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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 They drew her back before they dared attempt to raise her. 
 
 \'ol. s, page no
 
 The Works of 
 
 Guy de Maupassant 
 
 VOLUME V 
 
 UNE VIE 
 
 AND OTHER STORIES 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 NATIONAL^ LIBRARY COMPANY 
 i^IEW YORK 
 
 /9^
 
 Copyright, 1909, By 
 BIGELOW, SMITH & CQ,
 
 ')/f~\ 
 
 I Ojr. -/ 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A Woman's Life (Uxe Vie) i 
 
 Hautot Senior and Hautot Junior 268 
 
 Little Louise Roque 287 
 
 Mother and Daughter 335 
 
 A Passion 341 
 
 No Quarter 352 
 
 The Impolite Sex 361 
 
 Woman's Wiles 369 
 
 2215212
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 By Edmund Gosse 
 
 The most robust and masculine of recent French novel- 
 ists is a typical Norman, sprung from an ancient noble 
 family, originally of Lorraine, but long settled in the 
 Pays de Caux. The traveler from England towards 
 Paris, soon after leaving Dieppe, sees on his left hand, 
 immediately beyond the station of St, Aubin, a hand- 
 some sixteenth-century house, the Chateau de Miro- 
 mesnil, on a hill above the railway. Here, surrounded 
 by the relics of his warlike and courtly ancestors, Henri 
 Rene Albert Guy de Maupassant was born on the 5th 
 of August, 1850. He was early associated with the 
 great Norman master of fiction, Gustave Flaubert, who 
 perceived his genius and enthusiastically undertook the 
 training of his intelligence. Through 1870 and 1871 
 the young man served in the war as a common soldier. 
 He was somewhat slow in taking up the profession 
 of letters, and was thirty years of age before he be- 
 came in any degree distinguished. In 1879 the 
 Troisieme Theatre Francais produced a short play of 
 his, Histoire dii Vieux Temps (An Old- World Story), 
 gracefully written in rhyme, but showing no very re- 
 markable aptitude for the stage. 
 
 It was in 1880 that De Maupassant was suddenly 
 made famous by two published volumes. The one 
 was a volume of Verses {Des Vers)^ twenty pieces, 
 most of them of a narrative character, extremely bril- 
 liant in execution, and audacious in tone. One of 
 
 ix
 
 X INTRODUCTION 
 
 these, slightly exceeding its fellows in crudity, was 
 threatened with a prosecution in law as an outrage upon 
 manners, and the fortune of the volume was secured. 
 The early poems of De Maupassant like those of 
 Paul Bourget, are not without sterling merit as poetry, 
 but their main interest is that they reflect the charac- 
 teristics of their author's mind. Such pieces as " Fin- 
 d'Amour," and " Au Bord de I'Eau," in the 1880 vol- 
 ume, are simply short stories told in verse, instead of 
 in prose. In this same year, Guy de Maupassant, who 
 had thrown in his lot with the Naturalist Novelists, 
 contributed a short tale to the volume called Les 
 Soirees de Medan, to which Zola, Huysmans, Hennique, 
 Ceard and Paul Alexis also affixed their names. He 
 was less known than any of these men, yet it was his 
 story, Boule de Siiif (Lump of Suet, or Ball of Fat), 
 which ensured the success of the book. This episode 
 of the war, treated with cynicism, tenderness, humor 
 and pathos mingled in quite a new manner, revealed 
 a fresh genius for the art of narrative. There was an 
 instant demand for more short stories from the same 
 pen, and it was soon discovered that the fecundity and 
 resource of the new writer were as extraordinary as 
 the charm of his style and the objective force of his 
 vision. 
 
 It is unnecessary to recount here the names of even 
 the chief of De Maupassant's stories. If we judge 
 them merely by their vivacity, richness and variety, 
 they are the best short tales which have been produced 
 anywhere during the same years. But it is impossible 
 not to admit that they have grave faults, which exclude 
 them from all possible recommendation to young and 
 ingenuous readers. No bibliography of them can be
 
 INTRODUCTION xi 
 
 attempted, the publishers of M. Guy de Maupassant 
 having reprinted his lesser stories so frequently, and 
 with such infinite varieties of arrangement, that the 
 positive sequence of these little masterpieces has been 
 hopelessly confused. Three stories in particular, how- 
 ever, may be mentioned, La Maison TelUer, 1881; 
 Les Strurs RondoU, 1884, and Miss Harriett, 1885, 
 because the collections which originally bore these 
 names were pre-eminently successful in drawing the 
 attention of the critics to the author's work. 
 
 It was not until he had won a very great reputation 
 as a short story-teller, that De Maupassant attempted 
 a long novel. He published only six single volume 
 stories, all of which are included in the present edition. 
 The first w^as Une Vie (A Life), 1883, a very careful 
 study of Norman manners, highly finished in the man- 
 ner of Flaubert, whom he has styled " that irreproach- 
 able master whom I admire above all others." In 
 certain directions, I do not think that De Maupassant 
 has surpassed Une Vie, in fidelity to nature, in a Dutch 
 exactitude of portraiture, in a certain distinction of tone; 
 it was the history of an unhappy gentlewoman, doomed 
 throughout life to be deceived, impoverished, disdained 
 and overwhelmed. Bel- A mi, 1885, which succeeded 
 this quiet and Quaker-colored book, was a much more 
 vivid novel, an extremely vigorous picture of the rise 
 in social prominence of a penniless fellow in Paris, 
 without a brain or a heart, who depends wholly upon 
 his impudence and his good looks. After 1885 De 
 Maupassant published four novels — Mont-Oriol, 
 1887; Pierre et Jean, 1888; Fort comme la Mart (As 
 Strong as Death, or The Ruling Passion), 1889; and 
 Notre Cceiir (Our Heart), 1890.
 
 xil INTRODUCTION 
 
 Of these six remarkable books, the Pierre et Jean is 
 certainly the most finished and the most agreeable. 
 In Mont-Oriol, a beautiful landscape of Auvergne 
 mountain and bath enshrines a singularly pessimistic 
 rendering of the adage " He loved and he rode away." 
 Few of the author's thoughtful admirers will admit 
 that in Fort comme la Mort he has done justice to his 
 powers. In Notre Cceiir he has taken up one of the 
 psychological problems which have hitherto lain in the 
 undisputed province of M. Bourget, and has shown 
 how difficult it is in the musky atmosphere of fash- 
 ionable Paris for two hearts to recover the Mayday 
 freshness of their impulses, the spontaneous flow of 
 their illusions; he displays himself here in a new light, 
 less brutal than of old, more delicate and analytical. 
 With regard to Pierre et Jean, it would be difficult to 
 find words wherewith to describe it and its relation 
 to the best English fiction more just or more felicitous 
 than those in which Mr. Henry James welcomed its 
 first appearance : — " Pierre et Jean is, so far as my 
 judgment goes, a faultless production. . . . It is 
 the best of M. de Maupassant's novels, mainly because 
 M. de Maupassant has never before been so clever. 
 It is a pleasure to see a mature talent able to renew 
 itself, strike another note, and appear stilL young. 
 The author's choice of a milieu, moreover, 
 will serve to English readers as an example of how 
 much more democratic contemporary French fiction is 
 than that of his own country. The greater part of it 
 — almost all the work of Zola and of Daudet, the list 
 of Flaubert's novels, and the best of those of the broth- 
 ers De Goncourt — treat of that vast, dim section of so- 
 ciety, which, lying between those luxurious walks on
 
 INTRODUCTION xlli 
 
 whose behalf there are easy suppositions and that dark- 
 ness of misery which, in addition to being picturesque, 
 brings philanthropy also to the writer's aid, constitutes 
 really, in extent and expressiveness, the substance of 
 every nation. In England, where the fashion of fiction 
 still sets mainly to the country-house and the hunting- 
 field, and yet more novels are published than anywhere 
 else in the world, that thick twilight of mediocrity of 
 condition has been little explored. May it yield tri- 
 umphs in the years to come! " 
 
 The great merit of M. de Maupassant as a writer is 
 his frank a»<i^-masealt«€- directness. He sees life 
 clearly, and he undertakes to describe it as he sees it, in 
 concise and vigorous language. He Is a realist, yet 
 without the gloominess of Zola, over whom he claims 
 one great advantage, that of possessing a rich sense of 
 humor, and a large share of the old Gallic wit. His 
 pessimism, indeed, is inexorable, and he pushes the mis- 
 fortune, or more often the degradation, of his charac- 
 ters to its extreme logical conclusion. Yet, even in his 
 saddest stories, the general design is rarely sordid. 
 For a long while he was almost exclusively concerned 
 with impressions of Normandy; a little later he became 
 one of the many painters of Paris. Then he traveled 
 widely, in the south of Europe, in Africa ; wherever he 
 went he took with him a quick and sensitive eye for the 
 aspects of nature, and his descriptive passages, which 
 are never pushed to a tiresome excess of length, are 
 often faultlessly vivid. He attempted, with a good 
 deal of cleverness, to analyze character, but his real 
 power seems to lie In describing, in a sober style and 
 with a virile impartiality, the superficial aspects of 
 action and intrigue.
 
