knew each other by sight The little +man began to fish again and he caught so many that I trembled with +vexation and his wife said: 'It is an uncommonly good spot, and we +will come here always, Desire.' As for me, a cold shiver ran down my +back, and Madame Renard kept repeating: 'You are not a man; you have +the blood of a chicken in your veins'; and suddenly I said to her: +'Look here, I would rather go away or I shall be doing something +foolish.' + +"And she whispered to me, as if she had put a red-hot iron under my +nose: 'You are not a man. Now you are going to run away and surrender +your place! Go, then, Bazaine!' + +"I felt hurt, but yet I did not move, while the other fellow pulled +out a bream. Oh, I never saw such a large one before, never! And then +my wife began to talk aloud, as if she were thinking, and you can see +her tricks. She said: 'That is what one might call stolen fish, seeing +that we set the bait ourselves. At any rate, they ought to give us +back the money we have spent on bait.' + +"Then the fat woman in the cotton dress said in her turn: 'Do you mean +to call us thieves, madame?' Explanations followed and compliments +began to fly. Oh, Lord! those creatures know some good ones. They +shouted so loud that our two witnesses, who were on the other bank, +began to call out by way of a joke: 'Less noise over there; you will +interfere with your husbands' fishing.' + +"The fact is that neither the little man nor I moved any more than if +we had been two tree stumps. We remained there, with our eyes fixed on +the water, as if we had heard nothing; but, by Jove! we heard all the +same. 'You are a thief! You are nothing better than a tramp! You are a +regular jade!' and so on and so on. A sailor could not have said more. + +"Suddenly I heard a noise behind me and turned round. It was the other +one, the fat woman, who had attacked my wife with her parasol. +_Whack, whack!_ Melie got two of them. But she was furious, and +she hits hard when she is in a rage. She caught the fat woman by the +hair and then _thump! thump!_ slaps in the face rained down like +ripe plums. I should have let them fight it out: women together, men +together. It does not do to mix the blows. But the little man in the +linen jacket jumped up like a devil and was going to rush at my wife. +Ah! no, no, not that, my friend! I caught the gentleman with the end +of my fist, and _crash! crash!_ One on the nose, the other in the +stomach. He threw up his arms and legs and fell on his back into the +river, just into the hole. + +"I should have fished him out most certainly, Monsieur le President, +if I had had time. But, to make matters worse, the fat woman had the +upper hand and was pounding Melie for all she was worth. I know I +ought not to have interfered while the man was in the water, but I +never thought that he would drown and said to myself: 'Bah, it will +cool him.' + +"I therefore ran up to the women to separate them and all I received +was scratches and bites. Good Lord, what creatures! Well, it took me +five minutes, and perhaps ten, to separate those two viragos. When I +turned round there was nothing to be seen. The water was as smooth as +a lake and the others yonder kept shouting: 'Fish him out! fish him +out!' It was all very well to say that, but I cannot swim and still +less dive. + +"At last the man from the dam came and two gentlemen with boathooks, +but over a quarter of an hour had passed. He was found at the bottom +of the hole, in eight feet of water, as I have said. There he was, the +poor little man, in his linen suit! Those are the facts such as I have +sworn to. I am innocent, on my honor." + +The witnesses having given testimony to the same effect, the accused +was acquitted. + + + * * * * * + + +THE SPASM + +The hotel guests slowly entered the dining-room and took their places. +The waiters did not hurry themselves, in order to give the late comers +a chance and thus avoid the trouble of bringing in the dishes a second +time. The old bathers, the habitues, whose season was almost over, +glanced, gazed toward the door whenever it opened, to see what new +faces might appear. + +This is the principal distraction of watering places. People look +forward to the dinner hour in order to inspect each day's new +arrivals, to find out who they are, what they do, and what they think. +We always have a vague desire to meet pleasant people, to make +agreeable acquaintances, perhaps to meet with a love adventure. In +this life of elbowings, unknown strangers assume an extreme +importance. Curiosity is aroused, sympathy is ready to exhibit itself, +and sociability is the order of the day. + +We cherish antipathies for a week and friendships for a month; we see +people with different eyes, when we view them through the medium of +acquaintanceship at watering places. We discover in men suddenly, +after an hour's chat, in the evening after dinner, under the trees in +the park where the healing spring bubbles up, a high intelligence and +astonishing merits, and a month afterward we have completely forgotten +these new friends, who were so fascinating when we first met them. + +Permanent and serious ties are also formed here sooner than anywhere +else. People see each other every day; they become acquainted very +quickly, and their affection is tinged with the sweetness and +unrestraint of long-standing intimacies. We cherish in after years the +dear and tender memories of those first hours of friendship, the +memory of those first conversations in which a soul was unveiled, of +those first glances which interrogate and respond to questions and +secret thoughts which the mouth has not as yet uttered, the memory of +that first cordial confidence, the memory of that delightful sensation +of opening our hearts to those who seem to open theirs to us in +return. + +And the melancholy of watering places, the monotony of days that are +all alike, proves hourly an incentive to this heart expansion. + + * * * * * + +Well, this evening, as on every other evening, we awaited the +appearance of strange faces. + +Only two appeared, but they were very remarkable, a man and a +woman--father and daughter. They immediately reminded me of some +of Edgar Poe's characters; and yet there was about them a charm, +the charm associated with misfortune. I looked upon them as the victims +of fate. The man was very tall and thin, rather stooped, with perfectly +white hair, too white for his comparatively youthful physiognomy; +and there was in his bearing and in his person that austerity +peculiar to Protestants. The daughter, who was probably twenty-four +or twenty-five, was small in stature, and was also very thin, very +pale, and she had the air of one who was worn out with utter lassitude. +We meet people like this from time to time, who seem too weak for +the tasks and the needs of daily life, too weak to move about, to +walk, to do all that we do every day. She was rather pretty, with a +transparent, spiritual beauty. And she ate with extreme slowness, as if +she were almost incapable of moving her arms. + +It must have been she, assuredly, who had come to take the waters. + +They sat facing me, on the opposite side of the table; and I at once +noticed that the father had a very singular, nervous twitching. + +Every time he wanted to reach an object, his hand described a sort of +zigzag before it succeeded in reaching what it was in search of, and +after a little while this movement annoyed me so that I turned aside +my head in order not to see it. + +I noticed, too, that the young girl, during meals, wore a glove on her +left hand. + +After dinner I went for a stroll in the park of the bathing +establishment. This led toward the little Auvergnese station of +Chatel-Guyon, hidden in a gorge at the foot of the high mountain, from +which flowed so many boiling springs, arising from the deep bed of +extinct volcanoes. Over yonder, above our heads, the domes of extinct +craters lifted their ragged peaks above the rest in the long mountain +chain. For Chatel-Guyon is situated at the entrance to the land of +mountain domes. + +Beyond it stretches out the region of peaks, and, farther on again, +the region of precipitous summits. + +The "Puy de Dome" is the highest of the domes, the Peak of Sancy is +the loftiest of the peaks, and Cantal is the most precipitous of these +mountain heights. + +It was a very warm evening, and I was walking up and down a shady +path, listening to the opening strains of the Casino band, which was +playing on an elevation overlooking the park. + +And I saw the father and the daughter advancing slowly in my +direction. I bowed as one bows to one's hotel companions at a watering +place; and the man, coming to a sudden halt, said to me: + +"Could you not, monsieur, tell us of a nice walk to take, short, +pretty, and not steep; and pardon my troubling you?" + +I offered to show them the way toward the valley through which the +little river flowed, a deep valley forming a gorge between two tall, +craggy, wooded slopes. + +They gladly accepted my offer. + +And we talked, naturally, about the virtue of the waters. + +"Oh," he said, "my daughter has a strange malady, the seat of which is +unknown. She suffers from incomprehensible nervous attacks. At one +time the doctors think she has an attack of heart disease, at another +time they imagine it is some affection of the liver, and at another +they declare it to be a disease of the spine. To-day this protean +malady, that assumes a thousand forms and a thousand modes of attack, +is attributed