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 MORSE MANOR
 
 f \-
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 MARGUERITE AUDOUX
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 AND OTHER STORIES 
 
 BY 
 
 MARGUERITE AUDOUX 
 
 AUTHOR OF "MARIE CLAIRE" 
 
 HODDER & STOUGHTON 
 
 NEW YORK 
 GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
 
 Copyright, 1912, 
 By George H. Doran Company
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 (THE TRANSLATION) 
 
 PAGE 
 
 VALSERINE 1 
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER .... 63 
 
 THE QUEEN'S BARGE 72 
 
 FIRE! 82 
 
 CATICHE 90 
 
 THE FIANCEE 99 
 
 A FRAGMENT OF A LETTER .... 107 
 
 THE FOALS 115 
 
 THE GHOST 125 
 
 WOLVES! WOLVES! 133 
 
 NEW QUARTERS 141 
 
 LITTLE BEE 143 
 
 MY WELL-BELOVED . . 146 
 
 2135229
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 (THE FRENCH) 
 
 FACE 
 
 VALSERINE 149 
 
 MERE ET FILLE 211 
 
 LE CHALAND DE LA REINE .... 220 
 
 Au FEU! ............ 230 
 
 CATICHE 238 
 
 LA FIANCEE 248 
 
 FRAGMENT DE LETTRE 256 
 
 LES POULAINS 265 
 
 LE FANTOME 275 
 
 Y A DES LOUPS 284 
 
 NOUVEAU LOGIS 292 
 
 PETITE ABEILLE 294 
 
 MON BIEN-AIME . 297
 
 VALSERINE
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 EVER since dawn Valserine had 
 remained leaning on the win- 
 dow-sill as she always did 
 when she was waiting for her father 
 to return. She knew perfectly well 
 that he would not come that morning, 
 but she could not help watching the 
 little pathway up which he used to 
 toil, bent almost double with the 
 weight of the big bales which he had 
 smuggled across the frontier. 
 
 She had been crying so much the 
 day before, and had been crying so 
 much all night, that now she could not 
 keep back the great sobs ending in 
 soft moans which broke from her lit- 
 tle throat every few minutes. She 
 heard the sound of a horse's footfall
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 on the rough road which ran from 
 the high road up to the house and 
 turned away from the little path. 
 She leaned as far out of the window 
 as she could so as to listen better. 
 When she was quite sure that the 
 sound was coming nearer, she went 
 to the door and bolted it, ran back 
 to the window and closed it 
 softly. Then she waited behind the 
 window curtain, trembling as she 
 waited. 
 
 A few moments afterwards she saw 
 the horse. He climbed up the rough 
 little road with drooping head. The 
 reins were hanging down on one side 
 of his neck, and she saw that the man 
 walking by the horse's side was a 
 gendarme. He came up the hill 
 with his two fists on his hips, and 
 his step, which was measured, was 
 firm and regular. The child flattened 
 herself close up against the wall so 
 that he should not see her. She 
 heard the horse stop in front of the 
 door, and she guessed that the 
 gendarme was rapping with the back 
 2
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 of his hand. She did not know 
 whether she ought to answer. She 
 was afraid of disobeying his sum- 
 mons, but at the same time she 
 thought that the gendarme might 
 think that the house was empty 
 and would go away. 
 
 But the gendarme did not go away. 
 He tried to open the door, and rapped 
 louder than ever, crying, "Hi, little 
 one!" Then the child heard him 
 fastening his horse to the iron ring 
 which was fixed in the wall and 
 heard him go away from the door. 
 A moment afterwards she heard his 
 voice behind the house. He was 
 calling loudly, "Valserine! Hi! 
 Valserine!" He came back to the 
 front of the house and called once 
 more. But this time his voice did not 
 bury itself in the wood. It drifted 
 out over the Mijoux valley and 
 rapped against the side of the great 
 mountain opposite, which sent it 
 back in several duller voices as 
 though the mountain had broken 
 the man's voice to bits and was 
 
 3
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 sending the pieces to look for the lit- 
 tle girl. 
 
 The gendarme got tired of calling. 
 He shook the door again, and then 
 put his face close up to the window- 
 pane trying to look into the inside 
 of the house. Valserine went up 
 to the window at once. She had 
 recognized him as one of the gens- 
 darmes from the village of Sept- 
 moncel, the one who had such a pretty 
 little daughter with whom she had 
 played sometimes. 
 
 The gendarme seemed quite glad to 
 see her. He waved his hand to her 
 and said 
 
 "Now then, you little absurdity, 
 open the door. I shan't do you any 
 harm, shall I?" 
 
 Valserine opened the door and felt 
 hot with shame at having let him 
 call for her so long. The gendarme 
 took a chair, sat down, and said to 
 the child, who stood, with hands 
 behind her back, in front of 
 him 
 
 "Your father's got caught, and 
 4
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 the Customs' men say that you used 
 to help him with his smuggling." 
 
 The child looked straight into the 
 gendarme's eyes and answered 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Well," he said, "you were keep- 
 ing watch yesterday when the Cus- 
 toms' men took him." 
 
 Valserine looked down. 
 
 "And it is because he heard you 
 call out that his foot slipped, and he 
 fell down the hillside among the 
 cut trees." 
 
 Valserine raised her head quickly, 
 as though she were going to explain. 
 Then she shut her mouth tightly, 
 and after a few moments' silence 
 she asked, almost voicelessly 
 
 "Is his leg broken?" 
 
 "No," said the gendarme. "He 
 will soon be able to walk." 
 
 She did not wait for him to finish, 
 but asked again 
 
 "Does his head still hurt him as 
 much?" 
 
 The gendarme turned his head 
 away as though the question were an 
 
 5
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 awkward one. Then he took off his 
 cap, and drumming on it with his fin- 
 ger tips he answered 
 
 "Oh, that's all right. There's 
 not much harm done. But your 
 father is going to prison now, and 
 you can't remain here all by your- 
 self." 
 
 Then, as the child looked up at 
 him with eyes full of anxiety, he 
 explained that the carrier who took 
 the letters into Saint-Claude every 
 day had got orders to take her in 
 his cart that same evening on his 
 way back from the Col de.la Faucille. 
 All she would have to do was to wait 
 for the cart on the high road at the 
 bottom of the path, and the carrier 
 would take her to Saint-Claude, 
 where she would stay with some 
 people who would look after her 
 until her father came out of prison. 
 
 Valserine promised that she would 
 go down and wait for the cart, and 
 the gendarme went away, promising 
 to give her frequent news of the 
 smuggler. The child shut the door 
 6
 
 VAI1SERINE 
 
 behind him, and tried hard to think. 
 She remembered that her father had 
 said to her a little while before, 
 "You will soon be thirteen years 
 old." After a long silence he had 
 added, "I should like you to work 
 at the diamond-cutting." She re- 
 membered, too, that he had often 
 spoken about her future. He used 
 to do that on the days when she 
 would not do her preparation for 
 next day's school. She could see 
 him again leaning over her and 
 pointing out her mistakes, their two 
 heads so close together that they 
 used to knock against one an- 
 other sometimes, and she almost 
 thought she could hear him saying, 
 "I am not very clever, and I don't 
 know how much I know, but what I 
 can show you will be useful to you in 
 the future." 
 
 The future. She said the word 
 over again so as to fix it in her mem- 
 ory. It seemed to her to be some- 
 thing very lofty and far away, 
 like the clouds which tumbled one an- 
 
 7
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 other about as they rolled across the 
 Col de la Faucille and rushed away, 
 ravelling themselves out into fringes, 
 over the Jura mountains. 
 
 Then the tame turtle dove at- 
 tracted Valserine's attention. She 
 came out of the wood, as she came 
 every morning, to be stroked and to 
 get something good to eat. Val- 
 serine held her for a long time 
 between her two hands. But she 
 could not talk to her this morning as 
 she used to talk to her every day; 
 and when the bird flew away the 
 little girl went out of the house to 
 go to the "keeper's room." She 
 went the long way round, and very 
 carefully, taking all the usual precau- 
 tions so that she should not be seen. 
 It was there that her father used to 
 hide his smuggled goods. 
 
 Ever since she had known that 
 the "keeper's room" was a hiding- 
 place Valserine had gone there in 
 fear and trembling. For a long 
 time she had believed that the place 
 was set apart for the goods because 
 8
 
 it was cool. She had known nothing 
 of any danger, until the day when 
 the Customs' men had come and had 
 hidden themselves among the heaps 
 of fallen rock which covered the 
 hiding-place. The darkness was be- 
 ginning to creep into the "keeper's 
 room." The child and her father 
 had just finished wrapping up all the 
 little parcels which could easily be 
 hidden in pockets, and which the 
 smuggler was going out to sell the 
 next day. 
 
 They were just climbing out of 
 the hiding-place, when they heard 
 a voice quite close to them saying, 
 "There must be a lot of deep holes 
 among these stones." The voice 
 had suddenly grown dull, as though 
 it were going away. There had been 
 a few footfalls above their heads, 
 and the same voice had spoken 
 again, saying, "I've half a mind to 
 let my revolver off down into that 
 gap." The child felt her father catch 
 hold of her and pull her to him. 
 She had felt, too, that he was 
 
 9
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 trembling all over, and he had 
 whispered very low in her ear. 
 "They are just above us." Val- 
 serine felt no fear just then. She 
 did not understand why she felt her 
 father trembling so. She wanted 
 to speak to him, but he had 
 put his hand over her mouth, and 
 had whispered, "The Customs' men 
 are there." The child had under- 
 stood in a flash that her father was 
 hiding contraband goods, like the 
 son of old Marienne, who lived at 
 the foot of the mountain. The gens- 
 darmes had taken him off to 
 prison several times already. And, 
 in spite of the darkness, she put 
 her two hands in front of her face so 
 that her father should not see the 
 shame which was making her blush. 
 But her father bent over her and 
 held her closer to him. She under- 
 stood what he was thinking about, 
 and to reassure him she put one 
 arm round his neck and the other 
 hand against his cheek. They 
 stayed like that a long, long minute, 
 10
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 and Valserine felt the weight of her 
 father's head leaning against hers. 
 They did not move apart until they 
 heard several sharp little taps against 
 the stones of the hiding-place. 
 Then the voice of the Customs' 
 man sounded quite close to them as 
 though it were speaking through 
 a tube. It said, "My rod doesn't 
 touch bottom." Another voice, 
 which sounded a good deal fur- 
 ther off, said, "Keep quiet. You 
 will bring a lot of insects out of that 
 hole, and they will be an awful 
 nuisance." The little sharp taps 
 went on for a time, and all of a sud- 
 den a sharp rattle told Valserine that 
 the Customs' man had dropped his 
 rod into the "keeper's room." Val- 
 serine and her father sat down 
 silently on the small stone which 
 was near them, and they remained 
 there till morning without daring to 
 move or to whisper to one another. 
 It was not until broad daylight 
 streamed into the "keeper's room" 
 that the smuggler made up his mind 
 
 ii
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 to leave it and make certain that 
 the Customs' men were no longer 
 there. 
 
 And now that Valserine was back 
 again in this hiding-place all by her- 
 self, she remembered every little 
 detail of that night when she had suf- 
 fered so. It had been a little more 
 than a year ago, and since then 
 she had asked her father so many 
 questions that she knew more, now, 
 about all sorts of things. 
 
 She knew that she must never 
 go twice by the same road to get to 
 the "keeper's room," so as not to 
 leave traces of her steps or make a 
 path. She knew that a man might 
 be a smuggler without being a thief, 
 and she felt very clearly that her 
 father had become more intimate 
 with her since he had spoken to her 
 like a friend. She glowed with some- 
 thing very much like pride when she 
 remembered what the gendarme had 
 said to her, "The Customs' men say 
 that you used to help your father to 
 smuggle in his goods." 
 12
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 She made certain that everything 
 in the "keeper's room" was sheltered 
 from the damp. She rolled up a few 
 ends of cord which were lying about, 
 and she went out of the "keeper's 
 room," taking the same precautions 
 as she had taken to go down there. 
 She went back to the house and put 
 everything straight, and when the 
 time came she shut the door care- 
 fully, locked it, and went down to the 
 high road to meet the mail-cart, as 
 she had promised the gendarme she 
 would. 
 
 The mail-cart was full of people. 
 The carrier was going to put Val- 
 serine up beside him, but an old man 
 gave up his place after having looked 
 at the child for a long while, and 
 climbed on to the box-seat next to 
 the driver. Valserine's back was 
 turned to the horses. She held 
 back the rough red-striped curtain 
 which shut in the two sides of the 
 cart, and every time that the cart 
 turned round a bend in the winding 
 road it seemed to her that the 
 
 13
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 mountains were moving. From time 
 to time the driver uttered a queer, 
 long cry 
 
 "Allonlonloni" 
 
 This cry of his came at regular 
 intervals, as though an invisible 
 machine were regulating it, and the 
 child came to wait for it as though 
 it were something necessary to the 
 safety of the cart as well as to the 
 pace of the horses. 
 
 They reached the village of La- 
 joux almost immediately. It was 
 in this village that Valserine went to 
 school. She thought that all the 
 children who were playing in front 
 of the doors must know that the 
 smuggler was in prison, and for fear 
 of being seen by any of them the 
 child made herself as small as she 
 could, and hid behind the curtain of 
 rough sacking. 
 
 The cart stopped a good while at 
 the village of Septmoncel. The gen- 
 darme whom she had seen that 
 morning passed, holding his little 
 girl by the hand, and Valserine saw 
 14
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 that both of them smiled up to her 
 as though they were telling her to 
 be brave. Then the journey went 
 on. The little girl noticed that the 
 mountains were becoming blacker 
 and higher, and that they seemed to 
 turn more rapidly round the road. 
 And just when night was falling she 
 saw that the cart was driving into 
 the village of Saint-Claude. 
 
 When the horses had stopped at 
 the corner of the square, Valserine 
 saw a young woman with three 
 children come up to her. She rec- 
 ognized her, for she had seen her a 
 little time before talking to her 
 father at the last fair in Lajoux 
 village. The young woman said to 
 her at once 
 
 "Your father didn't mean me to 
 take you before next year, but you 
 will have to begin a year earlier 
 that's all." 
 
 Then she made all her chil- 
 dren go round to the other side of her, 
 so that she could walk by the side 
 of Valserine. The girl had no 
 
 15
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 answer ready. She was a little bit 
 dazed by the journey. The noise 
 of the cart-wheels remained in her 
 ears, and it worried her not to hear 
 the monotonous voice of the driver, 
 which had calmed her nerves all 
 along the road. 
 
 Suddenly, in front of her, she saw 
 a light which seemed to be hanging 
 from nothing, then another lit up, 
 and another, and it was only at the 
 third that she recognized the gas- 
 lamps. The street was badly paved 
 and steep, and the woman's three 
 children amused themselves by run- 
 ning down it, while the young woman 
 herself pointed out to Valserine the 
 bad bits of paving and the few steps 
 on the side path. They turned into 
 a street which was almost pitch 
 dark, and the children rushed into a 
 house, jumping round an old woman 
 who was waiting for them in the 
 doorway. 
 
 It was only on the third day after 
 her arrival that Valserine knew she 
 was going to become an apprentice 
 16
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 to the diamond-cutting. It was a 
 Sunday. The young woman had 
 got up much later than usual, the 
 children had their best clothes on 
 and the dining-room table was 
 better spread than on the other 
 days. 
 
 From the noisy chatter of the 
 children Valserine learned that the 
 young woman was a widow, that 
 her name was Remy, and that she 
 was a diamond-cutter. She also 
 learned that diamond-cutting was a 
 nice clean trade, that it was not 
 very fatiguing, and that women 
 earned their livelihood at it as well 
 as men. Madame Remy had added 
 with a wave of her hand round the 
 table 
 
 "I find the bread and butter for all 
 these small fry." 
 
 She drew off a ring which she wore 
 on her finger, and showed the child 
 the facets which had to be cut so 
 that the stone should shine with all 
 its brilliance. Then she made her 
 understand how lucky she was to 
 
 17
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 have been accepted by the diamond 
 cutters, who took very few appren- 
 tices for fear that too large a number 
 of workers should knock wages down 
 for all of them. 
 
 Valserine had often heard talk 
 about the diamond-cutting, but this 
 was the first time she paid any atten- 
 tion to it. She had learned in school 
 that a diamond was a very hard 
 stone, and she remembered that the 
 schoolmistress had said that the 
 wheel of a heavy wagon could pass 
 over one without chipping it. All 
 day long she thought about the 
 difficulty she would have in holding 
 so little a thing in her hands. She 
 imagined she would have to use a 
 strong knife with a sharp blade, like 
 her father's razor, to cut the stones. 
 She saw herself sitting on a low 
 chair, in front of a low table on which 
 would be arranged boxes full of them. 
 
 She began to be afraid of this 
 difficult trade, and when she went 
 into the workshop next morning she 
 looked at everything at once. She 
 18
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 saw the big bay windows which let 
 in all the light from outside from 
 both sides together. She saw the 
 red brick ceiling, and the wall at 
 the far end with its big round clock 
 hung very high. She could not pre- 
 vent herself from counting the rungs 
 of a ladder placed just underneath 
 the clock. She saw the long pipe 
 placed, as though it were a dangerous 
 thing, well away in the middle of 
 the room, and the great wheels 
 with straps on them all round it. 
 And she saw to right and left of 
 the deep bay windows men and 
 women sitting on high stools, side 
 by side, with all their faces turned 
 curiously towards her. At the same 
 moment she heard Madame Remy 
 say 
 
 "Be careful of the straps, Val- 
 serine." 
 
 She turned round at once, and 
 with Madame Remy's hand on her 
 shoulder allowed herself to be guided 
 round to the right behind the work- 
 people. She guessed that every face 
 
 19
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 was turned round to look at her as 
 she passed, and as she did not dare 
 to lift her eyes, she saw nothing 
 but the stools as she passed them 
 one by one. Then a pressure from 
 Madame Remy's hand made her 
 stand still, and she heard the same 
 warning as before 
 
 "Be very careful of the straps." 
 She took off her jacket, and put 
 on a big blouse with little blue 
 checks on it, which Madame Remy 
 had bought for her the day before, 
 telling her that she should wear it 
 instead of the black pinafore which 
 she had worn at school. She saw 
 Madame Remy smiling at her, and 
 in spite of the roar which began to 
 nil her ears she heard that she was 
 being told not to move from her 
 seat, and to watch what was being 
 done around her, so as to get famil- 
 iarized with everything. 
 
 Valserine was sitting like the 
 others on a high stool. Her new 
 blouse was a little too long, and 
 caught at her knees. She folded her 
 20
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 hands as she knew a good little girl 
 ought to fold them, and looked round 
 at the other workers as Madame 
 Remy had told her to. 
 
 She saw all the diamond cutters 
 leaning in exactly the same way, 
 and with exactly the same motion, 
 over a round plate in front of them. 
 But it was a long time before she 
 understood that this plate was the 
 mould on which the diamond was 
 cut. 
 
 Next day she began to render lit- 
 tle services to the people round her. 
 She was told exactly what she was to 
 do. 
 
 "Valserine, pass me my diamond 
 powder. No, not that box, the other 
 one, the round one." 
 
 "Put this lead in the mould, and 
 raise the gas flame a little." 
 
 At the end of a fortnight Valserine 
 knew by name all the tools used in the 
 diamond-cutting. 
 
 She had learned to put the neces- 
 sary quantity of diamond powder on 
 to the steel grinder which turned so 
 
 21
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 fast that she had to watch it 
 closely to be sure that it really was 
 turning. She had also learned to 
 hold the little ball of lead in which 
 the stone was fixed, so that by 
 means of a pair of heavy nippers it 
 could be held on to the grinder. 
 And she no longer heard the warning 
 which had been so often repeated 
 in the first days she was there 
 
 "Valserine! be careful of the 
 straps." 
 
 The men and the women in the 
 work-room looked at her now with- 
 out the curiosity of the first days. 
 Several of them were quite affec- 
 tionate with her, and she began to 
 feel that she had become a member of 
 one large family. 
 
 And yet, when Madame Remy 
 asked her if she loved her work, she 
 always hesitated before answering 
 yes. Those were the moments 
 when the longing for another kind 
 of work came into her mind. She 
 could not have said exactly what 
 kind of work she meant. She did 
 22
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 not care particularly for any of the 
 kinds she knew. 
 
 But her thoughts dwelt on some- 
 thing which would have forced her 
 to leave her stool more often. She 
 was very obedient, and did exactly 
 what she was told, but little by 
 little a kind of contempt grew up 
 in her for these stones which were 
 handled with such care, and one 
 'day when she had let one slip out 
 of her fingers, she was very much 
 astonished when she saw the anxiety 
 with which Madame Remy insisted 
 on her finding it directly. She quite 
 understood that these stones were 
 very rare, but she could not under- 
 stand why everybody thought them 
 so important. 
 
 She had noticed from the begin- 
 ning that the diamond workers were 
 better dressed than the other work- 
 men and workwomen in St. Claude. 
 The women wore well-made dresses, 
 and their hair was always prettily ar- 
 ranged. 
 
 One morning one of the women 
 
 23
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 near her was nervous and impatient. 
 She kept picking up her nippers 
 and putting them down again on 
 the grinder saying, in a tone of an- 
 noyance 
 
 "I can't find the grain of this stone, 
 and I expect I shall be all day trying 
 to cut one facet of it." 
 
 This made Valserine quite uneasy. 
 She didn't dare to ask any questions, 
 but her eyes followed every movement 
 of the angry woman. Madame 
 Remy noticed her. She made signs 
 to the child to come over to her, 
 and explained that a diamond had 
 one side on which it was quite im- 
 possible to begin work, and that one 
 very often had to work for a long 
 time before finding the place where 
 the first facet could be cut. 
 
 Valserine understood that the 
 work, which was clean and pretty, 
 needed little beyond a great deal of 
 patience and a great deal of attention. 
 She remembered that her father had 
 chosen this trade for her a lung time 
 ago, and she felt glad at the thought 
 24
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 that he was not as unhappy as he 
 might be in his prison, now that he 
 knew that his daughter was working 
 at the diamond cutting. 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 IT was the end of the week, and 
 Valserine was still expecting a visit 
 from the gendarme of Septmoncel. 
 He had not come over on Monday 
 before to St. Claude to give her 
 news of the prisoner, as he had 
 done every week for the last two 
 months. She knew that her father 
 was still suffering from the wounds 
 in his head, and her anxiety for news 
 prevented her from paying proper at- 
 tention to her work. She made mis- 
 takes every moment, giving the work- 
 women things which they had not 
 asked for. Once she dropped two lit- 
 tle tiny diamonds on to the floor, and 
 would never have been able to find 
 them again but for Madame Remy's 
 
 25
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 help. But nobody scolded her as she 
 had expected. 
 
 She soon noticed that there was a 
 change in the way the diamond 
 workers looked at her. She noticed 
 that they looked at her a good deal 
 more than usual, and that they all 
 had secrets to tell one another that 
 day. They put their heads together 
 and whispered, and whenever their 
 eyes met those of Valserine, they 
 dropped them as though they did 
 not want her to see them looking at 
 her. 
 
 Valserine saw Madame Remy 
 make a sign to her neighbour and 
 lean over towards her. She saw 
 the eyes of the other woman look 
 towards her and turn away imme- 
 diately. She guessed that the two 
 women were talking about her, and, 
 in a moment of silence, when the 
 straps moved noiselessly, as often 
 happens in a factory, the child heard 
 the woman say 
 
 "He has finished his prison at 
 last!" 
 26
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 Then everything became perfectly 
 clear to Valserine. She understood 
 now why the gendarme had not 
 come. She understood, too, the 
 stealthy and mysterious glances of 
 the diamond workers, and she 
 waited confidently for the end of 
 the day when Madame Remy would 
 tell her, as she had told eyerybody 
 else, that her father had come out of 
 prison. 
 
 That evening, while they were hav- 
 ing dinner, Madame Remy said to 
 Valserine 
 
 "To-morrow, we will go and fetch 
 your linen and the rest of your 
 clothes from your father's house." 
 
 The child started, and her chair 
 slipped back from the table. She 
 pulled it up to the table again 
 immediately, a little nearer than 
 was necessary, and tried to look 
 into Madame Remy's eyes. But 
 Madame Remy was looking at her 
 glass attentively. She picked it 
 up, rubbed the edge of it, and 
 said' 
 
 27
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 "I have asked Grosgoigin to drive 
 us." 
 
 She went on rubbing her glass 
 with her napkin as though that 
 were the most important thing for 
 the moment, and then she added 
 
 "His cart is roomy, so we shall be 
 able to bring back everything which 
 cm be of use to you." 
 
 Then she left the table, and the 
 children hung round her and clam- 
 oured to be taken in the cart 
 as well. 
 
 Early next morning Grosgoigin 
 came and fetched Madame Remy, 
 her three children, and Valserine. 
 The horse went slowly up the road 
 which ran uphill all the way. The 
 children chattered all the time, and 
 kept on calling Valserine's attention 
 to everything they saw. But Val- 
 serine did not always answer them. 
 She had noticed how thoughtful 
 Madame Remy looked, and that pre- 
 vented her from showing how happy 
 she was herself. 
 
 They had to stop at Septmoncel 
 28
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 for the midday meal. The gen- 
 darme came into the inn parlour 
 where the little party was eating 
 its meal alone. Valserine saw 
 Madame Remy get up in a hurry 
 and go to him, and the two of them 
 went out of the room together, 
 talking in low voices. The child 
 was very much surprised at seeing 
 Madame Remy come back all alone. 
 A few moments afterwards she saw 
 the gendarme through the open 
 window. He was walking up the 
 street, very leisurely, leaning for- 
 ward a little, and with his two hands 
 clasped behind his back. 
 
 After their midday meal they got 
 into the cart again and started. 
 The children were sleepy, and their 
 little heads nodded as the cart rolled 
 on. Before long all three of them 
 fell fast asleep. 
 
 Madame Remy was sitting just 
 opposite Valserine. From time to 
 time she took a long breath as people 
 do who make up their minds to say 
 something important, and Valserine 
 
 29
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 kept thinking that she was going to 
 speak to her. Then the young woman 
 turned her face away from that of 
 the child, and seemed to be very 
 busy preventing her sleeping chil- 
 dren from slipping off the bench. 
 Valserine helped her as well as she 
 could, resting the head of one of the 
 little ones against her shoulder, but 
 she leaned back every moment so as 
 to get a glimpse of the mountain 
 which hid her home. 
 
 When the cart rolled through the 
 village of Lajoux, Valserine felt as 
 though all her blood was bubbling 
 inside her. She began to laugh and 
 to kick her legs about. She wanted 
 to talk, she wanted to tell Madame 
 Remy what she had heard the 
 diamond-cutters saying the day 
 before. She wanted to ask her how 
 long her father had been out of 
 prison. It seemed to her that all 
 these things would be quite easy to 
 say if the children would only wake 
 up. 
 
 But they went on sleeping quietly, 
 30
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 and Valserine felt timid before the 
 evident embarrassment of Madame 
 Remy. She was afraid of making 
 her angry, and afraid of hearing her 
 blame her father as she had done 
 every time the gendarme came and 
 brought them news of the prisoner. 
 So she leaned out over the side of the 
 cart, hoping to see her father at the 
 bottom of the little path which 
 climbed up to their house. 
 
 The cart rolled quickly down the 
 steep road from Lajoux to Mijoux. 
 All of a sudden, at a turn in the road, 
 Valserine tried to wriggle off the 
 bench. She woke up the child 
 whose head was on her shoulder, 
 and shouted as loudly as she 
 could 
 
 "Stop, stop, we are there!" 
 She said this to Grosgoigin and to 
 Madame Remy both at once. At 
 the same time she looked to right 
 and left, in front of her and behind 
 her, and began shaking the handle 
 of the little door at the back of the 
 cart. She shook it and shook it,
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 but couldn't open the door. Madame 
 Remy caught hold of her dress and 
 said 
 
 "Wait, dear, wait a minute until 
 the cart stops." 
 
 The child stood up and kicked the 
 door as hard as she could. It opened 
 suddenly, creaking on its hinges, and 
 as the cart slowed down Valserine 
 jumped out of it without using the 
 step. She turned right round with 
 her arms open, took three or four 
 long stumbling steps, and just as 
 Grosgoigin brought the horses to a 
 complete standstill, the child jumped 
 over the ditch by the side of the road 
 and ran to the steep pathway which 
 climbed up to her house half-way 
 up the mountain, just where the 
 wood began. Madame Remy called 
 her back and prevented the children 
 from getting out of the cart. As 
 she had said before she cried 
 again 
 
 "Wait a minute, wait a minute." 
 
 But Valserine could not wait. 
 She ran to the pathway, and as soon 
 32
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 as she got to it, climbed up it as fast 
 MS she could, bent nearly double, and 
 taking long steps. 
 
 Madame Remy called her again. 
 There was a kind of anguish in her 
 voice, and she seemed to be overcom- 
 ing some weakness in it when she 
 called 
 
 "Valserine, dear, wait for me. I 
 must talk to you at once." 
 
 She made a movement of im- 
 patience as she saw the child climb- 
 ing the path as quickly as ever, got 
 her three children out of the cart and 
 climbed up the steep little road with 
 them. 
 
 Meanwhile Valserine had already 
 gone into the house. She was 
 bitterly disappointed. She came out 
 again almost immediately and 
 uttered a long, piercing call. She 
 looked away into the distance in 
 every direction, but she could see 
 nothing but Grosgoigin pushing his 
 horse back and drawing the cart to 
 one side of the road, and Madame 
 Remy who was climbing slowly up 
 
 33
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 the pathway, dragging a child along 
 with each hand. 
 
 Valserine waited a few moments 
 longer, and as nobody answered her 
 call she ran down to the "keeper's 
 room." Nothing had been moved 
 there. The bundles of tobacco were 
 there still wrapped up in brown 
 paper, and the tin boxes of chocolate 
 were arranged in the order she had 
 left them when she went. She threw 
 out her arms in a gesture of dis- 
 appointment and went out of the 
 "keeper's room," as she had gone out 
 of the house, with the idea of calling 
 again. She fancied that she had not 
 called loud enough the first time, 
 and this time she would make every 
 effort to call as loudly as possible. 
 But at that moment she stepped 
 back as though a mysterious hand 
 had just touched her face. She 
 suddenly remembered that she was 
 standing at the entrance to the 
 keeper's room, and as if, all of a 
 sudden, she were in great danger, 
 she bent quickly down and slipped 
 
 34
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 into the hiding-place by the narrow 
 passage. She half sat, half leaned 
 against the nearest stone and listened 
 for sounds from outside. 
 
 After a minute or two Valserine 
 noticed that it was much lighter than 
 usual in the keeper's room. Masses 
 of rock which she had always thought 
 were black, now looked the same 
 colour as the others. She raised her 
 eyes in some surprise, and was 
 astonished to see a large bit of blue 
 sky over her head. She jumped up 
 at once to see better, and saw that 
 the gap through which the Customs' 
 officer had dropped his stick was 
 much larger than it had been. 
 
 ' The two huge stones which formed 
 the vault were a long way apart at 
 one end, and quite close together at 
 the other, where they almost touched. 
 And when the child looked down on 
 the long strip of light on the floor of 
 the hiding-place, which looked like a 
 piece of light-coloured silk, she saw 
 that a quantity of sand had slipped 
 down through the hole and made a 
 
 35
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 hillock which had drifted and spread 
 over a large part of the floor. She 
 did not know what to think of all 
 this. 
 
 When Valserine heard Madame 
 Remy's voice calling her again, she 
 stepped forward to go out, but the 
 same mysterious fear as before drove 
 her back from the opening. 
 
 Madame Remy's voice had been 
 angry at first, but when it became 
 anxious and despairing, Valserine 
 stopped her ears so as not to hear it. 
 
 Silence came back with the dark- 
 ness. The long stretch of light had 
 gradually climbed out again through 
 the hole in the top of the cave. 
 Valserine remained waiting in the 
 dark for a long time. She jumped 
 every now and again as small quan- 
 tities of sand dropped from above. 
 Then she thought she heard her 
 father's steps coming along the 
 nearest pathway. It occurred to 
 her that he might go back to the 
 house without having any idea that 
 his daughter was waiting for him in 
 
 36
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 the keeper's room, and she left it as 
 noiselessly as she could. 
 
 Nothing was moving outside. A 
 cold mist rose from the flower and 
 grass-covered ground. Valserine 
 stumbled over the big moss-grown 
 stones round the hiding-place, pulled 
 herself up by the little twisted shrubs 
 which grew in the hollows of the 
 rocks, and when she got to the house 
 pushed the door gently open and 
 whispered 
 
 "Papa!" 
 
 She raised her voice a little 
 and called again: "Papa!" She 
 realized that there was no one in the 
 house, and that she had made a mis- 
 take when she thought she saw the 
 prisoner stretched on his bed. But 
 she felt so certain that he would 
 come in in a minute that she pushed 
 the door to, carefully locking it. 
 She found her way in the dark to her 
 little bed, and before she lay down 
 on it she could not help passing her 
 hands over her father's bed from top 
 to bottom. 
 
 37
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 She did all she could to prevent her 
 eyes from closing. 
 
 But she was awakened by a loud 
 cry, and it was not long before she 
 understood that she had uttered it 
 herself. She was silent now. No 
 sounds came from her throat, but 
 her breath came in short gasps, and 
 with difficulty, and she felt that the 
 least effort on her part would make 
 her cry aloud again. 
 
 She passed her hands over her 
 father's bed once more, but this time 
 she knew perfectly well that it was 
 empty. She only touched it so as to 
 be less lonely, and because it seemed 
 that a friend was giving her his hand. 
 
 She could never remember having 
 seen the night so dark, and every 
 time she tried to shut her eyes, fear 
 made her open them again. Then 
 her ears began to buzz with a little 
 whistling sound in them. She raised 
 herself on her bed to listen better, 
 and the sounds seemed to fill the 
 whole room. She got the idea that 
 a spider was weaving an immense 
 
 38
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 web round her bed, and the idea op- 
 pressed her so that she breathed as 
 deeply as she could. Then, all of a 
 sudden she heard her heart beating. 
 She listened to it for a mo- 
 ment and said aloud "What a 
 noise it makes." She thought that 
 her voice sounded like somebody 
 else's. She felt every nerve in her 
 little body tighten, and her heart 
 thumped with a duller sound. 
 
 When she was a little calmer, she 
 noticed that the old cuckoo clock on 
 the "wall was not ticking any longer. 
 This startled her, and to reassure 
 herself she tried to find out exactly 
 where it was in the dark. She 
 wanted to talk to it as one would talk 
 to a friend who was sulking. She 
 wanted to go and pull its chains, but 
 she didn't dare make the least little 
 movement, for fear of knocking 
 against the unknown, threatening 
 thing which was still buzzing in her 
 ears. So she remained quite motion- 
 less, with her eyes wide open in the 
 darkness. 
 
 39
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 Day came at last. Valserine saw 
 it trying to get into the house, under- 
 neath the door and through the 
 cracks in the shutters. She saw it 
 gliding slowly and gradually to the 
 little looking-glass which hung near 
 the window, along the narrow beams 
 of the ceiling, and she saw it make 
 its way into every corner of the 
 room. 
 
 As soon as it lit up the yellow 
 figures on the face of the old cuckoo 
 clock, Valserine jumped off the bed 
 and gave the pendulum a friendly 
 little tap with her finger. When the 
 clock began to tick, the buzzing 
 sound which had so frightened her 
 stopped altogether, and it seemed to 
 her that nothing in the house was 
 changed. But she hunted about all 
 over the room as though she expected 
 to find some strange creature there. 
 She took a broom and swept under 
 each piece of furniture, and she 
 swept away the little cobwebs which 
 had formed during her absence. 
 
 The beating of wings and two 
 40
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 little taps on the shutters, made her 
 forget the mysterious sound of the 
 night. The turtle-dove had come to 
 say "good-morning," and to be 
 petted as she used to pet it. 
 
 Valserine threw the window wide 
 open, and the bird balanced itself 
 on the sill, bowing and crooning as 
 though it had a thousand things to 
 tell her. But when the child 
 stretched out her hand to caress it, 
 it flapped its wings and flew away. 
 Valserine followed it with her eyes, 
 not daring to call it back. And 
 when it had disappeared in the top 
 branches of the tree, she went away 
 from the window feeling she wanted 
 to cry. 
 