 UNE VIE 
 
 (A WOMAN'S LIFE) 
 
 I 
 
 JEANNE, having finished her packing, went to the 
 window, but it had not stopped raining. 
 All night long the downpour had pattered 
 against the roofs and the window-panes. The low, 
 heavy clouds seemed as though they had burst, and 
 were emptying themselves on the world, to reduce it to 
 a pulp and melt it as though it were a sugar-loaf. A 
 hot wind swept by in gusts; the murmur of the overflow- 
 ing gutters filled the empty streets, and the houses, like 
 sponges, absorbed the moisture which, penetrating to 
 the interior, made the walls wet from cellar to attic. 
 
 Jeanne, who had left the convent the day before, 
 free at last and ready for all the happiness of a life 
 of which she had dreamed for so long, feared that her 
 father would hesitate about starting if the weather did 
 not clear up, and, for the hundredth time since the 
 morning, she studied the horizon. 
 
 Looking round, she saw that she had forgotten to 
 
 put her almanac in her traveling bag. She took from 
 
 the wall the little card which bore in the center of a 
 
 design, the date of the current year 1819 in gilt letters, 
 
 and crossed out with a pencil the first four columns, 
 
 drawing a line through each saint's name till she came 
 
 to the second of May, the day she had left the convent. 
 V-l I
 
 2 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 A voice outside the door called: " Jeannette! " 
 
 Jeanne answered: "Come in, papa." And her 
 father appeared. 
 
 The Baron Simon-Jecques Le Perthuis des Vauds was 
 a gentleman of the old school, eccentric and good- 
 hearted. An enthusiastic follower of Jean-Jacques 
 Rousseau, he had a loving tenderness for all nature; for 
 the fields, the woods, and for animals. An aristocrat 
 by birth, he hated '93 by instinct; but of a philosophical 
 temperament and liberal by education, he loathed tyr- 
 anny with an inoffensive and declamatory hatred. The 
 strongest, and at the same time the weakest, trait in his 
 character was his generosity; a generosity which had 
 not enough arms to caress, to give, to embrace; the gen- 
 erosity of a creator which was utterly devoid of system, 
 and to which he gave way with no attempt to resist his 
 impulses, as though part of his will were paralyzed; 
 It was a want of energy, and almost amounted to a vice. 
 
 A man of theories, he had thought out a whole plan 
 of education for his daughter, wishing to make her 
 happy and good, straightforward and affectionate. Till 
 she was twelve years old she had stayed at home; then, 
 in spite of her mother's tears, she was sent to the Sacred 
 Heart Convent. He had kept her strictly Immured 
 there, totally Ignorant of worldly things, for he wished 
 her to return to him, at the age of seventeen, Innocent, 
 that he might himself immerse her in a sort of bath 
 of rational poetry; and, In the fields, surrounded by the 
 fertile earth, he meant to Instruct her, and enlighten 
 her by the sight of the serene laws of life, the inno- 
 cent loves and the simple tenderness of the animals. 
 
 And now she was leaving the convent, radiant and 
 brimful of happiness, ready for every joy and for all
 
 UNE VIE 3 
 
 the charming adventures that, in the idle moments of 
 her days and during the long nights, she had already 
 pictured to herself. 
 
 She looked like a portrait by Veronese, with her shin- 
 ing, fair hair, which looked as though it had given part 
 of its color to her skin, the creamy skin of a high-born 
 girl, hardly tinted with pink and shaded by a soft 
 velvety down, which could just be seen when she was 
 kissed by a sun-ray. Her eyes were blue, an opaque 
 blue, like the eyes of a Dutch china figure. On her left 
 nostril was a little mole, another on the right side of 
 her chin, where curled a few hairs so much like the color 
 of the skin that they could hardly be seen. She was tall, 
 with a well-developed chest and supple waist. Her 
 clear voice sometimes sounded too shrill, but her merry 
 laugh made everyone around her feel happy. She had 
 a way of frequently putting both hands to her forehead, 
 as though to smooth her hair. 
 
 She ran to her father, put her arms around his neck 
 and kissed him. 
 
 "Well, are we going to start?" she asked. 
 
 He smiled, shook back his white hair, which he wore 
 rather long, and pointing towards the window : 
 
 " How can you think of traveling in such weather? " 
 he said. 
 
 Then she pleaded coaxingly and affectionately, " Oh, 
 papa, please do let us start. It will be fine in the after- 
 noon." 
 
 " But your mother will never consent to it." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I promise you she shall; I will answer for 
 her." 
 
 " Well, if you can persuade your mother, I am quite 
 willing to start."
 
 4 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 She hastened towards the baroness's room, for she 
 had looked forward to this day with great Impatience. 
 Since she had entered the convent she had not left 
 Rouen, as her father would allow no distracting pleas- 
 ures before the age he had fixed. Only twice had she 
 been taken to Paris for a fortnight, but that was an- 
 other town, and she longed for the country. Now she 
 was going to spend the summer on their estate, Les 
 Peuples, in an old family chateau built on the cliff near 
 Yport; and she was looking forward to the boundless 
 happiness of a free life beside the waves. And then 
 it was understood that the manor was to be given to 
 her, and that she was to live there always when she was 
 married; and the rain which had been falling inces- 
 santly since the night before was the first real grief of 
 her life. 
 
 In three minutes she came running out of her moth- 
 er's room, crying : 
 
 " Papa ! papa ! Mamma is quite willing. Tell them 
 to harness the horses." 
 
 The rain had not given over in the least, in fact, it 
 was coming down still faster when the landau came 
 round to the door. Jeanne was ready to jump in 
 when the baroness came down the stairs, supported on 
 one side by her husband, and on the other by a tall 
 maid, whose frame was as strong and as well-knit as a 
 boy's. She was a Normandy girl from Caux, and 
 looked at least twenty years old, though she really 
 was scarcely eighteen. In the baron's family she was 
 treated somewhat like a second daughter, for she was 
 Jeanne's foster-sister. She was named Rosalie, and her 
 principal duty consisted in aiding her mistress to walk, 
 for, within the last few years, the baroness had attained
 
 UNE VIE 5 
 
 an enormous size, owing to an hypertrophy of the heart, 
 of which she was always complaining. 
 
 Breathing very hard, the baroness reached the steps 
 of the old hotel; there she stopped to look at the court- 
 yard where the water was streaming down, and mur- 
 mured: 
 
 " Really, it is not prudent." 
 
 Her husband answered with a smile : 
 
 " It was you who wished it, Madame Adelaide." 
 
 She bore the pompous name of Adelaide, and he al- 
 ways prefaced it by " Madame " with a certain little 
 look of mock-respect. 
 