to the stomach, which is the great caldron and regulator +of the body. This is why we have come here. For my part, I am rather +inclined to think it is the nerves. In any case it is very sad." + +Immediately the remembrance of the violent spasmodic movement of his +hand came back to my mind, and I asked him: + +"But is this not the result of heredity? Are not your own nerves +somewhat affected?" + +He replied calmly: + +"Mine? Oh, no--my nerves have always been very steady." + +Then, suddenly, after a pause, he went on: + +"Ah! You were alluding to the jerking movement of my hand every time I +try to reach for anything? This arises from a terrible experience +which I had. Just imagine, this daughter of mine was actually buried +alive!" + +I could only utter, "Ah!" so great were my astonishment and emotion. + +He continued: + +"Here is the story. It is simple. Juliette had been subject for some +time to serious attacks of the heart. We believed that she had disease +of that organ, and were prepared for the worst. + +"One day she was carried into the house cold, lifeless, dead. She had +fallen down unconscious in the garden. The doctor certified that life +was extinct. I watched by her side for a day and two nights. I laid +her with my own hands in the coffin, which I accompanied to the +cemetery, where she was deposited in the family vault. It is situated +in the very heart of Lorraine. + +"I wished to have her interred with her jewels, bracelets, necklaces, +rings, all presents which she had received from me, and wearing her +first ball dress. + +"You may easily imagine my state of mind when I re-entered our home. +She was the only one I had, for my wife had been dead for many years. +I found my way to my own apartment in a half-distracted condition, +utterly exhausted, and sank into my easy-chair, without the capacity +to think or the strength to move. I was nothing better now than a +suffering, vibrating machine, a human being who had, as it were, been +flayed alive; my soul was like an open wound. + +"My old valet, Prosper, who had assisted me in placing Juliette in her +coffin, and aided me in preparing her for her last sleep, entered the +room noiselessly, and asked: + +"'Does monsieur want anything?' + +"I merely shook my head in reply. + +"'Monsieur is wrong,' he urged. 'He will injure his health. Would +monsieur like me to put him to bed?' + +"I answered: 'No, let me alone!' + +"And he left the room. + +"I know not how many hours slipped away. Oh, what a night, what a +night! It was cold. My fire had died out in the huge grate; and the +wind, the winter wind, an icy wind, a winter hurricane, blew with a +regular, sinister noise against the windows. + +"How many hours slipped away? There I was without sleeping, powerless, +crushed, my eyes wide open, my legs stretched out, my body limp, +inanimate, and my mind torpid with despair. Suddenly the great +doorbell, the great bell of the vestibule, rang out. + +"I started so that my chair cracked under me. The solemn, ponderous +sound vibrated through the empty country house as through a vault. I +turned round to see what the hour was by the clock. It was just two in +the morning. Who could be coming at such an hour? + +"And, abruptly, the bell again rang twice. The servants, without +doubt, were afraid to get up. I took a wax candle and descended the +stairs. I was on the point of asking: 'Who is there?' + +"Then I felt ashamed of my weakness, and I slowly drew back the heavy +bolts. My heart was throbbing wildly. I was frightened. I opened the +door brusquely, and in the darkness I distinguished a white figure, +standing erect, something that resembled an apparition. + +"I recoiled, petrified with horror, faltering: + +"'Who--who--who are you?' + +"A voice replied: + +"'It is I, father.' + +"It was my daughter. + +"I really thought I must be mad, and I retreated backward before this +advancing spectre. I kept moving away, making a sign with my hand, +as if to drive the phantom away, that gesture which you have +noticed--that gesture which has remained with me ever since. + +"'Do not be afraid, papa,' said the apparition. 'I was not dead. +Somebody tried to steal my rings and cut one of my fingers; the blood +began to flow, and that restored me to life.' + +"And, in fact, I could see that her hand was covered with blood. + +"I fell on my knees, choking with sobs and with a rattling in my +throat. + +"Then, when I had somewhat collected my thoughts, though I was still +so bewildered that I scarcely realized the awesome happiness that +had befallen me, I made her go up to my room and sit down in my +easy-chair; then I rang excitedly for Prosper to get him to rekindle +the fire and to bring some wine, and to summon assistance. + +"The man entered, stared at my daughter, opened his mouth with a gasp +of alarm and stupefaction, and then fell back dead. + +"It was he who had opened the vault, who had mutilated and then +abandoned my daughter; for he could not efface the traces of the +theft. He had not even taken the trouble to put back the coffin into +its place, feeling sure, besides, that he would not be suspected by +me, as I trusted him absolutely. + +"You see, monsieur, that we are very unfortunate people." + + * * * * * + +He was silent. + +The night had fallen, casting its shadows over the desolate, mournful +vale, and a sort of mysterious fear possessed me at finding myself by +the side of those strange beings, of this young girl who had come back +from the tomb, and this father with his uncanny spasm. + +I found it impossible to make any comment on this dreadful story. I +only murmured: + +"What a horrible thing!" + +Then, after a minute's silence, I added: + +"Let us go indoors. I think it is growing cool." + +And we made our way back to the hotel. + + + * * * * * + + +IN THE WOOD + +As the mayor was about to sit down to breakfast, word was brought to +him that the rural policeman, with two prisoners, was awaiting him at +the Hotel de Ville. He went there at once and found old Hochedur +standing guard before a middle-class couple whom he was regarding with +a severe expression on his face. + +The man, a fat old fellow with a red nose and white hair, seemed +utterly dejected; while the woman, a little roundabout individual with +shining cheeks, looked at the official who had arrested them, with +defiant eyes. + +"What is it? What is it, Hochedur?" + +The rural policeman made his deposition: He had gone out that morning +at his usual time, in order to patrol his beat from the forest of +Champioux as far as the boundaries of Argenteuil. He had not noticed +anything unusual in the country except that it was a fine day, and +that the wheat was doing well, when the son of old Bredel, who was +going over his vines, called out to him: "Here, Daddy Hochedur, go and +have a look at the outskirts of the wood. In the first thicket you +will find a pair of pigeons who must be a hundred and thirty years old +between them!" + +He went in the direction indicated, entered the thicket, and there he +heard words which made him suspect a flagrant breach of morality. +Advancing, therefore, on his hands and knees as if to surprise a +poacher, he had arrested the couple whom he found there. + +The mayor looked at the culprits in astonishment, for the man was +certainly sixty, and the woman fifty-five at least, and he began to +question them, beginning with the man, who replied in such a weak +voice that he could scarcely be heard. + +"What is your name?" + +"Nicholas Beaurain." + +"Your occupation?" + +"Haberdasher, in the Rue des Martyrs, in Paris." + +"What were you doing in the wood?" + +The haberdasher remained silent, with his eyes on his fat paunch, and +his hands hanging at his sides, and the mayor continued: + +"Do you deny what the officer of the municipal authorities states?" + +"No, monsieur." + +"So you confess it?" + +"Yes, monsieur." + +"What have you to say in your defence?" + +"Nothing, monsieur." + +"Where did you meet the partner in your misdemeanor?" + +"She is my wife, monsieur." + +"Your wife?" + +"Yes, monsieur." + +"Then--then--you do not live together--in Paris?" + +"I beg your pardon, monsieur, but we are living together!" + +"But in that case--you must be mad, altogether mad, my dear sir, to +get caught playing lovers in the country at ten o'clock in the +morning." + +The haberdasher seemed ready to cry with shame, and he muttered: "It +was she who enticed me! I told her it was very stupid, but when a +woman once gets a thing into her head--you know--you cannot get it +out." + +The mayor, who liked a joke, smiled and replied: "In your case, the +contrary ought to have happened. You would not be here, if she had had +the idea only in her head." + +Then Monsieur Beaurain was seized with rage, and turning to his wife, +he said: "Do you see to what you have brought us with your poetry? And +now we shall have to go before the courts at our age, for a breach of +morals! And we shall have to shut up the shop, sell our good will, and +go to some other neighborhood! That's what it has come to." + +Madame Beaurain got up, and without looking at her husband, she +explained herself without embarrassment, without useless modesty, and +almost without hesitation. + +"Of course, monsieur, I know that we have made ourselves ridiculous. +Will you allow me to plead my cause like an advocate, or rather like a +poor woman? And I hope that you will be kind enough to send us home, +and to spare us the disgrace of a prosecution. + +"Years ago, when I was young, I made Monsieur Beaurain's