 It was just as that moment that 
 she caught sight of the little table 
 with her school books on it, and 
 she remembered immediately the old 
 copy-book which the smuggler used 
 to use, on the days when he wanted 
 his child to help him. She took it 
 up and turned the pages over quickly, 
 reading the words which had been
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 written in between the lines of her 
 own work. There were long sen- 
 tences explaining to the little girl 
 what she was to do when she came 
 back from school, but most of them 
 were careful directions as to the 
 road the smuggler would take on 
 his way back to the house. 
 
 Valserine paused at the last words : 
 "by the dove-cot, at the bottom of 
 the narrow path." 
 
 It was there that the smuggler had 
 been taken by the Customs' men. 
 In her mind's eye, she saw once 
 more, her father fall in the narrow 
 pathway which the wood-cutters had 
 made from the top to the bottom of 
 the mountain, as a road by which to 
 roll down the trees they had cut. 
 She saw him trying to pick himself 
 up, half-way up the incline, and 
 falling again on his face against the 
 badly squared timber. Now this 
 imprisonment was over, and it would 
 not be long before he came home 
 again. She wiped her tears away 
 quickly with her sleeve, took up her 
 42
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 pen and wrote in the middle of the 
 line below, "Call me." 
 
 It was early morning still, but 
 Valserine knew by the color of the 
 sky that the sun was already lighting 
 up the glaciers on the other side of 
 the mountain. The slope facing her 
 was still wrapped in mist. All that 
 one could see of it were the white 
 places where the rock was bare, and 
 the still whiter ones where, every 
 spring, the melting of the snow 
 brought landslips with it. Valserine 
 realized for the first time that she 
 knew the names of the neighbouring 
 mountains. She pointed each one 
 out and named it, as though she 
 were showing them to somebody. 
 
 A little way to the right was Mont 
 Rond, on the left was La Dole, and 
 almost opposite the Faucille Pass 
 the pass of the sickle. 
 
 Valserine no longer felt worried. 
 Little by little the sun showed itself 
 above the Mont Rond, and the mist 
 which covered the valley rose and 
 disappeared, disclosing the white 
 
 43
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 houses of the village of Mijoux where 
 the Custom house is. She could rec- 
 ognize the little square house of the 
 Customs' men among the others. 
 She had never passed in front of its 
 door, without feeling a little bit 
 afraid, since she had known that her 
 father was a smuggler. Once again 
 the child had the notion that the 
 prisoner might be on a path in the 
 neighbourhood. Once again, with 
 all her strength, she gave the call 
 which he knew so well, and to which 
 he had always replied. But the call 
 remained unanswered, as yesterday's 
 call had done. She did not feel 
 nervous about it. She was sure that 
 her father would come, and that he 
 would read the last sentence which 
 she had written in the copy-book. 
 He would not refuse to keep her 
 with him for a few days, and then she 
 would leave him and go back to the 
 diamond works at St. Claude. 
 
 Hunger made itself felt, and she 
 went to get something to eat from the 
 keeper's room. She filled her pockets 
 44
 
 V^ALSERINE 
 
 with chocolate and dried biscuits, 
 and climbed up the wooded incline 
 again, crossing the little paths which 
 ran down into the village of Mijoux, 
 and climbed up again to the Faucille 
 Pass. She wandered about in the 
 woods a long time, keeping near the 
 pathway which used to be a road, 
 but which was overgrown with grass 
 and full of stones now. At last she 
 came to a clearing from which she 
 could see the whole of the town of 
 Gex, where the prison was. The 
 plain of Gex had never seemed so 
 big, and the Lake of Geneva at the 
 end of it made her think of a large 
 piece of stuff which had faded by 
 long use, and was all frayed at the 
 edges. It seemed to her that every- 
 thing she saw that day was different 
 to what she had ever seen before. 
 The old man's head, with its long 
 beard, which she had always seen at 
 the top of Mont Blanc, looked, this 
 morning, like a dog with its head 
 raised to howl at the sun. And the 
 boats on the lake, with their large 
 
 45
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 pointed sails like swallows' wings, 
 made her think of great birds which 
 had been wounded and were going to 
 drown. 
 
 She shut her eyes so as to try and 
 see things in the shapes she used to 
 see them, but she could not. This 
 did not worry her. She was only 
 sorry that her father was not there 
 to laugh about it with her as he had 
 laughed the first time they came 
 along this road together, when she 
 had said that she saw everything 
 upside down. It was just at this 
 spot where she was now, that the 
 smuggler stopped and said to her: 
 "You have no luck. We can't see 
 the Lake of Geneva to-day." And, 
 dropping the point of his stick to- 
 wards the valley, he had added: 
 "See, it is underneath that piled- 
 up heap of grey clouds which you 
 can see down there. Right over 
 yonder." 
 
 But Valserine had raised her hands 
 at once towards Mont Blanc, and 
 had shown her father the great iake
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 which spreads a bright blue surface 
 between two curly clouds above the 
 glaciers. 
 
 Another time she had seen Mont 
 Blanc in flames, but she had under- 
 stood at once that it was only lit 
 up by the sun. This morning the 
 mass of grey clouds no longer 
 covered the lake. The clouds rose 
 slowly in a white mist up to the 
 glaciers, and one could see all the 
 roads round Gex. 
 
 Valserine watched the roads 
 nearest her. It struck her that the 
 people on them took much longer 
 than was necessary to get from one 
 place to another. They seemed to 
 be jumping where they stood instead 
 of walking on, and every movement 
 they made seemed full of significance 
 to her. 
 
 When evening closed in Valserine 
 made up her mind to get back to 
 the house. The sun was setting 
 over Septmoncel, and when the 
 child saw how red it was, she could 
 not keep herself from trembling. It 
 
 47
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 moved along slowly through an 
 avenue of long clouds like felled 
 trees, leaving spots of shadow on 
 them as it passed, and it rolled right 
 into a big black cloud which seemed 
 to be waiting for it. Valserine 
 thought that the sun had set, but 
 almost immediately it cleft the cloud 
 in two, as though it wanted to look 
 at the child again, and showed itself 
 with a round top to it, like the door 
 in the house of the Customs' men 
 at Mijoux. Then, after having 
 stained with red everything around 
 it, it disappeared on the other side of 
 the mountain. 
 
 Meanwhile a bird was flying from 
 one tree to another, making the 
 noise which scissors make when one 
 opens and shuts them without cutting 
 anything tsic-tsic-tsic. 
 
 Night was closing in slowly, and 
 Valserine, who had never been afraid 
 in the woods, often turned round and 
 looked behind her. From time to 
 time she uttered her call again, but 
 it remained unanswered. Her road
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 took her past the house of Mere 
 Marienne. Valserine had known 
 Mere Marienne a long time. Every 
 time that her son was in prison, the 
 old woman would bring her eggs, 
 and her kids to Valserine's father, 
 who used to go and sell them for her 
 at St. Claude or at Septmoncel. 
 
 Valserine knew how the old woman 
 hated the Customs' men. She had 
 often seen her throwing stones down 
 at them from the paths above, and 
 she was always afraid of going too 
 close to her because of her eyes, 
 which never kept still, and always 
 looked suspicious. But that evening 
 she felt that she wanted to go into 
 the old woman's house and talk to 
 her about her father. 
 
 She had seen the old woman's son 
 the same morning as he was crossing 
 the road on his way to Gex. He 
 must be back by now, and no doubt 
 he knew where the prisoner was. 
 She only made up her mind to open 
 the door after she had walked right 
 round the house. 
 
 49
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 Mere Marienne was standing in 
 front of a table, longer than it was 
 broad, and the lamp which was at 
 the corner of the side-board, lit up 
 one of her fists which she was shaking 
 as though she were going to strike 
 somebody. She let her arm drop 
 when she recognized Valserine, and 
 said in an angry voice: "The gens- 
 darmes have been past here. They 
 are looking for you." Valserine was 
 not sure whether Mere Marienne was 
 angry with the gensdarmes or with 
 her, but she summoned up her 
 courage and answered: "I am 
 waiting for my father." 
 
 Mere Marienne looked at the child 
 as though she did not understand 
 what she was saying. 
 
 "Yes," said Valserine, "he is out 
 of prison now, and it cannot be long 
 before he comes home." 
 
 And as the old woman stood 
 staring at her in astonishment, the 
 child added, quickly : "I came to ask 
 you if your son had seen him !" 
 
 The two clenched fists of Mere 
 50
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 Marienne went up to her jaw again, 
 her eyelids quivered, and, stammer- 
 ing as though her words were hurting 
 her throat as she spoke them, she 
 shouted, going closer to Valserine: 
 
 "They have killed your father! 
 They have killed him! Didn't you 
 know it?" 
 
 Valserine stood looking at Mere 
 Marienne's furious face, and fear 
 made her stand quite still. The old 
 woman went on in an angry voice. 
 "They have killed him as they killed 
 my poor husband years ago, and my 
 son went to Gex this morning to see 
 him put into his grave." She put 
 her two fists to her eyes as though 
 she wanted to stop herself from 
 saying something horrible, and Val- 
 serine in an agony of terror, ran out 
 of the house again.
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 SUMMER was just over, and Val- 
 serine had been staying in Mere 
 Marienne's house for some weeks 
 now. The son of the woman had 
 found her the day after she had 
 learned of the death of her father, 
 lying on the ground among a riot of 
 wild cyclamen. She was stiff with 
 cold and grief, and it seemed as 
 though the poor child could never 
 stop crying. Mere Marienne was 
 frightened at her grief, and as 
 though her own troubles could lessen 
 those of Valserine, she began telling 
 her how her husband had been 
 killed by the Customs' men: 
 
 "His name," she said, "was 
 Catherin, and he used to smuggle 
 brandy. He often went away for 
 several days with his horse and his 
 cart. The Customs' men tracked 
 him from all sides, but he was clever, 
 and knew how to keep out of their 
 way. He was very brave too, and 
 52
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 when the Customs' men threatened 
 him, he used to answer, laughing: 
 'As long as I am alive, you won't 
 take me.' But one night they closed 
 the gates of a level crossing on the 
 railway in one of the valleys. My 
 husband's cart, which he was driving 
 as fast as he could down the steep 
 road, smashed through the first gate 
 and broke up against the second one. 
 When the Customs' men ran up to see 
 what was in the cart, they found 
 Catherin's body bent in two over 
 the broken gate." 
 
 The old woman wrung her hands, 
 and in a voice full of tears, she said: 
 " He had been dead for two days 
 when they brought him back to 
 
 me." 
 
 The days passed and each one of 
 them took with it a little of the child's 
 grief. Now she would remain seated 
 in the door-way of the house by the 
 hour together. She sat, all hunched 
 up like an old woman, but her dark 
 eyes were fixed on the road which 
 ran into Gex, and which could be 
 
 53
 
 ,VALSERINE 
 
 seen here and there through the pine 
 trees. She saw the valley with its 
 roads and its villages, and her 
 thoughts dwelt on a little thin tree 
 all by itself in the middle of a meadow 
 which the wind swayed and bent every 
 moment. 
 
 She was no longer afraid of Mere 
 Marienne. Sometimes the old 
 woman talked to her as one talks 
 to a child, and sometimes as if she 
 were talking to another woman, and 
 their misfortune, which had the 
 same cause, was like a bond of 
 relationship between them. 
 
 Every week the son of Mere 
 Marienne went to St. Claude and 
 brought back several dozen pipes 
 on which he carved figures and faces. 
 He used to put his basket on a little 
 table which he set outside the cottage 
 near the door. Valserine used to 
 watch him at work, and there was 
 perfect peace in the house. 
 
 One day Mere Marienne came and 
 sat down near the child, and said 
 to her: "Madame Remy wants to 
 
 54
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 know whether you will go back to 
 the diamond cutting?" Valserine 
 shook her head to say "no," but she 
 answered "yes." The old woman 
 said: "You have worried her a 
 great deal. She lost her head 
 entirely that night, and Grosgoigin 
 could not get her to make up her mind 
 to go back to St. Claude with the chil- 
 dren." 
 
 Valserine looked down in confusion 
 and Mere Marienne added quickly: 
 "She isn't angry with you, and asks 
 nothing better than to look after you 
 as she used to." 
 
 Valserine did not answer. She 
 seemed to be listening to the rattling 
 of the pipes, which Mere Marienne's 
 son was throwing back into the 
 basket one by one, after having held 
 them in his hands a moment. Then, 
 quite suddenly, she looked at the 
 old woman and asked: "Do women 
 make pipes too ?" 
 
 Mere Marienne's eyes glittered like 
 cut stones as she answered: "I was 
 a pipe polisher before I married." 
 
 55
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 And as though all her youth came 
 back to her memory at once, she 
 began to speak of it. She spoke to 
 the child of the town of St. Claude, 
 and the Poyat quarter where her 
 parents had been pipe-makers. She 
 told her how the pipe polishers 
 wrapped their hair in a handkerchief 
 to protect it from the briar-root dust 
 which dyed black hair and made it 
 a deep pink. She mentioned the 
 girls with whom she had worked, as 
 though Valserine had known them. 
 Adele used to wear a blue handker- 
 chief; Agatha always wore a yellow 
 one. And raising her head she said, 
 "I used to wear a red one." She 
 stopped speaking, and her hand went 
 up to the handkerchief she was 
 wearing. She took her hand away 
 at once as though touching the 
 handkerchief had been enough to 
 tell her that it was a black one. 
 
 There was a long silence. Mere 
 Marienne was living through her 
 youth again, and her son had stopped 
 carving his pipes. Valserine stood 
 
 56
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 up. She pushed the black curls, 
 which covered her cheeks, back with 
 her two hands, and in a firm voice 
 she said, "I want to be a pipe 
 polisher." The old woman stood 
 up too, and her face beamed with 
 happiness, as she asked the girl, 
 "Would you rather polish pipes 
 than diamonds?" "Yes," said Val- 
 serine, "pipes are better." The old 
 woman took several pipes out of her 
 son's basket, passed them from one 
 hand to the other, and put them 
 gently back again, saying, "Diamonds 
 are good for nothing." 
 
 A few days afterwards Mere 
 Marienne's son came back from St. 
 Claude with the answer for which 
 Valserine was waiting. The child 
 was to stay with some pipe makers, 
 who had known her father and loved 
 him, and she would go to the pipe 
 factory every day instead of to the 
 diamond works. 
 
 The day before she left, she wanted 
 to climb up to the keeper's room, 
 but as she was walking along she 
 
 57
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 saw, all of a sudden, that the mass of 
 earth over the hiding-place had 
 fallen in. An enormous quantity 
 of sand and stones had slipped, 
 Carrying most of the trees on the 
 slope down with them. Several of 
 the trees were half buried, and 
 seemed quite dead. Others of them 
 were leaning with all their branches 
 pressed against those which had 
 remained upright. Valserine re- 
 membered that the keeper's room 
 had been formed by a landslip, and 
 she seemed to hear her father's voice 
 again, saying, "There was such a 
 violent storm that year that it rav- 
 aged the whole mountain-side, and did 
 a lot of damage in the town of 
 St. Claude." 
 
 And now Valserine could go. The 
 keeper's room was closed for ever, 
 as though it wanted to keep the 
 smuggler's secret. The child went 
 into her house and remembered the 
 last night she had spent there. Her 
 ears filled with the same buzzing 
 which had frightened her so during
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 the night in which she waited for 
 the prisoner's return. The house 
 was full of light to-day, but for all 
 that thousands of tiny harmonious 
 voices sang together in the air. 
 
 And when Valserine had listened 
 to them for a long time she realized 
 that silence had voices too, which 
 one could hear when one listened for 
 them. 
 
 Next morning when Valserine was 
 leaving for St. Claude, Mere Mari- 
 enne kept her back for one moment in 
 the doorway. She held a black hand- 
 kerchief in her hand, and gave it to 
 the girl saying, "Take it, it will be 
 of use to you while you are in 
 mourning." The child threw her 
 arms round Mere Marienne and kissed 
 her. She put the handkerchief in her 
 pocket, and ran to catch up with the 
 old woman's son who was already on 
 his way down the path. 
 
 All was light in the yalley that 
 morning, and a fresh wind was 
 tearing the clouds into bits, though 
 they looked as though they wanted to 
 
 59
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 rest a moment on the mountain- 
 side. At the point where the path- 
 way crossed the high road, Valserine 
 saw the carrier's cart from St. Claude 
 to La Faucille passing by, and could 
 not keep herself from imitating in a 
 low voice, the voice of the driver, 
 "Allon ... Ion ... Ion." Soon aft- 
 erwards the pathway ran along by 
 the side of the Flumen brook, and 
 children's voices shouting to one 
 another across the mountain could 
 no longer be heard in this closed-in 
 bit of the valley. The little girl kept 
 up with the long steps of Mere 
 Marienne's son without feeling tired. 
 She was beginning to feel very happy, 
 and she hardly heard the noise of 
 the brook as it danced from one stone 
 to another. 
 
 They soon passed through the 
 villages of Coiserette and La Renfile, 
 and just as they were going into St. 
 Claude, Valserine saw, by the road- 
 side, a birch which had lost all its 
 leaves during the night, and she 
 stopped to look at the leaves which lay 
 60
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 on the ground like a piece of 
 faded clothing. They went quickly 
 down the rough street of La Poyat, 
 and Valserine and Mere Marienne's 
 son went into the pipe factory 
 together. She crossed the large shed 
 where the saws were screeching as 
 they shaped the briar-roots. She saw 
 the fine chips flying around her, and 
 on to her, from the benches, while 
 the lathes and the drills buzzed like 
 a swarm of bumble bees in the 
 meadows. She looked at the open, 
 energetic faces of the workmen, and 
 when Mere Marienne's son took her 
 into the shed where the polishers 
 were at work, she looked fearlessly 
 at the women who all stood and 
 stared at the door, as though they 
 were expecting her to come. 
 
 She just had time to see the pipe- 
 shaped stove in the middle of the 
 shed, when one of the women came 
 to fetch her, and to take her to her 
 place. The woman walked in front 
 of her, pushing the baskets out of 
 the way with her foot, and when she 
 
 61
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 had helped the child to put on a 
 polisher's blouse, she offered her a 
 handkerchief of the same colour as 
 that which she was wearing herself. 
 Valserine thanked her gratefully, 
 and a smile lit up her little face as 
 she put the blue handkerchief gently 
 to one side. Then she took out of 
 her pocket the one which Mere 
 Marienne had given her that morn- 
 ing, and she covered her hair with it.
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER 
 
 MADAME PELISSAND 
 came into the little room. 
 She walked around it twice, 
 holding a basketful of stockings and 
 balls of darning wool. She stopped in 
 front of an armchair as though she 
 were going to sit in it, but pushed it 
 away, and sat down on a chair near 
 the piano. Marie Pelissand stopped 
 playing immediately. She knew that 
 her mother did not like music, and 
 though she was sorry that she could 
 not finish the piece she was fond of 
 she wheeled round on the stool and 
 turned over the pages of some books 
 on the table. Madame Pelissand, 
 holding her basket on her knees, said 
 without looking at her daughter, 
 "You can go on playing, Marie." 
 This time Marie turned and looked 
 
 63
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER 
 
 at her mother. There was surprise 
 in her look which seemed to say out 
 loud, "Whatever is the matter with 
 her?" 
 
 For some days past Madame Pelis- 
 sand had not been the same. She 
 never used to come into the room 
 while her daughter was at the piano. 
 She hated the fact that Marie was a 
 governess and spent all her time 
 teaching, but during the last few 
 days she had always remained in the 
 dining-room while Marie corrected 
 her pupils' work. Last night she 
 had sat quite close to her daughter, 
 and Marie had seen her raise her 
 head and open her mouth several 
 times as if she were going to speak. 
 But each time she had dropped her 
 head again in silence and had looked 
 uncomfortable. 
 
 Marie did not like to turn to the 
 piano again, but her mother repeated 
 in the same clear tone as before, 
 "You can go on playing, Marie." 
 
 Marie turned to the piano, but her 
 fingers had lost their cunning, and
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER 
 
 she did not care for her favourite 
 piece. She looked sideways at her 
 mother. Madame Pelissand was 
 looking at the carpet, and her hands 
 clutched the basket of old stockings. 
 One moment Marie saw so clearly 
 that she was making the movement 
 people make when they are going to 
 say something that she stopped 
 playing and asked, "What is the 
 matter, mother?" 
 
 Madame Pelissand opened her eyes 
 and threw out her hands as though 
 she wanted to push the question 
 aw r ay from her. She got up, then 
 sat down at once, and suddenly 
 looking into her daughter's face she 
 said very quickly, "I want to get ' 
 married again." 
 
 Marie thought it was a joke. She 
 threw her head back and began to 
 laugh, but her mother took hold of 
 her arm and said in a rough voice, 
 "I don't see anything to laugh at." 
 
 Marie stopped laughing at once as 
 she had stopped playing. She under- 
 stood now that her mother was telling 
 
 65
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER 
 
 the truth, and it stunned her. She 
 looked at her mother again. She 
 saw her white hair which tried to 
 fluff out at the temples. She looked 
 at her swollen face, her sinking 
 shoulders, and her bony hands, and 
 she could not help saying, "But 
 mother, you are fifty-eight." 
 
 "I know," said Madame Pelis- 
 sand; "and what then, what then, 
 pray?" 
 
 Marie did not know what to say. 
 There were tears in her eyes as 
 she said, "And what about me, 
 mother ?" 
 
 Madame Pelissand pushed her 
 chair back a little, her eyes grew 
 hard, and as though she were taking 
 her revenge for something unkind 
 which had been said to her she 
 answered, "Oh, you are old enough, 
 my dear, to live alone." She 
 drummed on the stockings in the 
 basket, and added, "You reproach 
 me with my fifty-eight years, but 
 you seem to forget that you are 
 thirty-seven." 
 66
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER 
 
 "I don't forget it," said Marie, 
 "but" 
 
 "But what?" said Madame Pelis- 
 sand. 
 
 "I was thinking," said Marie, 
 "that you have always prevented 
 me from getting married because you 
 did not want to live all by yourself, 
 and now you are going to leave me." 
 
 Madame Pelissand remained silent, 
 and Marie did not dare say all that 
 she had in her heart to say. After 
 a long silence Madame Pelissand 
 went on: 
 
 "I am going to marry Monsieur 
 Tardi. You know whom I mean, do 
 you not? He asked me to marry 
 him when he was a young man of 
 twenty. My parents considered him 
 too young and would not let us 
 marry." 
 
 Marie nodded her head to show 
 that she remembered the story that 
 her mother had told her. 
 
 "He married some one else," said 
 Madame Pelissand, "but he has 
 always loved me. He became a
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER 
 
 widower three months ago, and last 
 week he asked me to marry him." 
 After a pause she added, "He lives 
 in the south, and I am going to live 
 there with him." 
 
 Marie raised her head, which had 
 dropped a little, and said quietly, 
 "You are not obliged to marry this 
 gentleman just because he asks you 
 to." 
 
 Madame Pelissand made a feeble 
 gesture with her hand, and Marie 
 went on, "Every time a man asked 
 me to marry him you forbade me 
 to accept him." Her mother looked 
 down. "And when I wanted to 
 marry Julian, whom I loved, you 
 prevented me from doing so, and said 
 that it was my duty not to desert you. 
 You told me that my father's death 
 had left us poor. I worked and put 
 my happiness to one side, and now 
 when I know that Julian has grown 
 tired of waiting for me and has 
 married some one else you come and 
 tell me that you are going to leave 
 me all alone and are going to marry 
 68
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER 
 
 a man whom you have never loved 
 and who has been a stranger to you 
 for thirty-five years." 
 
 Madame Pelissand's head had 
 dropped forward until her forehead 
 almost touched her breast. All that 
 was to be seen was at the back of her 
 neck, where the flesh formed two 
 cords. Marie kept silent, waiting 
 for her mother to speak. But 
 Madame Pelissand remained with her 
 head obstinately bent, and Marie 
 went on: 
 
 "I did my duty by remaining with 
 you. Will you do yours by refusing 
 this marriage, or do you mean to 
 leave me to live all alone? Come, 
 mother, speak. What have you to 
 say?" ' 
 
 Madame Pelissand raised her head 
 a little and replied, "I am going to 
 get married because I don't want to 
 remain with you any longer." 
 
 Marie moved her face close to her 
 mother's and asked, "Why? What 
 do you reproach me with?" 
 
 "Many things." 
 
 69
 
 "What are they, mother ?" 
 ".You are more intelligent and you 
 know more than I do." Marie 
 opened her eyes wide. "You sit by 
 the hour together dreaming about 
 things of which you do not speak, 
 and when our friends come to see us 
 you always talk to the men and I 
 don't understand what you are 
 talking about. You choose all my 
 books for me, and if I try to read 
 yours they are all about things 
 which I do not understand. You 
 choose the colour of my dresses and 
 the shape of my hats for me. You 
 earn the money we live on, and 
 though I give orders to the servant 
 she never obeys them without asking 
 you first. Everything is changed 
 here now. You have become the 
 mother and I the child. I am afraid 
 of being scolded when I say a word, 
 and although you are gentle and kind 
 enough I am afraid of you when you 
 look at me." 
 
 There was a long silence. Marie 
 was in deep thought, and one of her 
 70
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER 
 
 hands played with the keys of the 
 piano. Madame Pelissand began to 
 cry softly. Then she said timidly to 
 her daughter, "Let me marry Mon- 
 sieur Tardi." 
 
 Marie got up from the stool and 
 leaned over her mother. She wiped 
 her eyes, kissed the elder woman 
 gently on the forehead, and said 
 
 "Yes, marry Monsieur Tardi, 
 mother, so that one of us at least 
 may have a little happiness."
 
 THE QUEEN'S BARGE 
 
 HIS Aunt Maria had punished 
 him that morning and for- 
 bidden him to go down to 
 the riverside. She was very angry 
 and she said, "You will see that 
 this bad boy will end by drowning 
 himself as his father did." 
 
 As soon as she lost sight of the 
 child she screamed after him in her 
 high voice, "Michel, Michel." 
 
 All the morning Michel sulked and 
 cried at the back of the house, but 
 towards evening he was down again 
 on the tow-path without quite know- 
 ing how he had got there. He never 
 got tired of watching the barges 
 which went up and down the river. 
 They were so big, so heavy, and so 
 tightly shut. As each one passed 
 he tried to guess what it was carrying. 
 72
 
 THE QUEEN'S BARGE 
 
 That grey one must have stone in it. 
 That great black one carried iron no 
 doubt, and those which slipped so 
 quietly down the river must be full 
 to the brim with secret news. He 
 often trotted down the tow-path and 
 followed the barges for a long way, 
 and the bargees chatted with him 
 from the middle of the river. They 
 could see that he was not like the 
 other children of the neighbourhood. 
 And he always told them that he 
 came from Paris and that his own 
 home was near the canal of St. 
 Martin. 
 
 He was always thinking about this 
 canal of St. Martin in Paris, where he 
 had been so happy with his father, 
 who used to work at unloading boats. 
 He remembered the games he used 
 to play with his comrades on the 
 sand heaps which the barges emptied 
 out on to the bank. 
 
 Sometimes a boat brought bricks 
 along. Then he used to build houses, 
 which fell down every time a cart 
 passed. But what he enjoyed most 
 
 73
 
 THE QUEEN'S BARGE 
 
 was watching the unloading of a 
 cargo of pottery. On those days he 
 did not want to play at all. He 
 used to remain quite still, watching 
 the great two-handled vases, the 
 little blue pots, and the flower- 
 covered cups which were so pretty 
 that he always longed to carry off 
 one of them under his pinafore. 
 
 Then when his father had done his 
 day's work they used to go home 
 together to their room on the sixth 
 floor, from the window of which they 
 could see the canal. They used to 
 have dinner at the little table near 
 the window. He would say what he 
 had done at school, and his father 
 loved to hear him talk. And before 
 he went to bed he always used to 
 insist on his father telling him a 
 story. They were always stories of 
 watermen and bargemen. There was 
 one in particular of which he was 
 very fond that began like this 
 
 "Once upon a time there was a 
 waterman who owned a barge which 
 was so pretty, so pretty, that all the 
 74
 
 THE QUEEN'S BARGE 
 
 ladies and their daughters came down 
 to the lock to see it pass." 
 
 He missed St. Martin's lock enor- 
 mously. He could see it every time 
 he thought of it with the little bridge 
 over which people had to cross one 
 by one. He could see the big lock 
 in which the barges lay and sulked, 
 as though they had been shut up for 
 punishment, and the reflections of 
 the houses in the water which were 
 all upside down. There was a big 
 factory opposite, too, which threw 
 out such a lot of hot water into the 
 canal that the whole lock used to 
 smoke as though there was fire at 
 the bottom of it. He was fond of 
 this factory with its nine big chim- 
 neys. He never passed it without 
 counting them. Sometimes all the 
 nine chimneys smoked at the same 
 time. That used to make a big 
 cloud which settled down and made 
 a kind of bridge over the water. 
 
 And then his great misfortune 
 happened. One day after school he 
 did not find his father on the bank 
 
 75
 
 THE QUEEN'S BARGE 
 
 of the canal. The bargeowner had 
 said to him, "Go home, my little 
 chap, your father is not coming back 
 here." 
 
 Two days afterwards his Aunt 
 Maria had come and taken him away 
 to the Ardennes. He did not love 
 his Aunt Maria, who beat him for 
 everything and for nothing, and who 
 used to prevent him from going to 
 see the barges of which he was so 
 fond. 
 
 All the barges were like those of 
 the canal of St. Martin. But here 
 they were drawn by horses, while in 
 Paris the men used to tug at them 
 to pass them through the lock. They 
 were harnessed by twos or by fours, 
 one behind the other. They wore 
 a large strap round their shoulders 
 like a halter and they pulled just 
 like horses, stretching their necks 
 and tugging with the straps. 
 
 Here the river ran between two 
 mountains which were ever so much 
 larger than the houses in Paris. 
 The water of the river was so clear
 
 THE QUEEN'S BARGE 
 
 that it reflected the mountains right 
 up to the sky. On the other side 
 of the river three great rocks jutted 
 out from the mountain. The people 
 used to call them "the Ladies of the 
 River." They had not any heads, 
 but one could see that they had been 
 ladies once because the great folds 
 of their dresses still spread out down 
 to the meadows. 
 
 Michel had been sitting opposite 
 the three rocks for some time when 
 he heard the sound of merry little 
 bells in the distance. It came down 
 to him like a song. The little bells 
 were so bright and so merry that he 
 began to imitate their singing 
 
 "Teen, teegleen, cleen, cleen, 
 cleen; teegleen, cleen. . . ." 
 
 Two men who were going along the 
 tow-path stopped to listen, and 
 Michel heard one of them say, "It 
 must be the Queen's barge coming." 
 Directly afterwards the child saw 
 two splendid white horses come down 
 the tow-path. They were covered 
 all over with a net, the long fringes 
 
 77
 
 THE QUEEN'S BARGE 
 
 of which swung under their bodies. 
 On their heads were great topknots 
 with silver and gold coins on them, 
 and they walked along quite tire- 
 lessly as though it were a pleasure 
 to pull the huge barge and make the 
 little bells ring. 
 
 The man who led the horses looked 
 happy and strong. His right hand 
 was on the back of the first horse, 
 and in his left he carried a whip 
 which he held like a lance. It had 
 ribbons upon it that floated in the 
 air. 
 
 The barge came nearer, and Michel 
 thought he had never seen one half 
 so fine. It looked quite new with 
 its great white hull and its broad 
 coloured stripes. Its name, the 
 Queen, was painted in large letters 
 which shone in the water upside 
 down, and danced and wriggled as 
 he looked at them. Right up in 
 front a bird was singing in a little 
 cage, and amidships, sitting near a 
 bed of green plants and flower pots, 
 Michel saw the queen of the barge. 
 
 78
 
 THE QUEEN'S BARGE 
 
 She was sitting on a yellow-gold 
 chair. Her white dress was pulled 
 up quite high. Her legs were 
 crossed, and the dog which was lying 
 at her feet was of the same colour 
 as her golden stockings. Her 
 flowing hair fell down to her waist, 
 and on each side of her forehead a 
 knot of ribbon was tied into her 
 golden curls, which fell down on to 
 her cheeks. 
 
 She did not look like the other 
 daughters of watermen whom Michel 
 had seen, and when he saw her he 
 understood that she must have the 
 most beautiful barge in the world. 
 
 In a moment Michel remembered 
 the story which his father used to 
 tell him: "And the waterman who 
 owned this pretty, pretty barge had 
 a daughter who was so beautiful, so 
 beautiful, that all the kings of the 
 earth wanted to marry her." 
 
 Michel got up when the barge 
 passed in front of him. The boy's 
 sudden movement woke up the dog, 
 who jumped up and barked. But 
 
 79
 
 THE QUEEN'S BARGE 
 
 the waterman's daughter made him 
 quiet by just holding out her hand, 
 and she smiled at Michel. 
 
 At that moment the sun lit up 
 nothing but the top of the mountain. 
 The river had become clearer than a 
 mirror. One could not tell whether 
 the mountain was above it or below 
 it. The meadow went on into the 
 middle of the river, and one could 
 see the long grass trembling in the 
 water. The sound of the silver bells 
 grew fainter, and the barge moved 
 slowly away. The river seemed to 
 have become as narrow as St. Mar- 
 tin's lock, and the barge seemed to 
 be grazing the two banks. 
 
 All of a sudden Michel saw that 
 the barge was going to disappear 
 round the bend in the river. He was 
 sorry that he had not followed it as 
 he had often followed other boats. 
 He went closer to the water to see it 
 better, and left the tow-path to run 
 down the meadow which he saw in 
 the water. But at the first step 
 he took the meadow disappeared, 
 80
 
 THE QUEEN'S BARGE 
 
 and the river opened and received 
 him. 
 
 A few minutes afterwards Aunt 
 Maria's screaming voice called 
 "Michel, Michel." But nobody 
 answered. And as she listened to 
 the little sounds of evening she heard 
 in the distance the sound of silver 
 bells so faint and yet so clear that 
 they seemed to be ringing in the 
 water. And in spite of the uneasi- 
 ness which was growing on her she 
 could not keep herself from mur- 
 muring quite low, "Teen 4 teen, tee- 
 gleen, teen, teen." 
 
 81
 
 FIRE! 
 
 THE first alarm came from the 
 third floor. It was dull and 
 muffled, as though the man 
 who had shouted were half suffocated. 
 All the people in the house must have 
 heard it, but nobody moved. It 
 was as though they were waiting 
 for a second warning. It came, 
 after a moment, a little louder, and 
 was followed almost immediately 
 by a third, very loud and insistent. 
 In a moment the whole house 
 seemed to be shaken into life. The 
 windows and the doors banged. 
 Shrieks of women and oaths of men 
 were heard, and the stair-case shook 
 as people came rushing down. The 
 voice which had shouted first, rang 
 out now like a copper instrument. 
 It went in through the doors and out 
 82
 
 FIRE! 
 
 of the windows, out into the night, 
 shouting into the neighbouring 
 houses its alarm cry of "Fire! 
 Fire! Fire !" 
 
 The five people who lived on the 
 sixth floor were the last to open 
 their doors. There was no need for 
 them to ask what the matter was. 
 The window on the landing showed 
 them at once that the saw-mill at 
 the end of the court was on fire. 
 Large piles of planks were blazing 
 up from all sides, and the wind shook 
 up the fragments and slapped the 
 flames against the walls of the house. 
 
 There was no time to be lost, for 
 gusts of terrible heat rushed in 
 through the windows on the stair- 
 case, and gusts of smoke with them. 
 
 The painter could not get his arm 
 into the second sleeve of his coat. 
 It slipped down the lining time and 
 again without finding the sleeve. 
 He turned to his neighbour, the girl 
 from the post-office, and said, in 
 the tone of a ; man who understands 
 these things 
 
 83
 
 FIRE! 
 
 "What a wonderful blaze." 
 
 The post-office clerk did not listen 
 to him. She ran in and out of her 
 room in her night-dress. Her feet 
 were bare, and she kept on saying: 
 "I cannot go downstairs until I am 
 properly dressed." 
 
 At the other end of the passage, 
 Francette, the kept woman, ran 
 after her cat, which she would not 
 leave to its fate. She pushed the 
 chairs about and called in a small 
 voice: "Puss, puss, puss." She 
 came out of her room at last with 
 her cat in her arms. Her legs were 
 bare, and she had yellow boots on, 
 which she had had no time to button. 
 On her shoulders was a white blanket 
 which dragged behind her, like the 
 train of a queen's cloak. 
 