 She began to move forward again, and with diffi- 
 culty got into the carriage, all the springs of which 
 bent under her weight. The baron sat by her side, and 
 Jeanne and Rosalie took their places with their backs 
 to the horses. Ludivine, the cook, brought a bundle 
 of rugs, which were thrown over their knees, and two 
 baskets, which were pushed under their legs; then she 
 climbed up beside old Simon and enveloped herself in 
 a great rug, which covered her entirely. The concierge 
 and his wife came to shut the gate and wish them good- 
 bye, and after some parting instructions about the 
 baggage, which was to follow in a cart, the carriage 
 started. 
 
 Old Simon, the coachman, with his head held down 
 and his back bent under the rain, could hardly be seen 
 in his three-caped coat; and the moaning wind rattled 
 against the windows and swept the rain along the road. 
 
 The horses trotted briskly down to the quay, passed 
 the row of big ships, whose masts and yards and ropes 
 stood out against the gray sky like bare trees, and en- 
 tered the long Boulevard du Mont Riboudet. Soon
 
 6 A WOiMAN'S LIFE 
 
 they reached the country, and from time to time the 
 outline of a weeping-willow, with its branches hanging 
 in a corpse-like inertness, could be vaguely seen through 
 the watery mist. Ihe horses' shoes clattered on the 
 road; and the four wheels made regular rings of mud. 
 
 Inside the carriage they were silent; their spirits 
 seemed damped, like the earth. The baroness leaned 
 back, rested her head against the cushions, and closed 
 her eyes. The baron looked out mournfully at the mo- 
 notonous, wet fields, and Rosalie, with a parcel on her 
 knees, sat musing in the animal-like way In which the 
 lower classes indulge. But Jeanne felt herself revive 
 under this warm rain like a plant which is put into 
 the open air after being shut up in a dark closet; and 
 the greatness of her joy seemed to prevent any sadness 
 reaching her heart. Although she did not speak, she 
 wanted to sing and to put her hand outside and drink the 
 water with which it would be filled ; and the desolate 
 look of the country only added to the enjoyment she 
 felt at being carried along so swiftly, and at feeling her- 
 self sheltered In the midst of this deluge. 
 
 Under the ceaseless rain a cloud of steam rose from 
 the backs of the two horses. 
 
 The baroness gradually fell asleep; her face, sur- 
 rounded by six stiff curls, sank lower and lower, though 
 It was partly sustained by the three big waves of her 
 neck, the last curves of which lost themselves in the 
 amplitude of her chest. Her head; raised by each res- 
 piration, as regularly sank again; her cheeks pufi^ed out, 
 and from her half-opened lips issued a deep snore. Her 
 husband leaned over towards her and softly placed in 
 her hands, crossed on her ample lap, a leather pocket- 
 book. The touch awoke her, and she looked at the
 
 UNE VIE 7 
 
 object in her lap with the stupefied look of one suddenly 
 aroused from sleep. The pocket-book fell and opened, 
 and the gold and bank-notes it contained were scattered 
 all over the carriage. That woke her up altogether, 
 and the light-heartedness of her daughter found vent 
 in a burst of laughter. 
 
 The baron picked up the money and placed it on her 
 knees. 
 
 " There, my dear," he said. " That is all that is 
 left of the farm at Eletot. I have sold it to pay for 
 the doing up of Les Peuples as we shall live there so 
 much now." 
 
 She counted the six thousand, four hundred francs, 
 and put them quietly into her pocket. 
 
 It was the ninth farm that they had sold out of the 
 thirty-one left them by their parents; but they still had 
 about twenty thousand livres a year coming in from 
 property which, well-managed, would have easily 
 brought in thirty thousand francs. As they lived 
 quietly, this income would have been amply sufficient for 
 them, if their lavish generosity had not constantly ex- 
 hausted their supplies. It drained their money from 
 them as the sun draws water from a swamp. The gold 
 melted, vanished, disappeared. How? No one knew. 
 One of them was always saying: " I don't know how 
 it is, but I have spent a hundred francs to-day, and I 
 haven't anything to show for it." 
 
 To give was one of the great joys of their existence, 
 and they perfectly understood each other on this point 
 in a way that was at once grand and touching. 
 
 Jeanne asked: "Is my chateau looking beautiful 
 now?" 
 
 " You will see, my child," answered the baron, gaily.
 
 8 A WOiMAN S LIFE 
 
 Little by little the violence of the storm diminished; 
 soon there was nothing more than a sort of mist, a very 
 fine drizzling rain. The arch of the clouds seemed to 
 get higher and lighter; and suddenly a long oblique sun- 
 beam fell on the fields. Through the break In the 
 clouds a streak of blue sky could be seen, and then the 
 rift got bigger as though a veil were being drawn back, 
 and a beautiful sky of a pure deep blue spread itself 
 out over the w'orld. There was a fresh mild breeze 
 like a happy sigh from the earth, and from the gardens 
 and woods came now and again the merry song of a 
 bird drying his wings. 
 
 The evening was drawing in ; everyone inside the car- 
 riage, except Jeanne, was asleep. Twice they had 
 stopped at an inn, to rest the horses and give them 
 water and corn. The sun had set, and in the distance 
 the bells were ringing; in a little village the lamps were 
 being lighted, and the sky was studded with stars. 
 Sometimes the lights of a homestead could be seen, their 
 rays piercing the darkness; and, all at once among the 
 fir-trees, behind a hill, the large, red, sleepy moon arose. 
 
 It was so mild that the windows were left down, and 
 Jeanne, tired of dreaming, and her stock of happy 
 visions exhausted, was now sleeping. Sometimes the 
 numbness caused by resting too long in one position 
 aroused her, and she looked outside and saw the trees 
 fly past her in the clear night, or some cows, lying in a 
 field, raise their heads at the noise of the carriage. 
 Then she settled herself in a fresh position, and tried 
 to continue an interrupted dream, but the continual 
 rumbling of the carriage sounded in her ears, confusing 
 her thoughts, and she shut her eyes again, her mind 
 feeling as tired as her body.
 
 UNE VIE 9 
 
 At last the carriage stopped, and men and women 
 came to the doors with lanterns in their hands. They 
 had arrived, and Jeanne, suddenly awakened, sprang 
 out, while her father and Rosalie, lighted by a farmer, 
 almost carried in the baroness; she was quite worn out, 
 and, catching her breath, she kept saying in a weak little 
 voice: "Ah, my children! what shall I do?" She 
 would have nothing to eat or drink, but went to bed 
 and fell asleep at once. 
 
 Jeanne and the baron had supper alone. They 
 smiled when their glances met, and, at every moment, 
 took each other's hands across the table; then, both of 
 them filled with a childish delight, they went over the 
 manor which hadjust been put in thorough repair. 
 
 It was one of those big, high, Normandy houses 
 generally built of white stone which turns gray, and 
 which, large enough to accommodate a regiment, have 
 something- of the farm about them as well as the 
 chateau. 
 
 An immense hall, going from end to end, divided the 
 house into two parts, its large doors opening opposite 
 each other. A double staircase bestrode this entrance 
 hall leaving the center empty, and, meeting at the height 
 of the first floor, formed a sort of bridge. On the 
 ground-floor, to the right, was the huge drawing-room 
 hung with tapestry with a design of birds and flowers. 
 All the' furniture was in tapestry, the subjects of the 
 designs being taken from La Fontaine's fables. Jeanne 
 was delighted at recognizing a chair she had liked 
 when she was quite a child, and which represented the 
 history of the Fox and the Stork. The library, full 
 of old books, and two other rooms, which were not used, 
 came next to the drawing-room. On the left were the
 
 lo A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 dining-room, which had been newly wainscoted, the 
 hnen-press, the pantry, the kitchen, and a httle room 
 with a bath in it. 
 