acquaintance +one Sunday in this neighborhood. He was employed in a draper's shop, +and I was a saleswoman in a ready-made clothing establishment. I +remember it as if it were yesterday. I used to come and spend Sundays +here occasionally with a friend of mine, Rose Leveque, with whom I +lived in the Rue Pigalle, and Rose had a sweetheart, while I had none. +He used to bring us here, and one Saturday he told me laughing that he +should bring a friend with him the next day. I quite understood what +he meant, but I replied that it would be no good; for I was virtuous, +monsieur. + +"The next day we met Monsieur Beaurain at the railway station, and in +those days he was good-looking, but I had made up my mind not to +encourage him, and I did not. Well, we arrived at Bezons. It was a +lovely day, the sort of day that touches your heart. When it is fine +even now, just as it used to be formerly, I grow quite foolish, and +when I am in the country I utterly lose my head. The green grass, the +swallows flying so swiftly, the smell of the grass, the scarlet +poppies, the daisies, all that makes me crazy. It is like champagne +when one is not accustomed to it! + +"Well, it was lovely weather, warm and bright, and it seemed to +penetrate your body through your eyes when you looked, and through +your mouth when you breathed. Rose and Simon hugged and kissed each +other every minute, and that gave me a queer feeling! Monsieur +Beaurain and I walked behind them, without speaking much, for when +people do not know each other, they do not find anything to talk +about. He looked timid, and I liked to see his embarrassment. At last +we got to the little wood; it was as cool as in a bath there, and we +four sat down. Rose and her lover teased me because I looked rather +stern, but you will understand that I could not be otherwise. And then +they began to kiss and hug again, without putting any more restraint +upon themselves than if we had not been there; and then they whispered +together, and got up and went off among the trees, without saying a +word. You may fancy what I looked like, alone with this young fellow +whom I saw for the first time. I felt so confused at seeing them go +that it gave me courage, and I began to talk. I asked him what his +business was, and he said he was a linen draper's assistant, as I told +you just now. We talked for a few minutes, and that made him bold, and +he wanted to take liberties with me, but I told him sharply to keep +his place. Is not that true, Monsieur Beaurain?" + +Monsieur Beaurain, who was looking at his feet in confusion, did not +reply, and she continued: "Then he saw that I was virtuous, and he +began to make love to me nicely, like an honorable man, and from that +time he came every Sunday, for he was very much in love with me. I was +very fond of him also, very fond of him! He was a good-looking fellow, +formerly, and in short he married me the next September, and we +started in business in the Rue des Martyrs. + +"It was a hard struggle for some years, monsieur. Business did not +prosper, and we could not afford many country excursions, and, +besides, we had got out of the way of them. One has other things in +one's head, and thinks more of the cash box than of pretty speeches, +when one is in business. We were growing old by degrees without +perceiving it, like quiet people who do not think much about love. One +does not regret anything as long as one does not notice what one has +lost. + +"And then, monsieur, business became better, and we were tranquil as +to the future! Then, you see, I do not exactly know what went on in my +mind, no, I really do not know, but I began to dream like a little +boarding-school girl. The sight of the little carts full of flowers +which are drawn about the streets made me cry; the smell of violets +sought me out in my easy-chair, behind my cash box, and made my heart +beat! Then I would get up and go out on the doorstep to look at the +blue sky between the roofs. When one looks up at the sky from the +street, it looks like a river which is descending on Paris, winding as +it flows, and the swallows pass to and fro in it like fish. These +ideas are very stupid at my age! But how can one help it, monsieur, +when one has worked all one's life? A moment comes in which one +perceives that one could have done something else, and that one +regrets, oh! yes, one feels intense regret! Just think, for twenty +years I might have gone and had kisses in the woods, like other women. +I used to think how delightful it would be to lie under the trees and +be in love with some one! And I thought of it every day and every +night! I dreamed of the moonlight on the water, until I felt inclined +to drown myself. + +"I did not venture to speak to Monsieur Beaurain about this at first. +I knew that he would make fun of me, and send me back to sell my +needles and cotton! And then, to speak the truth, Monsieur Beaurain +never said much to me, but when I looked in the glass, I also +understood quite well that I no longer appealed to any one! + +"Well, I made up my mind, and I proposed to him an excursion into the +country, to the place where we had first become acquainted. He agreed +without mistrusting anything, and we arrived here this morning, about +nine o'clock. + +"I felt quite young again when I got among the wheat, for a woman's +heart never grows old! And really, I no longer saw my husband as he is +at present, but just as he was formerly! That I will swear to you, +monsieur. As true as I am standing here I was crazy. I began to kiss +him, and he was more surprised than if I had tried to murder him. He +kept saying to me: 'Why, you must be mad! You are mad this morning! +What is the matter with you?' I did not listen to him, I only listened +to my own heart, and I made him come into the wood with me. That is +all. I have spoken the truth, Monsieur le Maire, the whole truth." + +The mayor was a sensible man. He rose from his chair, smiled, and +said: "Go in peace, madame, and when you again visit our forests, be +more discreet." + + + * * * * * + + +MARTINE + +It came to him one Sunday after mass. He was walking home from church +along the by-road that led to his house when he saw ahead of him +Martine, who was also going home. + +Her father walked beside his daughter with the important gait of a +rich farmer. Discarding the smock, he wore a short coat of gray cloth +and on his head a round-topped hat with wide brim. + +She, laced up in a corset which she wore only once a week, walked +along erect, with her squeezed-in waist, her broad shoulders and +prominent hips, swinging herself a little. She wore a hat trimmed with +flowers, made by a milliner at Yvetot, and displayed the back of her +full, round, supple neck, reddened by the sun and air, on which +fluttered little stray locks of hair. + +Benoist saw only her back; but he knew well the face he loved, +without, however, having ever noticed it more closely than he did now. + +Suddenly he said: "Nom d'un nom, she is a fine girl, all the same, +that Martine." He watched her as she walked, admiring her hastily, +feeling a desire taking possession of him. He did not long to see her +face again, no. He kept gazing at her figure, repeating to himself: +"Nom d'un nom, she is a fine girl." + +Martine turned to the right to enter "La Martiniere," the farm of her +father, Jean Martin, and she cast a glance behind her as she turned +round. She saw Benoist, who looked to her very comical. She called +out: "Good-morning, Benoist." He replied: "Good-morning, Martine; +good-morning, mait' Martin," and went on his way. + +When he reached home the soup was on the table. He sat down opposite +his mother beside the farm hand and the hired man, while the maid +servant went to draw some cider. + +He ate a few spoonfuls, then pushed away his plate. His mother said: + +"Don't you feel well?" + +"No. I feel as if I had some pap in my stomach and that takes away my +appetite." + +He watched the others eating, as he cut himself a piece of bread from +time to time and carried it lazily to his mouth, masticating it +slowly. He thought of Martine. "She is a fine girl, all the same." And +to think that he had not noticed it before, and that it came to him, +just like that, all at once, and with such force that he could not +eat. + +He did not touch the stew. His mother said: + +"Come, Benoist, try and eat a little; it is loin of mutton, it will do +you good. When one has no appetite, they should force themselves to +eat." + +He swallowed a few morsels, then, pushing away his plate, said: + +"No. I can't go that, positively." + +When they rose from table he walked round the farm, telling the farm +hand he might go home and that he would drive up the animals as he +passed by them. + +The country was deserted, as it was the day of rest. Here and there in +a field of clover cows were moving along heavily, with full bellies, +chewing their cud under a blazing sun. Unharnessed plows were standing +at the end of a furrow; and the upturned earth ready for the seed +showed broad brown patches of stubble of wheat and oats that had +lately been harvested. + +A rather dry autumn wind blew across the plain, promising a cool +evening after the sun had set. Benoist sat down on a ditch, placed his +hat on his knees as if he needed to cool off his head, and said aloud +in the stillness of the country: "If you want a fine girl, she is a +fine girl." + +He thought of it again at night, in his bed, and in the morning when +he awoke. + +He was not sad, he was not discontented, he