 As she ran down the passage, she 
 passed the dressmaker who was 
 locking her door carefully, as though 
 to prevent the fire from getting in. 
 
 The only one left in her room was 
 the little consumptive girl. All she 
 had on was a little black petticoat
 
 FIRE! 
 
 and a cape, which did not fasten in 
 front. The dressmaker told her to 
 be quick and come downstairs, but 
 she was obstinate, and struggled 
 with her. 
 
 "I want my letter," said the little 
 girl. "I have a letter, and I won't 
 go without it." 
 
 She found it on a chair near her 
 bed, in spite of the darkness which 
 the smoke was beginning to make in 
 her room. Then she ran down as 
 quickly as she could, hiding her 
 mouth with the letter. The dress- 
 maker ran after her, holding her 
 breath, and half closing her eyes, 
 which smarted and burned with the 
 smoke. 
 
 Down below they found Francette 
 the kept woman, the painter and the 
 post-office clerk, all of whom gave a 
 deep sigh of relief when they saw 
 them. The crowd gathered quickly. 
 One wondered where all the people 
 came from, at that hour of the night. 
 They all looked as though they had 
 strolled up during an after-dinner 
 
 8s
 
 FIRE! 
 
 walk, and one saw as though it were 
 broad daylight, young people in 
 couples, old gentlemen alone, and 
 women with their children in their 
 arms. 
 
 The voice which had given the 
 first alarm, came out of a passage and 
 asked whether the firemen had been 
 sent for. Nobody answered. Then 
 there was a hurried movement in the 
 crowd as though people were moving 
 aside to let somebody in a hurry come 
 through. A moment afterwards the 
 tune of the fire escapes was heard. 
 Only two notes, but so close together 
 and repeated so insistently, that they 
 sounded like a tune of which the 
 crowd knew the words. One heard 
 from all sides: "Here they are! 
 Already! They have got the ladder 
 with them! How their helmets 
 shine!" 
 
 Huge supple hoses unrolled to- 
 wards the water taps, and the ladder 
 slipped off its cart and ran up to the 
 second floor balcony. These things 
 seemed to happen by themselves. 
 86
 
 FIRE! 
 
 The entry to the house was as black 
 as the passage into a cave. The 
 firemen went in, they looked grave 
 and careful, and each man carried a 
 lighted torch. They looked like de- 
 termined and devoted men on their 
 way to attack a monster and save 
 their fellows. 
 
 As though it had recognized them, 
 the fire burst into violent flames. 
 Blazing bits of wood leaped into the 
 air and fell on to the little sixth floor 
 balconies. Sparks whirled up in a 
 mad flutter and scattered on the 
 neighbouring roof tops, some of them 
 even dancing down the chimneys. 
 
 There was a dead silence, and all 
 of a sudden the firemen were seen on 
 the roof of the house. They sepa- 
 rated and stood firmly, their legs a lit- 
 tle apart. Then, they laid hold of the 
 hoses and turned them on the flames. 
 The flames dropped and somebody 
 shouted: "They have got it under." 
 The voices down below rose up in 
 one loud shout of admiration for the 
 firemen. [The people clapped their 
 
 87,
 
 FIRE! 
 
 hands so loudly that the roaring of 
 the fire was silenced, and a few 
 moments afterwards the crowd 
 moved about the street and talked, 
 as people move about a theatre be- 
 tween the acts. Francette, the kept 
 woman, got the most pity. Her 
 blanket kept slipping off her shoul- 
 ders every moment, and as she tried 
 to catch it, every one could see that 
 she had nothing on but her night- 
 dress. She disappeared in the crowd, 
 and was taken into a cafe. 
 
 The post-office clerk never stopped 
 trying to keep up her hair which was 
 slipping down. The painter gave 
 her his arm, and the two of them 
 turned into a dark street together. 
 Little by little the saw-mill stopped 
 burning. There was silence on the 
 Boulevard, and the people went 
 back to their homes. 
 
 The five tenants of the sixth floor 
 met together on the landing. The 
 painter, whose bed had been burnt, 
 went into the post-office clerk's room 
 to see what damage the fire had done. 
 88
 
 . FIRE ! 
 
 Francette, the kept woman, said 
 that she was too much afraid to 
 remain in her room that night, and 
 was going to the house of a woman 
 she knew. There was nobody left 
 on the landing but the dressmaker 
 and the little consumptive girl. 
 Their rooms had no windows left. 
 The two of them sat down on the 
 stairs. The little consumptive girl 
 flattened her letter against her 
 breast with one hand, as though it 
 kept her warm when she held it 
 there. Nothing more was heard but 
 the firemen as they went about the 
 house filling it with noise and with 
 water.
 
 CATICHE 
 
 THE doctor on duty had taken 
 her in at once, because she 
 had St. Vitus' Dance. They 
 took her into the big ward where 
 there were a number of little white 
 beds under the windows. She was 
 seven years old, and had a pretty 
 name, but the Sister called her Ca- 
 tiche. She called her Catiche without 
 thinking, because that was what she 
 called all the little girls who had St. 
 Vitus' Dance. 
 
 Catiche let them give her her bath 
 and put her to bed without saying 
 anything, but when she understood 
 that this name was going to be 
 hers, she became furiously angry. 
 She threw off her blankets and 
 wanted to beat the Sister. All the 
 little patients raised their heads to 
 90
 
 CATICHE 
 
 look at her. Several of them 
 laughed when they saw the gesticu- 
 lations of Catiche. Every time she 
 shook her fists at the Sister, they 
 came back as though a string was 
 pulling them, and Catiche struck her 
 own forehead, or her hands went 
 round behind and hit her on the back 
 or the back of her neck. 
 
 She twisted and turned like a little 
 worm, and said in her hoarse voice: 
 "You shall see." A nurse ran up and 
 dabbed a wet cloth on her face, while 
 the Sister held her down on the bed. 
 It was a long time before she got 
 quiet. Gradually her face got its pale 
 colour back again, but her breath 
 came with difficulty. 
 
 As soon as the nurse had gone 
 away, she turned over on her stomach 
 and hid her face in the pillow. Her 
 arms went on lashing about, so she 
 was not asleep. She refused to eat. 
 The nurses tried to force her to drink 
 a little milk. They pinched her nose 
 to make her open her mouth, but she 
 opened her lips only, and breathed
 
 CATICHE 
 
 through her clenched teeth. Then 
 the doctor came and tried to coax her, 
 but she would not even take her face 
 out of the pillow. 
 
 Next morning the house doctor 
 explained matters to the visiting 
 physician, who went up to the bed 
 and stroked Catiche's little cropped 
 head. He spoke to her in a gentle 
 voice; touched her jerky little arms 
 one after the other, and said: 
 "Come, dear, tell me what they 
 have done to you ?" 
 
 She turned her head towards him, 
 and in a cross voice said: "Oh, go 
 away, do," and she turned her face 
 back to the pillow again. 
 
 "Better leave her alone," said 
 the physician. 
 
 She spent the whole day without 
 eating anything. When all the lights 
 were out, and there was only the 
 night light, which made a kind of 
 moonlight in the ward, Catiche began 
 to move about in her bed. She 
 uttered little moans which sounded 
 as though they came from a whistle 
 92
 
 CATICHE 
 
 which was partly stopped up. The 
 girl in the next bed leaned towards 
 her and asked what the matter was. 
 Catiche did not answer. There was 
 no sound in the ward but the snoring 
 of the night nurse who was asleep 
 in the armchair at the other end. 
 The little patient in the bed next to 
 Catiche got up without any noise. 
 She was a big girl of twelve, who was 
 dying of heart disease. She had 
 gentle brown eyes and her name was 
 Yvonne. Without thinking of any 
 harm she whispered quite low, "Ca- 
 tiche, dear, what is the matter?" 
 
 Catiche pushed her away and 
 opened her mouth to shriek, but no 
 sounds came, she had lost her voice 
 in her last fit of rage. 
 
 "I am sure you are hungry," 
 said Yvonne. 
 
 "Yes, I am hungry," whispered 
 Catiche. 
 
 Yvonne got a box of biscuits and 
 a little jug of milk from the table by 
 her bed, and filled Catiche's cup. 
 The first biscuit which Catiche tried 
 
 93
 
 CATICHE 
 
 to put into her mouth went up in 
 the air. The second one went over 
 her shoulder. She looked so funny 
 with her mouth open, trying to snap 
 at the biscuits that Yvonne could 
 not help laughing. She dipped the 
 biscuit into the milk herself and fed 
 Catiche like a little bird. She 
 gobbled up all the biscuits and 
 nearly half the milk. Every day 
 afterwards Yvonne fed her. Catiche 
 showed no gratitude; as soon as she 
 had eaten, she turned her head away 
 and hid herself under the sheets; 
 nobody came to see her. She did 
 not seem envious of the good things 
 which the other little patients got 
 from their friends. Her neighbour 
 on the left was nine. She was a 
 little fair girl who suffered from 
 attacks which threw her down on 
 the ground with one leg or one arm 
 in the air. Her parents used to 
 bring her all kinds of good things. 
 They often offered some of them to 
 Catiche, but she looked at them 
 sideways and refused them. 
 94
 
 CATICHE 
 
 "She is not easy to get on with," 
 said the little fair-haired girl's father. 
 
 "It's a pity," said her mother, "she's 
 so pretty with her hair cropped like a 
 little black sleek cat." 
 
 "No, mother," said the fair child 
 out loud, "she is not pretty, one of her 
 eyes is quite white." 
 
 It was true. Catiche had a large 
 film on her right eye. 
 
 From that day she never turned her 
 face towards the little fair girl, who 
 took advantage of this to tease her; 
 she used to pull at her sheets, throw 
 little bits of bread at her, and call her 
 old pussy-cat. Catiche never said 
 anything, but her arms jerked more 
 violently than ever. 
 
 One morning when Catiche was 
 sitting on her bed, the little fair girl 
 came up and made a face at her. 
 Catiche pushed her so hard that she 
 knocked her against the foot of the 
 bed. The Sister had seen her do it. 
 She ran up and told Catiche that she 
 was a naughty, sly, little girl. Ca- 
 tiche waved her arms about and tried 
 
 95
 
 CATICHE 
 
 to scream. She tried to scream so 
 hard that in her rage she found her 
 voice again and yelled, "She called me 
 Goat-eye." All the little girls began 
 to laugh. Yvonne was the only one 
 who didn't. She did all she could to 
 keep Catiche's arms from banging 
 against the iron posts of the bed, and 
 sat down by her side to console her. 
 She put a sweet into her mouth 
 whispering: "Eat that, you great 
 stupid," and then she sat by Catiche's 
 bedside doing crochet work. After 
 that she used to come and sit by Ca- 
 tiche every day, but Catiche always 
 made a fuss about taking the good 
 things she had brought her. 
 
 "Lend me your crochet hook," 
 said Catiche one day. "No," said 
 Yvonne, "you might hurt yourself." 
 Catiche stretched out her arms, 
 which were almost still. "You see," 
 she said, "I am cured now, I can eat 
 alone; give me the hook, I want to 
 jab it into that girl's eye, then they 
 will call her 'goat-eye' too. Mother 
 told me that my eye was white
 
 CATICHE 
 
 because I jabbed it with a crochet 
 hook/' 
 
 "Oh," said Yvonne, "how can you 
 be so naughty." 
 
 "She's naughty to call me that and 
 to make a face at me. I never did 
 anything to her." 
 
 "True," said Yvonne, "but as you 
 know that she is naughty, why do you 
 want to imitate her?" 
 
 "What would you have done if it 
 were you?" said Catiche. 
 
 "I would have boxed her ears and 
 not thought anything more about it." 
 After a moment's silence Yvonne 
 added, "You knocked her down and 
 her nose bled, that hurt her more than 
 a box on the ears." 
 
 Next day Yvonne was too weak to 
 get up, and sat up in her bed to do 
 her crochet work. The nurse saw 
 her slip down among the pillows and 
 ran to her. She took the little 
 work box and put it on Catiche's 
 bed. Then she laid Yvonne down 
 without saying a word, covered her 
 face with the sheet and went away. 
 
 97
 
 CATICHE 
 
 Several people came and went and 
 Catiche saw that Yvonne was not 
 in her bed any longer. She plucked 
 up her courage and asked the nurse 
 if she was soon coming back again. 
 
 "She will never come back any 
 more," said the nurse. "She is quite 
 cured." 
 
 Then Catiche put the crochet work 
 carefully into the box, and after hav- 
 ing looked at the fine point of the 
 crochet hook for a moment she put 
 it into its little case and gave the work 
 box to the Sister. 
 
 98
 
 THE FIANCEE 
 
 AFTER a few days' holiday, I 
 had to go back to Paris. 
 When I got to the station 
 the train was crowded. I peeped 
 into every carriage hoping to find a 
 place. There was one in the car- 
 riage opposite me, but there were 
 two big baskets on the seat, out of 
 which ducks and fowls were peeping. 
 After a good long minute's hesitation 
 I decided to get into that carriage. 
 I apologized for disturbing the pas- 
 sengers, but a man in a blouse said: 
 "Wait just one moment, mademoi- 
 selle. I'll take the baskets down." 
 And while I held the basket of fruit 
 which he had on his knees, he slipped 
 the baskets with the ducks and hens 
 under the seat. The ducks did not 
 like it and told us so. The hens 
 
 99
 
 THE FIANCEE 
 
 dropped their heads as though they 
 had been insulted, and the peasant's 
 wife talked to them, calling them by 
 their names. 
 
 When I was seated, and the ducks 
 were quiet, the passenger opposite 
 to me asked the peasant whether 
 he was taking these birds to 
 market. 
 
 "No, sir," said the man. "I am 
 taking them to my son, who is going 
 to be married the day after to- 
 morrow." 
 
 His face was beaming, and he 
 looked around him as though he 
 wanted to show everybody how 
 happy he was. The old woman who 
 was hunched up in the corner among 
 three pillows, and who filled up 
 twice as much room as she ought 
 to have, began grumbling about 
 peasants who took up such a lot of 
 room in the train. The young man 
 sitting next to her had nowhere to put 
 his elbows. 
 
 The train started and the passenger 
 who had spoken was opening his 
 100
 
 THE FIANCEE 
 
 newspaper, when the peasant said to 
 him: 
 
 "My boy is in Paris. He is work- 
 ing in a shop, and he is going to 
 marry a young lady who is in a shop 
 too."' 
 
 The passenger let his open paper 
 drop on to his knees. He held it with 
 one hand and leaning a little forward, 
 he asked : 
 
 "Is the fiancee pretty?" 
 
 "We do not know," said the man, 
 "we haven't seen her yet." 
 
 "Really," said the passenger. 
 "What if she were ugly, or you found 
 you did not like her ?" 
 
 "That is one of the things that can 
 always happen," answered the coun- 
 tryman. "But I think we shall like 
 her, because our boy is too fond of us 
 to take an ugly wife/' 
 
 "Besides," said the little woman 
 beside me, "If she pleases our Philip 
 she will please us too." 
 
 She turned to me, and her gentle 
 eyes were full of smiles. She had a 
 little, round, fresh face, and I could 
 
 101
 
 THE FIANCEE 
 
 not believe that she was the mother 
 of a son who was old enough to get 
 married. She wanted to know 
 whether I was going to Paris too, 
 and when I said yes, the passenger 
 opposite who had spoken first, began 
 to joke. 
 
 "I should like to bet," he said, "that 
 this young lady is the fiancee. She 
 has come to meet her father and 
 mother-in-law, without telling them 
 who she is." 
 
 Everybody looked at me and I got 
 very red. The countryman and his 
 wife said both together : 
 
 "We should be very pleased if it 
 were true." 
 
 I told them that it was not true, but 
 the passenger reminded them that I 
 had walked up and down the platform 
 twice as though I were looking for 
 somebody, and that I had been a long 
 time before I made up my mind to get 
 into that carriage. 
 
 All the passengers laughed, and I 
 explained as well as I could, that this 
 was the only place I had found. 
 1 02
 
 THE FIANCEE 
 
 "Never mind," said the country- 
 woman. "I like you, and I shall be 
 very happy if our daughter-in-law is 
 like you." 
 
 "Yes," said her husband. "I hope 
 she will look like you." 
 
 The passenger kept up his joke, 
 looked at me maliciously and said: 
 
 "You will see that I am not wrong 
 when you get to Paris. Your son 
 will say to you, 'Here is my 
 fiancee/ ' 
 
 A little while afterwards the 
 countrywoman turned right around 
 towards me, fumbled in her basket 
 and pulled a cake out, saying that 
 she had made it herself that morning. 
 I didn't know how to refuse her, but 
 I said I had a bad cold and a touch 
 of fever, and the cake went back 
 into the basket again. Then she 
 offered me a bunch of grapes, which 
 I was obliged to accept. I had the 
 greatest difficulty in preventing her 
 husband from going to get me some- 
 thing hot to drink when the train 
 stopped. 
 
 103
 
 THE FIANCf E 
 
 When I looked at these good peo- 
 ple, who were so anxious to love the 
 wife their son had chosen, I felt quite 
 sorry that I was not to be their daugh- 
 ter-in-law. I knew how sweet their 
 affection would have been to me. I 
 had never known my parents, and I 
 had always lived among strangers. 
 Every now and again I caught them 
 staring at me. 
 
 When we got to Paris I helped 
 them lift their baskets down, and 
 showed them the way out of the 
 station. I moved a little away from 
 them when I saw a tall young man 
 rush at them and hug them. He 
 kissed them over and over again, 
 one after the other. They smiled 
 and looked very happy. They did 
 not hear the porters shouting as 
 they bumped into them with the 
 luggage. 
 
 I followed them to the gate. The 
 son had passed his arm through the 
 handle of the basket with the ducks, 
 and threw his other arm round his 
 mother's waist. Like his father, 
 104
 
 THE FIANCEE 
 
 he had happy; eyes and a broad 
 smile. 
 
 Outside it was nearly dark. I 
 turned up the collar of my cloak 
 and I remained a few steps behind 
 the happy old couple, while their 
 son went to look for a cab. The 
 countryman stroked the head of a big 
 hen with spots of all colours, and said 
 to his wife: 
 
 "If we had known that she was not 
 our daughter-in-law, we might have 
 given her the spotted one." 
 
 His wife stroked the spotted hen 
 too and said: 
 
 "Yes, if we had known." 
 
 She moved towards the crowd of 
 people who were coming out of the 
 station, and looking into the distance 
 she said: 
 
 "She is going off with all these peo- 
 ple." 
 
 The son came back with the cab. 
 He put his father and mother into it 
 and got up on to the box by the 
 driver. He sat sideways so as not 
 to lose sight of them. He looked 
 
 105
 
 strong and gentle, and I thought that 
 his fiancee was a happy girl. 
 
 When the cab had disappeared, I 
 went slowly out into the streets. I 
 could not make my mind up to go 
 back to my lonely little room. I was 
 twenty years old and nobody had ever 
 spoken of love to me. 
 
 106
 
 A FRAGMENT OF A 
 LETTER 
 
 I MEANT to go out and join you 
 in India, but I was afraid for 
 my two little girls and even 
 more so for my little boy, whose 
 health is very delicate. But I want 
 to leave this country as soon as pos- 
 sible. The idea of remaining in it 
 is unbearable to me. Even my house 
 has become hateful. I have made up 
 my mind to go back to the country 
 where we were born. There, I shall 
 find old friends, who have become 
 young mothers like myself, and with 
 them I shall not feel quite so lonely. 
 
 I know that many young widows' 
 prefer to remain in their homes, but 
 my misfortune is no ordinary one, and 
 when I have told you all, you will 
 agree that I am right. 
 
 107
 
 A FRAGMENT OF LETTER 
 
 I have never told anybody about 
 these things before. People would 
 not have believed me if I had told 
 them, and would have made fun of 
 me. You are my sister and you 
 love me. And even so I am sure 
 that you will think that I am 
 mad. 
 
 Although you knew my husband 
 very little, you must remember his 
 eyes which were very deep set and 
 changed in tint so often that one 
 could never say what colour they 
 were. Even some months after my 
 marriage I had not become used to 
 them and I used to drop my own 
 eyes every time he looked at me at 
 all fixedly. But he was gentle and 
 affectionate and I loved him. When 
 I told him of the coming of my first 
 child, he took every care of me. 
 Often I caught him looking at me 
 anxiously. I only understood what 
 his anxiety meant when he said to 
 me one day: "Let us hope it will 
 be a boy." It was little Lise, you 
 remember, and nothing could ever 
 108
 
 A FRAGMENT OF LETTER 
 
 describe the contempt with which he 
 glanced at the cradle. 
 
 Dear little Lise was very nearly a 
 year old when I had my second 
 daughter. My husband shrugged his 
 shoulders, looked at the baby girl, 
 and said in a disappointed tone: 
 "I must make up my mind to it, I sup- 
 pose. I see that we shall have noth- 
 ing but daughters." 
 
 But there came a change when my 
 little Raymond was born. I was so 
 happy that I sent a servant to fetch 
 my husband and tell him the good 
 news. He would not believe it at 
 first. He said: "You must be 
 wrong. I am sure it is a girl again." 
 
 He came slowly into my room, and 
 without even looking at me, he went 
 straight to the cradle. He handled 
 the baby gingerly as though it were 
 something precious. He held it close 
 to his face and then at a little dis- 
 tance. He laughed, and I could see 
 that he wanted to cry. Then he 
 turned to me and said: "I am very, 
 yery happy." I think he loved his 
 
 109
 
 A FRAGMENT OF LETTER 
 
 little girls too, but they did not 
 interest him. He seemed to think 
 that his son belonged to him entirely, 
 to him alone. He had wanted him 
 so badly. To friends he used to say 
 loudly: "Yes, that is my son." 
 But when he was alone by the cradle 
 he would say: "He is my own little 
 boy." 
 
 As soon as the child was weaned, 
 he began to look after him himself. 
 He bathed him and dressed him 
 quite skilfully. He even cooked his 
 little meals for him, and he was never 
 tired of taking him out. The child 
 loved nobody but his father, and I 
 hardly dared caress him, I was so 
 frightened of annoying my husband. 
 He often used to say to me: "Kiss 
 your girls and leave my son to 
 
 me." 
 
 At night he would get up to go 
 and watch the child sleeping. One 
 day when I had called the doctor 
 in for some trifling trouble which Lise 
 had, he was so struck by the extreme 
 thinness of my husband, that he 
 no
 
 A FRAGMENT OF LETTER 
 
 insisted on examining him. When 
 he put his ear to his chest, I saw the 
 doctor's eyes grow large with sur- 
 prise and anxiety. He listened for 
 a long time, and when he had finished, 
 wrote out a long prescription. I went 
 down to the door with him and he 
 whispered: "His lungs are affected. 
 See that he takes his medicine for the 
 disease is far advanced." I could not 
 quite understand what the disease 
 might be. 
 
 It was only a week afterwards 
 that the doctor, finding me alone, 
 gave me all the details. I remem- 
 bered that my husband had begun 
 to cough after a storm in which he 
 had been caught out in the country. 
 He had taken his coat off to cover 
 the boy, and had remained in his 
 wet clothes for a long time. The 
 cough got worse and worse. Gradu- 
 ally the disease took a terrible hold 
 of him. Soon my husband had to 
 give up his walks with his son. He 
 insisted on being left alone with him 
 in the garden, and used to spend his 
 
 in
 
 A FRAGMENT OF LETTER 
 
 days sitting in an armchair, while the 
 child played by his side. 
 
 When winter came it brought real 
 torture with it. My husband had to 
 remain in bed. He wanted his son 
 to be in the room with him all day, 
 but the doctor forbade this severely. 
 All my time was taken up in imagin- 
 ing reasons for getting the boy out 
 of the room. It was horrible. The 
 father used threats and entreaties to 
 have his son in the sick room with 
 him, and there was no consoling the 
 child, who cried and wailed for his 
 father. 
 
 Towards the beginning of March 
 the doctor warned me that my hus- 
 band would not live until summer. 
 He lived two months longer, suffer- 
 ing from fever and from delirium. 
 He shouted constantly for his son, 
 and though the child was so far away 
 that he could not possibly hear his 
 father calling, he seemed to hear 
 him and used to get away from 
 everybody and make for his father's 
 room. 
 112
 
 A FRAGMENT OF LETTER 
 
 One morning my husband made a 
 sign to me to come close to his bed. 
 He gazed nervously at the door, 
 made signs to me to bend over him 
 and whispered in my ear: "There 
 are black men behind the door. 
 They have come to fetch my boy. 
 Give them some money and make 
 them go." Hardly knowing what I 
 said, I asked: "Black men?" 
 
 "Yes," he said. "Yes. Don't you 
 see them? They are spitting on my 
 bed." 
 
 I raised my voice as though to or- 
 der beggars away, and until his last 
 day he was always calling out that 
 black men were round his bed spit- 
 ting on it. To keep him quiet I had 
 to throw handfuls of halfpence at the 
 door. A moment before he died, he 
 raised himself in bed crying: "I 
 want my son." He held his arms up 
 as though he had the child in them, 
 and when all was over there was a 
 smile upon his face. 
 
 When I came back from the ceme- 
 tery, I had to answer my children,
 
 A FRAGMENT OF LETTER 
 
 who wanted to know where their 
 father was. I tried to explain to 
 them that he had gone on a journey, 
 but little Raymond answered: "No, 
 he has gone to die and be buried in 
 the cemetery." He said that in his 
 baby language, lifted his solemn little 
 face to mine and began to cry, and to 
 call for his father. I took him on my 
 knees and kissed him and consoled 
 him. He cried a long time and fell 
 asleep at last. His little hand kept 
 moving about as though it were feel- 
 ing for another hand. 
 
 It was growing dark. I was very 
 tired. I struggled against the long- 
 ing for sleep which was growing on 
 me and a slight noise made me look 
 at the window. A tall shadow 
 slipped across the wall towards me. 
 When it was opposite me, I recog- 
 nized my husband. He pointed a fin- 
 ger at the child and said to me: 
 "Kiss him and love him, for you will 
 not have him yery long. . . ." 
 
 114
 
 THE FOALS 
 
 IT was the end of the summer, and 
 the last day of Raymond's holi- 
 days. His mother and he were 
 to go back to town that afternoon 
 from the little island where they had 
 been spending two months' holiday. 
 While his mother was finishing her 
 packing, Raymond went out for a 
 last run in the meadows. As soon 
 as he had been on the island a few 
 days he had grown to love animals. 
 They did not herd them as they 
 did in other parts. Here and there 
 one saw a cow or a sheep grazing 
 near the rocks. Raymond used to 
 think that they looked like ship- 
 wrecked sailors waiting for help. 
 When they heard any one coming, 
 they would raise their heads and call. 
 They watched people come and go un-
 
 THE FOALS 
 
 til they could no longer see them, and 
 as they went away they stopped call- 
 ing, as if they knew that the time for 
 rescue was not yet. 
 
 Raymond's favourites were the 
 foals which frolicked about the 
 island. The one he liked best was a 
 little filly, whose coat had rosy tints 
 in it. He had been watching it a 
 long time the day before. The sun 
 was setting, and the filly galloped 
 about the meadow doing all kinds of 
 pretty tricks. She dropped her head 
 and raised it as though she were 
 bowing to the great red sun, which 
 was sinking to rest in the water. 
 Then she reared on her hind legs 
 as if she were trying to stand up 
 straight, and then threw out her 
 hind legs behind her. When she had 
 done that, she trotted round and 
 round daintily in circles, and nodded 
 to her mother, who stood watching 
 her. 
 
 But that morning, although Ray- 
 mond went all around the meadow 
 along by the rocks, he could only 
 116
 
 THE FOALS 
 
 find cows and sheep and could not 
 see the foals anywhere. He did not 
 know why, and he was worried about 
 it when he went back to his mother, 
 who was waiting for him for every- 
 thing was packed now, and they had 
 to go. 
 
 When they got down to the har- 
 bour, Raymond saw that there were 
 many people there as there usually 
 were on Sundays only, but he noticed 
 that people were not walking about 
 quietly on the jetty and the quays, 
 as they did then. Every one looked 
 anxious and busy. Men were gath- 
 ered in groups, and chatted in loud 
 voices about money. 
 
 While his mother was having the 
 luggage carried down to the boat, 
 Raymond drew near the groups of 
 men, and, listening to their talk, 
 he found out that it was fair day, and 
 that there was a sale of foals. He 
 could not see where the fair was be- 
 ing held, but every now and then a 
 woman would come along leading 
 a mare by the bridle, and her foal 
 
 117
 
 THE FOALS 
 
 followed after. Sometimes several 
 men followed them. They were all 
 dressed much the same, but Ray- 
 mond always knew the dealer by 
 the way in which he watched the 
 foal. 
 
 The woman led the mare to the 
 quay-side near the boat, and as the 
 foal drew nervously close to his 
 mother, two men slipped a great 
 strap under him to which was fas- 
 tened a wooden bar which kept his 
 legs in place. Then a pulley grated 
 on the boat, two wheels turned and 
 a huge cable with a big hook came 
 down to the colt and picked him up 
 like a bundle. They were all dread- 
 fully frightened when they felt them- 
 selves being lifted off the ground. 
 Their eyelids almost flapped, and 
 they tried to stretch their fore-feet 
 out in front of them, as though they 
 were looking for foot-hold. When 
 they found none, they let themselves 
 go and their bodies hung loosely at 
 the cable end. A moment after- 
 wards they disappeared down a large 
 118
 
 THE FOALS 
 
 hole in the boat, out of the depths of 
 which Raymond heard neighing and 
 kicking. After that the woman and 
 the mare went away slowly, while the 
 dealer climbed on board the boat, 
 leaned over the hole and shouted or- 
 ders down. 
 
 Raymond had believed that all the 
 colts grew up with their mothers, 
 until they were big enough and 
 strong enough to draw carts them- 
 selves. He was surprised to find 
 them rushed on board this boat like 
 children who are taken to school for 
 the first time. It reminded him of 
 the day when his mother first took 
 him to school. It had been the year 
 before, and he still remembered the 
 feeling of fright which had taken 
 hold of him when he found himself 
 in front of the big door of the build- 
 ing. His first idea had been to run 
 away, and his mother had been 
 obliged to hold his hand tightly to 
 keep him back. In a low voice she 
 had made him feel ashamed of him- 
 self, and had told him to look at the 
 
 119
 
 THE FOALS 
 
 other boys, who were walking quietly 
 by their mothers' sides, just like the 
 big colts who came quietly down to 
 the boat. And he had not for- 
 gotten the little boy who had thrown 
 himself down in the road outside the 
 school door, and who had kicked and 
 struck the gentleman who tried to 
 pick him up. The little boy cried 
 and shouted to his mother. He 
 cried and shouted so that he became 
 quite hoarse. A crowd gathered 
 round him. The people said: "He 
 will have to go in. They are stronger 
 than he is." And next day Ray- 
 mond had seen him in the play- 
 ground. 
 
 Raymond thought all these things 
 over and felt very sorry for the colts 
 which the boat was taking to places 
 which they did not know. All of a 
 sudden, he saw the women moving 
 aside to let a big white mare pass. 
 The mare walked heavily and tried 
 to stop every moment. The woman 
 who was leading her, stopped when 
 she did and then moved on again 
 120
 
 THE FOALS 
 
 saying: "Come on, do. Come on/' 
 Raymond recognized the mother of 
 his favourite filly. The filly looked 
 very frightened. She ran round and 
 round her mother, uttered a little 
 neigh which sounded like the cry 
 of a tiny child. The dealer ran 
 round after her and tried to put a 
 pink and white halter over her head, 
 but the filly got out of his way by 
 backing and jumping to one side. 
 The dealer began to swear. He 
 wanted the woman to help him, but 
 she remained straight and stiff at 
 her mare's head and said: "She 
 belongs to you now, catch her as 
 best you can. I told you that she had 
 never known a halter." 
 
 The woman pitied the little crea- 
 ture and watched the dealer who 
 crept towards her on tip-toe, with 
 the halter in his two hands. He 
 went this way and that and turned 
 round and round to catch the filly, 
 but she always got out of his way. 
 He was a heavy, thick-set man, and 
 awkward, and Raymond thought to 
 
 121
 
 THE FOALS 
 
 himself that he looked like a bear try- 
 ing to catch a bird. Once or twice 
 he got so near the filly that the lit- 
 tle creature crept up to her mother's 
 side for safety. She tried to hide un- 
 der her belly and then tried to get 
 on her back, but as. she could not, she 
 crept close up to her side and put her 
 little head under her neck to be 
 stroked. That was how the dealer 
 caught her. 
 
 When the foal felt the cord, she 
 jumped into the air with all four 
 feet and threw herself about, this 
 way and that. Raymond heard 
 people saying, as he had heard them 
 saying outside the school: "She 
 will have to give in. They are 
 stronger than she is." The filly had 
 backed up to a heap of luggage, was 
 pulling at the cord and shaking her 
 head with all her strength to get rid 
 of it. Then the dealer twisted the 
 halter end round his arm to make it 
 shorter and drew nearer. He pulled 
 a little whip from under his blouse 
 and struck the foal a sharp blow 
 122
 
 THE FOALS 
 
 with it, saying between set teeth: 
 "Get on, you little ass." 
 
 As the other women with the other 
 foals had done, the woman had 
 brought the mare up close alongside 
 the boat. The filly trembled all 
 over. She tried to neigh for help, 
 but the stroke of the whip must have 
 broken her voice, and she could not 
 utter a sound. Her mother stretched 
 her neck towards her. Her nostrils 
 quivered as they touched the filly's 
 nostrils. Her lips trembled and 
 rested for a long moment on the 
 filly's lips, and Raymond saw that 
 she was giving her daughter her last 
 kiss. Then she raised her head and 
 looked across the boat out at the 
 sea. The woman watched the sea 
 too while the chain creaked and 
 the filly swung at the end of the 
 cable. When she had disappeared 
 in the hold, the woman turned the 
 mare's head landwards, and the two 
 went away slowly. The woman 
 walked with her legs wide apart, and 
 her petticoat from behind reminded 
 
 123
 
 THE FOALS 
 
 Raymond of the way the mare 
 walked. 
 
 The dealer settled his cap firmly on 
 his head, pulled his blouse down 
 again, and went over to the other 
 dealers who were making a loud noise 
 on the boat. 
 
 124
 
 THE GHOST 
 
 EVERYTHING was quite still 
 in the house now, and the 
 noises of the street could 
 hardly be heard. From time to time 
 a cab passed in the distance. The 
 horse's shoes clattered on the stones 
 as though they were only held on by 
 a thread, and the tinkle of his bell 
 sounded through the night like a dole- 
 ful warning. 
 
 Marie had stopped crying, and 
 Angelique was bending over the 
 table with her head almost under 
 the shade of the lamp. A piece of 
 furniture creaked loudly. Ange- 
 lique raised her head quickly and 
 Marie put her hands into the light on 
 the table as though she were afraid 
 that some one would touch them in 
 the shadows. Then the two girls 
 
 125
 
 glanced at the glass door at the other 
 end of the room, and Angelique 
 pushed the lamp shade up a little, so 
 that the light should spread over the 
 room better. The silence grew more 
 obtrusive than ever, till presently 
 the clock struck. Marie leaned to- 
 wards the chimney-piece trying to 
 see the clock and said in a low voice : 
 "How quickly the strokes came." 
 
 Angelique looked away from her 
 sister's eyes as she answered: "Do 
 you think so?" 
 
 "Yes," said Marie, in a low voice. 
 "It seemed to say what o'clock it was 
 as quickly as it could, so as to shut 
 itself up again, like a person who is 
 afraid." 
 
 Angelique smiled at her sister and 
 said, in a voice which was fairly calm : 
 "It is twelve o'clock, and we ought to 
 go to bed." 
 
 "No," said Marie. "I cannot 
 sleep. Won't you read me some- 
 thing?" And she reached out and 
 took down a book from the little shelf 
 on the wall just behind her. 
 126
 
 THE GHOST 
 
 "We know it by heart," said her 
 sister, pushing the book away. She 
 glanced at the glass door again. 
 "Now that Uncle is dead, we can 
 take the books from his room. He 
 never told us we were not to read 
 them." 
 
 "I know/' said Marie, "but I should 
 never dare to go into his room now." 
 She dropped her voice, and drawing 
 closer to her sister said: "When we 
 came back from the cemetery just 
 now, it seemed to me that he came 
 into the house with us." 
 
 Angelique pushed the shade of the 
 lamp up to the top of the glass 
 chimney, and in the silence which 
 followed the two sisters heard a 
 noise. 
 