 A corridor ran the whole length of the first story, 
 the ten doors of as many rooms opening on to it, ana 
 Jeanne's room was quite at the end, on the right. The 
 baron had just had it freshly furnished by simply using 
 some hangings and furniture that had been stored away 
 in a garret. Very old Flemish tapestry peopled the 
 room with strange characters, and when she saw the 
 bed Jeanne gave a cry of delight. At the four corners 
 four birds of carved oak, quite black and polished till 
 they shone, supported the bed, looking as though they 
 were its guardians. The sides were decorated with 
 two large garlands of carved flowers and fruit; and the 
 four bed-posts, finely fluted and crowned with Cor- 
 inthian capitals, supported a cornice of entwined roses 
 and cupids. It was a monumental couch, and yet was 
 very graceful, despite the somber appearance of the 
 wood darkened by age. The counterpane and canopy, 
 made of old dark blue silk, starred here and there with 
 great fleiirs de lis embroidered in gold, sparkled like two 
 firmaments. 
 
 When she had finished admiring the bed, Jeanne, 
 raising her light, examined the tapestry, trying to dis- 
 cover the subject of the design. 
 
 A young nobleman and a young lady, dressed in the 
 strangest w'ay in green, red, and yellow, were talking 
 under a blue tree on which white fruit was ripening. 
 A big rabbit of the same color as the fruit was nibbling 
 a little gray grass. Just above the figures, in a con- 
 ventional distance, five little round houses with pointed 
 roofs could be seen, and up at the top, nearly in the
 
 UNE VIE II 
 
 sky, was a red wind-mill. Great branches of flowers 
 twined in and out over the whole. 
 
 The next two panels were very like the first, except 
 that out of the houses came four little men, dressed in 
 Flemish costume, who raised their heads to heaven as if 
 to denote their extreme surprise and anger. But the last 
 set of hangings depicted a drama. Near the rabbit, 
 which was still nibbling, the young man was stretched 
 out, apparently dead. The young lady, with her eyes 
 fixed on him, was thrusting a sword into her breast, and 
 the fruit on the tree had become black. 
 
 Jeanne was just giving up trying to understand it 
 when she discovered in a corner a microscopic animal, 
 which the rabbit could have eaten as easily as a blade 
 of grass, and which was meant for a lion. Then she 
 recognized the misfortunes of Pyramis and Thisbe; and, 
 although she smiled at the simplicity of the designs, she 
 felt happy at being surrounded by these pictures which 
 would always accord with her dearest hopes; and at the 
 thought that every night this antique and legendary 
 love would watch over her dreams. 
 
 The rest of the furniture was of the most different 
 styles, and bore the traces of many generations. A 
 superb Louis XVI chest of drawers, bound with pol- 
 ished brass, stood between two Louis XV armchairs 
 which were still covered with their original brocaded 
 silk. A rosewood escritoire was opposite the mantel- 
 piece, on which, under a glass shade, was a clock made 
 in the time of the Empire. It was in the form of a 
 bronze bee-hive hanging on four marble columns over 
 a garden of gilded flowers. On a small pendulum, 
 coming out of the hive through a long slit, swung a 
 little bee, with enamel wings, backwards and forwards
 
 12 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 over the flowers; the dial was of painted china and was 
 let into the side of the hive. It struck eleven, and the 
 baron kissed his daughter and went to his own room. 
 
 Then Jeanne regretfully went to bed, giving a last 
 look round her room before she put out her candle. 
 Only the head of the bed was against the wall, and on 
 the left was a window through which a stream of moon- 
 light entered, making a pool of light on the floor, and 
 casting pale reflections on the walls over the motionless 
 loves of Pyramis and Thisbe. Through the other win- 
 dow, opposite the foot of the bed, Jeanne could see a 
 big tree bathed in a soft light. She turned over and 
 closed her eyes, but after a little while opened them 
 again, for she still seemed to feel the jolting of the car- 
 riage, and its rumbling was yet in her ears. 
 
 For some time she lay quite still, hoping thus to soon 
 fall asleep, but the restlessness of her mind communi- 
 cated itself to her body, and at last she got out of bed. 
 With her arms and feet bare, in her long chemise, which 
 made her look like a phantom, she crossed the flood of 
 light on the boards, opened her window and looked 
 out. 
 
 The night was so clear that ev^erything could be seen 
 as plainly as in broad daylight; and the young girl recog- 
 nized all the country she had so loved as a child. 
 
 First of all, just opposite her, was a big lawn looking 
 as yellow as gold under the light of the night. There 
 were two enormous trees before the chateau, a plane- 
 tree to the north, a linden to the south, and quite at the 
 end of the grass, a little thicket ended the estate which 
 was protected from the hurricanes by five rows of old 
 elms twisted, torn, and sloped like a roof, by the sea 
 wind which was constantly blowing.
 
 UNE VIE 13 
 
 This kind of park was bounded on the right and left 
 by two long avenues of immense poplar-trees (called 
 peiiples in Normandy) which separated the squire's 
 residence from the two farms adjoining, one of which 
 was occupied by the Couillards, the other by the Mar- 
 tins. These peiiples had given the names to the chateau. 
 
 Beyond this enclosure lay a large piece of uncultivated 
 ground covered with gorse, over which the wind rustled 
 and blew day and night. Then the coast suddenly fell 
 a hundred yards, forming a high, white cliff, the foot 
 of which was washed by the sea ; and Jeanne gazed at 
 the vast, watery expanse whose waves seemed to be 
 sleeping under the stars. 
 
 In this repose of nature, when the sun was absent, the 
 earth gave out all her perfumes. A jasmine, which had 
 climbed round the lower windows, exhaled its pentrating 
 fragrance which united with the subtler odor of the bud- 
 ding leaves, and the soft breeze brought with it the 
 damp, salt smell of the seaweeds and the beach. 
 
 At first the young girl gave herself up to the pleasure 
 of simply breathing, and the peace of the country calmed 
 her as would a cool bath. All the animals which wake 
 at evening-time, and hide their obscure existence in the 
 peacefulness of the night, filled the clear darkness with 
 a silent restlessness. Great birds fled silently through 
 the air like shadows; the humming of invisible insects 
 could be heard, and noiseless races took place across the 
 dewy grass or along the quiet sandy roads. The short 
 monotonous croak of the frogs was the only sound that 
 could be distinguished. 
 
 It seemed to Jeanne that her heart was getting bigger, 
 becoming full of whisperings like this clear evening, and 
 of a thousand wandering desires like these nocturnal in-
 
 14 A WOlMAN'S LIFE 
 
 sects whose quivering life surrounded her. An uncon- 
 scious sympathy drew her towards this hving poetry 
 and she felt that joy and happiness were floating towards 
 her through the soft white night, and she began to dream 
 of love. 
 
 Love ! For two years she had been anxiously await- 
 ing the time when it would come to her, and now she 
 was free to love, she had only to meet — him ! What 
 should he be like? She did not know, and did not 
 trouble herself even to think about it. He would be 
 himself, that was enough. She only knew that she 
 should adore him with her whole heart, and that he 
 would love her with all his strength, and she pictured 
 herself walking with him on evenings such as this, under 
 the luminous glow of the stars. They would walk hand 
 in hand, pressing close to one another, listening to the 
 beating of their hearts, mingling their love with the 
 sweet clearness of the summer nights, and so united that 
 by the simple power of their love, they would easily 
 divine each other's inmost thoughts. And that would 
 endure indefinitely, in the serenity of an Indestructible 
 affection. 
 
 Suddenly she fancied he was there — close to her; 
 and a vague feeling of sensuality swept over her from 
 head to foot. She unconsciously pressed her arms 
 against her breast, as if to clasp her dream to her; and 
 something passed over her mouth, held out towards the 
 unknown, which almost made her faint, as if the spring- 
 tide wind had given her a kiss of love. 
 
 All at once, on the road behind the chateau, she heard 
 someone walking in the night, and in the rapture of her 
 love-filled soul, in a transport of faith in the impossible, 
 in providential hazards, in divine presentiment, in the
 
 UNE VIE 15 
 
 romantic combinations of Fate, she thought: "If it 
 should be he ! " She anxiously listened to the steps of 
 the traveler, sure that he would stop at the gate to de- 
 mand hospitality. But he had passed by and she felt 
 sad, as though she had experienced a deception; then 
 after a moment she understood the feverish excitement 
 of her hopes, and smiled at her own folly. 
 