could not have told what +ailed him. It was something that had hold of him, something fastened +in his mind, an idea that would not leave him and that produced a sort +of tickling sensation in his heart. + +Sometimes a big fly is shut up in a room. You hear it flying about, +buzzing, and the noise haunts you, irritates you. Suddenly it stops; +you forget it; but all at once it begins again, obliging you to look +up. You cannot catch it, nor drive it away, nor kill it, nor make it +keep still. As soon as it settles for a second, it starts off buzzing +again. + +The recollection of Martine disturbed Benoist's mind like an +imprisoned fly. + +Then he longed to see her again and walked past the Martiniere several +times. He saw her, at last, hanging out some clothes on a line +stretched between two apple trees. + +It was a warm day. She had on only a short skirt and her chemise, +showing the curves of her figure as she hung up the towels. He +remained there, concealed by the hedge, for more than an hour, even +after she had left. He returned home more obsessed with her image than +ever. + +For a month his mind was full of her, he trembled when her name was +mentioned in his presence. He could not eat, he had night sweats that +kept him from sleeping. + +On Sunday, at mass, he never took his eyes off her. She noticed it and +smiled at him, flattered at his appreciation. + +One evening, he suddenly met her in the road. She stopped short when +she saw him coming. Then he walked right up to her, choking with fear +and emotion, but determined to speak to her. He began falteringly: + +"See here, Martine, this cannot go on like this any longer." + +She replied as if she wanted to tease him: + +"What cannot go on any longer, Benoist?" + +"My thinking of you as many hours as there are in the day," he +answered. + +She put her hands on her hips. + +"I do not oblige you to do so." + +"Yes, it is you," he stammered; "I cannot sleep, nor rest, nor eat, +nor anything." + +"What do you need to cure you of all that?" she asked. + +He stood there in dismay, his arms swinging, his eyes staring, his +mouth agape. + +She hit him a punch in the stomach and ran off. + +From that day they met each other along the roadside, in by-roads or +else at twilight on the edge of a field, when he was going home with +his horses and she was driving her cows home to the stable. + +He felt himself carried, cast toward her by a strong impulse of his +heart and body. He would have liked to squeeze her, strangle her, eat +her, make her part of himself. And he trembled with impotence, +impatience, rage, to think she did not belong to him entirely, as if +they were one being. + +People gossiped about it in the countryside. They said they were +engaged. He had, besides, asked her if she would be his wife, and she +had answered "Yes." + +They were waiting for an opportunity to talk to their parents about +it. + +But, all at once, she stopped coming to meet him at the usual hour. He +did not even see her as he wandered round the farm. He could only +catch a glimpse of her at mass on Sunday. And one Sunday, after the +sermon, the priest actually published the banns of marriage between +Victoire-Adelaide-Martin and Josephin-Isidore Vallin. + +Benoist felt a sensation in his hands as if the blood had been drained +off. He had a buzzing in the ears, and could hear nothing; and +presently he perceived that his tears were falling on his prayer book. + +For a month he stayed in his room. Then he went back to his work. + +But he was not cured, and it was always in his mind. He avoided the +roads that led past her home, so that he might not even see the trees +in the yard, and this obliged him to make a great circuit morning and +evening. + +She was now married to Vallin, the richest farmer in the district. +Benoist and he did not speak now, though they had been comrades from +childhood. + +One evening, as Benoist was passing the town hall, he heard that she +was enceinte. Instead of experiencing a feeling of sorrow, he +experienced, on the contrary, a feeling of relief. It was over, now, +all over. They were more separated by that than by her marriage. He +really preferred that it should be so. + +Months passed, and more months. He caught sight of her, occasionally, +going to the village with a heavier step than usual. She blushed as +she saw him, lowered her head and quickened her pace. And he turned +out of his way so as not to pass her and meet her glance. + +He dreaded the thought that he might one morning meet her face to +face, and be obliged to speak to her. What could he say to her now, +after all he had said formerly, when he held her hands as he kissed +her hair beside her cheeks? He often thought of those meetings along +the roadside. She had acted horridly after all her promises. + +By degrees his grief diminished, leaving only sadness behind. And one +day he took the old road that led past the farm where she now lived. +He looked at the roof from a distance. It was there, in there, that +she lived with another! The apple trees were in bloom, the cocks +crowed on the dunghill. The whole dwelling seemed empty, the farm +hands had gone to the fields to their spring toil. He stopped near the +gate and looked into the yard. The dog was asleep outside his kennel, +three calves were walking slowly, one behind the other, towards the +pond. A big turkey was strutting before the door, parading before the +turkey hens like a singer at the opera. + +Benoist leaned against the gate post and was suddenly seized with a +desire to weep. But suddenly, he heard a cry, a loud cry for help +coming from the house. He was struck with dismay, his hands grasping +the wooden bars of the gate, and listened attentively. Another cry, a +prolonged, heartrending cry, reached his ears, his soul, his flesh. It +was she who was crying like that! He darted inside, crossed the grass +patch, pushed open the door, and saw her lying on the floor, her body +drawn up, her face livid, her eyes haggard, in the throes of +childbirth. + +He stood there, trembling and paler than she was, and stammered: + +"Here I am, here I am, Martine!" + +She replied in gasps: + +"Oh, do not leave me, do not leave me, Benoist!" + +He looked at her, not knowing what to say, what to do. She began to +cry out again: + +"Oh, oh, it is killing me. Oh, Benoist!" + +She writhed frightfully. + +Benoist was suddenly seized with a frantic longing to help her, to +quiet her, to remove her pain. He leaned over, lifted her up and laid +her on her bed; and while she kept on moaning he began to take off her +clothes, her jacket, her skirt and her petticoat. She bit her fists to +keep from crying out. Then he did as he was accustomed to doing for +cows, ewes, and mares: he assisted in delivering her and found in his +hands a large infant who was moaning. + +He wiped it off and wraped it up in a towel that was drying in front +of the fire, and laid it on a bundle of clothes ready for ironing that +was on the table. Then he went back to the mother. + +He took her up and placed her on the floor again, then he changed the +bedclothes and put her back into bed. She faltered: + +"Thank you, Benoist, you have a noble heart." And then she wept a +little as if she felt regretful. + +He did not love her any longer, not the least bit. It was all over. +Why? How? He could not have said. What had happened had cured him +better than ten years of absence. + +She asked, exhausted and trembling: + +"What is it?" + +He replied calmly: + +"It is a very fine girl." + +Then they were silent again. At the end of a few moments, the mother, +in a weak voice, said: + +"Show her to me, Benoist." + +He took up the little one and was showing it to her as if he were +holding the consecrated wafer, when the door opened, and Isidore +Vallin appeared. + +He did not understand at first, then all at once he guessed. + +Benoist, in consternation, stammered out: + +"I was passing, I was just passing by when I heard her crying out, and +I came--there is your child, Vallin!" + +Then the husband, his eyes full of tears, stepped forward, took the +little mite of humanity that he held out to him, kissed it, unable to +speak from emotion for a few seconds; then placing the child on the +bed, he held out both hands to Benoist, saying: + +"Your hand upon it, Benoist. From now on we understand each other. If +you are willing, we will be a pair of friends, a pair of friends!" + +And Benoist replied: + +"Indeed I will, certainly, indeed I will." + + + * * * * * + + +ALL OVER + +Comte de Lormerin had just finished dressing. He cast a parting +glance at the large mirror which occupied an entire panel in his +dressing-room and smiled. + +He was really a fine-looking man still, although quite gray. Tall, +slight, elegant, with no sign of a paunch, with a small mustache of +doubtful shade, which might be called fair, he had a walk, a nobility, +a "chic," in short, that indescribable something which establishes a +greater difference between two men than would millions of money. He +murmured: + +"Lormerin is still alive!" + +And he went into the drawing-room where his correspondence awaited +him. + +On his table, where everything had its place, the work table of the +gentleman who never works, there were a dozen letters lying beside +three newspapers of different opinions. With a single touch he spread +out all these letters, like a gambler giving the choice of a card; and +he scanned the handwriting, a thing he did each morning before opening +the envelopes. + +It was for him a moment of delightful