 "What 'was that?" said Ange- 
 lique, not daring to look at her 
 sister. 
 
 "I don't know," said Marie. "It 
 sounded as though some one had 
 dropped on to the floor of this 
 room." 
 
 "It seemed to come from over 
 
 127
 
 THE GHOST 
 
 there," said Angelique, pointing to 
 the window. 
 
 They listened in silence for a mo- 
 ment, and Marie, trying to control 
 her voice said: "It must have been 
 my work falling out of the basket." 
 As her sister did not answer, she said : 
 "Let us go and look." 
 
 Angelique picked up the lamp and 
 held it as high as she could, and 
 Marie took her sister's arm. The 
 big roll of tapestry work was safely 
 in the basket. They went into the 
 drawing-room and into their bedroom 
 and looked all round, but nothing had 
 been disturbed. They went back to 
 the dining-room. 
 
 "The noise was certainly in here," 
 whispered Angelique. 
 
 "Then it must have been in the 
 cupboard," said Marie. 
 
 "Which cupboard?" asked her sis- 
 ter. 
 
 "Uncle's," Marie whispered, in a 
 still lower voice. They ran to the 
 cupboard, and Marie pulled the door 
 open sharply, after having pushed 
 128
 
 THE GHOST 
 
 across a large bundle of linen which 
 the washerwoman had brought back 
 that morning, nearer to the window. 
 The cupboard was in perfect order. 
 On the top shelf in front were two 
 white shirts, one on top of the other. 
 Their starched cuffs looked as though 
 the shirts had made a pillow of them. 
 All along the shelf on either side 
 were little bundles of neatly folded 
 handkerchiefs and carefully rolled 
 socks. Under the shelf coats and 
 trousers hung from hooks. Marie 
 slipped them along the bar and 
 peered on to the floor of the cup- 
 board. She saw nothing there but 
 tidy rows of boots and shoes in per- 
 fect order. She shut the cupboard 
 door, and at that moment the light 
 of the lamp lit up the glass door at 
 the other side of the room. The 
 two sisters saw their uncle with his 
 hat on his head, looking at them 
 through the glass. Marie dropped 
 her sister's arm and stepped back, 
 but Angelique opened the glass door 
 suddenly and held the lamp out 
 
 129
 
 THE GHOST 
 
 towards the ghost. Then the two 
 girls almost laughed. They saw that 
 it was only the model on which 
 Marie made her dresses. Their 
 uncle's hat and overcoat had been 
 put on it by mistake. Marie went 
 up to it without a word, took the hat 
 and coat off the model and put them 
 on her uncle's bed. The mattress 
 was uncovered and the blankets 
 were folded on the bed foot. She 
 and her sister saw that everything 
 was in good order in the room and 
 that there was nothing on the ground. 
 They both noticed that the window 
 was wide open behind the closed shut- 
 ters, and that the air of the room was 
 cold and smelt of box-wood. They 
 left the room, closing the door behind 
 them. 
 
 Angelique put down the lamp. 
 Her hand shook. And Marie sat 
 down heavily as though her legs had 
 failed her suddenly. Neither of them 
 spoke for some time. Then Marie 
 said : "Perhaps the noise came from 
 next door." 
 130
 
 THE GHOST 
 
 "Perhaps," said Angelique, and 
 seeing that her sister was listening 
 hard, she said: "It sounded like 
 somebody falling on his knees." 
 She listened for a long time, and 
 then, without looking at her sister 
 she asked: "Are you afraid?" 
 
 "No," said Marie. "Are you?" 
 
 "No, not now." 
 
 Angelique got up first and said, 
 as she had said before: "We really 
 must go to bed." They held each 
 other close to go through the door 
 of their bedroom together, and 
 Marie turned the key in the lock 
 while her sister pushed the bolt 
 home. They were soon in bed, side 
 by side, and when Angelique had 
 blown out the lamp, which she had 
 put close to the bedside the two 
 sisters saw that the flame of the 
 night-light did not burn as it usually 
 burned. It grew longer and longer 
 as though it were trying to get out 
 of the glass, and the shadows it 
 threw on the walls were not like the 
 shadows it usually threw.
 
 THE GHOST 
 
 Angelique made an effort and 
 began to breathe as though she were 
 sleeping quietly, and Marie did not 
 move for fear of waking up her 
 sister. But until morning came the 
 eyes of the two sisters watched for 
 the ghost which had fallen in the 
 house and which they expected to 
 see at any moment. When morning 
 came and it was quite light the two 
 of them got up together. The first 
 thing they saw when they went into 
 the dining-room was a big bundle of 
 linen which had fallen to the floor and 
 which the window curtains had hid- 
 den. Then they looked at one an- 
 other with a smile and kissed. 
 
 132
 
 WOLVES! WOLVES! 
 
 THE nurses called her granny 
 and talked to her as though 
 she were a little girl. She 
 had been in the ward for a fortnight, 
 but could not be persuaded to let her- 
 self be operated on. The doctors 
 gathered round her bed every 
 morning. One of them used to talk 
 to her very gently. He would laugh, 
 showing a fine set of white teeth, and 
 say: "Come now, Granny, we 
 won't hurt you at all, and you will 
 be as brisk as a girl afterwards." 
 But she shook her head, looked 
 down, and answered in a clear soft 
 yoice: "No, I won't have it done." 
 As soon as the doctors had left 
 the ward she got up out of bed and 
 sat in a chair by the window. She 
 spent all her days watching the 
 
 133
 
 WOLVES ! WOLVES ! 
 
 people in the court-yard. I was her 
 neighbour and was often able to do 
 little things for her. Gradually she 
 began to talk to me about her trouble. 
 She said: "The pain is inside, but 
 I have had it so long that I have got 
 used to it now." Then she would 
 look out of the window again and 
 say: "I should like to go away 
 from here." 
 
 She was quite happy that morning 
 because the doctor had told her that 
 they were going to send her away. 
 She put her odds and ends together, 
 and as she did so she told me that 
 she had not been in Paris long. Her 
 husband had died the year before, 
 and her daughter, who lived in Paris, 
 would not leave her alone in her 
 village. She had made her sell her 
 cottage and all she had, and now 
 she lived in a little shop with her 
 daughter and her son-in-law. 
 
 She had been glad to be in Paris at 
 first. But soon she had begun to 
 miss the fields. She was always 
 thinking of the people who lived in 
 
 134
 
 WOLVES! WOLVES! 
 
 her little cottage now. They had 
 bought her two cows and her horse, 
 but she would not sell the donkey. 
 Her daughter had told her that peo- 
 ple did not keep donkeys in Paris, but 
 she refused to be parted from hers, 
 and she had brought it with her. 
 The milkman was looking after it, 
 and she used to go and see it every 
 day. But she missed the country 
 and her pain grew worse. Her 
 daughter had brought her to the hos- 
 pital. The doctor had said that an 
 operation would cure her, but she 
 preferred to keep her pain till the end 
 of her life, rather than undergo an 
 operation. 
 
 Her daughter often used to come 
 and see her. She was a big woman 
 with a pointed nose and hard eyes. 
 She smiled to all the patients as she 
 went down the ward, and everybody 
 heard the words of encouragement 
 which she spoke to her mother. 
 That day she stopped and talked 
 with the Sister for a long time. 
 Granny watched her respectfully 
 
 135
 
 WOLVES! WOLVES! 
 
 and as though she were a little bit 
 afraid. She had lost the happy look 
 she had had in the morning, and 
 looked like a little girl who expects 
 to be scolded. Her daughter came 
 down the ward, handing out oranges 
 to the patients. When she got to her 
 mother, she kissed her and patted her 
 and said quite loud: "Now, mother, 
 you must be reasonable, and let them 
 operate on you." 
 
 Granny, in a low voice, begged her 
 daughter to take her away, but the 
 daughter said: "No, no. I want 
 you to get better." She talked to 
 the patients about it, saying, that 
 her mother had many years to live 
 yet, and that she wanted her to be 
 well. Granny took no notice. She 
 kept on saying in a low voice: 
 "Take me away, my daughter." 
 Then the daughter said: "If you 
 won't let them operate on you, I shall 
 sell the donkey." And all the pa- 
 tients had burst out laughing as she 
 went away. 
 
 Granny looked half distracted. 
 136
 
 WOLVES! WOLVES! 
 
 She looked round at the laughing 
 women, opened her mouth as though 
 she were going to call for help, and 
 when the laughter burst out again 
 she hid her head under the sheets. 
 I heard her moving about all night. 
 She wasn't crying but she uttered 
 long, long sighs like moans. 
 
 In the morning, when the Sister 
 came, Granny called out to her: 
 "I will let them do it, Sister." The 
 Sister told her she was quite right, 
 and when the doctors came granny 
 said to each one of them in turn, 
 wrinkling her forehead as she said it : 
 "Yes, I will let you do it." 
 
 When the patients were allowed to 
 get up, all those who could walk went 
 to granny's bedside. They all talked 
 about their troubles. One of them 
 showed her foot, from which three 
 toes were missing. The little dark, 
 thin woman said that she had come 
 to, before the operation was over, and 
 that four men had had to hold her 
 down, while the wound was being 
 sewn up. 
 
 137
 
 WOLVES! WOLVES! 
 
 Granny did not seem to hear them. 
 She lay back on her pillows and every 
 now and then she raised her hand 
 as though she were knocking a fly 
 away. Night came, the nurses put 
 all the lights out and went off duty, 
 and there was only one small light in 
 the ward, which lit up a big table with 
 linen and queer looking instruments 
 on it. 
 
 In the middle of the night, the 
 Sister made her rounds. She walked 
 down the ward noiselessly, and the 
 lantern she swung over each bed 
 looked like a big inquisitive eye. 
 Granny got up when the lantern 
 passed. She went to the window 
 and tapped on the glass with her 
 knuckle. She tapped quite gently 
 and made signs to someone in the 
 court-yard. I peeped out. The 
 court-yard was quite white with 
 snow, and there was nothing to be 
 seen but the black twisted trees, 
 whose branches stretched out to- 
 wards us. Granny rapped a little 
 louder, and stood close to the glass as 
 
 138
 
 WOLVES! WOLVES! 
 
 though she hoped that the window 
 would be opened from the outside. 
 Then her clear, gentle voice rose in a 
 sort of moan. "Wolves!" she said, 
 "Wolves! Wolves!" 
 
 The night nurse came up and tried 
 to keep her quiet, but granny went 
 to another window. She rapped at 
 it as loudly as she could, as though 
 she were asking the trees in the 
 court-yard to help her, and she went 
 on moaning in a plaintive voice 
 of entreaty: "Wolves! Wolves! 
 Wolves." All the patients woke up 
 and ran for help. Two men took 
 hold of granny and forced her to lie 
 down. They put two broad boards 
 at each side of her bed, and the night 
 nurse sat down by the bedside. 
 Granny kept jumping up from be- 
 tween the boards as though she were 
 trying to get out of her coffin. She 
 made signs with her hands for a long 
 time, then her arms were quiet and 
 she lay quite still, though she went 
 on moaning ceaselessly: "Wolves! 
 Wolves! Wolves!" Her moan of 
 
 139
 
 WOLVES! WOLVES! 
 
 fear filled the whole ward. It grew 
 weaker towards morning, as though 
 her gentle little voice had worn itself 
 out. It sounded like a child moan- 
 ing, and when day dawned her 
 voice broke saying again : "Wolves ! 
 Wolves! Wolves!" 
 
 140
 
 NEW QUARTERS 
 
 THE old ones were my very 
 own. I knew their smallest 
 and their uttermost corners. 
 There was not a sound in them that 
 was not familiar. I knew exactly 
 when my chairs would creak, and 
 the shadows which flitted on the 
 walls at night were my friends. In 
 the old quarters everything was 
 natural, here in the new ones every- 
 thing is suspect. 
 
 The wind is whistling with a 
 sneering laugh round the woodwork 
 of the window, and is shaking the 
 door as a thief might shake it. The 
 shadow of the cupboard is like a 
 monstrous dragon waiting to throw 
 itself on me. Something which I 
 cannot see is drawing the flame of 
 the candle, it bends over in the same 
 
 141
 
 NEW QUARTERS 
 
 position all the time. The tap in the 
 kitchen is groaning, and scolding 
 without stopping, like somebody in 
 a bad temper. My bed is not set 
 straight, and creaks every moment. 
 And just as I am beginning to doze 
 the cupboard door falls open sud- 
 denly. 
 
 October, 1901. 
 
 142
 
 LITTLE BEE 
 
 SO there you are, settled on the 
 sill of my window at last. You 
 have been there a long, long 
 moment dancing in the rising sun. 
 The sun of autumn, which is still 
 fresh from the coolness of the night. 
 Where do you come from, little 
 black and yellow bee? 
 
 
 
 By what road have you come 
 through the great town up to my 
 sixth-floor window, and what gaiety 
 or what despair has bidden you dance 
 so long within the framework of my 
 open window ? 
 
 Sometimes you flew up with a 
 determined spring, as though you 
 meant to reach the heavens, then 
 your dance became sad, and you 
 dropped slowly down again. 
 
 Tell me, little bee, do you come 
 
 143
 
 LITTLE BEE 
 
 from a ball where you have been 
 dancing all night, or do you return 
 from the wars ? 
 
 When you settled on the sill of my 
 window the whole of your little body 
 was trembling with fatigue. Your 
 legs folded themselves back from 
 sheer weakness, your wings quivered, 
 and your round head moved and 
 swayed like the head of an old woman 
 whose neck has become weak. 
 
 Now you are sleeping, little bee. 
 Your slim legs have fastened on to 
 the woodwork, but your body is so 
 heavy that it leans over to one side, 
 and you make me think oi a poor man 
 with no bed of his own, who has wan- 
 dered about all night, and has fallen 
 asleep upon a bench in the street at 
 daybreak. 
 
 Presently you will fly away, you 
 will shake your thin gauzy slips of 
 wings, which look, just now, like 
 little mites of dried fish scales. 
 
 You will fly down again to earth, 
 where you will once again find flowers 
 and running water. 
 144
 
 LITTLE BEE 
 
 But now, sleep in the beam of the 
 rising sun, sleep peacefully on the 
 woodwork of my open window, for 
 I do not know where you come from, 
 little bee. 
 
 But whether you come from a ball 
 where you have danced all night, or 
 whether you have returned from the 
 wars, sleep until midday under the 
 soft rays of the October sun. 
 
 145
 
 MY WELL-BELOVED 
 
 MY well-beloved has gone and 
 night is closing round me. 
 It cannot enter into me, for 
 in my heart there burns a clear flame, 
 which lights up my whole spirit, and 
 which nothing can extinguish. 
 
 In the gentle twi-darkness I wan- 
 der slowly along the paths of the 
 garden, hoping each moment that I 
 shall see my well-beloved in the next 
 path. 
 
 Sweet perfumes of roses and lilies, 
 bitter perfumes of poplars and ivy, I 
 feel you in my hair and on my lips. 
 
 But my lips still hold the recol- 
 lection of the living perfume of his 
 kiss. 
 
 My well-beloved has gone, and my 
 soul is filled with sobbing. Weep 
 over me, weeping willows. Are you 
 146
 
 MY WELL-BELOVED 
 
 not here to weep over the aching 
 pains of love? 
 
 Your foliage hangs down like soft, 
 fair hair, but his is fairer and is softer 
 still. 
 
 Close your mysterious curtains 
 round me, yew trees, so that my 
 sighs shall not disturb the love-tales 
 of the flowers. The sweet-scented 
 roses are opening and trembling at 
 the approach of night. The bind- 
 weed, which fears the cold, has rolled 
 its petals round its flowers to wait 
 for the morning, which will drop a 
 kiss of silver dew into its white cup. 
 
 Dear, gentle night, your song is 
 there to sing me to sleep, but sleep 
 has gone from me with my well- 
 beloved. 
 
 You were singing while he was 
 here, and we listened to you in si- 
 lence. Our hands clasped, our fore- 
 heads touched, and you passed across 
 our faces with a caress which made 
 our souls quiver in ecstasy and filled 
 our hearts with tenderness. 
 
 We loved you, beautiful night, 
 
 147
 
 MY WELL-BELOVED 
 
 with your perfume-laden breeze, 
 your swaying trees, your trembling 
 leaves, with the mysterious sorrow 
 of your little springs and the song of 
 your toads whistling into flutes of 
 pearl. 
 
 This evening my well-beloved has 
 gone. In the shadow my eyes are 
 looking for his eyes, my fingers open 
 of themselves to caress his forehead 
 and the soft places of his neck. 
 
 My face is lifting itself up to feel 
 his breath upon it, the soft restraint 
 of his arm leaves my waist lonely. 
 
 Sweet night, so kind to those who 
 suffer, draw a fold of your veil across 
 my eyes, so that I may no longer see 
 the path by which my well-beloved 
 has gone away. 
 
 148
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 CHAPITRE I 
 
 DEPUIS que le jour etait leve, 
 Valserine restait appuyee a 
 la fenetre, comme les matins 
 oti elle attendait le ret our de son pere. 
 Elle savait bien qu'il ne viendrait 
 pas ce matin-la ; mais elle ne pou- 
 vait s'empecher de regarder le petit 
 sentier, par ou il arrivait en se cour- 
 bant, quand il apportait ses paquets 
 de marchandises, passees en contre- 
 bande. 
 
 Elle avait tant pleure la veille, et 
 aussi toute la nuit, qu'elle ne pouvait 
 pas retenir les gros sursauts, se ter- 
 minant par une toute petite plainte, 
 que sa poitrine laissait maintenant 
 echapper. Elle detourna brusque- 
 ment les yeux du petit sentier, en 
 
 149
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 entendant le pas d'un cheval, sur le 
 rude chemin qui montait de la route 
 a la maison. 
 
 Elle se pencha avec inquietude a 
 la fenetre, pour mieux ecouter, et 
 quand elle se fut bien assuree que le 
 bruit se rapprochait, elle alia pousser 
 le verrou de la porte et revint fermer 
 tout doucement la fenetre ; puis, 
 elle attendit toute tremblante, der- 
 riere la vitre. Peu d'instants apres, 
 elle vit apparaitre le cheval : il 
 gravissait le chemin en tenant la 
 tete baissee, et sa bride glissait et 
 pendait d'un seul cote. Elle vit aussi 
 que rhomme qui marchait pres du 
 cheval etait un gendarme. 
 
 II s'avangait en s'appuyant des 
 deux poings sur ses hanches ; et 
 son pas, bien mesure, etait ferme et 
 regulier. 
 
 La fillette s'effaga pour ne pas etre 
 vue. Elle entendit le cheval s'arreter 
 devant la porte, et elle devina que le 
 gendarme frappait avec le revers de 
 sa main. Elle ne savait pas si elle 
 devait repondre ; elle avait peur de 
 150
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 desobeir, et en meme temps elle 
 pensait que le gendarme finirait par 
 s'en aller, en croyant que la maison 
 etait vide. Mais le gendarme ne 
 s'en allait pas ; il essayait d'ouvrir la 
 porte et frappait plus fort, en appe- 
 lant : 
 
 " Eh, petite ! " 
 
 Puis la fillette comprit qu'il atta- 
 chait son cheval a la boucle de fer 
 scellee dans le mur et qu'il s'eloignait. 
 Peu apres, elle entendit sa voix 
 s'elever derriere la maison. II appe- 
 lait fortement : 
 
 " Valserine ! Eh, Valserine ! " 
 
 II revint devant la maison en re- 
 etant ses appels. Mais, cette fois, 
 sa voix ne s'enfongait pas dans le 
 bois ; elle passait au-dessus de la 
 vallee de Mijoux et s'en allait heurter 
 la haute montagne d'en face, qui la 
 renvoyait enplusieurs voix assourdies, 
 comme si elle la cassait et en envoyait 
 les morceaux a la recherche de la 
 petite fille. 
 
 Le gendarme se lassa d'appeler. 
 II secoua encore une fois la porte et
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 vint coller son visage centre la vitre, 
 en essayant de voir dans 1'interieur 
 de la maison. 
 
 Valserine s'approcha aussitot. 
 
 Elle venait de reconnaitre un gen- 
 darme du village de Septmoncel, 
 celui qui avait une petite fille si jolie, 
 avec laquelle elle avait joue quel- 
 quefois. 
 
 Le gendarme parut tout joyeux en 
 Fapercevant ; il lui fit un signe d'en- 
 couragement en disant : 
 
 " Allons, petite ' niauque/ ouvre 
 la porte, je ne te veux point de mal, 
 moi." 
 
 Valserine ouvrit la porte, toute 
 honteuse de s'etre laissee appeler si 
 longtemps. 
 
 Le gendarme prit une chaise pour 
 s'asseoir et dit a la petite fille, qui se 
 tenait debout devant lui : 
 
 " Voila que ton pere s'est fait 
 prendre, et les douaniers disent que 
 tu Taidais a passer sa contrebande." 
 
 La fillette regarda le gendarme 
 bien en face, et elle repondit : 
 
 " Non." 
 152
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 " Pourtant," reprit-il, " tu faisais le 
 guet, hier, quand les douaniers 1'ont 
 pris ? " 
 
 Valserine baissa la tete. 
 
 " Et c'est parce qu'il t'a entendue 
 crier que le pied lui a manque et 
 qu'il est tombe sur la pente, a travers 
 les arbres coupes." 
 
 Valserine releva vivement la tete, 
 comme si elle allait donner une ex- 
 plication, puis sa bouche se referma, 
 et, apres quelques instants de silence, 
 elle demanda presque tout bas : 
 
 " Est-ce que sa jambe est cassee ?" 
 
 " Non," dit le gendarme, " il 
 pourra marcher bientot." 
 
 Elle n'attendit pas qu'il eut fini la 
 reponse pour demander encore : 
 
 " Est-ce que sa tete lui fait tou- 
 jours aussi mal ? ' 
 
 Le gendarme regarda de cote, 
 comme s'il etait embarrasse, puis il 
 ota son kepi, et, en le tapotant du 
 bout des doigts, il repondit : 
 
 1 Tout cela ne sera rien, mais ton 
 pere va aller en prison, et tu ne peux 
 pas rester ici toute seule." 
 
 153
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 Et comme la fillette levait sur lui 
 des yeux pleins d'inquietude, il lui 
 expliqua que le conducteur du cour- 
 rier de Saint-Claude avait re$u 1'ordre 
 de la prendre le soir meme, a son 
 retour du col de la Faucille. Elle 
 n'aurait qu'a attendre le passage de 
 la voiture, en bas, sur la route, et 
 on la conduirait dans une famille de 
 Saint-Claude, jusqu'aceque son pere 
 soit revenu de prison. 
 
 Valserine promit d'attendre le pas- 
 sage du courrier, et le gendarme s'en 
 alia, en lui assurant qu'il donnerait 
 souvent des nouvelles du contreban- 
 dier. 
 
 La fillette referma la porte derriere 
 lui, et elle essaya de penser. 
 
 Elle se rappela que son pere lui 
 avait dit peu de temps avant : ' ' Tes 
 douze ans vont bientot finir." 
 
 II avait ajoute, apres un long 
 silence : 
 
 " Je voudrais que tu sois ouvriere 
 diamantaire." 
 
 Souvent aussi, il avait parle de 
 Tavenir. C'etait les jours oii elle 
 
 154
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 refusait de faire ses devoirs de classe. 
 Elle le revovait, penche, lui designant 
 ses fautes, leurs deux tetes si rap- 
 prochees qu'elles se heurtaient par- 
 fois, et elle croyait 1'entendre encore 
 lui dire : " Je ne suis pas bien savant, 
 mais ce que je peux t'apprendre te 
 servira dans 1'avenir." 
 
 L'avenir. . . . Elle repeta le mot 
 pour le fixer. Cela lui apparaissait 
 tres haut et tout semblable a ces 
 nuages qui arrivaient en se bouscu- 
 lant par le col de la Faucille et qui 
 s'enfuyaient en s'effilochant le long 
 des monts Jura. 
 
 Puis la tourterelle apprivoisee 
 attira son attention. Elle venait du 
 bois, chaque matin, reclamer une 
 caresse et une friandise. Valserine 
 la retint longtemps dans ses deux 
 mains, sans pouvoir lui parler, 
 comme elle le faisait tous les jours, 
 et, quand 1'oiseau se fut envole, la 
 fillette sortit de sa maison pour se 
 rendre a " la chambre du gardien." 
 
 Elle fit un grand detour, en pren- 
 ant toutes les precautions habituelles 
 
 155
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 pour ne pas etre vue. C'etait la que 
 son pere cachait ses marchandises de 
 contrebande. 
 
 Depuis qu'elle savait que la 
 " chambre du gardien " 6tait une 
 cachette, Valserine s'y rendait tou- 
 jours avec crainte. Pendant long- 
 temps, elle avait cru que c'etait 
 seulement dans cet endroit frais que 
 les marchandises etaient a leur place. 
 Elle n'avait connu le danger que le 
 soir ou les douaniers etaient venus se 
 mettre en embuscade sur 1'amoncelle- 
 ment des quartiers de roche qui re- 
 couvraient la cachette. La nuit 
 commen9ait d'entrer dans " la 
 chambre du gardien." La fillette 
 et son pere venaient de finir d'enve- 
 lopper soigneusement les petits 
 paquets faciles a dissimuler dans les 
 poches et que le contrebandier devait 
 aller vendre le lendemain. 
 
 Us allaient sortir de la cachette, 
 lorsqu'ils entendirent tout pres d'eux 
 une voix un peu basse qui disait : 
 
 " II doit y avoir des trous pro- 
 fonds parmi ces pierres." 
 
 156
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 La voix s'etait subitement assour- 
 die, comme si elle s'eloignait ; il y 
 avail eu quelques pietinements, et 
 la meme voix avail repris : 
 
 " J'ai envie de faire partir mon 
 revolver la-dedans." 
 
 Aussitot, la fillette sentit que son 
 pere la saisissait et rattirait violem- 
 ment a lui ; elle avail senti aussi 
 qu'il etait tout tremblant quand il 
 lui avail dit Ires bas : "Us son! au- 
 dessus de nous." 
 
 Valserine n'eprouvait aucune peur 
 a ce moment. Elle ne comprenait 
 pas pourquoi son pere tremblait si 
 fort contre elle. Elle voulut lui 
 parler, mais il Ten empecha en lui 
 disant : " Les douaniers sont la." 
 
 La fillette avait subitement devine 
 que son pere cachait des marchan- 
 dises de contrebande, tout comme le 
 fils de la vieille Marienne, qui demeu- 
 rait en bas de la montagne, et que les 
 gendarmes avaient deja emmene 
 plusieurs fois en prison. Et, malgre 
 1'obscurite, elle mil ses deux mains 
 devant son visage pour cacher a son 
 
 157
 
 VAlvSERINE 
 
 pere la grande honte qui la faisait 
 rougir. 
 
 Mais son pere se courba davantage 
 sur elle, en la serrant plus fort. Elle 
 comprit sa pensee et, pour le rassurer, 
 elle lui passa un bras autour du cou, 
 pendant qu'elle lui appuyait son 
 autre main sur la joue. Us resterent 
 ainsi pendant un long moment, Val- 
 serine supportant le poids de la tete 
 de son pere, qui s'abandonnait sur 
 la sienne. 
 
 Us se separerent en entendant des 
 petits coups sees contre les pierres 
 de la -cachette ; puis la voix du 
 douanier arriva encore pres d'eux, 
 comme si elle sortait d'un porte- 
 voix. Elle disait : 
 
 " Ma baguette ne touche pas le 
 fond." 
 
 Une autre voix, paraissant assez 
 eloignee, dit : 
 
 " Reste done tranquille, tu vas 
 faire sortir de ce trou quelques betes, 
 qui vont nous ennuyer cette nuit." 
 
 Les petits coups sees continuerent 
 a se faire entendre, et, tout a coup, un 
 
 158
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 glissement brusque fit comprendre a 
 Valserine que le douanier avail laisse 
 tomber sa baguette dans la " cham- 
 bre du gardien." 
 
 Valserine et son pere s'assirent en 
 silence sur la pierre etroite qui se 
 trouvait pres d'eux, et ils resterent 
 jusqu'au matin, sans oser bouger ni 
 se parler tout bas. 
 
 Ce fut seulement lorsque le grand 
 jour entra dans la " chambre du 
 gardien " que le contrebandier se 
 decida a sortir, pour s'assurer que 
 les douaniers n'etaient plus la. 
 
 Et maintenant que Valserine se 
 retrouvait seule dans cette cachette, 
 elle se souvenait des moindres details 
 de cette nuit d'angoisse. II y avait 
 un peu plus d'un an de cela, et, de- 
 puis, elle avait fait tant de ques- 
 tions a son pere qu'elle savait a pre- 
 sent beaucoup de choses. 
 
 Elle savait qu'il ne fallait jamais 
 passer par le meme chemin pour aller 
 a la " chambre du gardien," afin 
 de ne tracer aucun sentier visible. 
 Elle savait qu'un homme peut etre 
 
 159
 
 VAI.SERINE 
 
 contrebandier sans etre un voleur, et 
 elle sentait bien qu'un lien de plus 
 1'attachait a son pere, depuis qu'il 
 lui avail parle comme a une amie. 
 
 Et voila qu'elle eprouvait presque 
 de la fierte en se rappelant les paroles 
 que le gendarme venait de lui dire : 
 " Les douaniers affirment que tu 
 aidais ton pere a passer sa contre- 
 bande." 
 
 Elle s'assura que toutes les mar- 
 chandises etaient a 1'abri de rhumi- 
 dite ; elle roula en pelotte quelques 
 bouts de ficelle qui trainaient a terre, 
 et elle sortit de la " chambre du 
 gardien," avec les memes precautions 
 qu'elle avait prises pour y entrer. 
 Elle revint a la maison pour y mettre 
 tout en ordre, et, quand 1'heure fut 
 venue, elle ferma la porte avec soin 
 et descendit sur la route pour prendre 
 le courrier, au passage, ainsi qu'elle 
 1'avait promis au gendarme. 
 
 La voiture etait pleine de monde. 
 Le conducteur voulut faire monter 
 Valserine pres de lui, mais un homme 
 deja vieux ceda sa place, apres avoir 
 160
 
 VAI.SERINE 
 
 longuement regarde la fillette, et 
 monta lui-meme sur le siege, a cote 
 du conducteur. Valserine tourna le 
 dos aux chevaux. Elle retenait de 
 la main le rideau a grosse toile, a 
 rayures rouges, qui fermait la voiture 
 des deux cotes, et il lui semblait que 
 c'etait les montagnes qui se depla9ai- 
 ent, chaque fois que la voiture tour- 
 nait un lacet de la route. De temps 
 en temps, la voix du conducteur 
 laissait echapper une sorte de son 
 plein et bref : 
 
 " Allonlonlon. . . ." 
 
 Ce son venait a intervalles regu- 
 liers, comme si un compteur in- 
 visible en eut regie le bon fonctionne- 
 ment, et la fillette 1'attendait, comme 
 un chose necessaire a la solidite de la 
 voiture, aussi bien qu'a la bonne 
 allure des chevaux. 
 
 On atteignit presque tout de suite 
 le village de Lajoux. C'etait dans 
 ce village que Valserine allait a 
 1'ecole. Tous les enfants qui jouaient 
 devant les portes devaient savoir que 
 le contrebandier etait en prison, et, 
 M 161
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 de crainte d'etre aper9ue par eux, la 
 fillette se dissimula, en se f aisant toute 
 petite, derriere le rideau de toile. 
 
 La voiture s'arreta un bon moment 
 au village de Septmoncel. Le gen- 
 darme du matin passa en tenant sa 
 petite fille par la main, et Valserine 
 vit que tous deux lui souriaient d'un 
 air d'encouragement. 
 
 Puis le voyage continua. La 
 fillette remarqua que les montagnes 
 devenaient plus noires et plus hautes 
 et qu'elles semblaient tourner plus 
 vite autour de la route ; et, au 
 moment ou la nuit tombait, elle 
 s'apergut que la voiture entrait dans 
 la ville de Saint-Claude. 
 
 Quand les chevaux se furent 
 arretes au coin de la place, Valserine 
 vit s'approcher d'elle une jeune 
 femme entouree de trois enfants. 
 Elle la reconnut pour 1'avoir vue, 
 peu de temps avant, causer avec 
 son pere, a la derniere fete du 
 village de Lajoux. 
 
 La jeune femme lui dit tout de 
 suite : 
 162
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 " Ton pere voulait que je te prenne 
 seulement 1'annee prochaine. Eh 
 bien ! tu commenceras une annee 
 plus tot, voila tout." 
 
 Puis elle fit passer ses enfants tous 
 du meme cote, pour pouvoir marcher 
 pres de Valserine. 
 
 La fillette ne trouva rien a re- 
 pondre. 
 
 Elle etait un peu etourdie par le 
 voyage. Un bruit de roues rest ait 
 dans ses oreilles et elle s'inquietait de 
 ne plus entendre la voix monotone 
 du conducteur, qui 1'avait tran- 
 quillisee tout le long de la route. 
 Elle vit s'allumer tout a coup, de- 
 vant elle, une lumiere suspendue 
 dans le vide, puis une autre, et ce ne 
 fut qu'a la troisieme qu'elle reconnut 
 les bees de gaz. La rue mal pavee 
 avait une pente tres raide, que les 
 trois enfants s'amusaient a descendre 
 en courant, pendant que la jeune 
 femme indiquait a Valserine les mau- 
 vais pas ou les quelques marches qui 
 se trouvaient de loin en loin sur le 
 trottoir. On tourna dans une rue 
 
 163
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 presque noire, et les enfants entre- 
 rent dans une maison, en bousculant 
 la vieille femme qui les attendait sur 
 la porte. 
 
 Ce fut seulement le troisieme jour 
 de son arrivee que Valserine sut 
 qu'elle allait entrer comme apprentie 
 dans une diamanterie. C'etait un 
 dimanche. La jeune femme s'etait 
 levee beaucoup plus tard que d'habi- 
 tude, les petits avaient leurs jolis 
 vetements, et la table de la salle a 
 manger etait mieux garnie que les 
 autres jours. 
 
 Au milieu du babillage bruyant 
 des enfants, Valserine apprit que la 
 jeune femme etait veuve, qu'elle 
 s'appelait Mme Remy, et qu'elle 
 etait ouvriere diamantaire. Elle 
 apprit aussi que le metier de diaman- 
 taire etait propre, qu'il donnait peu 
 de fatigue, et que les femmes y 
 gagnaient leur vie aussi large ment 
 que les hommes. 
 
 Mme Remy avait ajoute, en 
 faisant un geste en rond autour de la 
 table : 
 164
 
 VAI^ERINB 
 
 " Cest moi qui fais vivre tout le 
 monde ici." 
 
 Elle retira la bague qu'elle portait 
 au doigt, pour mieux montrer a la 
 fillette les facettes qu'il fallait tailler, 
 afin que la pierre put donner tout 
 son eclat. Puis elle lui fit compren- 
 dre combien sa chance etait grande 
 d'avoir ete acceptee parmi les 
 diamantaires, qui font peu d'appren- 
 tis, de peur qu'un trop grand nombre 
 d'ouvriers ne fasse diminuer les 
 salaires. 
 
 Valserine avait souvent entendu 
 parler des diamanteries du pays ; 
 mais elle y apportait pour la pre- 
 miere fois de 1' attention. Elle avait 
 appris a 1'ecole que le diamant etait 
 une pierre tres dure, et elle se souve- 
 nait que la maitresse de classe avait 
 affirme que la roue d'une charrette 
 lourdement chargee pouvait passer 
 dessus sans parvenir a 1'entamer. 
 Tout le jour, elle pensa a la difnculte 
 qu'elle allait avoir a tenir un si petit 
 objet dans ses mains. Elle imagina, 
 pour tailler les pierres, un solide 
 
 165
 
 VALSERINB 
 
 couteau a lame tranchante, comme 
 le rasoir de son pere. Elle se vit 
 assise sur une chaise basse, devant 
 une table basse aussi, sur laquelle se 
 rangeaient des boites pleines de 
 pierres brillantes et precieuses. 
 