 A little calmer, she let her thoughts float down the 
 stream of a more reasonable reverie, trying to pierce the 
 shadows of the future and planning out her life. 
 
 She would live here with him, in their quiet chateau 
 overlooking the sea. She would have two children, a 
 son for him, and a daughter for herself, and she pictured 
 them running on the grass between the plane-tree and the 
 linden, while their father and mother followed their 
 movements with proud eyes, sometimes exchanging looks 
 full of love above their heads. 
 
 She stayed dreaming until the moon had finished her 
 journey across the sky, and began to descend Into the sea. 
 The air became cooler. Towards the east the horizon 
 was getting lighter. A cock crowed in the farm on the 
 right, others answered from the farm on the left, their 
 hoarse notes, coming through the walls of the poultry- 
 houses, seeming to be a long way off, and the stars were 
 disappearing from the Immense dome of the sky which 
 had gradually whitened. The little chirp of a bird 
 sounded ; warblings, timid at first, came from among the 
 leaves; then, getting bolder, they became vibrating, joy- 
 ous, and spread from branch to branch, from tree to 
 tree. Jeanne suddenly felt a bright light; and raising 
 her head, which she had buried in her hands, she shut 
 her eyes, dazzled by the splendor of the dawn. 
 
 A mountain of crimson clouds, partly hidden by the
 
 1 6 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 avenue of poplars, cast a red glow over the awakened 
 earth, and, breaking through the bright clouds, bathing 
 the trees, the plain, the ocean, the whole horizon, in a 
 fiery light, the blazing orb appeared, 
 
 Jeanne felt mad with happiness. A delirious joy, an 
 infinite tenderness before the splendor of nature filled 
 her heart. It was her sunrise ! her dawn ! the beginning 
 of her life! the rising of her hopes! She stretched out 
 her arms towards the radiant space, with a longing to 
 embrace the sun; she wanted to speak, to cry aloud 
 something divine like this day-break; but she remained 
 dumb in a state of impotent ecstasy. Then, laying her 
 forehead on her hands, her eyes filled with tears, and 
 she cried for joy. 
 
 When she again raised her head the glorious colors of 
 the dawning day had already disappeared. She felt 
 calmer and a little tired and chilled. Leaving the win- 
 dow open, she threw herself on the bed, mused for a few 
 minutes longer, then fell into such a sound sleep that she 
 did not hear her father calling her at eight o'clock, and 
 only awoke when he came into her room. 
 
 He wanted to show her the improvements that had 
 been made in the chateau; in her chateau. 
 
 The back of the house was separated from the village 
 road, which half-a-mile further on joined the high road 
 from Havre to Fecamp, by a large sort of court planted 
 with apple-trees. A straight path went across it lead- 
 ing from the steps of the house to the wooden fence, and 
 the low, thatched out-houses, built of flints from the 
 beach, ran the whole length of two sides of the court, 
 which was separated from the adjoining farms by two 
 long ditches. 
 
 The roof of the chateau had been repaired, the wood-
 
 UNE VIE 17 
 
 work restored, and the walls mended; all the Inside of 
 the house had been painted and the rooms had fresh 
 hangings, and on the old decaying gray walls the snowy 
 shutters and the new plaster stood out like white stains. 
 One of Jeanne's windows was in the front of the house, 
 which looked out over the little wood and the wall of 
 wind-torn elms, on to the sea. 
 
 Arm in arm Jeanne and the baron went all over the 
 chateau without missing a single corner, and then they 
 walked slowly along the long poplar avenues which en- 
 closed the park, as it was called. The grass had grown 
 under the trees, making a green carpet, and the grove 
 at the bottom was delightfully pretty with its little wind- 
 ing paths, separated by leafy walls, running in and out. 
 
 Jeanne was startled by a hare springing suddenly 
 across their path; it ran down the slope and made off 
 towards the cliff, among the rushes. 
 
 After breakfast, Madame Adelaide went to lie down 
 as she had not yet recovered from the fatigue of the 
 journey, and the baron proposed that he and Jeanne 
 should walk to Yport. They set off, going through the 
 hamlet of Etouvent in which was situated Les Peuples, 
 and three peasants saluted them as if they had known 
 them all their lives. 
 
 They entered the sloping woods which go right down 
 
 to the sea, and soon the village of Yport came in sight. 
 
 The women, sitting at their doors mending clothes, 
 
 looked up as they passed. There was a strong smell 
 
 of brine in the steep street with the gutter In the middle 
 
 and the heaps of rubbish lying before the doors. The 
 
 brown nets to which a few shining shells, looking like 
 
 fragments of silver, had clung, were drying before the 
 
 doors of huts whence came the odors of several families 
 V— 2
 
 1 8 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 living in the same room, and a few pigeons were looking 
 for food at the side of the gutter. To Jeanne it was 
 all as new and curious as a scene at a theater. 
 
 Turning a sharp corner, they suddenly came upon the 
 smooth opaque blue sea, and opposite the beach they 
 stopped to look around. 
 
 Boats, with sails looking like the wings of white birds, 
 were in the offing; to the right and left rose the high 
 cliffs; a sort of cape interrupted the view on one side, 
 while on the other the coast-line stretched out till it could 
 no longer be distinguished, and a harbor and some 
 houses could be seen in a bay a little way off. Tiny 
 waves fringing the sea with foam, broke on the beach 
 with a faint noise, and some Normandy boats, hauled 
 up on the shingle, lay on their sides with the sun shin- 
 ing on their tarred planks; a few fishermen were getting 
 them ready to go out with the evening tide. 
 
 A sailor came up with some fish to sell, and Jeanne 
 bought a brill that she insisted on carrying home herself. 
 Then the man offered his services if ever they wanted to 
 go sailing, telling them his name, " Lastique, Josephin 
 Lastique," over and over again so that they should not 
 forget it. The baron promised to remember him, and 
 then they started to go back to the chateau. 
 
 As the large fish was too heavy for Jeanne, she passed 
 her father's stick through its gills, and carrying it be- 
 tween them, they went gaily up the hill, with the wind 
 in their faces, chattering like two children; and as the 
 brill made their arms ache, they let it drop lower and 
 lower till its big tail swept along the grass.
 
 UNE VIE 19 
 
 II 
 
 A DELIGHTFUL life of freedom began for Jeanne. 
 She read, dreamed, and wandered about all alone, walk- 
 ing slowly along the road, building castles in the air, or 
 dancing down the little winding valleys whose sloping 
 sides were covered with golden gorse. Its strong, sweet 
 odor, increased by the heat, intoxicated her like a per- 
 fumed wine, while she was lulled by the distant sound 
 of the waves breaking on the beach. When she was 
 in an idle mood she would throw herself down on the 
 thick grass of the hill-side, and sometimes when at the 
 turn of a road she suddenly caught a glimpse of thei^lue 
 sea, sparkling in the light of the sun, with a white sail at 
 the horizon, she felt an inordinate joy, a mysterious pre- 
 sentiment of future happiness. 
 
 She loved to be alone with the calm beautv of nature, 
 and would sit motionless for so long on the top of a hill, 
 that the wild rabbits would bound fearlessly up to her; 
 or she would run swiftly along the cliff, exhilarated by 
 the pure air of the hills, and finding an exquisite pleas- 
 ure in being able to move without fatigue, like the swal- 
 lows in the air and the fish in the water. 
 
 Very fond of bathing, and strong, fearless, and uncon- 
 scious of danger, she would swim out to sea till she could 
 no longer be perceived from the shore, feeling refreshed 
 by the cool water, and enjoying the rocking of its clear 
 blue waves. When she was a long way out, she floated, 
 and, with her arms crossed on her breast, gazed at the 
 deep, bkie sky, against which a swallow or the white 
 outline of a sea-gull could sometimes be seen. No noise 
 could be heard except the far away murmur of the waves 
 breaking on the beach, and the vague, confused, almost
 
 20 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 imperceptible sound of the pebbles being drawn down 
 by the receding waves. When she went out too far, a 
 boat put off to bring her in and she would return to the 
 chateau pale with hunger, but not at all tired, with a 
 smile on her lips, and her eyes dancing with joy. 
 