expectancy, of inquiry and vague +anxiety. What did these sealed mysterious letters bring him? What did +they contain of pleasure, of happiness, or of grief? He surveyed them +with a rapid sweep of the eye, recognizing the writing, selecting +them, making two or three lots, according to what he expected from +them. Here, friends; there, persons to whom he was indifferent; +further on, strangers. The last kind always gave him a little +uneasiness. What did they want from him? What hand had traced those +curious characters full of thoughts, promises, or threats? + +This day one letter in particular caught his eye. It was simple, +nevertheless, without seeming to reveal anything; but he looked at it +uneasily, with a sort of chill at his heart. He thought: "From whom +can it be? I certainly know this writing, and yet I can't identify +it." + +He raised it to a level with his face, holding it delicately between +two fingers, striving to read through the envelope, without making up +his mind to open it. + +Then he smelled it, and snatched up from the table a little magnifying +glass which he used in studying all the niceties of handwriting. He +suddenly felt unnerved. "Whom is it from? This hand is familiar to me, +very familiar. I must have often read its tracings, yes, very often. +But this must have been a long, long time ago. Whom the deuce can it +be from? Pooh! it's only somebody asking for money." + +And he tore open the letter. Then he read: + +My Dear Friend: You have, without doubt, forgotten me, for it is now +twenty-five years since we saw each other. I was young; I am old. When +I bade you farewell, I left Paris in order to follow into the +provinces my husband, my old husband, whom you used to call "my +hospital." Do you remember him? He died five years ago, and now I am +returning to Paris to get my daughter married, for I have a daughter, +a beautiful girl of eighteen, whom you have never seen. I informed you +of her birth, but you certainly did not pay much attention to so +trifling an event. + +You are still the handsome Lormerin; so I have been told. Well if you +still recollect little Lise, whom you used to call Lison, come and +dine with her this evening, with the elderly Baronne de Vance, your +ever faithful friend, who, with some emotion, although happy, reaches +out to you a devoted hand, which you must clasp, but no longer kiss, +my poor Jaquelet. + +Lise de Vance. + +Lormerin's heart began to throb. He remained sunk in his armchair with +the letter on his knees, staring straight before him, overcome by a +poignant emotion that made the tears mount up to his eyes! If he had +ever loved a woman in his life it was this one, little Lise, Lise de +Vance, whom he called "Ashflower," on account of the strange color of +her hair and the pale gray of her eyes. Oh! what a dainty, pretty, +charming creature she was, this frail baronne, the wife of that gouty, +pimply baron, who had abruptly carried her off to the provinces, shut +her up, kept her in seclusion through jealousy, jealousy of the +handsome Lormerin. + +Yes, he had loved her, and he believed that he, too, had been truly +loved. She familiarly gave him the name of Jaquelet, and would +pronounce that word in a delicious fashion. + +A thousand forgotten memories came back to him, far off and sweet and +melancholy now. One evening she had called on him on her way home from +a ball, and they went for a stroll in the Bois de Boulogne, she in +evening dress, he in his dressing-jacket. It was springtime; the +weather was beautiful. The fragrance from her bodice embalmed the warm +air--the odor of her bodice, and perhaps, too, the fragrance of her +skin. What a divine night! When they reached the lake, as the moon's +rays fell across the branches into the water, she began to weep. A +little surprised, he asked her why. + +She replied: + +"I don't know. The moon and the water have affected me. Every time I +see poetic things I have a tightening at the heart, and I have to +cry." + +He smiled, affected himself, considering her feminine emotion +charming--the unaffected emotion of a poor little woman whom every +sensation overwhelms. And he embraced her passionately, stammering: + +"My little Lise, you are exquisite." + +What a charming love affair, short-lived and dainty, it had been and +over all too quickly, cut short in the midst of its ardor by this old +brute of a baron, who had carried off his wife, and never let any one +see her afterward. + +Lormerin had forgotten, in fact, at the end of two or three months. +One woman drives out another so quickly in Paris, when one is a +bachelor! No matter; he had kept a little altar for her in his heart, +for he had loved her alone! He assured himself now that this was so. + +He rose, and said aloud: "Certainly, I will go and dine with her this +evening!" + +And instinctively he turned toward the mirror to inspect himself from +head to foot. He reflected: "She must look very old, older than I +look." And he felt gratified at the thought of showing himself to her +still handsome, still fresh, of astonishing her, perhaps of filling +her with emotion, and making her regret those bygone days so far, far +distant! + +He turned his attention to the other letters. They were of no +importance. + +The whole day he kept thinking of this ghost of other days. What was +she like now? How strange it was to meet in this way after twenty-five +years! But would he recognize her? + +He made his toilet with feminine coquetry, put on a white waistcoat, +which suited him better with the coat than a black one, sent for the +hairdresser to give him a finishing touch with the curling iron, for +he had preserved his hair, and started very early in order to show his +eagerness to see her. + +The first thing he saw on entering a pretty drawing-room newly +furnished was his own portrait, an old faded photograph, dating from +the days when he was a beau, hanging on the wall in an antique silk +frame. + +He sat down and waited. A door opened behind him. He rose up abruptly, +and, turning round, beheld an old woman with white hair who extended +both hands toward him. + +He seized them, kissed them one after the other several times; then, +lifting up his head, he gazed at the woman he had loved. + +Yes, it was an old lady, an old lady whom he did not recognize, and +who, while she smiled, seemed ready to weep. + +He could not abstain from murmuring: + +"Is it you, Lise?" + +She replied: + +"Yes, it is I; it is I, indeed. You would not have known me, would +you? I have had so much sorrow--so much sorrow. Sorrow has consumed my +life. Look at me now--or, rather, don't look at me! But how handsome +you have kept--and young! If I had by chance met you in the street I +would have exclaimed: 'Jaquelet!' Now, sit down and let us, first of +all, have a chat. And then I will call my daughter, my grown-up +daughter. You'll see how she resembles me--or, rather, how I resembled +her--no, it is not quite that; she is just like the 'me' of former +days--you shall see! But I wanted to be alone with you first. I feared +that there would be some emotion on my side, at the first moment. Now +it is all over; it is past. Pray be seated, my friend." + +He sat down beside her, holding her hand; but he did not know what to +say; he did not know this woman--it seemed to him that he had never +seen her before. Why had he come to this house? What could he talk +about? Of the long ago? What was there in common between him and her? +He could no longer recall anything in presence of this grandmotherly +face. He could no longer recall all the nice, tender things, so sweet, +so bitter, that had come to his mind that morning when he thought of +the other, of little Lise, of the dainty Ashflower. What, then, had +become of her, the former one, the one he had loved? That woman of +far-off dreams, the blonde with gray eyes, the young girl who used to +call him "Jaquelet" so prettily? + +They remained side by side, motionless, both constrained, troubled, +profoundly ill at ease. + +As they talked only commonplaces, awkwardly and spasmodically and +slowly, she rose and pressed the button of the bell. + +"I am going to call Renee," she said. + +There was a tap at the door, then the rustle of a dress; then a young +voice exclaimed: + +"Here I am, mamma!" + +Lormerin remained bewildered as at the sight of an apparition. + +He stammered: + +"Good-day, mademoiselle." + +Then, turning toward the mother: + +"Oh! it is you!" + +In fact, it was she, she whom he had known in bygone days, the Lise +who had vanished and come back! In her he found the woman he had won +twenty-five years before. This one was even younger, fresher, more +childlike. + +He felt a wild desire to open his arms, to clasp her to his heart +again, murmuring in her ear: + +"Good-morning, Lison!" + +A man-servant announced: + +"Dinner is ready, madame." + +And they proceeded toward the dining-room. + +What passed at this dinner? What did they say to him, and what could +he say in reply? He found himself plunged in one of those strange +dreams which border on insanity. He gazed at the two women with a +fixed idea in his mind, a morbid, self-contradictory idea: + +"Which is the real one?" + +The mother smiled, repeating over and over again: + +"Do you remember?" And it was in the bright eyes of the young girl +that he found again his memories of the past. Twenty times he opened +his mouth to say to her: "Do you remember, Lison?" forgetting this +white-haired lady who was looking at him tenderly. + +And yet, there were moments when