 Une crainte lui venait de ce metier 
 si difficile. Aussi, quand elle entra 
 dans la diamanterie, le lendemain 
 matin, elle regarda tout a la fois. 
 Elle vit les grandes baies vitrees, qui 
 laissaient entrer des deux cotes toute 
 la lumiere du dehors ; elle vit le 
 plafond fait de briques rouges, et le 
 mur du fond avec son cartel rend, 
 accroche tres haut, et ne put s'em- 
 pecher de compter les barreaux d'une 
 echelle placee juste au-dessous du 
 cartel ; elle vit le long tuyau pose, 
 comme une chose dangereuse, bien 
 au milieu de la salle, et tout entoure 
 de cercles ou venaient s'enrouler les 
 courroies ; elle vit aussi, a droite et 
 a gauche des longues baies vitrees, 
 des hommes et des femmes assis 
 cote a cote, sur de hauts tabourets, et 
 qui tenaient leur visage tourne vers 
 166
 
 VALSERINB 
 
 elle, avec curiosite. Au meme instant, 
 elle entendit Mme Remy lui dire : 
 
 " Prends garde aux courroies, Val- 
 serine ! ' J 
 
 Elle se retourna aussitot et, 
 comme Mme Remy la prenait a 
 1'epaule, elle se laissa guider pour 
 passer a droite, derriere la rangee 
 des ouvriers. Elle devina que 
 chaque visage se retournait sur elle, 
 au passage, mais elle n'osa pas 
 lever les yeux, et elle ne vit plus que 
 les tabourets, qu'elle depassait un 
 a un. Puis une pression de la main 
 de Mme Remy 1'obligea a s'arreter, 
 et elle entendit la meme recomman- 
 dation que tout a 1'heure : 
 
 " Prends bien garde aux cour- 
 roies ! " 
 
 Elle ota son vetement pour mettre 
 une grande blouse a petits carreaux 
 bleus, que Mme Remy lui avait 
 achetee la veille, en lui disant qu'elle 
 remplacerait dorenavant son tablier 
 d'ecoliere. Elle vit encore Mme 
 Remy lui sourire, et, malgre le ronfle- 
 ment qui commen9ait a lui emplir les 
 
 167
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 oreilles, elle entendit qu'elle lui re- 
 commandait de ne pas bouger de sa 
 place et de bien regarder ce qui se 
 faisait autour d'elle, afin de se 
 familiariser avec les choses. 
 
 Valserine s'assit comme les autres 
 sur un haut tabouret. Sa nouvelle 
 blouse, trop longue, la genait un peu 
 aux genoux. Elle ecroisa ses mains 
 pour etre bien sage, et ainsi qu'on le 
 lui avait recommande, elle regarda 
 ce qui se faisait dans la diamanterie. 
 
 Elle vit tous les diamantaires se 
 pencher de la meme fagon et avec 
 les memes gestes recourbes, sur une 
 plaque ronde, posee devant eux ; 
 mais elle fut longtemps avant de 
 distinguer que cette plaque etait la 
 meule, sur laquelle on taillait le 
 diamant. 
 
 Des le lendemain, elle commenga 
 a rendre quelques services autour 
 d'elle. Des mots precis lui indiquai- 
 ent ce qu'elle devait faire : " Val- 
 serine, passe-moi ma poudre de 
 diamant. Non, pas cette boite-la ; 
 1'autre, celle qui est ronde." 
 168
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 " Mets ce plomb dans le moule, et 
 augmente un peu la flamme du gaz." 
 
 Au bout d'une quinzaine de jours, 
 Valserine connaissait par leur nom, 
 tous les outils de la diamanterie. 
 
 Elle savait verser la quantite 
 necessaire de poudre de diamant 
 sur la meule d'acier, qui tournait si 
 vite qu'il fallait la regarder atten- 
 tivement pour la voir tourner. Elle 
 savait aussi faire fondre la petite 
 boule de plomb dans laquelle on 
 incruste la pierre, et qu'on maintient 
 sur la meule a 1'aide d'une pince 
 lourde. Elle n'entendait plus la re- 
 commandation si souvent repetee 
 des premiers jours : " Prends garde 
 aux courroies ! ' 
 
 Les hommes et les femmes la re- 
 gardaient maintenant sans curiosite. 
 Plusieurs meme lui montraient un 
 visage affectueux, et elle sentait bien 
 qu'elle etait parmi eux comme dans 
 une grande famille. 
 
 Cependant, quand Mme Remy lui 
 demandait si elle aimait son metier, 
 elle hesitait toujours avant de 
 
 169
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 repondre : " Oui." C'etait a ce 
 moment-la que la pensee d'un autre 
 metier lui venait. Elle n'aurait pas 
 su dire lequel ; elle n'en desirait 
 aucun de ceux qu'elle connaissait. 
 
 Elle pensait seulement a un metier 
 plus rude, et qui 1'eut obligee a 
 quitter souvent son tabouret. Elle 
 faisait avec une grande obeissance 
 tout ce qu'on lui commandait ; 
 mais peu a peu une sorte de mepris 
 se glissait en elle, pour ces pierres 
 que Ton touchait avec tant de soin ; 
 et un jour qu'elle en avait laisse 
 echapper une de ses doigts, elle eut 
 un grand etonnement en voyant avec 
 quelle inquietude Mme Remy 
 1'obligea a la retrouver de suite. 
 
 Elle voyait bien que c'etait la les 
 pierres les plus rares ; mais elle ne 
 pouvait pas comprendre pourquoi on 
 leur accordait une si grande impor- 
 tance. 
 
 Des les premiers jours, elle avait 
 remarque que les diamantaires 
 etaient mieux vetus que les autres 
 ouvriers de Saint-Claude ; les 
 170
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 femmes portaient des robes bien 
 ajustees, et leurs cheveux etaient 
 tou jours arranges d'une facon jolie. 
 
 II arriva un matin qu'une ouvriere 
 voisine fut prise d'impatience. Elle 
 soulevait et reposait la pince sur 
 la meule en disant d'un air con- 
 trarie : 
 
 " Je ne peux pas trouver le sens 
 de cette pierre, et la journee passera 
 avant que j'aie pu lui tailler une 
 seule facette." 
 
 Cela inquieta beaucoup Valserine. 
 
 Elle n'osait pas faire de question, 
 mais elle suivait des yeux tous les 
 mouvements de I'ouvriere mecon- 
 tente. 
 
 Mme Remy s'en apergut. Elle 
 fit signe a la fillette de s'approcher 
 d'elle et elle lui expliqua que le 
 diamant avait un cote par ou il etait 
 impossible de Tentamer, et qu'il 
 fallait parfois chercher longtemps 
 avant de trouver Fendroit oii Ton 
 pourrait faire la premiere facette. 
 
 Valserine comprit que ce metier, si 
 propre et si joli, ne demandait qu'une 
 
 171
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 grande patience et beaucoup d' atten- 
 tion. Elle se rappela que son pere 
 1'avait choisi pour elle, depuis long- 
 temps, et elle ressentit du contente- 
 ment en pensant qu'il devait etre 
 moins malheureux dans sa prison, 
 maintenant qu'il savait sa fille dans 
 une diamanterie. 
 
 CHAPITRE II 
 
 LA semaine finissait et Valserine 
 attendait encore la visite du gen- 
 darme de Septmoncel. II n'etait pas 
 venu le lundi d'avant, donner des 
 nouvelles du prisonnier, comme il 
 avait fait chaque semaine, depuis 
 deux mois. Elle savait que son pere 
 souffrait tou jours de sa blessure a la 
 tete, et une grande impatience 1'em- 
 pechait d'apporter de 1'attention a 
 son travail. Elle se trompait a 
 chaque instant, et donnait aux 
 ouvrieres des objets qu'elles ne lui 
 avaient pas demandes. Elle laissa 
 172
 
 VAI^ERINE 
 
 tomber par terre deux tout petits 
 diamants, qu'elle n'aurait jamais pu 
 retrouver, sans Taide de Mme Remy. 
 Cependant, personne ne la gronda, 
 comme elle s'y attendait. Elle 
 s'apergut bientot que les regards 
 des diamantaires avaient quelque 
 chose de change, et qu'ils s'arretaient 
 longuement sur elle. II lui sembla 
 aussi que tous avaient des choses 
 secretes a se dire ce jour-la. Us se 
 rapprochaient pour se parler, et 
 aussitot que leurs yeux rencontraient 
 ceux de Valserine, ils les baissaient, 
 comme s'ils etaient genes d'etre vus 
 par elle. 
 
 Valserine vit Mme Remy faire un 
 signe a sa voisine et se pencher vers 
 elle. Elle vit les yeux de I'ouvriere 
 se tourner de son cote, et se detourner 
 de suite. Elle devina que les deux 
 femmes parlaient d'elle, et dans 
 Tinstant ou les courroies glissaient 
 en silence, comme cela arrive souvent 
 dans les usines, la fillette entendit 
 que 1'ouvriere disait : 
 
 " Maintenant il a fini sa prison." 
 
 173
 
 VAI^SERINE 
 
 Aussitot tout devint clair pour 
 clle. Elle comprit pourquoi le gen- 
 darme n'etait pas venu. Elle com- 
 prit aussi les regards furtifs et 
 mysterieux des diamantaires, et elle 
 attendit, pleine de confiance, la fin 
 de la journee, en pensant que Mme 
 Remy allait lui dire, comme a tout 
 le monde, que son pere etait sorti de 
 prison. 
 
 Le soir, pendant 1'heure du diner, 
 Mme Remy dit a Valserine : 
 
 " Demain, nous irons chercher ton 
 linge, et le reste de tes effets, dans la 
 maison de ton pere." 
 
 La fillette eut un mouvement si 
 vif, que sa chaise se recula de la 
 table. Elle la rapprocha beaucoup 
 plus pres qu'il ne fallait, et son 
 regard chercha de nouveau celui de 
 Mme Remy. Mais Mme Remy 
 regardait a present son verre avec 
 attention ; elle le prit pour en frotter 
 les bords, tout en disant : 
 
 " J'ai demande a Grosgoigin de 
 nous conduire." 
 
 Elle continua de frotter son verre 
 
 174
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 avec sa serviette, comme si cela 
 etait la chose la plus importante du 
 moment, et elle ajouta : 
 
 " Sa voiture est grande, et nous 
 pourrons rapporter ici toutes les 
 choses qui peuvent te servir." 
 
 Elle sortit presque aussitot de 
 table, pendant que les enfants de- 
 mandaient en criant qu'on les em- 
 menat aussi dans la voiture. 
 
 Le lendemain, de bonne heure, 
 Grosgoigin vint prendre Mme Remy 
 avec ses trois enfants et Valserine. 
 
 Le cheval avangait lentement sur 
 la route, qui allait sans cesse en 
 montant. Les enfants se mirent a 
 babiller. Us attiraient 1' attention de 
 Valserine sur tout ce qu'ils voyaient ; 
 mais Valserine ne leur repondait pas 
 toujours ; elle avait remarque Fair 
 soucieux de Mme Remy, et cela 
 Tempechait de montrer toute la joie 
 qu'elle portait en elle. 
 
 II fallut s'arreter a Septmoncel 
 pour le repas de midi. Le gendarme 
 entra dans la salle, ou la petite 
 famille dejeunait seule. Valserine 
 
 175
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 vit Mme Remy se lever precipitam- 
 ment pour aller audevant de lui, et 
 tous deux sortirent de la salle, en 
 parlant a voix basse. 
 
 La fillette fut tres surprise de voir 
 Mme Remy revenir toute seule. 
 Elle apercut peu apres le gendarme 
 par la fenetre ouverte. II remontait 
 la rue, sans hate, le buste un peu 
 penche, et ses deux mains derriere 
 le dos. 
 
 Le voyage reprit apres le dejeuner. 
 Les enfants commengerent de laisser 
 aller leurs petites tetes, au balance- 
 ment de la voiture, et ils finirent par 
 s'endormir tout a fait. 
 
 Mme Remy etait assise juste en 
 face de Valserine. De temps en 
 temps, elle respirait longuement, 
 comme les gens qui prennent une 
 grande resolution, et Valserine 
 croyait tou jours qu'elle allait lui 
 parler. Puis, la jeune femme de- 
 tournait son visage de celui de la 
 fillette, et elle paraissait tres occupee 
 a empecher les enfants endormis de 
 glisser de la banquette. Valserine 
 176
 
 VALSERINB 
 
 1'aidait de son mieux, en soutenant 
 la tete de Tun d'eux, mais elle se 
 renversait constamment en arriere, 
 pour apercevoir le tournant d'une 
 montagne qui cachait sa maison. 
 Ouand la voiture traversa le 
 
 t-*s 
 
 village de Lajoux, Valserine sentit 
 en elle comme un bouillonnement. 
 Elle se mil a rire et a remuer les 
 jambes. Elle avail en vie de parler 
 aussi. Elle voulait dire a Mme 
 Remy ce qu'elle avail entendu la 
 veille dans la diamanterie. Elle 
 voulait lui demander depuis combien 
 de jours son pere avait fini sa prison. 
 II lui semblait que toutes ces choses 
 seraient faciles a dire, si les enfants 
 se reveillaient. Mais ils continuaient 
 de dormir tranquillement, et la nl- 
 lette sentit augmenter sa timidite 
 devant Fair ennuye de Mme Remy. 
 Elle craignit de la facher et de Ten- 
 tendre blamer son pere, comme cela 
 etait arrive, chaque fois que le gen- 
 darme avait donne des nouvelles du 
 prisonnier. Alors elle se pencha da- 
 vantage, avec 1'espoir de voir son 
 
 N 177
 
 VAIvSERINE 
 
 pere au has du chemin qui grimpait 
 a leur maison. 
 
 Maintenant la voiture desceridait 
 rapidement la route tres en pente 
 qui va de Lajoux a Mijoux. Au 
 detour d'un lacet, Valserine s'agita 
 brusquement. Elle repoussa la tete 
 de 1'enfant qu'elle soutenait, et se 
 mit a crier d'une voix forte : 
 
 " Arretez ! On est arrive ! " 
 
 Elle disait cela a Grosgoigin et a 
 Mme Remy tout a la fois. En 
 meme temps, elle regardait de tous 
 cotes avec une vivacite extraordin- 
 aire ; puis elle se mit a secouer la 
 poignee de la petite portiere qui se 
 trouvait pres d'elle, a Tarriere de la 
 voiture. 
 
 Elle la secouait si fortement, sans 
 parvenir a 1'ouvrir, que Mme Remy 
 la retint par sa robe, en lui disant : 
 
 " Attends ! attends que la voiture 
 soit arretee." 
 
 La fillette se redressa pour donner 
 un vigoureux coup de pied dans la 
 portiere, qui s'ouvrit violemment en 
 faisant grincer ses gonds ; et pendant 
 178
 
 VAI^ERINE 
 
 que la voiture ralentissait, Valser- 
 ine en descendit, sans se servir du 
 marchepied. Elle fit un tour sur 
 elle meme en ouvrant les bras. Elle 
 fit trois ou quatre pas trop grands et 
 mal assures et, au moment ou Gros- 
 goigin arretait tout a fait son cheval, 
 la nllette sautait le fosse" de la route, 
 pour gagner en biais le chemin, qui 
 montait tres raide jusqu'a sa maison, 
 placee a mi-cote de la montagne, 
 au commencement de la partie 
 boisee. 
 
 Mme Remy la rappela, tout en 
 empechant les enfants de descendre. 
 
 Elle disait, comme 1'instant 
 d'avant : 
 
 "Attends! Attends!" 
 
 Mais Valserine n'attendait pas. 
 Elle courait vers le chemin et quand 
 elle 1'eut atteint, elle se mit a le 
 gravir, a grandes enjambees, en se 
 tenant courbee en deux. 
 
 Mme Remy 1'appela encore. 
 
 II y eut comme une angoisse dans 
 sa voix, qu'elle essaya de renforcer, 
 quand elle dit : 
 
 179
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 " Je t'en prie, Valserine, attends- 
 moi, il faut que je te parle tout de 
 suite! . . ." 
 
 Elle cut un mouvement d' impa- 
 tience, en voyant que la fillette con- 
 tinuait de monter avec la meme 
 rapidite, et apres avoir fait descendre 
 de voiture les trois petits, elle s'en- 
 gagea avec eux sur le rude chemin. 
 
 Pendant ce temps, Valserine etait 
 deja entree dans sa maison, en 
 faisant un grand geste de desap- 
 pointement. 
 
 Elle en ressortit presque aussitot, 
 pour lancer un cri aigu et prolonge 
 comme un signal. Son regard s'en 
 alia au loin dans tous les sens, et 
 quand elle le ramena plus pres, elle 
 ne vit que Grosgoigin qui faisait 
 reculer son cheval, afin de ranger la 
 voiture sur le cote de la route, et 
 Mme Remy, qui montait penible- 
 ment, en tirant un enfant de chaque 
 main. Elle attendit encore quel- 
 ques instants, et comme la reponse 
 a son cri ne venait pas, elle se mit a 
 courir vers la " chambre du gardien." 
 180
 
 VAIvSERINE 
 
 La, non plus, rien n'avait ete de- 
 range. Les paquets de tabac etaient 
 toujours enveloppes de gros papier 
 gris, et les boites de fer-blanc, pleines 
 de chocolat, s'alignaient avec 1'ordre 
 qu'elle y avait mis a son depart. 
 
 Elle eut encore un geste de decep- 
 tion, et ainsi qu'elle 1'avait fait dans 
 sa maison, elle sortit de la " chambre 
 du gardien " avec 1'idee de lancer le 
 meme cri prolonge. II lui sembla 
 qu'elle n'avait pas donne toute sa 
 voix, la premiere fois, et elle gonfla 
 sa poitrine, aiin de lancer, aussi loin 
 que possible, ce nouvel appel. 
 
 Mais, au meme instant, elle recula, 
 comme si une main mysterieuse 
 venait de la toucher au visage. Elle 
 se rappelait brusquement qu'elle 
 etait devant 1'entree de la " chambre 
 du gardien," et comme si elle eut 
 couru tout a coup un grand danger, 
 elle se baissa vivement pour se glisser 
 par le passage etroit de la cachette. 
 Elle s'assit a demi sur la pierre la 
 plus proche, et elle ecouta toute fre- 
 missante les bruits qui pouvaient 
 
 181
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 venir du dehors. Au bout d'un 
 instant, elle s'apergut qu'il faisait 
 beaucoup plus clair que d'habitude 
 dans la " chambre du gardien." 
 Des quartiers de roche qu'elle avait 
 touj ours crus noirs lui apparaissaient 
 maintenant de la meme couleur que 
 les autres. Elle leva les yeux avec 
 curiosite, et elle resta toute boule- 
 versee, en apercevant un grand 
 morceau de ciel au-dessus de sa tete. 
 Elle fut tout de suite debout pour 
 mieux voir, et elle reconnut que la 
 fissure par laquelle le douanier avait 
 autrefois laisse glisser sa baguette, 
 s'etait considerablement agrandie. 
 Les deux enormes pierres qui for- 
 maient la voute s'ecartaient large- 
 ment par un bout, tandis qu'elles se 
 rapprochaient maintenant par 1'autre, 
 au point de se toucher. Et lorsque 
 la fillette abaissa son regard sur la 
 longue bande de jour, qui descendait 
 dans la cachette, comme une 6toffe 
 claire, elle vit que du sable glissait 
 par Touverture, et se repandait sur 
 le sol en un tas qui s'evasait et 
 182
 
 VAI^SERINE 
 
 recouvrait deja une grande surface. 
 Valserine ne savait que penser de 
 tout cela, lorsqu'elle entendit la voix 
 de Mme Remy, 1'appeler de nouveau ; 
 elle fit un mouvement pour sortir, 
 mais la meme crainte mysterieuse 
 que tout a 1'heure la fit reculer de 
 Touverture. 
 
 La voix de Mme Remy avait 
 d'abord marque de la colere ; mais 
 quand elle devint angoissee et pleine 
 de desespoir, Valserine se boucha les 
 oreilles pour ne pas 1'entendre. Le 
 silence revint avec la nuit. 
 
 La longue bande de jour etait re- 
 montee peu a peu par 1'ouverture. 
 
 Valserine attendit encore long- 
 temps dans Tobscurite. 
 
 Des petites chutes de sable, venant 
 d'en haut, la faisaient sursauter de 
 temps en temps. Puis elle crut en- 
 tendre les pas de son pere, dans le 
 sentier le plus proche ; elle pensa 
 qu'il pouvait rentrer a la maison, 
 sans se douter que sa fille 1'attendait 
 dans la " chambre du gardien," et 
 elle sort it sans bruit. 
 
 183
 
 VALSERINB 
 
 Dehors, rien ne bougeait. Une 
 fraicheur montait de la terre, toute 
 couverte de hautes herbes et de mille 
 fleurs. Valserine glissait sur les 
 grosses pierres, pleines de mousse, 
 qui entouraient la cachette ; elle se 
 retenait aux arbres, tout minces et 
 tordus, qui sortaient du creux des 
 pierres, et quand elle arriva devant 
 sa maison, elle poussa la porte en 
 appelant tout bas : 
 
 " Papa." 
 
 Elle haussa un peu la voix, pour 
 appeler encore : 
 
 " Papa." 
 
 Elle comprit qu'il n'y avait per- 
 sonne dans la maison et qu'elle se 
 trompait en croyant voir le prisonnier 
 etendu sur son lit ; mais elle etait si 
 sure qu'il allait rentrer dans un in- 
 stant, qu'elle repoussa simplement 
 la porte, sans la fermer a clef. Elle 
 se dirigea a tatons jusqu'a son petit 
 lit, et avant de s'etendre dessus, elle 
 ne put s'empecher de toucher celui 
 de son pere dans toute sa longueur. 
 
 Elle ne voulait pas s'endormir. 
 184
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 Elle fit de grands efforts pour ne pas 
 laisser se fermer ses paupieres. 
 
 Cependant, elle fut reveillee par 
 des cris. Elle ne fut pas longue a 
 comprendre que c'etait elle-meme qui 
 les avait pousses. Sa gorge ne 
 laissait plus echapper de sons, mais 
 sa respiration etait courte et rude, 
 et elle sentait bien qu'il lui sufnrait 
 de faire un tout petit effort pour 
 entendre de nouveau les memes cris 
 cris sourds et pleins d'angoisse. Elle 
 avanca encore les mains vers le lit 
 de son pere ; mais maintenant elle 
 savait tres bien qu'il etait vide ; 
 elle le touchait seulement pour etre 
 moins seule, et parce qu'il lui sem- 
 blait qu'un ami lui donnait la main. 
 Elle ne se souvenait pas d'avoir 
 jamais vu la nuit aussi noire et, 
 chaque fois qu'elle voulait fermer 
 les yeux, une inquietude les lui 
 faisait rouvrir. Puis un bourdonne- 
 ment ronfla dans ses oreilles, avec un 
 petit sifflement. Elle se souleva pour 
 mieux ecouter, et il lui sembla que 
 ce bruit emplissait toute la chambre. 
 
 185
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 Elle imagina qu'une araignee tissait 
 une immense toile autour de son lit, 
 et elle en ressentit une oppression 
 qui Tobligea a respirer longuement. 
 Et, tout a coup, elle entendit battre 
 son coeur. Elle en ecouta les coups 
 un instant, et elle dit tout haut : 
 " Comme il fait du bruit ! " 
 Aussitot, elle trouva que sa voix 
 avait resonne comme une voix 
 etrangere ; tout son petit corps se 
 resserra, et son cceur cogna plus 
 sourdement. 
 
 Quand il se fut apaise, elles'apercut 
 que le vieux coucou, pendu au mur, 
 ne faisait plus entendre son tic-tac. 
 Son trouble en augmenta, et, pour 
 se rassurer, elle chercha a distinguer 
 sa place dans I'obscurite. Elle avait 
 envie de lui parler, comme a une 
 personne amie qui boude. Elle 
 avait envie d'aller tirer ses chaines ; 
 mais elle n'osait faire le plus petit 
 mouvement, de peur de heurter la 
 chose inconnue et pleine de menace, 
 qui bruissait toujours a ses oreilles. 
 Alors, elle resta sans bouger, les yeux 
 186
 
 VAI^ERINE 
 
 grands ou verts dans la nuit. Cepen- 
 dant le jour arriva. Valserine vit 
 qu'il essayait d'entrer dans la maison, 
 en passant sous la porte, et par les 
 fentes des centre vents. Elle le vit 
 se glisser, peu a peu, vers la petite 
 glace accrochee pres de la fenetre, 
 puis le long des poutres noires du 
 plafond, et enfin se fixer dans tous 
 les coins de la chambre. 
 
 Maintenant qu'il eclairait les 
 chiffres jaunis du vieux coucou, Val- 
 serine se leva tres vite, pour aller 
 toucher du doigt le balancier, et, des 
 le premier tic-tac, le bruissement qui 
 1'avait tant effrayee cessa, et il lui 
 sembla que rien n'etait change dans 
 la maison. Cependant, elle visita la 
 piece, comme si elle esperait y de- 
 couvrir une bete etrange. 
 
 Elle passa soigneusement le balai 
 sous chaque meuble, et enleva les 
 plus petites toiles d'araignee, qui 
 s'etaient formees pendant son 
 absence. 
 
 Un battement d'ailes et deux 
 petits coups frappes aux contrevents, 
 
 187
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 lui firent oublier les bruits mysterieux 
 de la nuit. Cetait la tourterelle qui 
 venait chercher une caresse, comme 
 autrefois. Valserine ouvrit la fene- 
 tre toute grande, et 1'oiseau se posa 
 sur le rebord en saluant et roucou- 
 lant, comme s'il avait mille et mille 
 choses a dire. Mais quand la fillette 
 etendit la main pour le caresser, il 
 battit precipitamment des ailes et 
 s'envola au loin. 
 
 Valserine le suivit des yeux, sans 
 oser le rappeler, et lorsqu'il eut dis- 
 paru dans les hautes branches d'un 
 arbre, elle s'eloigna de la fenetre avec 
 une grande envie de pleurer. Ce fut 
 a ce moment que son regard ren- 
 contra la petite table chargee de ses 
 livres de classe. Elle se souvint 
 aussitot du vieux cahier de devoirs 
 qui servait au contrebandier les 
 jours oft il avait besoin d'etre aide 
 par son enfant. Elle le prit pour en 
 tourner tres vite les pages, en lisant 
 des mots traces entre les lignes deja 
 pleines. II y avait de longues 
 phrases expliquant a la fillette ce 
 188
 
 VAI^ERINE 
 
 qu'elle devait faire en revenant de 
 1'ecole ; mais c'etait surtout des in- 
 dications precises sur le chemin que 
 devait suivre le contrebandier pour 
 rentier a la maison. 
 
 Valserine s'arreta sur les derniers 
 mots : 
 
 " Par le colombier, en bas du 
 couloir." 
 
 C'etait la que le contrebandier 
 avait ete pris par les douaniers. 
 Elle revit son pere tombant dans 
 1'etroit couloir, que les bucherons 
 avaient forme du haut en bas de la 
 montagne pour faire glisser les arbres 
 coupes. Elle le revit, essayant de 
 se relever a moitie de la pente, et re- 
 tombant, le front en avant, contre 
 les troncs mal equarris. A present, 
 il avait fini sa prison, et il ne pouvait 
 tarder a rentrer. Elle essuya brus- 
 quement ses larmes avec sa manche, 
 puis elle prit sa plume, et au milieu 
 de la ligne suivante, elle ecrivit : 
 
 " Appelle-moi." 
 
 La matinee etait peu avancee. 
 Cependant, Valserine reconnut, a la 
 
 189
 
 VAI^ERINB 
 
 couleur du ciel, que le soleil devait 
 eclairer deja les glaciers, qui se trou- 
 vaient de 1'autre cote de la montagne. 
 Le versant d'en face etait encore 
 plein de brume. On distinguait 
 seulement les places blanches ou la 
 roche a pic etait a nu et les endroits 
 encore plus clairs ou, a chaque 
 print emps, la fonte des neiges en- 
 trainait des eboulements. 
 
 Valserine s'aperut pour la pre- 
 miere fois, qu'elle connaissait le nom 
 des montagnes voisines. Elle les 
 nomma avec un geste de la main, 
 comme si elle les indiquait a quel- 
 qu'un : un peu a droite, le Mont- 
 Rond ; a gauche, la Dole, et, presque 
 en face, le col de la Faucille. 
 
 Maintenant, elle se sentait tran- 
 quille autour de sa maison. Peu a 
 peu, le soleil se montra au-dessus du 
 Mont-Rond, et la brume qui re- 
 couvrait la vallee, s'enleva pour 
 laisser voir les maisons blanches du 
 village de Mijoux, ou se trouve la 
 douane. Elle reconnaissait facile- 
 ment, parmi les autres, la petite 
 190
 
 VALSERINB 
 
 maison carree des douaniers. Elle 
 n'etait jamais passee devant sa 
 grande porte, sans en eprouver un 
 peu de terreur, depuis qu'elle savait 
 que son pere etait contrebandier. 
 
 La fillette eut encore une fois Tidee 
 que le prisonnier pouvait se trouver 
 sur un sentier des environs. Elle 
 langa de toute sa force le cri d'appel 
 qu'il connaissait si bien, et auquel il 
 avail tou jours repondu ; mais ce cri 
 resta sans reponse, comme celui de 
 la veille. Elle n'en fut pas inquiete. 
 Elle etait sure que son pere allait 
 arriver, et qu'il lirait la derniere 
 phrase ecrite sur le cahier ; il ne 
 refuserait pas de la garder aupres de 
 lui, pendant quelques jours, et en- 
 suite elle le quitterait pour retourner 
 a la diamanterie de Saint-Claude. 
 
 La faim qui commensait a lui 
 tirailler 1'estomac, 1'obligea d'aller 
 chercher des provisions, a la " cham- 
 bre du gardien." Elle emplit ses 
 poches de chocolat et de gateaux 
 sees, et elle s'engagea sur la pente 
 boisee, a travers les sentiers, qui 
 
 191
 
 VAI.SERINE 
 
 descendaient dans la combe de Mi- 
 j oux, pour remonter ensuite au col 
 de la Faucille. Elle roda longtemps 
 sous bois, en se tenant tout proche 
 d'un chemin, qui avait ete autrefois 
 une route, et que 1'herbe et les pierres 
 encombraient maintenant ; puis elle 
 finit par trouver une eclaircie, d'oii 
 elle pouvait voir toute la ville de Gex, 
 ou etait la prison. 
 
 Jamais la plaine du pays de Gex ne 
 lui avait paru aussi grande, et le lac 
 de Geneve, qui la terminait, la faisait 
 penser a une etoffe deteinte par 
 1'usure, et toute dechiree au bord. 
 
 II lui sembla que tout ce qu'elle 
 voyait ce jour-la, etait different des 
 autres fois. La tete de vieillard, a 
 longue barbe, qu'elle avait toujours 
 vue au sommet du mont Blanc, 
 prenait aujourd'hui la forme d'un 
 chien, levant son museau, pour 
 hurler tristement ; et les barques du 
 lac, avec leurs grandes voiles poin- 
 tues, comme les ailes des hirondelles, 
 la faisaient penser a de grands oiseaux 
 blesses, tout pres de se noyer. 
 192
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 Elle fermait les yeux, pour essayer 
 de revoir les choses sous leurs formes 
 anciennes ; mais elle n'y parvenait 
 pas. Elle n'en ressentait pas de 
 trouble ; elle regrettait seulement 
 que son pere ne fut pas la, pour en 
 rire avec elle, comme il avail fait la 
 premiere fois qu'ils etaient venus 
 ensemble sur ce chemin, ct qu'elle 
 avait vu les choses tout a Fenvers. 
 C'etait a la place meme ou elle se 
 trouvait en ce moment, que le con- 
 trebandier s'etait arrete pour lui dire : 
 
 " Tu n'as pas de chance. On 
 ne voit pas le lac de Geneve 
 aujourd'hui." 
 
 II avait aioute, en abaissant son 
 baton vers la plaine : 
 
 " Tiens, il est sous ce monceau de 
 nuages gris, que tu vois la tout en 
 bas." 
 
 Mais la Valserine avait aussitot 
 leve la main vers le mont Blanc, pour 
 montrer a son pere le lac, qui s'etalait 
 tres large et tres bleu, entre deux 
 nuages roses, au-dessus des glaciers. 
 
 II lui etait arrive une autre fois, de 
 o 193
 
 VAIvSERINE 
 
 voir le mont Blanc tout en flammes, 
 mais elle avait vite compris qu'il 
 etait seulement eclaire par le 
 soleil. 
 
 Ce matin, la masse de nuages gris 
 ne recouvrait plus le lac. Elle 
 s'elevait lentement en fumee blanche, 
 vers les glaciers, et le pays de Gex 
 laissait voir toutes ses routes. 
 
 Valserine surveillait les plus 
 proches. Elle trouvait que les gens 
 mettaient beaucoup plus de temps 
 qu'il n'en fallait pour aller d'un 
 endroit a un autre. Us avaient Fair 
 de sauter sur place, plutot que de 
 marcher, et le moindre de leurs 
 gestes lui paraissait plein de signi- 
 fication. 
 
 Quand le soir revint, Valserine se 
 decida a reprendre le chemin de la 
 maison. 
 
 Le soleil se couchait du cote de 
 Septmoncel, et la fillette ne put 
 s'empecher de frissonner en le voyant 
 si rouge. II passa entre des nuages 
 longs, comme des arbres coupes, sur 
 lesquels il laissa des taches, et il 
 194
 
 VAIvSERINE 
 
 entra dans un gros image sombre, 
 qui semblait 1'attendre. Valserine 
 crut qu'il etait couche, mais presque 
 aussitot, il separa le image en deux, 
 comme s'il voulait encore une fois 
 regarder la fillette, puis il se montra, 
 arrondi seulement par le haut, comme 
 la porte de la maison des douaniers 
 de Mijoux, et apres avoir tache de 
 rouge tout ce qui 1'entourait, il dis- 
 parut de 1'autre cote de la montagne. 
 Pendant ce temps, un oiseau voletait 
 d'un arbre a 1'autre, en faisant en- 
 tendre un bruit semblable a celui 
 que font les ciseaux qu'on ouvre et 
 qu'on ferme, sans rien couper. 
 
 " Tsic, tsic . . . Tsic." 
 
 La nuit tombait lentement, et 
 Valserine, qui n'avait jamais eu peur 
 dans le bois, se retournait souvent, 
 pour regarder derriere elle. 
 
 De temps en temps, elle lancait son 
 cri d'appel, qui restait toujours sans 
 reponse. 
 
 Le chemin qu'elle suivait la fit 
 passer pres de la maison de la mere 
 Marienne.
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 Valserine connaissait depuis long- 
 temps la mere Marienne. Chaque 
 fois que son fils etait en prison, la 
 vieille femme apportait ses ceufs et 
 ses chevrets au pere de la fillette, 
 qui se chargeait d'aller les vendre a 
 Saint-Claude ou a Septmoncel. Elle 
 connaissait aussi sa haine pour les 
 douaniers. Elle 1'avait vue plusieurs 
 fois leur jeter des pierres, du haut du 
 chemin, et elle n'osait jamais s'ap- 
 procher d'elle, a cause de ses yeux, 
 qui paraissaient toujours inquiets et 
 pleins de soupcons. 
 
 Pourtant, ce soir, elle avait une 
 grande en vie d'entrer, pour lui parler 
 de son pere. Ce matin meme, elle 
 avait reconnu le fils de la vieille 
 femme, au moment ou il traversait 
 la route, pour se rendre a Gex ; il 
 devait etre de retour maintenant, et 
 savait sans doute ou se trouvait le 
 prisonnier. Elle se decida a pousser 
 la porte, apres avoir fait le tour de la 
 maison. 
 
 La mere Marienne etait debout, 
 devant une table plus longue que 
 196
 
 large, et la lampe, qui se trouvait 
 sur le coin du buffet, eclairait un de 
 ses poings, qu'elle tendait devant elle, 
 comme si elle s'appretait a frapper 
 quelqu'un. Elle laissa retomber son 
 bras, en reconnaissant Valserine, et 
 elle lui dit d'un ton plein de colere : 
 
 " Les gendarmes sont passes par 
 ici ; ils te cherchent." 
 
 Valserine ne sut pas demeler si 
 c'etait centre les gendarmes, ou 
 centre elle, que la mere Marienne 
 etait fachee. 
 
 Cependant, elle prit du courage, et 
 repondit : 
 
 " J 'attends mon pere." 
 
 La mere Marienne regarda la 
 fillette, comme si elle ne comprenait 
 pas. 
 
 " Oui," repondit Valserine, " il a 
 fini sa prison, et il ne peut tarder a 
 rentrer." 
 
 Et pendant que la vieille femme la 
 regardait toujours d'un air etonne, la 
 fillette s'empressa d'aj outer : 
 
 " Je venais vous demander si votre 
 fils 1'avait vu." 
 