 The baron was planning great agricultural improve- 
 ments; he wanted to make experiments, to try new 
 machines, to acclimatize foreign plants, and he passed 
 part of his time talking to the peasants, who shook their 
 heads and refused to believe in his ideas. 
 
 He often went on the sea with the sailors of Yport, 
 and when he had seen the caves, the springs, and the 
 rocks that were of any interest in the neighborhood, he 
 fished like a common seaman. On windy days, when 
 the breeze filled the sails and forced the boat over till 
 its edge touched the water, and the mackerel-nets trailed 
 over the sides, he would hold a slender fishing-line, 
 waiting with anxiety for the bite of a fish. Then he 
 went out in the moonlight to take up the nets set the 
 night before (for he loved to hear the creaking of the 
 masts, and to breathe the fresh night air), and, after 
 a long time spent in tacking about to find the buoys, 
 guided by a ridge of rocks, the spire of a church, or 
 the light-house at Fecamp, he liked to lie still under 
 the first rays of the rising sun, which turned into a glit- 
 tering mass the slimy rays and the white-bellied turbot 
 which lay on the deck of the boat. 
 
 At every meal, he gave a glowing account of his ex- 
 cursions, and the baroness, in her turn, would tell him 
 how many times she had walked up and down the long 
 poplar-avenues on the right next to the Couillards's 
 farm, the other one not having enough sun on it. 
 
 She had been advised to " take exercise," and she
 
 UNE VIE 21 
 
 walked for hours together. As soon as the sun was 
 high enough for its warmth to be felt she went out, lean- 
 ing on Rosalie's arm, and enveloped in a cloak and 
 two shawls, with a red scarf on her head and a black 
 hood over that. 
 
 Then she began a long, uninteresting walk from the 
 corner of the chateau to the first shrubs of the wood 
 and back again. Her left foot, which dragged a little, 
 had traced two furrows where the grass had died. At 
 each end of the path she had had a bench placed, and 
 ever)' five minutes she stopped, saying to the poor, pa- 
 tient maid who supported her: "Let us sit down, my 
 girl; I am a little tired." 
 
 And at each rest she left on one or other of the 
 benches first the scarf which covered her head, then one 
 shawl, then the other, then the hood, and then the cloak ; 
 and all these things made two big bundles of wraps, 
 which Rosalie carried on her free arm, when they went 
 in to lunch. 
 
 In the afternoon the baroness recommenced her walk 
 in a feebler way, taking longer rests, and sometimes 
 dozing for an hour at a time on a couch that was 
 wheeled out of doors for her. She called it taking 
 " her exercise," in the same way as she spoke of " my 
 hypertrophy." 
 
 A doctor she had consulted ten years before because 
 she suffered from palpitations, had hinted at hyper- 
 trophy. Since then she had constantly used this word, 
 though she did not in the least understand what it 
 meant, and she was always making the baron, and 
 Jeanne, and Rosalie put their hands on her heart, though 
 its beatings could not be felt, so buried was it under her 
 bosom. She obstinately refused to be examined by any
 
 22 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 other doctor in case he should say she had another 
 malady, and she spoke of " her hypertrophy " so often 
 that it seemed as though this affection of the heart were 
 peculiar to her, and belonged to her, like something 
 unique, to which no one else had any right. The baron 
 and Jeanne said " my wife's " or " mamma's hyper- 
 trophy " in the same way as they would have spoken 
 of her dress or her umbrella. 
 
 She had been very pretty when she was young, and 
 as slender as a reed. After flirting with the officers 
 of all the regiments of the Empire, she had read Co- 
 rinne, which had made her cry, and, in a certain meas- 
 ure, altered her character. 
 
 As her waist got bigger her mind became more and 
 more poetical, and when, through her size, she had to 
 remain nearly all day in her armchair, she dreamed 
 of love adventures, of which she was always the hero- 
 ine; always thinking of the sort she liked best, like a 
 hand-organ continually repeating the same air. The 
 languishing romances, where they talk about captives 
 and swallows, always made her cry; and she even liked 
 some of Beranger's coarse verses, because of the grief 
 they expressed. She would sit motionless for hours, 
 lost in thought, and she was very fond of Les Peuples, 
 because it served as a scene for her dreams, the sur- 
 rounding woods, the sea, and the waste land reminding 
 her of Sir Walter Scott's books, which she had lately 
 been reading. 
 
 On rainy days she stayed in her room looking over 
 what she called her " relics," They were all her old 
 letters; those from her father and mother, the baron's 
 when she was engaged to him, and some others besides. 
 She kept them in a mahogany escritoire with copper
 
 UNE VIE 23 
 
 sphinxes at the corners, and she always used a particular 
 tone when she said: " Rosalie, bring me my souvenir- 
 drawer." 
 
 The maid would open the escritoire, take out the 
 drawer, and place it on a chair beside her mistress, 
 who slowly read the letters one by one, occasionally 
 letting fall a tear. 
 
 Jeanne sometimes took Rosalie's place and accom- 
 panied her mother's walks, and listened to her reminis- 
 cences of childhood. The young girl recognized her- 
 self in these tales, and was astonished to find that her 
 mother's thoughts and hopes had been the same as hers; 
 for every one imagines that he is the first to experience 
 .those feelings which made the hearts of our first par- 
 ents beat quicker, and which will continue to exist in 
 human hearts till the end of time. 
 
 These tales, often interrupted for several seconds by 
 the baroness's want of breath, were told as slowly as 
 she walked, and Jeanne let her thoughts run on to the 
 happy future, without waiting to hear the end of her 
 mother's anecdotes. 
 
 One afternoon, as they were resting on the seat at the 
 bottom of the walk, they saw a fat priest coming 
 towards them from the other end of the avenue. He 
 bowed, put on a smiling look, bowed again when he 
 was about three feet off, and cried: 
 
 " Well, Madame la baronne, and how are we to- 
 day?" 
 
 He was the cure of the parish. 
 
 The baroness, born in a philosophical century and 
 brought up in revolutionary times by a father who did 
 not believe very much in anything, did not often go 
 to church, although she liked priests with the sort of
 
 24 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 religious instinct that most women have. She had 
 forgotten all about the Abbe Picot, her cure, and her 
 face colored when she saw him. She began to make 
 excuses for not having gone to see him, but the good- 
 natured priest did not seem at all put out. He looked 
 at Jeanne, complimented her on her good looks, sat 
 down, put his hat on his knees, and wiped his forehead. 
 
 He was a very fat, red-faced man, who perspired 
 very freely. Every minute he drew an enormous, 
 checked handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his 
 face and neck; but he had hardly put it back again when 
 fresh drops appeared on his skin and, falling on his 
 cassock, made the dust on it into little, round spots. 
 He was a true country-priest, lively and tolerant, talk- 
 ative and honest. He told anecdotes, talked about 
 the peasants, and did not seem to have noticed that 
 his two parishioners had not been to mass; for the 
 baroness always tried to reconcile her vague ideas of 
 religion to her indolence, and Jeanne was too happy at 
 having left the convent, where she had been sickened 
 of holy ceremonies, to think about going to church. 
 
 The baron joined them. His pantheistic religion 
 made him indifferent to doctrine, and he asked the 
 abbe, whom he knew by sight, to stay to dinner. The 
 priest had the art of pleasing every one, and thanks 
 to the unconscious tact that is acquired by the most 
 ordinary men called by fate to exercise any moral power 
 over their fellow creatures, and the baroness, attracted 
 perhaps by one of these affinities which draw similar 
 natures together, paid every attention to him, the fat 
 man's sanguine face and short breath agreeing with her 
 gasping obesity. By the time dessert was placed on the 
 table he had begun telling funny stories, with the laisser-
 
 UNE VIE 25 
 
 alJer of a man who had had a good dinner In congenial 
 society. 
 