he no longer felt sure, when he lost +his head. He could see that the woman of to-day was not exactly the +woman of long ago. The other one, the former one, had in her voice, in +her glances, in her entire being, something which he did not find +again. And he made prodigious efforts of mind to recall his lady love, +to seize again what had escaped from her, what this resuscitated one +did not possess. + +The baronne said: + +"You have lost your old vivacity, my poor friend." + +He murmured: + +"There are many other things that I have lost!" + +But in his heart, touched with emotion, he felt his old love springing +to life once more, like an awakened wild beast ready to bite him. + +The young girl went on chattering, and every now and then some +familiar intonation, some expression of her mother's, a certain style +of speaking and thinking, that resemblance of mind and manner which +people acquire by living together, shook Lormerin from head to foot. +All these things penetrated him, making the reopened wound of his +passion bleed anew. + +He got away early, and took a turn along the boulevard. But the image +of this young girl pursued him, haunted him, quickened his heart, +inflamed his blood. Apart from the two women, he now saw only one, a +young one, the old one come back out of the past, and he loved her as +he had loved her in bygone years. He loved her with greater ardor, +after an interval of twenty-five years. + +He went home to reflect on this strange and terrible thing, and to +think what he should do. + +But, as he was passing, with a wax candle in his hand, before the +glass, the large glass in which he had contemplated himself and +admired himself before he started, he saw reflected there an elderly, +gray-haired man; and suddenly he recollected what he had been in olden +days, in the days of little Lise. He saw himself charming and +handsome, as he had been when he was loved! Then, drawing the light +nearer, he looked at himself more closely, as one inspects a strange +thing with a magnifying glass, tracing the wrinkles, discovering those +frightful ravages, which he had not perceived till now. + +And he sat down, crushed at the sight of himself, at the sight of his +lamentable image, murmuring: + +"All over, Lormerin!" + + + * * * * * + + +THE PARROT + +I + +Everybody in Fecamp knew Mother Patin's story. She had certainly been +unfortunate with her husband, for in his lifetime he used to beat her, +just as wheat is threshed in the barn. + +He was master of a fishing bark and had married her, formerly, because +she was pretty, although poor. + +Patin was a good sailor, but brutal. He used to frequent Father +Auban's inn, where he would usually drink four or five glasses of +brandy, on lucky days eight or ten glasses and even more, according to +his mood. The brandy was served to the customers by Father Auban's +daughter, a pleasing brunette, who attracted people to the house only +by her pretty face, for nothing had ever been gossiped about her. + +Patin, when he entered the inn, would be satisfied to look at her and +to compliment her politely and respectfully. After he had had his +first glass of brandy he would already find her much nicer; at the +second he would wink; at the third he would say: "If you were only +willing, Mam'zelle Desiree----" without ever finishing his sentence; +at the fourth he would try to hold her back by her skirt in order to +kiss her; and when he went as high as ten it was Father Auban who +brought him the remaining drinks. + +The old innkeeper, who knew all the tricks of the trade, made Desiree +walk about between the tables in order to increase the consumption of +drinks; and Desiree, who was a worthy daughter of Father Auban, +flitted around among the benches and joked with them, her lips smiling +and her eyes sparkling. + +Patin got so well accustomed to Desiree's face that he thought of it +even while at sea, when throwing out his nets, in storms or in calms, +on moonlit or dark evenings. He thought of her while holding the +tiller in the stern of his boat, while his four companions were +slumbering with their heads on their arms. He always saw her, smiling, +pouring out the yellow brandy with a peculiar shoulder movement and +then exclaiming as she turned away: "There, now; are you satisfied?" + +He saw her so much in his mind's eye that he was overcome by an +irresistible desire to marry her, and, not being able to hold out any +longer, he asked for her hand. + +He was rich, owned his own vessel, his nets and a little house at the +foot of the hill on the Retenue, whereas Father Auban had nothing. The +marriage was therefore eagerly agreed upon and the wedding took place +as soon as possible, as both parties were desirous for the affair to +be concluded as early as convenient. + +Three days after the wedding Patin could no longer understand how he +had ever imagined Desiree to be different from other women. What a +fool he had been to encumber himself with a penniless creature, who +had undoubtedly inveigled him with some drug which she had put in his +brandy! + +He would curse all day long, break his pipe with his teeth and maul +his crew. After he had sworn by every known term at everything that +came his way he would rid himself of his remaining anger on the fish +and lobsters, which he pulled from the nets and threw into the baskets +amid oaths and foul language. When he returned home he would find his +wife, Father Auban's daughter, within reach of his mouth and hand, and +it was not long before he treated her like the lowest creature in the +world. As she listened calmly, accustomed to paternal violence, he +grew exasperated at her quiet, and one evening he beat her. Then life +at his home became unbearable. + +For ten years the principal topic of conversation on the Retenue was +about the beatings that Patin gave his wife and his manner of cursing +at her for the least thing. He could, indeed, curse with a richness of +vocabulary in a roundness of tone unequalled by any other man in +Fecamp. As soon as his ship was sighted at the entrance of the harbor, +returning from the fishing expedition, every one awaited the first +volley he would hurl from the bridge as soon as he perceived his +wife's white cap. + +Standing at the stern, he would steer, his eye fixed on the bows and +on the sail, and, notwithstanding the difficulty of the narrow passage +and the height of the turbulent waves, he would search among the +watching women and try to recognize his wife, Father Auban's daughter, +the wretch! + +Then, as soon as he saw her, notwithstanding the noise of the wind and +waves, he would let loose upon her with such power and volubility that +every one would laugh, although they pitied her greatly. When he +arrived at the dock he would relieve his mind, while unloading the +fish, in such an expressive manner that he attracted around him all +the loafers of the neighborhood. The words left his mouth sometimes +like shots from a cannon, short and terrible, sometimes like peals of +thunder, which roll and rumble for five minutes, such a hurricane of +oaths that he seemed to have in his lungs one of the storms of the +Eternal Father. + +When he left his ship and found himself face to face with her, +surrounded by all the gossips of the neighborhood, he would bring up a +new cargo of insults and bring her back to their dwelling, she in +front, he behind, she weeping, he yelling at her. + +At last, when alone with her behind closed doors, he would thrash her +on the slightest pretext. The least thing was sufficient to make him +raise his hand, and when he had once begun he did not stop, but he +would throw into her face the true motive for his anger. At each blow +he would roar: "There, you beggar! There, you wretch! There, you +pauper! What a bright thing I did when I rinsed my mouth with your +rascal of a father's apology for brandy!" + +The poor woman lived in continual fear, in a ceaseless trembling of +body and soul, in everlasting expectation of outrageous thrashings. + +This lasted ten years. She was so timorous that she would grow pale +whenever she spoke to any one, and she thought of nothing but the +blows with which she was threatened; and she became thinner, more +yellow and drier than a smoked fish. + +II + +One night, when her husband was at sea, she was suddenly awakened by +the wild roaring of the wind! She sat up in her bed, trembling, but, +as she heard nothing more, she lay down again; almost immediately +there was a roar in the chimney which shook the entire house; it +seemed to cross the heavens like a pack of furious animals snorting +and roaring. + +Then she arose and rushed to the harbor. Other women were arriving +from all sides, carrying lanterns. The men also were gathering, and +all were watching the foaming crests of the breaking waves. + +The storm lasted fifteen hours. Eleven sailors never returned; Patin +was among them. + +In the neighborhood of Dieppe the wreck of his bark, the +_Jeune-Amelie_, was found. The bodies of his sailors were found +near Saint-Valery, but his body was never recovered. As his vessel +seemed to have been cut in two, his wife expected and feared his return +for a long time, for if there had been a collision he alone might have +been picked up and carried afar off. + +Little by little she grew accustomed to the thought that she was rid +of him, although she would start every time that a neighbor, a beggar +or a peddler would enter suddenly. + +One afternoon, about four years after the disappearance of her +husband, while she was