 197
 
 VAXSERINE 
 
 Les deux poings fermes de la mere 
 Marienne remonterent centre sa ma- 
 choire ; ses paupieres se mirent a 
 battre, et en se reprenant plusieurs 
 fois, comme si ses paroles lui faisaient 
 trop mal a la gorge, elle cria, en 
 s'avancant sur Valserine : 
 
 " Us 1'ont tue ton pere ! Us 1'ont 
 tue ! Ne le savais-tu pas ? ' 
 
 Valserine regardait le visage tout 
 convulse de la mere Marienne, et la 
 grande terreur, qu'elle en ressentait, 
 Fempechait de bouger. 
 
 La vieille femme continuait, avec 
 une voix pleine de fureur : 
 
 " Us 1'ont tue* comme ils ont tue 
 autrefois mon pauvre mari ! Et mon 
 fils est parti ce matin a Gex, pour le 
 voir mettre dans le cimetiere." 
 
 Puis elle mit ses poings sur ses 
 yeux, comme si elle voulait s'em- 
 pecher de regarder une chose affreuse, 
 et Valserine s'enfuit, epouvantee. 
 
 198
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 L'ETE venait de finir, et Valserine 
 habitait, depuis plusieurs semaines 
 deja, la maison de la mere Marienne. 
 Le fils de la vieille femme 1'avait 
 retrouvee couchee parmi les buis et 
 les cyclamens sauvages, le lendemain 
 du jour ou elle avail appris la mort 
 de son pere. Elle etait toute raidie 
 par le froid et le chagrin, et ses cris 
 de petite fille desolee, semblaient ne 
 jamais plus pouvoir s'arreter. 
 
 La mere Marienne en fut epou- 
 vantee, et comme si propre peine eut 
 du effacer celle de Valserine, elle se 
 mit a lui raconter comment son mari 
 avait ete tue par les douaniers. 
 
 " II s'appelait Catherin," dit-elle, 
 "et il faisait la contrebande de 
 Talcool. Souvent, il partait pour 
 plusieurs jours, avec son cheval et sa 
 voiture. Les douaniers le poursuivai- 
 ent de tous cotes, mais il etait adroit 
 et savait les depister. II etait hardi 
 
 199
 
 VAIvSERINE 
 
 aussi, et quand les douaniers le me- 
 nagaient, il leur repondait en riant : 
 
 " 'Aussi longtemps que je serai 
 vivant, je vous echapperai.' 
 
 " Mais voila qu'une nuit, ils 
 imaginerent de fermer les barrieres 
 d'un passage a niveau, qui se trouvait; 
 au fond d'une vallee. L'attelage de 
 mon mari, lance a fond de train, sur 
 la route en pente, brisa la premiere 
 barriere, et vint s'ecraser contre la 
 seconde ; et lorsque les douaniers 
 accoururent pour fouiller la voiture, 
 ils trouverent le corps de Catherin, 
 plie en deux sur la barriere.' ' 
 
 La vieille femme se tordit les 
 mains, et, d'une voix pleine de de- 
 tresse, elle termina en disant : 
 
 " II etait mort depuis deux jours 
 quand ils me Font rapporte. ..." 
 
 Les jours passerent, et chacun 
 d'eux emporta un peu du chagrin 
 de la fillette. Maintenant, elle restait 
 de longs moments assise, sur le seuil 
 de la maison. Elle se tenait toute 
 ramassee comme une vieille femme, 
 mais ses yeux noirs suivaient le 
 200
 
 VAI.SERINB 
 
 chemin, qui s'en allait au pays de 
 Gex, et qui se mon trait de place en 
 place a travers les pins. Elle revoyait 
 la plaine avec ses routes et ses 
 villages, et sa pensee s'arretait sur 
 un arbre tout mince, seul au milieu 
 d'un pre, et que le vent courbait 
 violemment a chaque instant. 
 
 A present, elle n'avait plus peur de 
 la mere Marienne. La vieille femme 
 lui parlait tantot comme a une petite 
 fille, et tantot comme a une femme, 
 et leurs malheurs, si semblables, les 
 unissaient comme un lien de parente. 
 
 Le fils de la mere Marienne partait 
 chaque semaine a Saint-Claude, pour 
 en rapporter plusieurs douzaines de 
 pipes, sur lesquelles il taillait des 
 figures. II posait sa corbeille sur 
 une petite table, qu'il installait de- 
 hors, pres de la porte. 
 
 Valserine suivait son travail avec 
 attention, et la maison etait pleine 
 de tranquillite. 
 
 Un jour, la mere Marienne vint 
 s'asseoir sur le seuil, aupres de la 
 fillette, et elle lui dit : 
 
 201
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 " Mme Remy te fait demander si 
 tu veux retourner a la diamanterie." 
 
 Valserine secoua la tete pour dire 
 non ; cependant, elle repondit : 
 " Oui." 
 
 La vieille femme reprit : 
 
 ' Tu lui as cause un grand tour- 
 ment. Elle avait la tete perdue ce 
 soir-la, et Grosgoigin ne pouvait pas 
 la decider a rentrer a Saint-Claude 
 avec ses enfants." 
 
 Valserine baissa son visage plein 
 de confusion, et la mere Marienne 
 a j out a : 
 
 " Elle n'est pas fachee contre toi, 
 et ne demande qu'a te garder comme 
 autrefois." 
 
 Valserine ne repondit pas. Elle 
 semblait ecouter le leger claquement 
 des pipes, que le fils de la mere 
 Marienne rejetait une a une dans la 
 corbeille, apres les avoir tenues 
 quelques instants dans ses mains ; 
 puis, brusquement, elle regarda la 
 vieille femme, pour lui demander : 
 
 " Est-ce que les fenunes font aussi 
 des pipes ? " 
 202
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 Les yeux de la mere Marienne 
 devinrent brillants comme des pierres 
 taillees, quand elle repondit : 
 
 " J'etais polisseuse de pipes avant 
 de me marier." 
 
 Et comme si toute sa jeunesse lui 
 revenait a la memoire d'un seul coup, 
 elle parla longuement. Elle parla 
 de la ville de Saint-Claude et du 
 quartier de la Poyat, oii ses parents 
 avaient ete pipiers. Elle dit com- 
 ment les polisseuses de pipes entou- 
 raient leurs cheveux d'un mouchoir, 
 pour les proteger contre la poussiere 
 de racine de bruyere, qui teignait les 
 cheveux noirs, en une couleur rose 
 foncee. 
 
 Elle nommait les jeunes filles 
 d'alors, comme si Valserine les avait 
 connues. 
 
 " Adele port ait un mouchoir bleu. 
 Agathe en avait toujours un 
 jaune." 
 
 Et elle s'arreta apres avoir dit, en 
 relevant la tete : 
 
 " Moi, je portals un mouchoir 
 rouge." 
 
 203
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 Sa main toucha celui qui etait sur 
 sa tete en ce moment ; mais elle 
 1'abaissa aussitot, comme s'il lui 
 avail sufft de le toucher, pour voir 
 qu'il etait de couleur noire. 
 
 II y eut un long silence. 
 
 La mere Manenne semblait re- 
 garder maintenant au fond d'elle- 
 meme, et son fils avait cesse de 
 gratter ses pipes. 
 
 Valserine se mit debout. Elle re- 
 poussa des deux mains les boucles 
 noires qui recouvraient ses joues, et 
 avec un accent plein de fermete, elle 
 dit: 
 
 " Je veux etre polisseuse de 
 pipes." 
 
 La vieille femme se mit debout 
 aussi, et son visage etait tout joyeux 
 quand elle demanda a la fillette : 
 
 " Tu aimes done mieux etre polis- 
 seuse que diamantaire ? ' ; 
 
 " Oui," dit Valserine, "les pipes 
 sont plus belles que le diamant." 
 
 La vieille femme prit plusieurs 
 pipes dans la corbeille de son fils, et 
 apres les avoir fait rouler d'une main 
 204
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 dans 1'autre, elle les reposa douce- 
 ment, en disant : 
 
 " Le diamant ne sert a rien." 
 
 Quelques jours apres, le fils de la 
 mere Marienne revint de Saint- 
 Claude avec la reponse que Valserine 
 attendait. 
 
 La fillette habiterait chez des 
 pipiers qui avaient connu et aime son 
 pere, et elle irait chaque jour a la 
 fabrique de pipes au lieu d'aller a la 
 diamanterie. 
 
 La veille de son depart, elle voulut 
 monter jusqu'a " la chambre du gar- 
 dien," mais comme elle se dirigeait 
 au hasard du chemin, elle vit tout 
 a coup que la masse de terre qui sur- 
 plombait la cachette s'etait eboulee. 
 
 Une enorme quantite de sable et 
 de cailloux avait glisse, en entrainant 
 la plupart des arbres qui se trou- 
 vaient sur la pente ; plusieurs 
 etaient a moitie enfouis et parais- 
 saient deja morts, tandis que d'autres 
 se penchaient pour s'appuyer de 
 toutes leurs branches centre ceux 
 qui etaient restes debout. 
 
 205
 
 VAI^ERINE 
 
 Valserine se rappela que la " cham- 
 bre du gardien " avail ete formee par 
 un eboulement, et il lui sembla en- 
 tendre encore une fois la voix de son 
 pere, quand il lui avail dit : " Cette 
 annee-la il y eut un orage si violent 
 qu'il devasta la montagne et fit de 
 grands degats dans la ville de Saint- 
 Claude." 
 
 Maintenant Valserine pouvait par- 
 tir, " la chambre du gardien " 
 s'etait fermee pour tou jours, comme 
 si elle voulait garder le secret du 
 contrebandier. 
 
 La nllette entra dans sa maison, et 
 le dernier souvenir qu'elle y avait 
 laisse lui revint aussitot a la memoire. 
 Ses oreilles s'emplirent du meme 
 bruissement qui T avait tant effrayee 
 pendant la nuit oii elle attendait le 
 retour du prisonnier. 
 
 Aujourd'hui, la maison etait pleine 
 de clarte, et cependant des milliers 
 de voix fines et harmonieuses se 
 croisaient et s'unissaient dans 1'air. 
 
 Et lorsque Valserine les eut ecou- 
 tees longuement, elle reconnut que 
 206
 
 VAIvSERINE 
 
 le silence avait aussi des voix, que 
 Ton pouvait entendre quand on les 
 ecoutait. 
 
 Le lendemain, ail moment ou Val- 
 serine allait partir pour Saint-Claude, 
 la mere Marienne la retint un instant 
 sur le seuil. Elle tenait a la main un 
 mouchoir noir, qu'elle lui donna en 
 disant : 
 
 " Prends-le. II te servira pendant 
 le temps de ton deuil." 
 
 La fillette eut un mouvement plein 
 de vivacite affectueuse vers la mere 
 Marienne, puis elle mit le mouchoir 
 dans sa poche et rejoignit en courant 
 le fils de la vieille femme, qui s'enga- 
 geait deja dans le sen tier de traverse. 
 
 Tout etait clair dans la vallee ce 
 matin-la, et le vent frais dechirait en 
 petits morceaux les nuages, qui 
 semblaient vouloir se reposer un 
 instant sur la montagne. 
 
 A 1'endroit ou le sentier coupait la 
 route, Valserine vit passer le courrier 
 de Saint-Claude a la Faucille, et elle 
 ne put s'empecher d'imiter tout bas 
 la voix du conducteur : 
 
 207
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 " Allonlonlon." 
 
 Pen apres, le sentier longea le 
 ruisseau du Flumen, et les voix 
 d'enfants qui se repondaient a travers 
 la montagne n'arriverent plus jusqu'a 
 cet endroit si resserre de la vallee. 
 
 La fillette suivait le pas allonge du 
 fils de la mere Marienne sans en 
 ressentir de fatigue. Une joie se 
 levait en elle, et c'est a peine si elle 
 entendait le bruit du ruisseau qui 
 courait d'un caillou a 1'autre. 
 
 Us eurent bientot depasse les 
 villages de Coiserette et la Renfile, 
 et, au moment ou ils allaient entrer 
 dans Saint-Claude, Valserine re- 
 marqua pres de la route un bouleau 
 qui s'etait depouille de toutes ses 
 feuilles pendant la nuit, et elle 
 s'arreta pour regarder le feuillage 
 qui trainait maintenant a terre com- 
 me un vetement fane. 
 
 Ils descendirent tres vite la rue 
 raboteuse de la Poyat, et la fillette 
 entra en meme temps que le fils de la 
 mere Marienne dans la fabrique de 
 pipes. Elle tra versa 1' atelier ou les 
 208
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 scies filaient des sons aigus en don- 
 nant une forme aux racines de bru- 
 vere Elle vit voler sur elle et autour 
 
 / 
 
 d'elle les fins copeaux roules, qui 
 sautaient des etablis pendant que 
 les machines a tourner et a percer 
 chantaient comme un essaim de 
 bourdons dans la montagne. 
 
 Elle remarqua les visages ouverts 
 et pleins d'energie des ouvriers, et 
 quand le fils de la mere Marienne la 
 fit entrer dans F atelier des polisse- 
 uses, elle regarda sans crainte les 
 femmes, toutes debout et tournees 
 de son cote, comme si elles guettaient 
 son entree. 
 
 Elle eut encore le temps de voir le 
 poele en forme de pipe, qui se trou- 
 vait au milieu de la piece, et tout de 
 suite une ouvriere vint la prendre 
 pour la conduire a sa place. L' ouvri- 
 ere marchait devant en ecartant du 
 pied les paniers qui encombraient le 
 passage, et apres avoir aide la fillette 
 a mettre sa blouse de polisseuse, elle 
 lui offrit un mouchoir de meme 
 couleur que celui qu'elle portait. 
 
 P 209
 
 VALSERINE 
 
 Valserine remercia d'un geste plein 
 de gratitude, elle cut un sourire qui 
 eclaira tout son visage en repoussant 
 doucement le mouchoir bleu, puis 
 elle tira de sa poche celui que la mere 
 Marienne lui avait donne le matin 
 mcme, et elle en couvrit aussitot ses 
 cheveux. 
 
 210
 
 MfeRE ET FILLE 
 
 MADAME PELISSAND entra 
 dans le petit salon ; elle en 
 fit deux fois le tour, en 
 tenant dans ses mains une corbeille 
 pleine de bas et de pelotes de cotons 
 a repriser. Elle s'arreta devant un 
 fauteuil, comme si elle allait s'asseoir 
 dedans ; mais elle le repoussa, et 
 s'assit sur une chaise, tout pres du 
 piano. 
 
 Aussitot, Marie Pelissand cessa de 
 jouer. Elle savait que sa mere 
 n'aimait pas la musique, et tout en 
 regrettant de ne pouvoir finir le 
 morceau qu'elle aimait, elle pivota 
 sur son tabouret, et elle se mit a 
 feuilleter les brochures qui etaient 
 sur la table. 
 
 Madame Pelissand retint a deux 
 mains sa corbeille sur ses genoux et 
 elle dit, sans regarder sa fille : 
 
 211
 
 MERE ET FILLE 
 
 " Tu peux jouer encore, Marie." 
 
 Cette fois, Marie se retourna pour 
 regarder sa mere. Son regard ex- 
 primait la surprise, et c' etait comme 
 si elle eut dit tout haut : " Mais 
 qu'a-t-elle done ? " 
 
 Depuis quelques jours, en effet, 
 Madame Pelissand n'etait plus la 
 meme. Autrefois, elle ne serait 
 jamais entree au salon pendant que 
 sa fille etait au piano. II en etait 
 de meme pour le metier d'institutrice 
 de Marie. Madame Pelissand le de- 
 testait et ne pouvait supporter que 
 sa fille y employ at tout son temps. 
 Et voila que, tous ces jours passes, 
 elle etait restee le soir dans la salle a 
 manger, pendant que Marie corri- 
 geait les cahiers de ses eleves. Hier 
 soir, elle s' etait mise aussi pres que 
 possible de sa fille, et plusieurs fois 
 Marie Favait vu faire un mouvement 
 de tete en haut en ouvrant la bouche, 
 comme si elle allait parler : puis, 
 chaque fois, elle avait baisse la tete 
 d'un air gene*. 
 
 Marie n'osait se remettre au piano ; 
 212
 
 MERE ET FIU,E 
 
 mais sa mere lui repeta du meme 
 ton que la premiere fois : 
 
 " Tu peux jouer encore, Marie/' 
 
 Marie reprit sa place sur le ta- 
 bouret, mais ses doigts n'avaient 
 plus autant de surete, et son morceau 
 favori la laissait indifferente. Elle 
 regardait sa mere a la derobee. 
 Madame Pelissand fixait profonde- 
 ment le tapis, et ses mains avaient 
 Fair de se cramponner a la corbeille 
 de vieux bas. 
 
 A un moment, Marie la vit si 
 nettement faire le mouvement des 
 gens qui vont parler qu'elle s'arreta 
 de jouer pour demander : 
 
 ' Voyons, maman, qu'as-tu ? " 
 
 Les yeux de Madame Pelissand 
 chavirerent. Elle Ian9a les mains en 
 avant comme pour repousser la ques- 
 tion, elle se leva de sa chaise et se 
 rassit au meme instant, et, tout d'un 
 coup, en regardant sa fille en face, 
 elle dit tres vite : 
 
 " Ce que j'ai ? Je veux me re- 
 marier." 
 
 Marie crut a une plaisanterie. 
 
 213
 
 MERE ET FILLE 
 
 Elle se mit a rire en se renversant en 
 arriere : mais Madame Pelissand la 
 saisit par le bras, en disant d'une 
 voix reche : 
 
 " Je ne vois pas qu'il y ait de quoi 
 rire." 
 
 Marie s'arreta de rire comme elle 
 s'etait arretee de jouer. Elle com- 
 prit que sa mere disait vrai, et une 
 grande stupeur tomba sur elle. 
 Elle regarda encore sa mere. Elle 
 vit ses cheveux blancs qui essayaient 
 de bouffer aux tempes ; elle vit son 
 visage bourn, ses epaules affaissees, 
 et ses mains decharnees ; et elle ne 
 put s'empecher de dire : 
 
 " Mais, maman, tu as cinquante- 
 huit ans." 
 
 "Oui," dit Madame Pelissand. 
 " Et apres ? " 
 
 Apres ? Apres ? Marie ne savait 
 plus quoi dire ; des larmes vinrent 
 a ses yeux : pourtant elle dit en- 
 core : 
 
 " Et moi, maman ? " 
 
 Madame Pelissand recula un peu 
 sa chaise ; son regard se fit dur : et, 
 214
 
 MERE ET FILI,E 
 
 comme si elle se vengeait d'une 
 mechancete, elle repondit : 
 
 " Toi, ma chere ? Mais tu es 
 assez vieille pour r ester seule." 
 
 Elle tapota les bas de la corbeille 
 en ajoutant : 
 
 ' Tu me reprochais mes cinquante- 
 huit ans, tout a 1'heure, et tu as 1'air 
 d'oublier que tu en as trente-sept 
 sonnes." 
 
 " Je ne 1'oublie pas/' dit Marie. 
 " Mais . . ." 
 
 " Mais quoi ? " demanda Madame 
 Pelissand. 
 
 ' Je pense seulement," repondit 
 Marie, " que tu m'as toujours em- 
 pechee de me marier, parce que tu 
 ne voulais pas rester seule, et, au- 
 jourd'hui, c'est toi qui vas me 
 quitter." 
 
 Madame Pelissand resta silenci- 
 euse, et Marie n'osait dire tout ce qui 
 lui montait du coeur. Apres un 
 long silence, Madame Pelissand 
 reprit : 
 
 " J'epouse M. Tardi. Tu sais bien, 
 ce jeune homme, qui m'avait de- 
 
 215
 
 MERE ET 
 
 mandee en mariage quand il avait 
 vingt ans, et que mes parents ont 
 trouve trop jeune." 
 
 Marie fit un signe de tete pour dire 
 qu'elle se rappelait 1'histoire que lui 
 avait racontee sa mere. 
 
 " Eh bien ! " continua Madame 
 Pelissand, " il s'etait marie aussi de 
 son cote, mais il n' avait pas cesse de 
 m'aimer. II est veuf depuis trois 
 mois et il est venu me redemander 
 en mariage il y a huit jours. . . ." 
 
 Elle ajouta apres une pause : 
 
 " II habite une grande ville du 
 Midi, et j'irai vivre la-bas avec lui." 
 
 Marie releva la tete, qu'elle tenait 
 un peu penchee, et elle dit grave- 
 ment : 
 
 " Ce n'est parce que ce monsieur 
 te demande en mariage que tu es 
 forcee de 1'epouser." 
 
 Madame Pelissand fit un geste 
 vague de la main, et Marie reprit : 
 
 " Chaque fois qu'un jeune homme 
 est venu me demander en mariage, 
 tu m'as defendu d'accepter. ..." 
 
 Madame Pelissand baissa la tete. 
 216
 
 MERE ET FI3XE 
 
 " Et quand j'ai voulu quand meme 
 me marier avec Julien, que j'aimais 
 tant, tu m'en as empechee, en disant 
 que mon devoir etait de ne pas 
 t'abandonner. Tu m'as dit que la 
 mort de mon pere nous laissait dans 
 la misere. Alors je me suis mise au 
 travail, et j'ai refuse le bonheur et, 
 maintenant, je sais que mon Julien 
 s'est lasse et en a epouse une autre ; 
 et, aujourd'hui tu m'apprends que 
 tu vas me quitter pour epouser un 
 homme que tu n'as jamais aime et 
 qui t'est reste etranger depuis tant 
 et tant d'annees." 
 
 Madame Pelissand avait la tete si 
 basse que son front touchait presque 
 sa poitrine : on ne voyait plus que sa 
 nuque, ou la chair se separait et 
 formait comme deux cordes. 
 
 Marie se tut en attendant un mot 
 de sa mere. Mais Madame Pelis- 
 sand restait le front courbe et Tair 
 tetu. Alors Marie continua : 
 
 " Moi, j'ai fait mon devoir en rest- 
 ant avec toi. Feras-tu le tien en 
 refusant ce mariage pour ne pas me 
 
 217
 
 MERE ET FILLE 
 
 laisser seule ? Voyons, maman, 
 parle, qu'as-tu a repondre/' 
 
 Madame Pelissand se redressa un 
 peu en repondant : 
 
 ' Je me marierai, parce que je ne 
 veux plus rester avec toi." 
 
 Marie demanda, en avancant son 
 visage pres de celui de sa mere : 
 
 " Pourquoi ? Qu'as-tu a me re- 
 procher ? '' 
 
 " Beaucoup de choses." 
 
 " Dis-les, maman." 
 ' Tu es plus intelligente et plus 
 savante que moi." (Marie ouvrit 
 de grands yeux.) " Tu restes des 
 heures a rever a des choses que tu 
 ne dis pas, et quand nos amis vein- 
 nent nous voir, tu paries toujours 
 avec les hommes, et je ne comprends 
 rien a ce que vous dites. Cest toi 
 qui choisis mes livres, et si je veux 
 lire les tiens, ils parlent de choses qui 
 me sont inconnues. C'est toi qui 
 decides de la couleur de mes robes 
 et de la forme de mes chapeaux. 
 C'est toi qui gagnes 1'argent qui me 
 fait vivre, et si je commande notre 
 218
 
 MERE ET FILLE 
 
 domestique, elle n'obeit qu'apres 
 avoir pris ton avis. 
 
 ' Tout est change ici. C'est toi 
 qui es devenue la mere et moi la 
 petite fille. J'ai peur d'etre grondee 
 quand je parle : et, quoique tu sois 
 douce et bonne, je crains ton regard 
 sur moi." 
 
 Un long silence se fit. Marie 
 songeait, une main sur les touches 
 du piano. 
 
 Madame Pelissand se mit a 
 pleurer tout has, puis elle dit timide- 
 ment a sa fille : 
 
 " Permets-moi d'epouser M. 
 Tardi." 
 
 Alors Marie se leva du tabouret 
 pour se pencher sur sa mere, et, 
 apres lui avoir essuye les yeux, elle 
 I'embrassa tendrement au front en 
 disant : 
 
 " Spouse M. Tardi, afin que, de 
 nous deux, il y en ait au moins une 
 qui ait un peu de bonheur." 
 
 219
 
 LE CHALAND DE LA 
 REINE 
 
 LE matin meme, sa tante Maria 
 1'avait battu en lui defen- 
 dant d'aller au bord du 
 fleuve. Elle disait tout en colere : 
 
 " Vous verrez que ce mauvais 
 gar9on finira par se noyer comme son 
 pere." 
 
 Aussitot qu'elle n'apercevait plus 
 1' enfant, on 1'entendait crier d'une 
 voix percante : 
 
 "Michel! Michel!" 
 
 Toute la matinee, Michel e"tait 
 reste a pleurer et a bouder derriere 
 la maison, mais, vers le soir, il s'etait 
 retrouv6 sur le chemin de halage, 
 sans savoir comment cela s'etait fait. 
 
 II ne se lassait pas de voir passer 
 les chalands qui remontaient ou 
 descendaient le fleuve. En les 
 220
 
 CHAIvAND DE LA RHINE 
 
 voyant si lourds et si clos, il cherchait 
 a deviner ce qu'ils pouvaient bien 
 porter. Celui-ce, qui etait gris, de- 
 vait porter de la pierre ; cet autre, 
 tout noir, portait surement du fer, 
 et ceux qui descendaient sans bruit 
 au nl de 1'eau lui paraissaient porter 
 des nouvelles tres secretes. 
 
 II les suivait quelquefois tres loin 
 et les mariniers lui parlaient du milieu 
 du fleuve. Ils voyaient bien qu'il ne 
 ressemblait pas aux enfants du pays 
 et lui ne manquait jamais de dire 
 qu'il etait de Paris, et que sa maison 
 etait aupres du canal Saint-Martin. 
 
 II pensait sans cesse a ce canal de 
 Paris, oii il avait etc si heureux avec 
 son pere, qui etait employe au de- 
 chargement des bateaux. 
 
 II se souvenait des bonnes parties 
 qu'il avait faites avec ses camarades 
 dans les tas de sable que les chalands 
 vidaient sur la berge. 
 
 Parfois c' etait de la brique qu'un 
 bateau apportait : alors il s'amusait 
 a construire des maisons, qui s'ecrou- 
 laient des qu'un camion passait. 
 
 221
 
 CHAI.AND DE IvA REINE 
 
 Mais ce qui lui plaisait le plus, 
 c'etaient les poteries qu'on de- 
 chargeait avec soin ; ces jours-la, il 
 n'avait pas en vie de jouer, il restait 
 a regarder les belles cruches a deux 
 anses, les petits pots bleus et les 
 tasses a fleur, qui etaient si jolies, 
 qu'on avail toujours en vie d'en em- 
 porter une sous son tablier ; puis, 
 quand le pere avait fini sa journee, 
 ils rentraient tous deux dans la 
 chambre du sixieme, d'ou Ton 
 voyait encore le canal ; ils dinaient 
 sur une petite table, pres de la 
 fenetre ; lui racontait ce qu'il 
 avait fait a 1'ecole, et le pere 1'en- 
 courageait. 
 
 II n'y avait pas bien longtemps 
 qu'il ne reclamait plus d'histoire 
 avant de se coucher. C'etait tou- 
 jours des histoires de marinier que 
 son pere lui contait. II y en avait 
 surtout une qu'il aimait beaucoup 
 et qui commengait comme 9a : "II 
 y avait une fois un marinier, qui 
 avait un chaland si joli, si joli, que 
 toutes les dames et les demoiselles 
 222
 
 CHALAND DE LA REINE 
 
 venaient a 1'ecluse pour le voir 
 passer." 
 
 II la regrettait, cette ecluse Saint- 
 Martin. II la revoyait avec sa pas- 
 serelle ou les gens passaient a la 
 queue leu-leu ; il revoyait aussi le 
 grand bassin ou les chalands avaient 
 Tair de s'ennuyer comme s'ils etaient 
 en penitence, et les maisons qui se 
 miraient tout entieres dans le canal 
 et qu'on voyait tout a Tenvers. 
 
 II y avait aussi la grande usine 
 d'en face, qui deversait tant d'eau 
 chaude dans le canal que tout le 
 bassin fumait, comme si le feu etait 
 au fond. II I'aimait aussi, cette 
 usine qui avait neuf grandes chemi- 
 nees ; il ne pouvait jamais passer 
 devant sans les compter. 
 
 II y avait des fois ou les neuf 
 cheminees fumaient ensemble. Cela 
 formait un gros nuage qui se rabat- 
 tait et faisait comme un pont par- 
 dessus le bassin. 
 
 Puis le grand malheur etait arrive. 
 
 Un soir, apres Tecole, il n'avait 
 pas trouve son pere au bord du 
 
 223
 
 CHALAND DB IvA RHINE 
 
 canal. Le patron du chaland lui 
 avail dit : ' Va-t-en chez vous, mon 
 petit, ton pere ne reviendra plus 
 ici." Et deux jours apres, la tante 
 Maria etait venue le prendre pour 
 remmener dans ce pays des Ardennes. 
 II n'aimait pas sa tante Maria, qui 
 le battait pour tout et pour rien, et 
 qui 1'empechait d'aller voir les cha- 
 lands qu'il aimait tant. Tous ces 
 chalands ressemblaient a ceux du 
 canal Saint-Martin ; seulement, ici, 
 ils etaient tires par des chevaux, 
 tandis qu'a Paris c'etaient des 
 hommes qui les tiraient pour leur 
 faire passer Tecluse. On les voyait 
 toujours atteles par deux ou par 
 quatre, Tun derriere Taut re ; leurs 
 epaules etaient entourees d'une large 
 sangle qui ressemblait a un licol, et 
 ils tiraient comme des chevaux, en 
 tendant le cou et en faisant de tout 
 petits pas. 
 
 Ici, le fleuve coulait entre deux 
 montagnes bien plus hautes que les 
 maisons de Paris ; Feau en etait si 
 claire qu'elle refletait les montagnes 
 224
 
 LE CHALAND DE LA REINE 
 
 jusqu'au ciel. De 1'autre cote du 
 fleuve, trois grosses roches sortaient 
 de la montagne. Les gens du pays 
 les appelaient les " Dames du 
 Fleuve/' Elles n'avaient pas de 
 tete, mais on voyait bien tout de 
 meme qu'elles avaient ete des dames, 
 parce que leurs robes a gros plis 
 s'etalaient encore j usque sur le 
 pre. 
 
 Michel etait assis en face d'elles 
 depuis un moment, lorsqu'il entendit 
 dans le lointain un bruit de joyeuses 
 clochettes : cela venait vers lui 
 comme une chanson : les clochettes 
 etaient si claires et si gaies qu'il se 
 mit a les imiter en chantant : 
 
 " Tine, tigueline, cline, cline, 
 cline, tigueline, cline. ..." 
 
 Deux hommes qui passaient sur 
 le chemin s'arreterent pour ecouter, 
 et Michel entendit Tun d'eux dire : 
 " C'est surement le chaland de la 
 reine qui vient la." Presque aussi- 
 tot, 1'enfant vit venir sur le chemin 
 de halage deux beaux chevaux tout 
 blancs : ils Etaient completement 
 Q 225
 
 LE CHALAND DE LA REINE 
 
 reconverts d'un filet dont les longues 
 f ranges se balancaient j usque sous 
 leur ventre : leurs tetes etaient 
 chargees de pompons remplis de 
 piecettes d'or et d'argent, et ils 
 marchaient sans fatigue, comme si 
 cela etait un amusement de tirer 
 I'enorme chaland en faisant chanter 
 les clochettes. 
 
 Le gargon qui les conduisait parais- 
 sait content et plein de force : il 
 appuyait sa main sur la croupe du 
 cheval de devant, et son fouet, qu'il 
 tenait tres droit, etait tout entoure 
 de rubans dont les bouts flottaient 
 au vent. 
 
 Le chaland s'approcha, et Michel 
 pensa qu'il n'en avait jamais vu de 
 si beau. II paraissait tout neuf, 
 avec sa coque blanche et ses larges 
 bandes de couleur. Son nom, " La 
 Reine," etait ecrit en grandes lettres, 
 qui se repetaient dans 1'eau en dan- 
 sant et en se tortillant. Tout a fait a 
 Tavant, un oiseau chantait dans une 
 petite cage, et, au milieu, tout a 
 cote d'un carre de plantes vertes et 
 226
 
 CHAIvAND DE LA RHINE 
 
 de pots de fleurs, Michel apergut la 
 reine du chaland. 
 
 Elle se tenait assise sur un joli 
 siege, sa robe blanche se relevait 
 tres haut sur ses jambes, qu'elle 
 tenait croisees Tune sur Fautre, et 
 le chien qui etait couche a ses pieds 
 etait de la meme couleur que ses bas. 
 
 Ses cheveux flottants descen- 
 daient -jusqu'a sa ceinture et, de 
 chaque cote de son front, des noeuds 
 de rubans se melaient a des meches, 
 bouclees, qui retombaient le long des 
 joues. 
 
 Elle ne ressemblait pas aux autres 
 filles des mariniers, et, en la voyant, 
 on comprenait qu'il lui fallait le 
 plus beau bateau du monde. 
 
 Aussitot Michel se rappela la suite 
 de 1'histoire que lui racontait son 
 pere : " Et le marinier qui avait ce 
 bateau si joli, si joli, avait une fille 
 si belle, si belle, que tous les rois de 
 la terre voulaient 1'epouser." 
 
 Michel se leva quand le chaland 
 passa devant lui. Le mouvement 
 qu'il fit reveilla le chien, qui se 
 
 227
 
 CHALAND DE LA REINE 
 
 dressa en aboyant, mais la fille du 
 marinier etendit seulement la main 
 pour le calmer, et elle sourit a 
 Michel. A ce moment, le soleil 
 n'eclairait plus que le haut de la 
 montagne : le fleuve etait devenu 
 plus transparent qu'un miroir ; on 
 ne savait plus si la montagne etait 
 en haut ou en bas ; le pre se con- 
 tinuait jusqu'au milieu du fleuve, et 
 on voyait les longues herbes trembler 
 dans 1'eau. Maintenant, le son des 
 clochettes diminuait et le chaland 
 s'eloignait lentement. Le fleuve 
 paraissait aussi etioit que Tecluse 
 Saint-Martin et on eut jure que le 
 chaland touchait les deux rives. 
 
 Michel s'aperut tout a coup que 
 le chaland allait disparaitre au tour- 
 nant du fleuve. II eut regret de ne 
 pas 1' avoir suivi, comme il 1'avait 
 souvent fait pour d'autres bateaux. 
 Pour le voir plus longtemps, il se 
 rapprocha davantage du bord ; il 
 quitta le chemin de halage pour 
 marcher sur le pre qu'on voyait 
 sous 1'eau, mais au premier pas qu'il 
 228
 
 CHALAND DE LA REINE 
 
 fit, le pre disparut et ce fut le fleuve 
 qui s'ouvrit jusqu'au fond. 
 
 Quelques minutes apres, la voix 
 criarde de la tante Maria appelait : 
 " Michel ! Michel ! " Mais per- 
 sonne ne repondit, et comme elle 
 pretait I'oreille aux bruits du soir, 
 elle entendit au loin un son de 
 clochettes si clair qu'on eut dit 
 qu'elles sonnaient dans 1'eau et, 
 malgre Tinquietude qui la gagnait, 
 elle ne put s'empecher de dire tout 
 bas : " Tine, tine, tigueline, tine, 
 tine/* 
 
 229
 
 AU FEU! 
 
 LE premier cri partit du troi- 
 sieme etage. Cetait un cri 
 sourd et voile, comme si 
 I'homme qui le poussait cut ete a 
 moitie etrangle. 
 
 Tous les locataires de la maison 
 devaient Tavoir entendu ; cepen- 
 dant, personne ne bougea : on eut 
 dit que les gens attendaient un autre 
 avertissement. II vint, un peu plus 
 clair, au bout d'un assez long moment, 
 et il fut suivi, presque tout de suite, 
 d'un troisieme, plein de force. 
 