 All at once, as though a good Idea had just occurred 
 to him, he exclaimed: 
 
 " Oh, I hav^e a new parlshoner I must introduce to 
 you, M. le Vicomte de Lamare." 
 
 The baroness, who had all the heraldy of the prov- 
 ince at her finger ends, asked : 
 
 " Does he belong to the family of Lamare de 
 I'Eure?" 
 
 The priest bowed: 
 
 "Yes, madame; he is the son of the Vicomte Jean 
 de Lamare, who died last year." 
 
 Then Madame Adelaide, who loved the aristocracy 
 above everything, asked a great many questions, and 
 learnt that the young man had sold the family chateau 
 to pay his father's debts, and had come to live on one 
 of the three farms that he owned at Etouvent. 
 
 This property only brought in about five or six 
 thousand llvres a year, but the vicomte was of a fore- 
 seeing, economical disposition and meant to live quietly 
 for two or three years, so that he might save enough 
 to go Into society and marry well, without having 
 to get Into debt or mortgage his farms. 
 
 " He Is a charming young fellow," added the cure; 
 *' and so steady, so quiet. But he can't find many 
 amusements In the country." 
 
 " Bring him to see us, M. I'Abbe," said the baron; 
 " he might like to come here sometimes." And then 
 the conversation turned to other subjects. 
 
 When they went Into the drawing-room the priest 
 asked if he might go out into the garden, as he was 
 used to a little exercise after meals. The baron went out
 
 26 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 with him, and they walked backwards and forwards the 
 whole length of the chateau, while their two shadows, 
 the one thin, and the other quite round and looking as 
 though it had a mushroom on its head, fell sometimes 
 before and sometimes behind them, according as they 
 walked towards the moon or turned their backs on it. 
 The cure chewed a sort of cigarette that he had taken 
 from his pocket; he told the baron why he used it in 
 the plain speech of a countryman : 
 
 " It is to help the digestion; my liver is rather slug- 
 gish." 
 
 Looking at the sky where the bright moon was sail- 
 ing along, he suddenly said: 
 
 " That is a sight one never gets tired of." 
 
 Then he went in to say good-bye to the ladies. 
 
 Ill 
 
 The next Sunday the baroness and Jeanne went 
 to mass out of deference to their cure, and after it 
 was over they waited to ask him to luncheon for 
 the following Thursday. He came out of the vestry 
 with a tall, good-looking, young man who had famiharly 
 taken his arm. 
 
 As soon as he saw the two ladies he gave a look of 
 pleased surprise, and exclaimed: 
 
 "What a lucky thing! Madame la baronne and 
 Mile. Jeanne, permit me to present to you your neigh- 
 bor, M. le Vicomte de Lamare." 
 
 The vicomte bowed, expressed the desire he had 
 long felt to make their acquaintance, and began to talk 
 with the ease of a man accustomed to good society. 
 His face was one that women raved about and that all
 
 UNE VIE 27 
 
 men disliked. His black, curly hair fell over a smooth, 
 bronzed forehead, and long, regular eyebrows gave a 
 depth and tenderness to his dark eyes. Long, thick 
 lashes lent to his glance the passionate eloquence which 
 thrills the heart of the high-born lady in her boudoir, 
 and makes the poor girl, with her basket on her arm, 
 turn round in the street, and the languorous charm of 
 his eyes, with their whites faintly tinged with blue, 
 gave importance to his least word and made people 
 believe in the profoundness of his thought. A thick, 
 silky beard hid a jaw which was a little heavy. 
 
 After mutual compliments he said good-bye to the 
 ladies; and two days afterwards made his first call 
 at the chateau. 
 
 He arrived just as they were looking at a rustic-seat, 
 placed only that morning under the big plane-tree op- 
 posite the drawing-room windows. The baron wanted 
 to have another one under the linden to make a pair, 
 but the baroness, who disliked things to be exactly sym- 
 metrical, said no. The vicomte, on being asked his 
 opinion, sided with the baroness. 
 
 Then he talked about the surrounding country, which 
 he thought very " picturesque," and about the charm- 
 ing " bits " he had come across in his solitary walks. 
 From time to time his eyes met Jeanne's, as though by 
 chance; and she felt a strange sensation at these sudden 
 looks which were quickly turned away and which ex- 
 pressed a lively admiration and sympathy. 
 
 M. de Lamare's father, who had died the year be- 
 fore, had known an intimate friend of M. des Cul- 
 taux, the baroness's father, and the discovery of this 
 mutual acquaintance gave rise to endless conversation 
 dbout marriages, births, and relationships. The bar-
 
 28 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 oness, with prodigious feats of memory, talked about 
 the ancestors and descendants of numerous families, and 
 traversed the complicated labyrinths of different gene- 
 alogies without ever losing herself. 
 
 " Tell me, vicomte, have you ever heard of the 
 Saunoys de Varfleur? Gontran, the elder son, married 
 Mademoiselle de Coursil, one of the Coursil-Courvilles; 
 and the younger married a cousin of mine, Mademoiselle 
 de la Roche-Aubert, who was related to the Crisanges. 
 Now, M. de Crisange was an intimate friend of my 
 father, and no doubt knew yours also." 
 
 " Yes, madame; was it not the M. de Crisange who 
 emigrated, and whose son ruined himself? " 
 
 " That is the very man. He had proposed for my 
 aunt after the death of her husband, the Comte 
 d'Eretry, but she would not accept him because he took 
 snuff. By the way, do you know what has become of 
 the Viloises? They left Touraine about 1813, after a 
 reverse of fortune, to go and live in Auvergne; and I 
 have never heard anything of them since." 
 
 " I believe, madame, that the old marquis was killed 
 by a fall from a horse, leaving one daughter married 
 to an Englishman, and the other to a rich merchant 
 who had seduced her." 
 
 Names they had heard their parents mention when 
 they were children returned to their minds, and the 
 marriages of these people seemed as important to them 
 as great public events. They talked about men and 
 women they had never seen as if they knew them well, 
 and these people, living so far away, talked about 
 them in the same manner, and they felt as though they 
 were acquainted with each other, almost as if they were
 
 UNE VIE 29 
 
 friends, or relations, simply because they belonged to 
 the same class and were of equal rank. 
 
 The baron was rather unsociable, his philosophic 
 views disagreeing with the beliefs and prejudices of 
 the people of his own rank, did not know any of the 
 families living near, and asked the vicomte about them. 
 
 " Oh, there are very good families around here," 
 answered M. de Lamare, in the same tone as he would 
 have said that there were not many rabbits on the 
 hills, and he entered into details about them. 
 
 There were only three families of rank in the neigh- 
 borhood; the Marquis de CouteHer, the head of the 
 Normandy aristocracy; the Vicomte and Vicomtesse de 
 Brisevllle, people who were very well-born but held 
 themselves rather aloof; and lastly, the Comte de Four- 
 vllle, a sort of fire-eater w^ho was said to be worrying 
 his wife to death, and who lived in the Chateau de la 
 Vrillette, which was built on a lake, passing his time In 
 hunting and shooting. A few parvenus had bought 
 proper-ty In the neighborhood, but the vicomte did not 
 know them. 
 
 He rose to go, and his last look was for Jeanne as 
 though he would have made his adieu to her specially 
 friendly and tender. 
 
 The baroness thought him charming and very comme 
 il faiit, and the baron remarked that he was a very 
 well-educated man. He was asked to dinner the fol- 
 lowing week, and after that he visited the chateau 
 regularly. 
 
 Generally he came about four o'clock, joined the 
 baroness in " her avenue," and Insisted on her leaning 
 on his arm to take " her exercise." When Jeanne was
 
 30 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 at home she supported her mother on the other side and 
 all three walked slowly up and down the long path. 
 He did not talk to the young girl but often his dark, 
 velvety eyes met Jeanne's, which were like blue agate. 
 