walking along the Rue aux Juifs, she stopped +before the house of an old sea captain who had recently died and whose +furniture was for sale. Just at that moment a parrot was at auction. +He had green feathers and a blue head and was watching everybody with +a displeased look. "Three francs!" cried the auctioneer. "A bird that +can talk like a lawyer, three francs!" + +A friend of the Patin woman nudged her and said: "You ought to buy +that, you who are rich. It would be good company for you. That bird is +worth more than thirty francs. Anyhow, you can always sell it for +twenty or twenty-five!" + +Patin's widow added fifty centimes, and the bird was given her in a +little cage, which she carried away. She took it home, and, as she was +opening the wire door in order to give it something to drink, he bit +her finger and drew blood. + +"Oh, how naughty he is!" she said. + +Nevertheless she gave it some hemp-seed and corn and watched it +pruning its feathers as it glanced warily at its new home and its new +mistress. + +On the following morning, just as day was breaking, the Patin woman +distinctly heard a loud, deep, roaring voice calling: "Are you going +to get up, carrion?" + +Her fear was so great that she hid her head under the sheets, for when +Patin was with her as soon as he would open his eyes he would shout +those well-known words into her ears. + +Trembling, rolled into a ball, her back prepared for the thrashing +which she already expected, her face buried in the pillows, she +murmured: "Good Lord! he is here! Good Lord! he is here! Good Lord! he +has come back!" + +Minutes passed; no noise disturbed the quiet room. Then, trembling, +she stuck her head out of the bed, sure that he was there, watching, +ready to beat her. Except for a ray of sun shining through the window, +she saw nothing, and she said to herself: "He must be hidden." + +She waited a long time and then, gaining courage, she said to herself: +"I must have dreamed it, seeing there is nobody here." + +A little reassured, she closed her eyes, when from quite near a +furious voice, the thunderous voice of the drowned man, could be heard +crying: "Say! when in the name of all that's holy are you going to get +up, you b----?" + +She jumped out of bed, moved by obedience, by the passive obedience of +a woman accustomed to blows and who still remembers and always will +remember that voice! She said: "Here I am, Patin; what do you want?" + +But Patin did not answer. Then, at a complete loss, she looked around +her, then in the chimney and under the bed and finally sank into a +chair, wild with anxiety, convinced that Patin's soul alone was there, +near her, and that he had returned in order to torture her. + +Suddenly she remembered the loft, in order to reach which one had to +take a ladder. Surely he must have hidden there in order to surprise +her. He must have been held by savages on some distant shore, unable +to escape until now, and he had returned, worse that ever. There was +no doubting the quality of that voice. She raised her head and asked: +"Are you up there, Patin?" + +Patin did not answer. Then, with a terrible fear which made her heart +tremble, she climbed the ladder, opened the skylight, looked, saw +nothing, entered, looked about and found nothing. Sitting on some +straw, she began to cry, but while she was weeping, overcome by a +poignant and supernatural terror, she heard Patin talking in the room +below. He seemed less angry and he was saying: "Nasty weather! Fierce +wind! Nasty weather! I haven't eaten, damn it!" + +She cried through the ceiling: "Here I am, Patin; I am getting your +meal ready. Don't get angry." + +She ran down again. There was no one in the room. She felt herself +growing weak, as if death were touching her, and she tried to run and +get help from the neighbors, when a voice near her cried out: "I +haven't had my breakfast, by G----!" + +And the parrot in his cage watched her with his round, knowing, wicked +eye. She, too, looked at him wildly, murmuring: "Ah! so it's you!" + +He shook his head and continued: "Just you wait! I'll teach you how to +loaf." + +What happened within her? She felt, she understood that it was he, the +dead man, who had come back, who had disguised himself in the feathers +of this bird in order to continue to torment her; that he would curse, +as formerly, all day long, and bite her, and swear at her, in order to +attract the neighbors and make them laugh. Then she rushed for the +cage and seized the bird, which scratched and tore her flesh with its +claws and beak. But she held it with all her strength between her +hands. She threw it on the ground and rolled over it with the frenzy +of one possessed. She crushed it and finally made of it nothing but a +little green, flabby lump which no longer moved or spoke. Then she +wrapped it in a cloth, as in a shroud, and she went out in her +nightgown, barefoot; she crossed the dock, against which the choppy +waves of the sea were beating, and she shook the cloth and let drop +this little dead thing, which looked like so much grass. Then she +returned, threw herself on her knees before the empty cage, and, +overcome by what she had done, kneeled and prayed for forgiveness, as +if she had committed some heinous crime. + + + * * * * * + + +THE PIECE OF STRING + +It was market-day, and from all the country round Goderville the +peasants and their wives were coming toward the town. The men walked +slowly, throwing the whole body forward at every step of their long, +crooked legs. They were deformed from pushing the plough which makes +the left shoulder higher, and bends their figures sideways; from +reaping the grain, when they have to spread their legs so as to keep +on their feet. Their starched blue blouses, glossy as though +varnished, ornamented at collar and cuffs with a little embroidered +design and blown out around their bony bodies, looked very much like +balloons about to soar, whence issued two arms and two feet. + +Some of these fellows dragged a cow or a calf at the end of a rope. +And just behind the animal followed their wives beating it over the +back with a leaf-covered branch to hasten its pace, and carrying large +baskets out of which protruded the heads of chickens or ducks. These +women walked more quickly and energetically than the men, with their +erect, dried-up figures, adorned with scanty little shawls pinned over +their flat bosoms, and their heads wrapped round with a white cloth, +enclosing the hair and surmounted by a cap. + +Now a char-a-banc passed by, jogging along behind a nag and shaking up +strangely the two men on the seat, and the woman at the bottom of the +cart who held fast to its sides to lessen the hard jolting. + +In the market-place at Goderville was a great crowd, a mingled +multitude of men and beasts. The horns of cattle, the high, +long-napped hats of wealthy peasants, the headdresses of the women +came to the surface of that sea. And the sharp, shrill, barking voices +made a continuous, wild din, while above it occasionally rose a huge +burst of laughter from the sturdy lungs of a merry peasant or a +prolonged bellow from a cow tied fast to the wall of a house. + +It all smelled of the stable, of milk, of hay and of perspiration +giving off that half-human, half-animal odor which is peculiar to +country folks. + +Maitre Hauchecorne, of Breaute, had just arrived at Goderville and was +making his way toward the square when he perceived on the ground a +little piece of string. Maitre Hauchecorne, economical as are all true +Normans, reflected that everything was worth picking up which could be +of any use, and he stooped down, but painfully, because he suffered +from rheumatism. He took the bit of thin string from the ground and +was carefully preparing to roll it up when he saw Maitre Malandain, +the harness maker, on his doorstep staring at him. They had once had a +quarrel about a halter, and they had borne each other malice ever +since. Maitre Hauchecorne was overcome with a sort of shame at being +seen by his enemy picking up a bit of string in the road. He quickly +hid it beneath his blouse and then slipped it into his breeches +pocket, then pretended to be still looking for something on the +ground which he did not discover and finally went off toward the +market-place, his head bent forward and his body almost doubled in +two by rheumatic pains. + +He was at once lost in the crowd, which kept moving about slowly and +noisily as it chaffered and bargained. The peasants examined the cows, +went off, came back, always in doubt for fear of being cheated, never +quite daring to decide, looking the seller square in the eye in the +effort to discover the tricks of the man and the defect in the beast. + +The women, having placed their great baskets at their feet, had taken +out the poultry, which lay upon the ground, their legs tied together, +with terrified eyes and scarlet combs. + +They listened to propositions, maintaining their prices in a decided +manner with an impassive face or perhaps deciding to accept the +smaller price offered, suddenly calling out to the customer who was +starting to go away: + +"All right, I'll let you have them, Mait' Anthime." + +Then, little by little, the square became empty, and when the Angelus +struck midday those who lived at a distance poured into the inns. + +At Jourdain's the great room was filled with eaters, just as the vast +court was filled with vehicles of every sort--wagons, gigs, +chars-a-bancs, tilburies, innumerable vehicles which have no name, +yellow with