 Aussitot toute la maison fut 
 comme secoue"e ; les fenetres et les 
 portes se mirent a battre. On en- 
 tendit des cris de femmes et des 
 jurons d'hommes, et bientot Tescalier 
 trembla sous une de"gringolade pre- 
 cipitee et continue. 
 230
 
 AU FEU I 
 
 La voix qui avait pousse le premier 
 cri etait maintenant eclatante comme 
 un instrument de cuivre ; elle en- 
 trait par les portes, sortait par les 
 fenetres, et s'en allait dans la nuit 
 porter, a travers les vitres des 
 maisons voisines, son cri d'alarme : 
 " Au feu ! Au feu ! " 
 
 Les cinq locataires de sixieme 
 etage furent les derniers a ouvrir leur 
 porte. Us n'eurent pas besoin de 
 s'interroger : la fenetre du palier 
 leur montra tout de suite que c'etait 
 la scierie du fond de la cour qui 
 brulait. D'enormes piles de plan- 
 ches s'allumaient de tous cotes, et 
 le vent poussait les flammes et les 
 faisait buter centre la maison. II 
 fallait descendre au plus vite, car les 
 fenetres de 1'escalier laissaient deja 
 entrer une grande chaleur et beau- 
 coup de fumee. 
 
 L'artiste peintre n'en finissait pas 
 de mettre la deuxieme manche de sa 
 veste ; son bras glissait sans cesse 
 le long de la doublure sans rencontrer 
 1'ouverture. II se tourna vers sa 
 
 231
 
 AU FEU! 
 
 voisine, 1'employee des postes, et il 
 dit d'un ton de connaisseur : " $a 
 flambe admirablement ! " L' em- 
 ployee des postes ne 1'ecoutait pas ; 
 elle rentrait et sortait, pieds nus, en 
 chemise de nuit, et elle repetait : 
 " Je ne peux pourtant pas descendre 
 sans etre habillee correctement." 
 
 A 1'autre bout du couloir, Fran- 
 cette, 1'entretenue, courait apres sa 
 chatte qu'elle ne voulait pas aban- 
 donner ; elle derangeait les chaises 
 avec bruit en appelant d'une petite 
 voix : " Minet ! Minet ! Minet ! " 
 Elle sortit enfin avec sa chatte dans 
 ses bras, ses jambes nues dans des 
 bottines jaunes, qu'elle n'avait pas 
 pris le temps de boutonner, et sur ses 
 epaules une couverture blanche qui 
 trainait derriere elle comme un man- 
 teau de reine. Elle passa devant la 
 couturiere en train de fermer sa 
 porte a double tour comme pour 
 empecher le feu d'y entrer. 
 
 II n'y avait plus que la petite 
 tuberculeuse qui tournait sans bruit 
 dans sa chambre. Elle n'avait sur 
 232
 
 AU FEU! 
 
 elle qu'un petit jupon noir et un 
 collet qui ne joignait pas devant. 
 La couturiere la pressait de descen- 
 dre, mais elle s'entetait et resistait : 
 " Je veux ma lettre ! '' disait-elle. 
 ' J'ai une lettre et je ne veux pas 
 m'en aller sans elle ! " Elle la 
 trouva sur une chaise, pres du lit, 
 malgre 1'obscurite que la fumee com- 
 mengait a faire dans la chambre, puis 
 elle descendit aussi vite que cela lui 
 fut possible en se cachant la bouche 
 avec sa lettre. La couturiere la 
 suivait en retenant sa respiration et 
 fermant a demi les yeux que la fumee 
 piquait et brulait. 
 
 En bas, elles retrouverent Fran- 
 cette, Fentretenue, 1'artiste peintre 
 et 1'employee des postes, qui eurent 
 la meme respiration bruyante en les 
 apercevant. 
 
 La foule s'amassait avec rapidite, 
 on ne savait pas d'ou elle pouvait 
 venir a cette heure de nuit. Les 
 gens avaient 1'air d'avoir ete simple- 
 ment deranges dans leur promenade 
 d'apres-diner, et Ton voyait, comme 
 
 233
 
 AU FEU! 
 
 en plein jour, des couples de jeunes 
 gens, des vieux messieurs tout seuls 
 et des femmes avec leur enfant sur 
 le bras. La voix qui avait tant crie 
 au feu sortit tout a coup du couloir 
 pour demander si on avait appele 
 les pompiers. Personne ne repondit. 
 Alors il se fit un grand mouvement 
 dans la foule, comme si les gens 
 s'ecartaient pour laisser passer quel- 
 qu'un de tres presse et, peu de temps 
 apres, on entendit la chanson des 
 pompes a incendie. Deux notes 
 seulement, mais si rapprochees et 
 repetees avec tant d'insistance, que 
 cela faisait penser a un air tres varie 
 dont la foule connaissait les paroles. 
 On entendait de tous cotes : 
 
 " Les voila deja ! '' 
 
 " Us ont 1'echelle de sauvetage ! " 
 
 " Voyez comme leurs casques sont 
 brillants ! '' 
 
 Cependant de gros tuyaux souples 
 se deroulaient et s'allongeaient vers 
 les prises d'eau, pendant que Techelle 
 glissait de son chariot pour venir 
 s'appuyer centre le balcon du 
 234
 
 AU FEU! 
 
 deuxieme etage. Le couloir de la 
 maison apparaissait noir comme 
 1' entree d'une caverne. Les pom- 
 piers y penetraient graves et atten- 
 tifs, avec une torche allumee au 
 poing, et a les voir ainsi on pensait 
 a des hommes devoues et resolus, 
 s'en allant attaquer un monstre pour 
 sauver leurs freres. 
 
 Comme si le feu les eut reconnus, 
 il redoubla de violence a ce moment : 
 des morceaux de bois tout en feu 
 sautaient en 1'air et venaient re- 
 tomber sur les petits balcons du 
 sixieme etage : les etincelles montai- 
 ent en tourbillonnant avec insolence 
 et s'eparpillaient sur les maisons 
 voisines en penetrant j usque dans 
 les cheminees. 
 
 Pendant le silence angoisse qui 
 suivit, on vit tout a coup apparaitre 
 les pompiers sur le toit de la maison. 
 Us s'espacerent un peu et se camper- 
 ent solidement, les jambes ecartees, 
 puis ils saisirent leur lance a pleines 
 mains et Tabaisserent d'un geste sur 
 centre le feu. II diminua aussitot 
 
 235
 
 AU FEU! 
 
 ses flammes et quelqu'un cria : "Us 
 le tiennent ! " 
 
 Toutes les voix se reunirent en 
 une seule pour porter aux pompiers 
 1'admiration de chacun, puis les 
 mains se mirent a claquer avec une si 
 grande violence que les rugissements 
 du feu en furent etouffes, et peu 
 apres la foule commen9a de circuler 
 comme dans les entr'actes de 
 theatre. 
 
 Francette, Tentretenue, fut bientot 
 entouree, comme la plus a plaindre : 
 sa couverture glissait a chaque in- 
 stant de ses epaules et les mouve- 
 ments maladroits qu'elle faisait pour 
 la retenir laissaient voir a tous 
 qu'elle n'etait vetue que de sa 
 chemise. Elle disparut dans un 
 groupe du cote d'un grand cafe. 
 
 U employee des postes relevait con- 
 stamment son chignon qui glissait 
 sur son cou. L'artiste peintre lui 
 offrait son bras pour marcher un 
 peu ; tous deux tournerent le coin 
 d'une rue sombre. 
 
 Peu a peu la scierie cessa de bniler, 
 236
 
 AU FEU! 
 
 le silence se fit sur le boulevard et 
 les locataires rentrerent chez eux 
 les uns apres les autres. 
 
 Les cinq locataires du sixieme 
 e"tage se retrouverent ensemble sur 
 le palier : 1' artiste peintre, dont le 
 lit etait brule, entra chez I'employee 
 des postes pour s'assurer que le feu 
 n'avait rien abime. Francette, 1'entre- 
 tenue, avoua qu'elle avait trop peur 
 pour finir la nuit chez elle, et qu'elle 
 aimait mieux aller coucher chez une 
 amie. II ne resta plus sur le palier 
 que la couturiere et la petite tuber- 
 culeuse, dont les chambres n'avaient 
 plus de fenetres. Toutes deux 
 s'assirent sur 1'escalier ; la petite 
 tuberculeuse promenait sa lettre sur 
 sa poitrine en Tappuyant du plat de 
 sa main, comme si elle lui tenait 
 chaud aux endroits ou elle la laissait 
 un moment, et on n'entendit plus 
 que les pompiers qui allaient et 
 venaient dans la maison qu'ils em- 
 plissaient de bruit et d'eau. 
 
 237
 
 CATICHE 
 
 L INTERNE de service 1'ao 
 cepta tout de suite parce 
 qu'elle avait la danse de 
 Saint-Guy. 
 
 On Temmena dans une grande 
 salle ou il y avait beaucoup de petits 
 lits blancs le long des fenetres. 
 
 Elle avait sept ans et un joli 
 nom, mais la surveillante Fappela 
 Catiche. 
 
 C'etait sans y penser, simplement 
 parce qu'elle avait Fhabitude d'ap- 
 peler ainsi toutes les petites filles qui 
 avaient la danse de Saint-Guy. 
 
 Catiche se laissa baigner et mettre 
 au lit sans rien dire, mais quand elle 
 comprit que ce nom s'adressait a 
 elle, elle entra dans une fureur epou- 
 vantable. Elle rejeta ses couver- 
 tures et voulut battre la surveillante. 
 238
 
 CATICHE 
 
 Toutes les petites malades leverent 
 la tete pour regarder. Beaucoup se 
 mirent a rire en voyant les gestes de 
 Catiche. Chaque fois qu'elle langait 
 ses poings sur la surveillante, ils 
 revenaient d'eux-memes comme 
 tires par une ficelle, et lui frappaient 
 la poitrine ou le front, ou bien se 
 retournaient en arriere en lui touch- 
 ant le dos ou la nuque. Elle se 
 tordait comme un ver, et disait de sa 
 voix enrouee : " Tu vas voir ! " 
 L'innrmiere accourut et lui cingla la 
 figure avec des linges mouilles, pen- 
 dant que la surveillante la mainte- 
 nait sur le lit. 
 
 Elle fut longtemps a se calmer. 
 Peu a peu, son visage reprit sa cou- 
 leur pale, mais sa respiration restait 
 rude. 
 
 Aussitot que les infirmieres se 
 furent eloigne"es, elle se tourna sur le 
 ventre et cacha sa tete dans Toreiller. 
 
 Ses bras remuaient sans cesse 
 avec des mouvements de"sordonnes, 
 et ainsi on voyait qu'elle ne dormait 
 pas. 
 
 239
 
 CATICHE 
 
 Elle refusa de manger ; les in- 
 firmieres voulurent lui faire prendre 
 du lait par force ; elles lui pincerent 
 le nez pour lui faire ouvrir la bouche, 
 mais elle ecarta les levres et respira 
 a travers ses dents. 
 
 L'interne, a son tour, essaya de la 
 prendre par la douceur ; il n'obtint 
 meme pas qu'elle retirat sa figure de 
 1'oreiller. Le lendemain matin, a 
 1'heure de la visite, Finterne expliqua 
 la chose au chef qui s'approcha pour 
 caresser les cheveux coupes ras de 
 Catiche. 
 
 II parla d'une voix douce, toucha 
 Tun apres 1'autre les petits bras re- 
 muants et demanda : " Voyons, ma 
 mignonne, dites-moi ce qu'on vous 
 a fait ? " 
 
 Elle tourna brusquement la tete 
 de son cote, et d'une voix exasperee 
 elle cria : " zut a toi, na ! " et elle 
 replongea la tete dans son oreiller. 
 
 " II faut la laisser," dit le chef. 
 
 Elle passa encore toute la journee 
 sans vouloir manger. Quand toutes 
 les lumieres furent eteintes, et qu'il 
 240
 
 CATICHE 
 
 n'y cut plus que la veilleuse qui 
 faisait comme un clair de lune dans 
 la salle, Catiche commenga de remuer 
 dans son lit. Elle fit entendre des 
 petits gemissements qui avaient Tair 
 de sortir d'un sifflet bouche. 
 
 Sa voisine de droite se pencha vers 
 elle pour lui demander ce qu'elle 
 avait. Catiche ne repondit pas. On 
 n'entendait que le ronflement de la 
 gardienne qui dormait dans son 
 fauteuil, a 1'autre bout de la salle. 
 La petite voisine se leva sans bruit. 
 
 C'etait une grande fillette de douze 
 ans qui s'en allait d'une maladie de 
 coeur. Elle avait de grands yeux 
 bruns et doux et elle s'appelait 
 Yvonne. Sans penser a mal, elle 
 demanda, tout bas : " Voyons, 
 Catiche, qu'est-ce que tu as ? ' 
 
 Catiche la repoussa en ouvrant la 
 bouche en carre pour hurler, mais 
 aucun son ne sortit. Elle avait 
 perdu la voix dans la derniere 
 colere. 
 
 " Je parie que tu as faim," lui dit 
 Yvonne. 
 
 R 241
 
 CATICHE 
 
 " Oui, na, j'ai faim," souffla 
 Catiche. 
 
 Yvonne atteignit une boite de 
 gateaux sees, puis elle prit le pot au 
 lait qui etait sur la table de nuit et 
 en remplit sa tasse. 
 
 Le premier gateau que Catiche 
 voulut porter a sa bouche s'en alia 
 se promener par-dessus sa tete ; le 
 deuxieme lui passa par-dessus 
 Fepaule. Elle etait si drole, avec sa 
 bouche ouverte qui essayait 
 d'attraper les bouchees qui lui 
 echappaient, qu' Yvonne ne put se 
 retenir de rire. 
 
 Elle trempa elle-meme les gateaux 
 1'un apres 1'autre et fit manger 
 Catiche comme un petit oiseau. 
 
 Toute la boite de gateaux y passa 
 et plus de la moiti6 du pot de lait. 
 
 Les jours suivants, Yvonne con- 
 tinua de la faire manger a chaque 
 repas. Catiche restait sauvage et 
 mauvaise ; aussitot qu'elle avait 
 mange, elle tournait la tete de cote, 
 et s'enfoncait sous les draps. 
 
 Personne ne venait la voir, elle ne 
 242
 
 CATICHE 
 
 semblait pas envier les friandises 
 que les autres petites malades re- 
 cevaient de leurs parents. 
 
 La voisine de gauche avail neuf 
 ans. C'etait une blondinette qui 
 avait des attaques qui la jetaient 
 brusquement par terre avec une 
 jambe ou un bras en 1'air. Ses 
 parents la comblaient de toutes 
 sortes de bonnes choses. Plusieurs 
 fois ils en avaient offert a Catiche, 
 qui avait refuse en les regardant de 
 travers. 
 
 " Elle n'est pas commode," avait 
 dit le papa de la blondinette. 
 
 " C'est dommage," avait dit la 
 maman : " elle est jolie avec ses 
 cheveux coupes qui lui font comme 
 un bonnet noir." 
 
 " Mais non, maman/' dit a haute 
 voix la blondinette, " elle n'est pas 
 jolie. Elle a un ceil tout blanc." 
 
 C'etait vrai : Catiche avait une 
 large taie sur 1'ceil droit. A partir 
 de ce jour, elle ne tourna plus son 
 visage du cote de la blondinette. 
 Celle-ci en profita pour lui faire des 
 
 243
 
 CATICHE 
 
 niches. Elle lui tirait son drap, lui 
 envoyait des boulettes de pain et 
 1'appelait tout bas : " vieille 
 Catichon." 
 
 Catiche ne disait rien, mais les 
 mouvements de ses bras devenaient 
 plus violents. 
 
 Un matin qu'elle etait assise sur 
 son lit, la blondinette s'approcha et 
 lui dit quelque chose en faisant la 
 grimace. 
 
 Catiche la poussa avec une telle 
 force, qu'elle Tenvoya rouler centre 
 le pied du lit. La surveillante avait 
 vu le geste ; elle accourut, tout en 
 traitant Catiche de petite sournoise. 
 Catiche se demenait en lancant ses 
 bras de tous cotes. 
 
 Elle essayait de crier pour se de- 
 fendre, et, dans sa fureur, elle re- 
 trouva tout a coup la voix pour 
 hurler : " Ella m'a appelee ceil de 
 bique ! " 
 
 Toutes les petites filles se mirent a 
 rire. Seule Yvonne ne riait pas : 
 elle faisait tous ses efforts pour 
 retenir les bras de Catiche qui 
 244
 
 CATICHE 
 
 heurtaient la couchette de fer, puis 
 elle s'assit pres d'elle pour la con- 
 soler. 
 
 Elle lui mit de force un bonbon 
 dans la bouche en disant : " Mange 
 done, grosse bete," puis elle tira son 
 crochet et se mit a faire de la den- 
 telle. Tous les jours, ensuite, elle 
 approchait sa chaise du lit de Catiche 
 qui faisait tou jours des difficultes 
 pour accepter les friandises qu'elle 
 voulait partager avec elle. 
 
 " Prete-moi ton crochet," lui dit 
 un jour Catiche. 
 
 " Non," dit Yvonne, " tu pourrais 
 te blesser." 
 
 Catiche allongea ses bras qui ne 
 remuaient presque plus : " Tiens, je 
 suis guerie maintenant, puisque je 
 peux manger toute seule. 
 
 " Donne-le moi," reprit elle, " je 
 veux lui piquer 1'ceil pour qu'on 
 Tappelle aussi ceil de bique. Maman 
 dit que j'ai 1'ceil blanc parce que je 
 me suis piquee avec un crochet." 
 
 " Oh ! " dit Yvonne, " comment 
 peux-tu etre aussi mechante ? ' ; 
 
 245
 
 CATICHE 
 
 " C'est elle qui est mechante : je 
 ne lui avals rien fait, moi." 
 
 " C'est vrai," dit Yvonne ; " mais 
 puisque tu trouves qu'elle a mal fait, 
 pourquoi veux-tu 1'imiter ? ' 
 
 " Si c'etait toi," dit Catiche, 
 " qu'est-ce-que tu lui aurais fait ? ' J 
 
 ' Je lui aurais donne une gifle et 
 je n'y aurais plus pense." 
 
 Yvonne ajouta, apres un silence : 
 ' Tu 1'as jetee par terre et elle a 
 saigne du nez : a lui a fait plus mal 
 qu'une gifle/' 
 
 Le lendemain, Yvonne qui etait 
 trop faible pour se lever, s'adossa 
 contre ses oreillers pour faire sa 
 dentelle. 
 
 L'infirmiere se precipita quand 
 elle la vit s'affaisser. Elle saisit la 
 petite boite a ouvrage et la deposa 
 sur le lit de Catiche, puis elle recoucha 
 Yvonne sans dire un mot, et s'eloigna 
 apres lui avoir recouvert la figure 
 avec la drap. 
 
 Apres plusieurs allees et venues, 
 Catiche s'ape^ut qu'Yvonne n'etait 
 plus dans son lit. Elle osa demander 
 246
 
 CATICHE 
 
 a I'infirmiere si elle allait bientot 
 revenir. 
 
 " Elle ne reviendra plus," dit 
 rinfirmiere : " elle est tout a fait 
 guerie." 
 
 Alors Catiche rangea soigneuse- 
 ment sa dentelle et, apres avoir 
 regarde un moment la fine pointe 
 du crochet, elle le mit dans 1'etui et 
 rendit le tout a la surveillante. 
 
 247
 
 LA FIANCEE 
 
 APRES quelques jours de 
 vacances, il me fallait 
 rentrer a Paris. 
 
 Quand j 'arrival a la gare, le train 
 etait bonde de voyageurs : je me 
 penchai vers chaque compartiment 
 dans 1'espoir de trouver une place. 
 II y en avail bien une la, a cote, mais 
 elle etait encombree par deux grands 
 paniers d'ou sortaient des tetes de 
 poules et de canards. 
 
 Apres avoir hesite un bon moment, 
 je me decidai a monter. Je m'ex- 
 cusai de faire deranger les paniers, 
 mais un homme en blouse me dit : 
 " Attendez done, mademoiselle, je 
 vais les oter de la," et, pendant que 
 je tenais le panier de fruits qu'il 
 avait sur les genoux, il glissa ses 
 volailles sous la banquette. 
 248
 
 LA FIANCEE 
 
 Les canards n'etaient pas contents, 
 et cela s'entendait bien ; les poules 
 baissaient les tetes d'un air humilie, 
 et la femme du paysan leur parlait 
 en les appelant par leur nom. 
 
 Quand je fus assise et quand les 
 canards se furent calmes, le voyageur 
 qui etait en face de moi demanda au 
 paysan s'il portait ses volailles au 
 marche. 
 
 " Non, monsieur," repondit 
 rhomme, " je les porte a mon gar$on 
 qui va se marier apres-demain." 
 
 Sa figure rayonnait : il regardait 
 autour de lui, comme s'il eut voulu 
 montrer sa joie a tout le monde. 
 
 Une veille femme qui etait enfoncee 
 dans trois oreillers, et qui tenait 
 deux fois sa place, se mit a maugreer 
 contre les paysans qui encombrai- 
 ent toujours les vagons : le jeune 
 homme qui etait a cote d'elle ne 
 savait ou mettre ses coudes. 
 
 Le train commenca a rouler et le 
 voyageur qui avait parle allait se 
 mettre a lire son journal, lorsque le 
 paysan lui dit : 
 
 249
 
 LA FIANCEE 
 
 " Mon gargon est a Paris ; il est 
 employe dans un magasin et il va 
 se marier avec une demoiselle qui est 
 aussi dans un magasin." 
 
 Le voyageur posa son journal 
 ouvert sur ses genoux ; il le main- 
 tint d'une main, en se rapprochant 
 au bord de la banquette, et il de- 
 manda : 
 
 " Est-ce que la fiancee est jolie ? " 
 
 " On ne sait pas," dit 1'homme, 
 " on ne 1'a pas encore vue." 
 
 " Vraiment," dit le voyageur, " et 
 si elle etait laide et qu'elle ne vous 
 convienne pas ? '' 
 
 " Ca, c'est des choses qui peuvent 
 arriver," repondit le paysan ; " mais 
 je crois qu'elle nous plaira, parce que 
 notre gargon nous aime trop pour 
 prendre une femme laide." 
 
 " Et puis," ajouta la femme, " du 
 moment qu'elle plait a notre Phi- 
 lippe, elle nous plaira aussi/' 
 
 Elle se tourna vers moi et ses doux 
 yeux etaient pleins de sourires. 
 Elle avait un tout petit visage frais, 
 et je ne pouvais croire qu'elle fut la 
 250
 
 LA FIANCEE 
 
 mere d'un gargon qui avail l'age de 
 se marier. 
 
 Elle voulut savoir si j'allais aussi 
 a Paris, et quand j'eus repondu oui, 
 le voyageur se mit a plaisanter. 
 
 " Je parie," dit-il, " que made- 
 moiselle est la fiancee ; elle est venue 
 au devant de ses beaux-parents sans 
 se faire connaitre ! ' 
 
 Tous les yeux se porterent sur moi 
 et je rougis beaucoup, pendant que 
 rhomme et la femme disaient en- 
 semble : 
 
 " Ah ! bien, si c'etait vrai, on 
 serait bien contents ! ''' 
 
 Je les detrompai, mais le voyageur 
 leur rappelait que j'etais passee deux 
 fois le long du train, comme si je 
 cherchais a reconnaitre quelqu'un, et 
 combien j'avais hesite avant de 
 monter dans le compartiment. 
 
 Tous les voyageurs riaient, et 
 j'etais tres genee en expliquant que 
 cette place etait la seule que j'avais 
 trouvee. 
 
 ",Ca ne fait rien," disait la femme, 
 " vous me plaisez bien, et je serais 
 
 251
 
 LA FIANCEE 
 
 bien aise que notre bru soil comme 
 vous." 
 
 " Oui," reprenait 1'homme, " il 
 faudrait qu'elle vous ' ressemble.' ' 
 
 Le voyageur, poursuivant sa plai- 
 santerie, leur disait, en me regardant 
 d'un air malicieux : 
 
 " Vous verrez que je ne me trompe 
 pas. Quand vous arriverez a Paris, 
 votre fils vous dira : ' Voici ma 
 fiancee ! ' ' 
 
 Peu apres, la femme se tourna tout 
 a fait vers moi ; elle fouilla au fond 
 de son panier et elle en tira une 
 galette qu'elle me presenta en disant 
 qu'elle 1'avait faite elle-meme le 
 matin. 
 
 Je ne savais pas refuser ; j'exage- 
 rai un rhume en affirmant que j'avais 
 la fievre, et la galette retourna au 
 fond du panier. 
 
 Elle m'offrit ensuite une grappe 
 de raisin, que je fus forcee d'accepter. 
 
 J'eus beaucoup de peine a em- 
 pecher rhomme d'aller me chercher 
 une boisson chaude pendant un arret 
 du train. 
 252
 
 LA FIANCEE 
 
 A voir ces braves gens qui ne de- 
 mandaient qu'a aimer la femme 
 choisie par leur fils, il me venait un 
 regret de ne pas etre leur bru : je 
 sentais combien leur affection m'eut 
 ete douce. Je n'avais pas connu 
 mcs parents et j'avais toujours vecu 
 parmi des etrangers. 
 
 A chaque instant, je surprenais 
 leurs regards fixes sur moi. 
 
 En arrivant a Paris, je les aidai a 
 descendre leurs paniers et je les 
 guidai vers la sortie. Je m'eloignai 
 un peu en voyant arriver un grand 
 garcon qui se jeta sur eux en les en- 
 tourant de ses bras. II les embras- 
 sait 1'un apres 1'autre sans se lasser ; 
 eux recevait ses caresses en souriant ; 
 ils n'entendaient pas les avertisse- 
 ments des employes qui les heurtaient 
 avec leurs vagonnets. 
 
 Je les suivis quand ils s'eloignerent. 
 Le fils avait passe son bras dans 
 1'anse du panier aux canards et, de 
 son autre bras, il entourait la taille 
 de sa mere. II se penchait sur elle 
 et il riait tres fort de ce qu'elle disait. 
 
 253
 
 LA FIANCEE 
 
 II avait, comme son pere, des 3'eux 
 gais et un sourire large. 
 
 Dehors, il faisait presque nuit. 
 Je relevai le col de mon manteau et 
 je restai en arriere, a quelques pas 
 d'eux, pendant que leur fils allait 
 chercher une voiture. 
 
 L'homme se mit a caresser la tete 
 d'une belle poule tachetee de toutes 
 couleurs, et il dit a sa femme : 
 
 "Si on avait su que ce n'etait pas 
 notre bru, on lui aurait bien donne 
 la bigarree." 
 
 La femme caressa aussi la bigarree, 
 en repondant : 
 
 " Oui ! si on avait su. . . ." 
 
 Elle fit un geste vers la longue file 
 de gens qui sortaient de la gare et 
 elle dit, en regardant au loin : 
 
 " Elle s'en va avec tout ce monde." 
 
 Mais le fils revenait avec une 
 voiture. II installa ses parents de 
 son mieux et il monta lui-meme pres 
 du cocher ; il se tenait assis de 
 travers pour ne pas les perdre de 
 vue, 
 
 II paraissait fort et doux, et je 
 
 254
 
 LA FIANCEE 
 
 pensais que sa fiancee etait bien 
 heureuse. . . . 
 
 Quand la voiture eut disparu, je 
 m'en allai lentement par les rues. 
 Je ne pouvais me decider a rentrer 
 toute seule dans ma petite chambre. 
 
 J'avais vingt ans, et personne ne 
 m'avait encore parle d'amour. 
 
 255
 
 FRAGMENT DE 
 LETTRE 
 
 J'AVAIS pense a aller te re- 
 joindre aux Indes, mais j'ai eu 
 peur pour mes fillettes et 
 surtout pour mon petit gargon qui 
 est ties delicat. 
 
 Cependant je veux quitter ce pays 
 le plus tot possible, 1'idee d'y rester 
 m'est insupportable : ma maison 
 meme m'est devenue odieuse. . . . 
 
 Je suis decidee a retourner dans 
 le pays ou nous sommes nees, j'y 
 retrouverai d'anciennes amies qui 
 sont devenues des jeunes meres 
 comme moi, et pres d'elles, je me 
 sentiiai moins seule. 
 
 Je sais bien que beaucoup de 
 jeunes veuves preferent rester dans 
 leur maison ; mais mon malheur a 
 moi n'est pas ordinaire, et quand je 
 256
 
 FRAGMENT DE LETTRE 
 
 t' aural tout dit, tu penseras que j'ai 
 raison. 
 
 Iicoute : je n'ai jamais parle de 
 ces choses a personne. Les gens ne 
 m'auraient pas crue et se seraient 
 moques de moi. 
 
 Toi, tu es ma soeur et tu m'aimes. 
 Je suis sure que tu ne penseras pas 
 que je suis folle. . . . 
 
 Quoique tu aies tres peu connu 
 mon mari, tu dois te souvenir de ses 
 yeux qu'il avait tres enfoncees et de 
 teintes si changeantes qu'on ne 
 pouvait jamais dire de quelle couleur 
 ils etaient ; ainsi, plusieurs mois 
 apres mon mariage, je n'avais pu 
 m'y habituer, et je baissais les pau- 
 pieres chaque fois qu'il me regardait 
 un peu longtemps. Pourtant il etait 
 doux et affectueux, et je 1'aimais. 
 
 A 1'annonce de ma premiere gros- 
 sesse, il m'entoura de soins les plus 
 minutieux. Souvent, je surprenais 
 un regard inquiet fixe sur mqi. Je 
 ne compris son tourment que le jour 
 ou il me dit : " Pourvu que ce soit 
 un gar9on ! " 
 
 s 257
 
 FRAGMENT DE LETTRE 
 
 Ce fut ma petite Lise, et rien ne 
 pourrait rendre le regard de mepris 
 qu'il laissa tomber sur le berceau. 
 
 La mignonne avait bien pres d'un 
 an quand j'eus ma deuxieme fille 
 Mon mari haussa les epaules ; ce- 
 pendant il regarda le petite et il dit 
 d'un air desenchante : "II faut que 
 j'en prenne mon parti ! Je vois 
 bien que nous n'aurons que des 
 filles ! " 
 
 Le jour de la naissance de mon 
 petit Raymond, tout changea. 
 J'etais si joyeuse que j'envoyai la 
 bonne a la recherche de mon mari 
 pour lui apprendre la bonne nouvelle. 
 II ne voulait pas y croire ! II disait : 
 ' Vous devez vous tromper, je suis 
 sur que c'est encore une fille. . . ." 
 
 II entra dans ma chambre a pas 
 comptes et, sans un regard pour moi, 
 il alia droit au berceau. 
 
 II prit le petit enfant au bout de 
 ses doigts comme un objet precieux. 
 II 1'approchait et le reculait de son 
 visage ; il riait et je voyais qu'il 
 avait envie de pleurer. Enfin il se 
 258
 
 FRAGMENT DE LETTRE 
 
 tourna vers moi et dit : " Je suis bien 
 heureux ! ' ; 
 
 Je crois qu'il aimait bien tout de 
 meme ses petites filles, mais elles ne 
 1'interessaient pas, tandis qu'il lui 
 semblaient que son fils etait a lui 
 tout seul. II 1'avait tant desire ! 
 Devant nos amis, il disait tres haut : 
 " C'est mon fils ! " Mais quand il 
 etait tout seul pres du berceau, il 
 disait : " C'est mon petit gar$on ! >J 
 
 Aussitot que 1'enfant fut sevre, il 
 s'occupa lui-meme des soins a lui 
 donner. II le baignait et Thabillait 
 avec adresse. II lui preparait aussi 
 ses legers repas. Puis ce furent des 
 promenades sans fin. Le petit 
 n'aimait que son pere, et c'est a 
 peine si j'osais lui donner une 
 caresse, tant j'avais peur de con- 
 trarier mon mari. II me disait 
 souvent : " Embrasse done tes 
 filles et laisse-moi mon fils." 
 
 Pendant la nuit il se levait pour 
 regarder dormir T enfant. Un jour 
 que j'avais appele le docteur pour 
 un bobo qu'avait ma petite Lise, il 
 
 259
 
 FRAGMENT DB LETTRE 
 
 fut frappe de 1'extreme maigreur 
 de mon mari : il 1'obligea a se laisser 
 ausculter. A peine avait-il appuye 
 son oreille, que je vis ses yeux 
 s'agrandir avec inquietude ! 
 
 II ecouta longtemps, et quand il 
 eut fini, il fit une longue ordonnance. 
 Puis, comme je I'accompagnais a la 
 porte, il me dit presque bas : " Les 
 poumons sont atteints ! Surtout, 
 veillez bien a ce qu'il prenne ses 
 remedes, car le mal est deja tres 
 avance ! " 
 
 Je ne me rendais pas bien compte 
 de cette maladie ; ce ne fut que huit 
 jours apres que le docteur, me trou- 
 vant seule, m'en donna tous les 
 details. 
 
 A force d'y reflechir, je me souvins 
 que mon mari avait commence a 
 tousser a la suite d'une pluie d'orage 
 qui T avait surpris dans la campagne. 
 II avait ote son vetement pour en 
 couvrir 1' enfant et il etait reste 
 assez longtemps dans ses effets 
 mouilles. 
 
 Depuis, la toux avait toujours ete" 
 260
 
 FRAGMENT DE LETTRE 
 
 en augmentant. En peu de temps 
 le mal fit de grands progres. Mon 
 mari dut bientot renoncer aux pro- 
 menades avec son fils. II exigeait 
 qu'on le laissa seul avec lui dans le 
 jardin. II passait ses journees assis 
 dans un fauteuil, pendant que le 
 petit jouait silencieusement pres de 
 lui. 
 
 Quand 1'hiver arriva, ce fut une 
 vraie torture ; mon mari gardait le 
 lit : il voulait que son fils restat 
 tout le jour dans sa chambre, mais 
 le docteur le defendait tres severe- 
 ment. Je passais tout mon temps a 
 imaginer des pretextes pour eloigner 
 1'enfant ! C'etait epouvantable ! 
 
 Le pere menacait et suppliait pour 
 avoir son fils, et rien ne pouvait 
 distraire 1'enfant qui pleurait et 
 voulait son pere ! 
 
 Vers le commencement de mars, le 
 docteur m'avertit que le malade ne 
 verrait pas 1'ete. 
 
 II vecut encore deux mois avec de 
 la fievre et du delire. II appelait 
 son fils a grands cris, et quoique 
 
 261
 
 FRAGMENT DE LETTRE 
 
 I* enfant fut souvent assez eloigne 
 pour que les cris ne lui parvinissent 
 pas, il semblait les entendre, il 
 echappait a toutes les mains pour 
 accourir vers la chambre de son 
 pere. 
 
 Un matin, mon mari me fit signe 
 d'approcher tout pres. II regardait 
 la porte avec inquietude, et quand je 
 fus penchee sur lui, il me dit dans 
 1'oreille : " II y a des negres derriere 
 la porte, ils viennent chercher mon 
 petit garcon, donne-leur des sous 
 pour qu'ils s'en aillent ! '' 
 
 Malgre moi, je demandais : " Des 
 negres ? ''' 
 
 " Oui ! Oui ! " me dit-il, " tiens, 
 les voila, maintenant, qui viennent 
 cracher sur mon lit ! >: 
 
 Je haussais la voix comme pour 
 chasser des mendiants, et jusqu'au 
 dernier jour, il ne cessa de crier que 
 des negres venaient cracher sur son 
 lit. Pour le calmer, il me fallait 
 jeter de grosses poignees de sous 
 vers la porte. 
 
 Une minute avant de mourir, il 
 262
 
 FRAGMENT DE LETTRE 
 
 se dressa en criant : " Je veux mon 
 fils ! " Puis il arrondit les bras 
 comme s'il tenait Tenfant, et quand 
 tout fut fini, son visage garda 1'ex-' 
 pression d'un sourire. 
 
 En rentrant du cimetiere, il me 
 fallut repondre a mes enfants qui 
 demandaient ou etait leur pere. Je 
 tachai de leur expliquer qu'il etait 
 parti en voyage, mais mon petit 
 Raymond me repondit : " Non ! il 
 est mourir dans 1'enterrement du 
 cimetiere." II dit cela en levant 
 vers moi son petit visage serieux, 
 puis il se mit a pleurer en appelant 
 son pere. 
 
 Je le pris sur mes genoux pour le 
 caresser et le consoler. II pleura 
 longtemps, puis il finit par s'endor- 
 mir. Sa petite main remuait con- 
 stamment comme si elle cherchait 
 une autre main. 
 
 Le jour finissait, j'etais tres lasse, 
 je luttais centre une somnolence qui 
 me gagnait, lorsqu'un leger bruit me 
 fit regarder vers la fenetre. 
 