mud, misshapen, pieced together, raising their shafts to +heaven like two arms, or it may be with their nose, on the ground and +their rear in the air. + +Just opposite to where the diners were at table the huge fireplace, +with its bright flame, gave out a burning heat on the backs of those +who sat at the right. Three spits were turning, loaded with chickens, +with pigeons and with joints of mutton, and a delectable odor of roast +meat and of gravy flowing ever crisp brown skin arose from the hearth, +kindled merriment, caused mouths to water. + +All the aristocracy of the plough were eating there at Mait' +Jourdain's, the innkeeper's, a dealer in horses also and a sharp +fellow who had made a great deal of money in his day. + +The dishes were passed round, were emptied, as were the jugs of yellow +cider. Every one told of his affairs, of his purchases and his sales. +They exchanged news about the crops. The weather was good for greens, +but too wet for grain. + +Suddenly the drum began to beat in the courtyard before the house. +Every one, except some of the most indifferent, was on their feet at +once and ran to the door, to the windows, their mouths full and +napkins in their hand. + +When the public crier had finished his tattoo he called forth in a +jerky voice, pausing in the wrong places: + +"Be it known to the inhabitants of Goderville and in general to all +persons present at the market that there has been lost this morning on +the Beuzeville road, between nine and ten o'clock, a black leather +pocketbook containing five hundred francs and business papers. You are +requested, to return it to the mayor's office at once or to Maitre +Fortune Houlbreque, of Manneville. There will be twenty francs +reward." + +Then the man went away. They heard once more at a distance the dull +beating of the drum and the faint voice of the crier. Then they all +began to talk of this incident, reckoning up the chances which Maitre +Houlbreque had of finding or of not finding his pocketbook again. + +The meal went on. They were finishing their coffee when the corporal +of gendarmes appeared on the threshold. + +He asked: + +"Is Maitre Hauchecorne, of Breaute, here?" + +Maitre Hauchecorne, seated at the other end of the table, answered: + +"Here I am, here I am." + +And he followed the corporal. + +The mayor was waiting for him, seated in an armchair. He was the +notary of the place, a tall, grave man of pompous speech. + +"Maitre Hauchecorne," said he, "this morning on the Beuzeville road, +you were seen to pick up the pocketbook lost by Maitre Houlbreque, of +Manneville." + +The countryman looked at the mayor in amazement, frightened already at +this suspicion which rested on him, he knew not why. + +"I--I picked up that pocketbook?" + +"Yes, you." + +"I swear I don't even know anything about it." + +"You were seen." + +"I was seen--I? Who saw me?" + +"M. Malandain, the harness-maker." + +Then the old man remembered, understood, and, reddening with anger, +said: + +"Ah! he saw me, did he, the rascal? He saw me picking up this string +here, M'sieu le Maire." + +And fumbling at the bottom of his pocket, he pulled out of it the +little end of string. + +But the mayor incredulously shook his head: + +"You will not make me believe, Maitre Hauchecorne, that M. Malandain, +who is a man whose word can be relied on, has mistaken this string for +a pocketbook." + +The peasant, furious, raised his hand and spat on the ground beside +him as if to attest his good faith, repeating: + +"For all that, it is God's truth, M'sieu le Maire. There! On my soul's +salvation, I repeat it." + +The mayor continued: + +"After you picked up the object in question, you even looked about for +some time in the mud to see if a piece of money had not dropped out of +it." + +The good man was choking with indignation and fear. + +"How can they tell--how can they tell such lies as that to slander an +honest man! How can they?" + +His protestations were in vain; he was not believed. + +He was confronted with M. Malandain, who repeated and sustained his +testimony. They railed at one another for an hour. At his own request +Maitre Hauchecorne was searched. Nothing was found on him. + +At last the mayor, much perplexed, sent him away, warning him that he +would inform the public prosecutor and ask for orders. + +The news had spread. When he left the mayor's office the old man was +surrounded, interrogated with a curiosity which was serious or +mocking, as the case might be, but into which no indignation entered. +And he began to tell the story of the string. They did not believe +him. They laughed. + +He passed on, buttonholed by every one, himself buttonholing his +acquaintances, beginning over and over again his tale and his +protestations, showing his pockets turned inside out to prove that he +had nothing in them. + +They said to him: + +"You old rogue!" + +He grew more and more angry, feverish, in despair at not being +believed, and kept on telling his story. + +The night came. It was time to go home. He left with three of his +neighbors, to whom he pointed out the place where he had picked up the +string, and all the way he talked of his adventure. + +That evening he made the round of the village of Breaute for the +purpose of telling every one. He met only unbelievers. + +He brooded over it all night long. + +The next day, about one in the afternoon, Marius Paumelle, a farm hand +of Maitre Breton, the market gardener at Ymauville, returned the +pocketbook and its contents to Maitre Holbreque, of Manneville. + +This man said, indeed, that he had found it on the road, but not +knowing how to read, he had carried it home and given it to his +master. + +The news spread to the environs. Maitre Hauchecorne was informed. He +started off at once and began to relate his story with the denoument. +He was triumphant. + +"What grieved me," said he, "was not the thing itself, do you +understand, but it was being accused of lying. Nothing does you so +much harm as being in disgrace for lying." + +All day he talked of his adventure. He told it on the roads to the +people who passed, at the cabaret to the people who drank and next +Sunday when they came out of church. He even stopped strangers to tell +them about it. He was easy now, and yet something worried him without +his knowing exactly what it was. People had a joking manner while they +listened. They did not seem convinced. He seemed to feel their remarks +behind his back. + +On Tuesday of the following week he went to market at Goderville, +prompted solely by the need of telling his story. + +Malandain, standing on his doorstep, began to laugh as he saw him +pass. Why? + +He accosted a farmer of Criquetot, who did not let him finish, and +giving him a punch in the pit of the stomach, cried in his face: "Oh, +you great rogue!" Then he turned his heel upon him. + +Maitre Hauchecorne remained speechless and grew more and more uneasy. +Why had they called him "great rogue"? + +When seated at table in Jourdain's tavern he began again to explain +the whole affair. + +A horse dealer of Montivilliers shouted at him: + +"Get out, get out, you old scamp! I know all about your old string." + +Hauchecorne stammered: + +"But since they found it again, the pocketbook!" + +But the other continued: + +"Hold your tongue, daddy; there's one who finds it and there's another +who returns it. And no one the wiser." + +The farmer was speechless. He understood at last. They accused him of +having had the pocketbook brought back by an accomplice, by a +confederate. + +He tried to protest. The whole table began to laugh. + +He could not finish his dinner, and went away amid a chorus of jeers. + +He went home indignant, choking with rage, with confusion, the more +cast down since with his Norman craftiness he was, perhaps, capable of +having done what they accused him of and even of boasting of it as a +good trick. He was dimly conscious that it was impossible to prove his +innocence, his craftiness being so well known. He felt himself struck +to the heart by the injustice of the suspicion. + +He began anew to tell his tale, lengthening his recital every day, +each day adding new proofs, more energetic declarations and more +sacred oaths, which he thought of, which he prepared in his hours of +solitude, for his mind was entirely occupied with the story of the +string. The more he denied it, the more artful his arguments, the less +he was believed. + +"Those are liars' proofs," they said behind his back. + +He felt this. It preyed upon him and he exhausted himself in useless +efforts. + +He was visibly wasting away. + +Jokers would make him tell the story of "the piece of string" to amuse +them, just as you make a soldier who has been on a campaign tell his +story of the battle. His mind kept growing weaker and about the end of +December he took to his bed. + +He passed away early in January, and, in the ravings of death agony, +he protested his innocence, repeating: + +"A little bit of string--a little bit of string. See, here it is, +M'sieu le Maire." + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Une Vie, A Piece of String and Other +Stories, by Guy de Maupassant + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNE VIE *** + +This file should be named 7uvie10.txt or 7uvie10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 7uvie11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 7uvie10a.txt + +Produced by Thomas Berger, Eric Eldred, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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