 Une grande ombre se glissait sur 
 
 263
 
 FRAGMENT DE LETTRE 
 
 le mur, et quand elle fut en face de 
 moi, je reconnus mon rnari, il montra 
 de doigt 1' enfant et me dit : " Em- 
 brasse-le bien, car tu ne 1'auras pas 
 longtemps. . ." 
 
 264
 
 LES POULAINS 
 
 C'ETAIT la fin de l'6t, et 
 aussi le dernier jour des 
 vacances de Raymond. Sa 
 mere et lui devaient quitter le soir 
 meme la petite ile ou ils venaient de 
 passer deux mois. 
 
 Pendant que sa mere terminait les 
 paquets, Raymond s'en alia courir 
 une dernier e fois sur la lande. Depuis 
 qu'il etait dans 1'ile, il avait appris a 
 aimer les betes. Elles n'allaient pas 
 par troupeaux, comme dans les 
 autres pays. De loin en loin, on 
 voyait une vache ou un mouton, le 
 long des rochers. II semblait a Ray- 
 mond que ces betes etaient la comme 
 des naufrages attendant du secours. 
 Des qu'elles entendaient des pas, 
 elles levaient la tete et appelaient de 
 leur voix de betes. Elles regardaient 
 
 265
 
 POULAINS 
 
 les gens aussi longtemps qu'elles 
 pouvaient les apercevoir, puis elles 
 cessaient d'appeler, comme si elles 
 comprenaient que le moment de 
 la delivrance n'etait pas encore 
 venu. 
 
 Raymond s'etait surtout attache 
 aux poulains qui gambadaient a 
 travers Tile. Son prefere etait un 
 tout petit dont le poil avait des 
 teintes roses. La veille encore, il 
 s'etait arrete longtemps a le re- 
 garder. C'etait a 1'heure du soleil 
 couchant. Le poulain galopait en 
 faisant des graces : il baissait et 
 relevait la tete, comme s'il saluait le 
 gros soleil rouge qui se couchait dans 
 1'eau. Puis il se cabrait en essayant 
 de se tenir debout, ou bien il lancait 
 ses pieds de derriere dans le vide : 
 ensuite, il reprenait son joli trot en 
 tragant des cercles autour de sa mere. 
 Mais, ce matin-la, Raymond eut 
 beau courir le long des rochers et sur 
 la lande, il vit les memes vaches et 
 les memes moutons, mais nulle part 
 il ne vit de poulains. II ne savait a 
 266
 
 LES POULAINS 
 
 quoi attribuer cela, et il revint tout 
 ennuye retrouver sa mere qui 
 1'attendait pour le depart. 
 
 En arrivant sur le port, Raymond 
 vit tout de suite qu'il y avait autant 
 de monde qu'un dimanche. Ce-' 
 pendant, il remarqua que les gens ne 
 se promenaient pas tranquillement 
 le long des quais et sur la jetee. 
 Tout ce monde paraissait soucieux 
 et affaire. Des groupes d'hommes 
 parlaient haut et discutaient sur 
 des sommes d' argent. 
 
 Pendant que sa mere faisait de- 
 poser ses colis tout aupres du bateau, 
 Raymond s'approcha des groupes, 
 et a travers les appels et les discus- 
 sions, il apprit que c'etait le jour de 
 la foire aux poulains. On ne voyait 
 pas 1'endroit ou etait la foire, on n'en 
 entendait pas non plus le bruit, mais 
 d'instant en instant, on voyait arriver 
 sur le port une femme qui conduisait 
 par la bride une jument et son pou- 
 lain. 
 
 Parfois, plusieurs homines suivaient 
 derriere ; leurs vetements etaient a 
 
 267
 
 LES POULAINS 
 
 peu pres semblables, mais on recon- 
 naissait tout de suite le marchand a 
 la fagon dont il surveillait de 1'ceil 
 Failure du poulain. La femme faisait 
 avancer la jument tout au bord du 
 quai devant le bateau, et pendant 
 que le petit, tout inquiet, se rappro- 
 chait de sa mere, deux hommes 
 adroits lui passaient une grossiere 
 sous-ventriere ou s'accrochait une 
 barre de bois qui lui maintenaient 
 les jarrets : puis on entendait sur le 
 bateau le grincement d'une poulie, 
 deux roues tournaient, et un cable 
 muni d'un e"norme crochet s'abais- 
 sait vers le poulain et le soulevait 
 comme un colis. 
 
 Tous avaient le meme mouvement 
 de frayeur quand ils se sentaient 
 souleves de terre : leurs paupieres 
 battaient tres vite, ils allongeaient 
 leurs jambes de devant en repliant 
 le pied, comme s'ils cherchaient un 
 point d'appui, et, n'en trouvant pas, 
 ils cessaient de se raidir, et tout leur 
 corps pendait au bout du cable. Le 
 minute d'apres, ils disparaissaient 
 268
 
 LES POULAINS 
 
 par un large trou au fond du bateau, 
 d'oii sortaient des hennissements et 
 des piaffements de recul. 
 
 Apres cela, la femine et la jument 
 s'en retournaient du meme pas lent, 
 pendant que le marchand courait 
 sur le bateau et se penchait au-dessus 
 du trou en criant des ordres. 
 
 Raymond s'etait imagine que tous 
 ces poulains grandiraient pres de 
 leur mere jusqu'a ce qu'ils soient 
 assez forts pour trainer des charges 
 a leur tour : et voila qu'on les amenait 
 dans ce bateau par surprise, comme 
 les enfants que Ton mene a 1'ecole 
 pour la premiere fois. 
 
 Cela lui rappelait le jour ou sa 
 mere 1'avait conduit au college. 
 C'etait 1'annee d'avant, et il res- 
 sentait encore Timpression de terreur 
 qui 1'avait saisi en se trouvant en 
 face du grand batiment et de sa 
 grande porte. 
 
 Son premier mouvement avait ete 
 de s'enfuir, et il avait fallu que sa 
 mere le retint de toutes ses forces 
 par la main. Elle lui avait fait 
 
 269
 
 LES POULAINS 
 
 honte tout bas en lui montrant 
 d'autres gargons qui suivaient leur 
 mere d'un air sage, tout comme 
 ces grands poulains qui venaient 
 tranquillement jusqu'a ce grand 
 bateau. 
 
 II n'avait pas oublie non plus ce 
 petit gargon qui s'etait couche sur 
 le dos, devant la porte du college, 
 et qui se defendait des pieds et des 
 poings contre le monsieur qui essa- 
 yait de le soulever de terre. Le 
 petit gargon criait en appelant sa 
 mere : il avait du tant crier que sa 
 voix en etait tout enrouee. Un 
 rassemblement s'etait forme autour 
 d'eux et des gens disaient : 
 
 " II faudra bien qu'il entre : il 
 n'est pas le plus fort/' 
 
 Et, le lendemain, Raymond 1'avait 
 bien reconnu dans la cour de la 
 recreation. 
 
 Raymond pensait a toutes ces 
 choses, et une grande pitie lui venait 
 pour ces poulains que le bateau allait 
 bientot deposer dans des endroits 
 inconnus. 
 270
 
 LES POULAINS 
 
 Tout a coup, il vit les femmes qui 
 encombraient le passage s'ecarter 
 pour laisser passer une grande jument 
 blanche. Elle marchait lourdement 
 et cherchait a s'arreter a chaque 
 instant. La femme qui la conduisait 
 s'arretait en meme temps qu'elle et 
 reprenait sa marche en disant a la 
 bete : 
 
 " Allons, viens done ! " 
 
 Raymond reconnut aussitot la 
 mere de son poulain prefere. Le 
 petit paraissait tout affole : il courait 
 autour de sa mere en poussant sans 
 cesse un petit hennissement qui res- 
 semblait a un cri de tout petit enfant. 
 Le marchand le suivait et cherchait 
 a lui enserrer la tete dans un licol 
 blanc et rose : mais le poulain 1'evi- 
 tait d'un leger recul ou d'un petit 
 saut de cote. Le marchand com- 
 menga de jurer : il voulut que la 
 femme fit un effort pour 1'aider, 
 mais elle resta droite et raide a la 
 tete de la jument, en repondant : 
 
 " Maintenant qu'il est a vous, 
 prenez-le comme vous pourrez : je 
 
 271
 
 LES POULAINS 
 
 ne vous ai pas cache qu'il n'a jamais 
 etc attache." 
 
 Les femmes s'apitoyaient sur la 
 petite bete, pendant que le mar- 
 chand s'avanait sur la pointe de 
 ses gros souliers avec le licol tout 
 grand ouvert au bout de ses deux 
 mains. II tournait et revenait sur 
 ses pas pour surprendre le poulain, 
 qui lui echappait toujours. C'etait 
 un gros homme pesant et maladroit, 
 et Raymond pensait en lui-meme 
 qu'il avait 1'air d'un ours essayant 
 d'attraper un oiseau. 
 
 Cependant, il 1'approcha deux ou 
 trois fois de si pres que le petit 
 chercha du secours pres de sa mere. 
 
 II voulut d'abord se cacher sous 
 son ventre : puis il essaya de lui 
 monter sur le dos, et comme tout 
 cela etait impossible, il se colla contre 
 elle et roula sa petite tete sous son 
 cou pour y chercher une caresse. 
 
 Ce fut a ce moment que le mar- 
 chand le saisit. 
 
 Quand le petit sentit la corde, il 
 sauta des quatre pieds et se jeta de 
 272
 
 LES POULAINS 
 
 tous cotes, et Raymond entendit 
 encore des gens qui disaient : 
 
 (< II faudra bien qu'il y vienne : 
 il n'est pas le plus fort." 
 
 Le poulain avait recule jusqu'a un 
 amoncellement de colis, et il restait 
 la, tout en recul, en secouant la tete 
 de toutes ses forces pour echapper a 
 la corde. Alors, le marchand 
 s'avanca sur lui en enroulant la 
 corde a son bras pour en diminuer la 
 longueur. II tira ensuite une mince 
 cravache de dessous sa blouse et il 
 en frappa le poulain d'un coup sec, 
 en disant entre ses dents serrees : 
 
 " Avance done, enfant de 
 chameau ! " 
 
 Comme pour les autres poulains, 
 le femme fit approcher la mere tout 
 pres du bateau. 
 
 Le petit tremblait de tout son 
 corps : il essayait enore de hennir 
 comme pour demander du secours, 
 mais sa voix trop fragile avait du 
 etre cassee par le coup de cravache 
 et, malgre tous ses efforts, il ne put 
 la faire entendre. 
 
 T 273
 
 POUI,AINS 
 
 Sa mere tendit le cou vers lui : ses 
 naseaux eurent un fremissment en 
 rencontrant les naseaux du poulain. 
 Ses levres se mirent a trembler en 
 s'allongeant, et elle les appuya un 
 long moment sur la bouche de son 
 petit, et Raymond vit bien qu'elle 
 lui donnait le dernier baiser ; puis 
 elle releva la tete et regarda la mer 
 par-dessus le bateau. 
 
 La femme aussi regarda la mer 
 pendant que la chaine grin9ait et 
 que le poulain se balangait au bout 
 du cable. Quand il eut disparu au 
 fond du bateau, elle fit tourner la 
 jument vers la terre, et toutes deux 
 s'en retournerent lentement. La 
 femme marchait en ecartant un peu 
 les jambes, et sa jupe, qui se gonflait 
 aux hanches, lui faisait comme une 
 large croupe. 
 
 Pendant ce temps, le marchand 
 consolidait sa haute casquette, se- 
 couait sa blouse et s'en allait re- 
 joindre les autres marchands, qui 
 menaient grand bruit a I'arriere du 
 bateau. 
 
 274
 
 LE FANT6ME 
 
 A PRESENT, tout etait tran- 
 quille dans la maison et les 
 bruits de la rue ne s'enten- 
 daient presque plus. De temps en 
 temps, un fiacre passait encore au 
 loin, les fers du cheval claquaient 
 sur les paves comme s'ils ne tenaient 
 plus que par un fil a ses sabots, et 
 les sons creux et geles de sa clochette 
 passaient dans la nuit comme un 
 avertissement triste. 
 
 Marie avait cesse de pleurer et 
 Angelique se tenait toute penchee 
 sur la table, la tete presque sous 
 1'abat-jour de la lampe. 
 
 Un craquement sec sortant d'un 
 meuble fit relever vivement la tete a 
 Angelique, pendant que Marie rame- 
 nait ses mains bien en vue sur la 
 table, comme si elle craignait que 
 
 275
 
 FANTOME 
 
 quelqu'un les lui touchat dans 
 1' ombre, puis toutes deux regarde- 
 rent vers une porte vitree qu'on 
 voyait a 1'autre bout de la piece, et 
 Angelique remonta un peu 1'abat- 
 jour pour que la clarte de la lampe 
 s'etendit davantage sur les murs de 
 la chambre. 
 
 Le silence augmenta encore et 
 tout a coup la pendule se mit a 
 sonner. 
 
 Marie se pencha vers la cheminee 
 pour essayer de voir la pendule et 
 elle dit a voix basse : 
 
 " Comme elle a sonne vite ! " 
 
 Angelique evita le regard de sa 
 soeur en repondant : 
 
 " Tu trouves ? " 
 
 " Oui," dit Marie toujours a voix 
 basse, " on dirait qu'elle s'est de- 
 pechee de dire 1'heure pour se ren- 
 fermer au plus vite comme une per- 
 sonne qui a peur." 
 
 Angelique sourit a sa scBur et dit 
 d'une voix assez calme : 
 
 " II est minuit, il faut aller nous 
 coucher." 
 276
 
 FANTOME 
 
 " Non," dit Marie, " je ne pourrais 
 pas dormir. Lis-moi plutot quelque 
 chose," et elle atteignit un livre au 
 hasard sur la petite etagere accrochee 
 au mur tout pres d'elle." 
 
 " Nous le connaissons par cceur," 
 dit sa sceur en repoussant le livre. 
 Elle regarda de nouveau vers la 
 porte vitree. 
 
 " Maintenant que 1'oncle est mort, 
 nous pourrons prendre les livres qui 
 sont dans sa chambre. II ne nous a 
 jamais defendu de les lire." 
 
 " C'est vrai," dit Marie, " mais je 
 n'oserai pas entrer dans sa chambre 
 maintenant." 
 
 Elle baissa la voix pour dire en se 
 rapprochant de sa sceur : 
 
 ' Tantot, quand nous sommes 
 revenues du cimetiere, il m'a semble 
 qu'il rentrait dans la maison en 
 meme temps que nous." 
 
 Angelique remonta 1'abat-jour 
 tout en haut du verre de lampe et, 
 dans le silence qui suivit, les deux 
 soeurs entendirent un bruit qu'elles 
 ne reconnurent pas. 
 
 277
 
 LE FANTOME 
 
 " Qu'est-ce qui a fait ^a ? " de- 
 manda Angelique sans oser regarder 
 sa soeur. 
 
 " Je ne sais pas," dit Marie, " on 
 dirait que quelqu'un est tombe ici 
 sur le parquet." 
 
 " II me semble que cela vient de 
 ce cote," dit Angelique en montant 
 la fenetre. 
 
 " Elles ecouterent un long moment 
 dans le silence et Marie reprit en 
 assurant sa voix : 
 
 " C'est sans doute ma tapisserie 
 qui est tombee de la corbeille a 
 ouvrage," et comme sa soeur ne re- 
 pondait pas, elle proposa : 
 
 " Si nous y allions voir ? " 
 
 Angelique prit la lampe qu'elle 
 e*leva tres haut, et Marie prit sa soeur 
 par le bras. 
 
 Le gros rouleau de tapisserie etait 
 toujours sur la corbeille a ouvrage. 
 
 Elles entrerent dans le salon et 
 dans leur chambre, regarderent 
 autour de chaque meuble, rien n'etait 
 derange. Elles revinrent dans la 
 salle a manger. 
 278
 
 LE FANTOME 
 
 " C'est certainement ici que le bruit 
 s'est produit," chuchota Angelique. 
 
 " Alois c'est dans le placard," dit 
 Marie. 
 
 " Quel placard ? '' demanda sa 
 soeur. 
 
 " Celui de 1'oncle," repondit Marie 
 toujours a voix basse. 
 
 Elles arriverent tres vite au pla- 
 card et Marie 1'ouvrit vivement, 
 apres avoir repousse pres de la fene- 
 tre une chaise chargee de paquets 
 de linge que la blanchisseuse avait 
 apportes dans la journee. 
 
 Rien n'etait derange dans le 
 placard de Toncle. Sur le devant de 
 la planche du haut, deux chemises 
 blanches etaient couchees Tune sur 
 Tautre ; elles arrondissaient leurs 
 poings empeses comme pour se 
 faire un oreiller, et de chaque cote 
 d'elles venaient s'appuyer les mou- 
 choirs plies en carre et les chaussettes 
 bien enroulees. 
 
 Les vetements pendaient sous la 
 planche et s'aplatissaient sur des 
 epaules en bois. 
 
 279
 
 LE FANTOME 
 
 Marie les fit glisser sur la triangle 
 pour regarder en-dessous, mais elle 
 ne vit que des chaussures reluisantes 
 et bien alignees. 
 
 Elle referma le placard, et comme 
 a ce moment la lampe eclairait vive- 
 ment la porte vitree, les deux sceurs 
 virent en meme temps 1'oncle debout, 
 le chapeau sur la tete, qui les re- 
 gardait fixement de 1'autre cote de 
 la porte. 
 
 Marie lacha le bras de sa sceur et 
 recula d'un pas, mais Angelique 
 ouvrit precipitamment la porte 
 vitree et tendit brusquement la lampe 
 vers le fantome. Elle se rassura 
 aussitot, elle venait de reconnaitre 
 que c'etait simplement le mannequin 
 qui servait a sa soeur pour faire ses 
 robes et sur lequel on avait mis par 
 megarde le chapeau et le paletot de 
 Toncle. 
 
 Marie se rapprocha sans dire un 
 mot, elle ota du mannequin le 
 chapeau et le paletot qu'elle mit sur 
 le lit de 1'oncle, dont les matelas 
 restaient decouverts, avec seulement
 
 FANTOMB 
 
 les couvertures pliees au pied, et, 
 ainsi que sa soeur, elle vit tout de 
 suite que tout etait en ordre sur les 
 meubles et que rien ne trainait par 
 terre. Elles remarquerent aussi que 
 la fenetre restait grande ouverte 
 devant les persiennes fermees et que 
 1'air etait froid et charge d'une 
 odeur de buis. 
 
 Elles sortirent de la chambre en 
 refermant la porte, et pendant qu' 
 Angelique posait sur la table la lampe 
 qui vacillait dans sa main, Marie 
 s'assit lourdement comme si ses 
 jambes lui faisaient tout a coup 
 defaut. 
 
 Le silence continua, puis Marie dit : 
 
 " Apres tout, ce bruit venait peut- 
 etre de chez les voisins ? " 
 
 " Peut-etre ! " repondit Angelique : 
 elle ajouta en voyant sa sceur preter 
 1'oreille avec attention : 
 
 " C'est comme si quelqu'un etait 
 tombe sur les genoux." 
 
 Elle ecouta aussi avec attention, 
 puis elle demanda sans regarder sa 
 sceur : 
 
 281
 
 LE FANTOME 
 
 " Est-ce que tu as peur ? ' 
 
 " Non," dit Marie, " et toi ? " 
 
 " Moi non plus." 
 
 Angelique se leva la premiere et 
 dit comme tout a 1'heure : 
 
 " II faut nous coucher." 
 
 Elles se serrerent un peu pour 
 passer ensemble dans la porte de 
 leur chambre et Marie donna un 
 tour de cle pendant que sa soeur 
 poussait le verrou. 
 
 Elles furent bientot couchees cote 
 a cote, et quand Angelique eut 
 souffle la lampe qu'elle avait mise 
 tout pres de son lit, les deux soeurs 
 s'apercurent que la flamme de la 
 veilleuse n'eclairait pas comme a 
 1' ordinaire : elle s'allongeait parfois 
 comme si elle voulait sortir du verre, 
 et les ombres qu'elle renvoyait sur 
 les murs ne ressemblaient pas aux 
 ombres des autres soirs. Cependant 
 Angelique s'efforgait de respirer un 
 peu fort comme si elle dormait 
 tranquillement, et Marie n'osait 
 faire le plus petit mouvement de 
 peur de reveiller sa sceur. 
 282
 
 I,E FANTOMB 
 
 Mais, jusqu'au matin, les yeux 
 des deux soeurs guetterent le fan- 
 tome tombe dans la maison et qui 
 pouvait apparaitre d'un moment a 
 1'autre. Quand il fit grand jour, 
 elles se leverent en meme temps. 
 
 En entrant dans la salle a manger, 
 la premiere chose qu'elles virent, ce 
 fut un gros paquet de linge qui etait 
 tombe de la chaise sur le parquet et 
 que le double rideau de la fenetre 
 cachait a moitie. 
 
 Alors elles se regarderent en 
 souriant et s'embrasserent. 
 
 283
 
 Y A DES LOUPS 
 
 LES infirmieres 1'appelaient 
 grand'mere et lui parlaient 
 comme a une petite fille. 
 
 Depuis quinze jours qu'elle etait 
 dans la salle, personne n'avait pu la 
 decider a se laisser ope"rer. 
 
 Chaque matin, les internes s'arre- 
 taient pres de son lit. 
 
 II y en avait un qui lui parlait 
 avec beaucoup de douceur : . il riait 
 en montrant de belles dents blanches 
 et il disait : 
 
 " Voyons, grand'mere, on ne vous 
 fera aucun mal, et ensuite vous serez 
 leste comme une jeune fille." 
 
 Mais elle secouait la tete en bais- 
 sant le front, puis, d'une voix claire et 
 douce, elle repondait." 
 
 " Non, je ne veux pas/' 
 
 Aussitot que les medecins avaient 
 284
 
 Y A DBS I.OUPS 
 
 quitte la salle, elle se levait de 
 son lit et s'asseyait pres de la 
 fenetre. 
 
 Elle passait toutes ses journe"es a 
 regarder les gens qui allaient et ve- 
 naient dans la cour. J'etais sa 
 voisine et j 'avals souvent 1' occasion 
 de lui rendre quelque petit service. 
 Peu a peu, elle me parla de son mal ; 
 elle disait : 
 
 " C'est dans le ventre que je 
 souffre, mais il y a si longtemps que 
 j'ai fini par m'y habituer." 
 
 Alors elle regardait vers la fenetre 
 en ajoutant : 
 
 " Je voudrais bien m'en aller 
 did." 
 
 Ce matin la,, elle etait toute joyeuse 
 parce que Tinterne lui avait dit qu'on 
 allait la renvoyer de I'hopital. Tout 
 en rangeant ses petites affaires, elle 
 me raconta qu'elle etait depuis peu 
 a Paris. Son mari etait mort 1'annee 
 d'avant et sa fille, qui etait etablie 
 a Paris, n' avait pas voulu la laisser 
 seule au village ; elle lui avait fait 
 vendre tout son bien, et maintenant 
 
 285
 
 Y A DBS I/)UPS 
 
 elle vivait dans une petite boutique 
 entre sa fille et son gendre. 
 
 Dans les premiers temps, elle etait 
 content e d'etre a Paris ; puis il lui 
 etait venu un immense regret de ses 
 champs. Elle pensait sans cesse a 
 ces gens qui habit aient maintenant 
 sa petite maison ; ils avaient achete 
 aussi les deux vaches et le cheval, 
 il n'y avait que 1'ane qu'elle n'avait 
 pas voulu vendre. Sa fille avait 
 beau lui dire qu'a Paris il n'y avait 
 pas d'anes, elle n'avait pas voulu s'en 
 separer, et il avait bien fallu 1'amener. 
 On 1'avait mis chez un marchand de 
 lait qui le soignait, et ou elle pouvait 
 le voir chaque jour. 
 
 A force de s'ennuyer, voila qu'elle 
 avait senti da vantage son mal ; 
 aussitot sa fille 1'avait amenee a 
 1'hdpital. Le medecin avait dit 
 qu'une operation pourrait la guerir, 
 mais elle aimait mieux garder son 
 mal jusqu'a la fin de sa vie, plutot 
 que de se faire operer. 
 
 Sa fille venait souvent la voir. 
 C' etait une grande femme qui avait 
 286
 
 Y A DBS LOUPS 
 
 le nez pointu et le regard dur. Elle 
 souriait a toutes les malades en 
 traversant la salle, et tout le monde 
 pouvait entendre les paroles d'en- 
 couragement qu'elle prodiguait a sa 
 mere. 
 
 Ce jour-la, elle s'arreta longtemps 
 a causer a la surveillante. Grand' 
 mere la regardait d'un air craintif et 
 respectueux. Elle avait perdu son 
 air joyeux du matin, et elle avait 
 1'air d'une petite fille qui s'attend a 
 etre grondee. 
 
 Maintenant sa fille s'avan9ait en 
 distribuant des oranges aux maiades, 
 et quand elle fut pres de sa mere, 
 elle 1'accabla de tendresses et de 
 baisers ; elle disait a haute voix : 
 
 " Je veux que tu sois raisonnable 
 et que tu te laisses operer." 
 
 Grand'mere la suppliait tout bas de 
 remmener, mais la fille repondait : 
 " Non, non, je veux que tu guerisses.'* 
 Elle prenait les malades a temoin, 
 disant que sa mere avait encore de 
 ^longues anees a vivre et qu'elle 
 voulait la voir bien portante. 
 
 287
 
 Y A DBS IvOUPS 
 
 Grand'mere ne se laissait pas con- 
 vaincre, elle continuait de dire tout 
 bas : " Emmene-moi, ma fille." 
 
 Alors la fille se mit a dire : 
 
 " Eh bien ! voila : si tu ne veux 
 pas, je vendrai Tine." 
 
 Et elle etait partie au milieu des 
 rires de toute la salle. 
 
 Grand'mere en etait restee toute 
 egare, elle regardait ces femmes qui 
 riaient. Enfin elle ouvrit la bouche 
 comme si elle allait appeler au secours, 
 et pendant que les rires redoublaient, 
 elle cacha sa tete sous son drap. 
 Toute la nuit, je 1'entendis remuer ; 
 elle ne pleurait pas, mais ses soupirs 
 etaient longs comme des plaintes. 
 
 Au matin, quand elle apercut la 
 surveillante, elle lui cria : 
 
 " Je veux bien, Madame ! " 
 
 La surveillante la complimenta, 
 puis ce fut le tour des internes, ils 
 venaient 1'un apres Tautre s'assurer 
 de son consentement : a tous elle 
 disait avec le meme mouvement du 
 front : " Oui, je veux bien." 
 
 A 1'heure oti les malades ont la 
 288
 
 Y A DES IXttJPS 
 
 permission de se distraire, toutes 
 celles qui pouvaient marcher en- 
 tourerent le lit de grand'mere. 
 
 Chacune parlait de son mal, Tune 
 montrait un pied oil il manquait 
 trois doigts ; 1'autre expliquait com- 
 ment on lui avait enleve un sein ; 
 celle-ci decouvrait un ventre partage 
 par une longue raie rouge, et une 
 petite femme mince et noire raconta 
 qu'elle s'etait reveillee avant la fin, 
 et qu'il avait fallu quatre hommes 
 pour la tenir pendant qu'on la re- 
 cousait. 
 
 Grand'mere n'avait pas l'air de 
 les entendre : elle se tenait adossee 
 contre ses oreillers et, de temps en 
 temps, elle levait le main comme 
 pour chasser une mouche. Puis la 
 nuit revint ; les infirmieres s'en 
 allerent apres avoir eteint toutes les 
 lumieres, il ne resta plus qu'une 
 petite flamme qui eclairait la grande 
 table oii s'etalaient des linges et 
 des instruments bizarres. 
 
 Vers le milieu de la nuit, la sur- 
 
 veillante vint faire sa ronde ; elle 
 
 u 289
 
 Y A DES LOUPS 
 
 marchait sans bruit, et la lanterne 
 qu'elle balangait au-dessus de chaque 
 lit avait Tair d'un gros ceil curieux. 
 
 Grand'mere se leva quand la lan- 
 terne eut disparu ; elle s'approcha de 
 la fenetre et cogna au carreau avec 
 son doigt recourbe. Elle cognait 
 tout doucement et elle faisait des 
 signes a quelqu'un dans la cour. 
 
 Je regardai de ce cote, la cour 
 etait toute blanche de neige, et on ne 
 voyait que des arbres noirs et tordus 
 qui allongeaient leurs branches vers 
 nous. 
 
 Maintenant grand'mere cognait 
 plus fort : elle se serrait contre les 
 vitres, comme si elle esperait qu'on 
 allait lui ouvrir du dehors. Puis sa 
 voix claire et douce monta comme 
 une plainte qui traine. Elle dit : 
 " Y a des loups ! '" 
 
 La gardienne de nuit s'approcha 
 pour la faire taire, mais grand'mere 
 se sauva vers une autre fenetre. 
 Elle se mit a cogner de toutes ses 
 forces, comme si elle eut demande 
 asile aux arbres de la cour. Elle 
 290
 
 Y A DES LOUPS 
 
 repetait d'un ton plaintif et sup- 
 pliant : " Y a des loups." 
 
 Bientot toutes les malades furent 
 reveillees et Tune d'elles alia cher- 
 cher du secours. Deux hommes se 
 saisirent de grand'mere et la couch- 
 erent de force : ils mirent deux larges 
 planches de chaque cote de son lit 
 et la gardienne de nuit s'installa 
 pres d'elle ; grand'mere se dressait a 
 tout instant du fond de ses planches, 
 comme si elle essayait de sortir de 
 son cerceuil. Pendant longtemps, 
 elle continua de faire des signes 
 d'appel, puis ses bras resterent im- 
 mobiles et on n'entendit plus que sa 
 plainte iente et triste, qui disait sans 
 relache : " Y a des loups ! " 
 
 Cela montait comme un cri de 
 frayeur et emplissait toute la salle. 
 Vers le matin, la plainte se fit plus 
 faible, on cut dit que la petite voix 
 claire s'etait usee. Elle traina long- 
 temps comme une plainte d'enfant, 
 et quand le jour parut, elle se cassa 
 en disant encore : " Y a des loups ! " 
 
 291
 
 NOUVEAU LOGIS 
 
 L'ANCIEN etait mon bien : j'en 
 connaissais les plus petits 
 recoins ; pas un bruit qui ne 
 me fut familier. Je savais a quel 
 moment mes meubles craquaient 
 et les ombres qui couraient le soir 
 sur les murs etaient mes amies. 
 La tout etait naturel, ici tout est 
 suspect. 
 
 Le vent ricane pres de la croisee 
 et secoue la porte comme un voleur. 
 L' ombre de 1'etagere semble un mon- 
 strueux dragon pret a se jeter sur 
 moi. La namme de la bougie, 
 attiree par quelque chose que je ne 
 vois pas, penche toujours du meme 
 cote. Le robinet de la cuisine gronde 
 sans cesse comme une personne 
 292
 
 NOUVBAU IvOGlS 
 
 grincheuse. Mon lit mal assure* crie 
 a tout instant, et quand enfin je 
 commence sommeiller, une porte 
 de placard s'ouvre brusquement. 
 
 293
 
 PETITE ABEILLE 
 
 A I ! te voila enfin posee sur le 
 montant de ma fenetre : 
 
 Depuis un long moment 
 tu e*tais la, dansant dans le soleil 
 levant, le soleil d'automne encore 
 tout frais de la fraicheur de la nuit. 
 
 D'oii viens-tu, petite abeille jaune 
 et noire ? 
 
 Quel chemin t'a conduite par la 
 grande ville jusqu'a mon sixieme 
 etage, et quelle gaite ou quel deses- 
 poir t'a fait danser si longtemps 
 dans 1'encadrement de ma fenetre 
 ouverte ? 
 
 Parfois tu t'elancais si fort qu'on 
 eut dit que tu voulais atteindre le 
 ciel, puis ta danse devenait triste 
 et ton vol retombant. 
 
 Dis-moi, petite abeille, viens-tu 
 294
 
 PETITE ABEIUvE 
 
 d'un bal de nuit ou reviens-tu de 
 guerre ? 
 
 Quand tu t'es pose"e sur le montant 
 de ma fenetre, tout ton petit corps 
 tremblait de fatigue. Tes pattes se 
 repliaient sans forces, tes ailes fris- 
 sonnaient et ta tete ronde remuait et 
 se balan$ait comme la tete d'une 
 vieille femme dont le cou est devenu 
 faible. 
 
 Maintenant tu dors, petite abeille. 
 
 Tes fines pattes sont agrippees au 
 bois, mais ton corps est si lourd qu'il 
 penche de cote et tu fais penser a 
 un pauvre homme sans gite, qui a 
 erre toute la nuit, et qui s'est en- 
 dormi au matin sur un bane. 
 
 Tout a I'heure tu t'envoleras, tu 
 secoueras tes fines ailes qui ressem- 
 blent en ce moment a des parcelles 
 d'ecailles sechees. 
 
 Tu redescendras vers la terre, ou 
 tu trouveras encore des fleurs et des 
 ruisseaux. 
 
 Mais maintenant, dors dans le 
 rayon du soleil levant, dors tranquille 
 sur la boiserie de ma fenetre ouverte, 
 
 295
 
 PETITE ABEIIvIvE 
 
 car j 'ignore d'ou tu viens petite 
 abeille. Mais que tu viennes d'un 
 bal de nuit ou que tu reviennes de 
 guerre, dors jusqu'a midi, sous le 
 doux soleil d'octobre. 
 
 296
 
 MON BIEN-AIME 
 
 MON bien-aime est parti, et 
 la nuit descend sur moi. 
 Elle ne peut entrer en 
 moi, car dans mon coeur brule une 
 flamme claire que rien ne peut etein- 
 dre et qui m'eclaire toute. Dans le 
 crepuscule leger j'erre doucement par 
 les sentiers, esperant toujours voir 
 le bien-aime dans 1'autre sentier. 
 
 Parfums doux des roses et des lis. 
 Parfums amers des peupliers et des 
 lierres, vous passez dans mes cheveux 
 et sur ma bouche ; mais ma bouche 
 garde le souvenir des parfums vivants 
 de son baiser. 
 
 Mon bien-aime est parti, et mon 
 me est pleine de sanglots. 
 
 Pleurez sur moi, saules pleureurs. 
 
 N'etes-vous pas ici pour pleurer sur 
 les peines d'amour ? 
 
 297
 
 MON BIEN-AIMB 
 
 Vous laissez pendre votre feuillage 
 comme une douce et blonde cheve- 
 lure ; mais la sienne est plus blonde 
 et plus douce. 
 
 Fermez sur moi vos rideaux 
 mysterieux, beaux ifs ; afin que mes 
 soupirs ne troublent pas les amours 
 des fleurs. 
 
 Les roses toutes parf unices s'ouv- 
 rent en fremissant a Tapproche de la 
 nuit, et les liserons frileux s'enroulent 
 dans leurs petales pour attendre la 
 fraicheur du matin qui deposera sa 
 blanche rosee au fond de leur corolle 
 blanche. 
 
 Douce nuit, tu chantes pour 
 m'endormir. 
 
 Mais le sommeil s'en est alle avec 
 le bien-aime. 
 
 Tu chantais aussi quand il etait 
 la, 
 
 Et silencieux nous 1'ecoutions. 
 
 Nos mains s'enlacaient : nos 
 fronts se touchaient et tu passais sur 
 nos visages avec des caresses qui 
 faisaient fremir nos ames, et remplis- 
 saient nos coeurs de tendresse. 
 298
 
 MON BIEN-AIME 
 
 Nous t'aimions, belle nuit : 
 
 Avec tes brises parfumees, 
 
 Avec tes arbres balances. 
 
 Avec tes feuilles frissonnantes, 
 
 Avec le mysterieux chagrin de tes 
 sources, 
 
 Et le chant de tes crapauds qui 
 soufflent dans des flutes de perles. . . . 
 
 Ce soir, mon bien-aime est parti. 
 
 Dans 1' ombre, mes yeux cherchent 
 ses yeux : 
 
 Mes doigts s'ouvrent pour caresser 
 son front et les douceurs de son cou. 
 
 Mon visage se tend pour aspirer 
 son souffle, 
 
 Et le doux lien de ses bras manque 
 a ma ceinture. 
 
 Douce nuit si bonne a ceux qui 
 souffrent mets un pan de ton voile 
 sur mes yeux, afin que je ne voie 
 plus le sentier par ou s'en est alle 
 mon bien-aime. 
 
 299
 
 A 000127053 7