 Sometimes they walked down to Yport with the 
 baron, and one evening, as they were standing on the 
 beach, old Lastique came up to them, and, without tak- 
 ing his pipe from his mouth, for it would have been 
 stranger to see him without his pipe than without his 
 nose, said: 
 
 " With this wind, M'sieu I'baron, you'd be able to 
 go to Etretat and back to-morrow quite easily." 
 
 Jeanne clasped her hands together; " Oh, papa! If 
 only you would! " 
 
 The baron turned to M. de Lamare. 
 
 *' Will you go, vicomte? We could have lunch over 
 there," And the excursion was planned for the fol- 
 lowing day. 
 
 The next morning Jeanne was up at daybreak. She 
 waited for her father, who took longer to dress, and 
 then they walked over the dewy plain and through the 
 wood filled with the sweet song of the birds, down to 
 Yport, where they found the vicomte and old Lastique 
 sitting on the capstan of their little vessel. 
 
 Two sailors helped to start the boat, by putting their 
 shoulders to the sides and pushing with all their might. 
 It was hard to move over the level part of the beach, 
 and Lastique slipped rollers of greased wood under 
 the keel, then went back to his place and drawled out his 
 long " Heave oh ! " which was the signal for them all 
 to push together, and when they came to the slant of 
 the beach, the boat set off all at once, sliding over the 
 round pebbles, and making a grating noise like the
 
 UNE VIE 31 
 
 tearing of linen. It stopped short at the edge of the 
 waves and they all got in, except the two sailors, who 
 pushed the boat off. 
 
 A light, steady breeze blowing towards the land just 
 ruffled the surface of the water. The sail was hoisted, 
 filled out a little, and the boat moved gently along 
 hardly rocked by the waves. 
 
 At first they sailed straight out to sea. At the 
 horizon the sky could not be distinguished from the 
 ocean; on land the high steep cliff had a deep shadow 
 at its foot. Behind could be seen the brown sails of 
 the boats leaving the white pier of Fecamp, and before 
 lay a rounded rock with a hole right through it, look- 
 ing like an elephant thrusting its trunk into the water. 
 
 Jeanne, feeling a little dizzied by the rocking of the 
 boat, sat holding one side with her hand, and looking 
 out to sea ; light, space and the ocean seemed to her to 
 be the only really beautiful things in creation. No one 
 spoke. From time to time old Lastique, who was 
 steering, drank something out of a bottle placed within 
 his reach under the seat. He smoked his stump of a 
 pipe which seemed unextinguishable, and a small cloud 
 of blue smoke went up from it while another issued 
 from the corner of his mouth; he was never seen to 
 relight the clay bowl, which was colored blacker than 
 ebony, or to refill It with tobacco, and he only removed 
 the pipe from his mouth to eject the brown saliva. 
 
 The baron sat in the bows and managed the sail, per- 
 forming the duties of a sailor, and Jeanne and the 
 vicomte were side by side, both feeling a little agitated. 
 Their glances were continually meeting, a hidden sym- 
 pathy making them raise their eyes at the same 
 moment, for there was already that vague, subtle fond-
 
 32 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 ness between them which spruigs up so quickly between 
 two young people when the youth is good-looking and 
 the girl is pretty. They felt happy at being close to- 
 gether, perhaps because each was thinking of the other. 
 
 The sun rose higher in the sky as if to consider 
 from a better vantage point the vast sea stretched out 
 beneath him, while the latter, like a coquette, enveloped 
 herself in a light mist which veiled her from his rays. 
 It was a transparent golden haze which hid nothing but 
 softened everything. It gradually melted away before 
 the sun's flaming darts, and when the full heat of the 
 day began it disappeared entirely, and the sea, smooth 
 as glass, lay glittering in the sun. 
 
 Jeanne murmured enthusiastically, " How lovely it 
 is!" 
 
 The vicomte answered " Yes, it is indeed beautiful." 
 And their hearts felt as bright as the clear morning 
 itself. 
 
 Suddenly, looking as if the cliff bestrode part of the 
 sea, appeared the great arcades of Etretat, high enough 
 for a ship to pass underneath him without the point of a 
 sharp white rock rising out of the water before the 
 first one. 
 
 When they reached the shore, the vicomte lifted 
 Jeanne out that she should not wet her feet in landing, 
 while the baron held the boat close to the beach with 
 a rope; then they went up the steep, shingly beach side 
 by side, both agitated by this short embrace, and they 
 heard old Lastique say to the baron : 
 
 " In my opinion they'd make a very handsome 
 couple." 
 
 They had lunch in a little inn near the beach. On
 
 UNE VIE 33 
 
 the sea they had been quiet, but at the table they had as 
 much to say as children let out of school. 
 
 The most simple things gave rise to endless laughter. 
 Old Lastique carefully put his pipe, which was still 
 alight, into his cap before he sat down to table; and 
 everyone laughed. A fly, attracted, no doubt, by the 
 sailor's red nose, persisted on settling on it, and when 
 moving too slowly to catch it he knocked it away, it 
 went over to a very fly-spotted curtain whence it seemed 
 to eagerly watch the sailor's highly-colored nasal organ, 
 for it soon flew back and settled on it again. 
 
 Each time the insect returned a loud laugh burst out, 
 and when the old man, annoyed by its tickling, mur- 
 mured: "What a confoundly obstinate fly! " Jeanne 
 and the vicomte laughed till they cried, holding their 
 serviettes to their mouths to prevent themselves shriek- 
 ing out loud. 
 
 When the coffee had been served Jeanne said : 
 
 " Suppose we go for a walk? " 
 
 The vicomte got up to go with her, but the baron, 
 preferred going out on the beach to take his nap. 
 
 " You two go," he said. " You will find me here in 
 an hour's time." 
 
 They walked straight along the road, passed a few 
 cottages and a little chateau which looked more like a 
 big farm, and then found themselves in an open valley. 
 Jeanne had a singing In her ears, and was thrilled by 
 a strange sensation which she had never before expe- 
 rienced. Overhead was a blazing sun, and on each side 
 of the road lay fields of ripe corn drooping under the 
 heat. The feeble, continuous chirp of the swarms of 
 
 grasshoppers in the corn and hedges was the only sound 
 V— 3
 
 34 A WOiMAN'S LIFE 
 
 to be heard, and the sky of dazzling blue, slightly tinged 
 with yellow, looked as though it would suddenly turn 
 red, like brass when it is put into a furnace. 
 
 They entered a little wood where the trees were so 
 thick that no sunbeams could penetrate their foliage; 
 the grass had died from want of light and fresh air, 
 but the ground was covered with moss, and all around 
 was a cool dampness which chilled them after the heat 
 of the sun. 
 
 *' See, we could sit down over there," said Jeanne, 
 looking around her as they walked on. 
 
 Two trees had died, and through the break in the 
 foliage fell a flood of light, warming the earth, calling 
 to life the grass and dandelion seeds, and expanding 
 the delicate flowers of the anemone and digitalis. A 
 thousand winged insects — butterflies, bees, hornets, big 
 gnats looking like skeleton-flies, ladybirds with red spots 
 on them, beetles with greenish reflections on their wings, 
 others which were black and horned — peopled this 
 one warm and luminous spot in the midst of the cool 
 shadow of the trees. 
 
 Jeanne and the vicomte sat down with their heads in 
 the shadow and their feet in the light. They watched 
 these tiny moving Insects that a sunbeam had called 
 forth, and Jeanne said softly: 
 
 " How lovely the country Is ! Sometimes I wish I 
 were a bee or a butterfly that I might bury myself In 
 the flowers." 
 
 They began talking about their own habits and tastes 
 in a low, confidential tone. He declared himself tired 
 of his useless life, disgusted with society; It was always 
 the same, one never found any truth, any sincerity. She 
 would have liked to know what town-life was like but
 
 UNE VIE 35 
 
 she was convinced beforehand that society would never 
 be so pleasant as a country-life. 
 
 The nearer their hearts drew to one another the more 
 studiously did they address each other as " monsieur " 
 and "mademoiselle"; but they could not help their 
 eyes smiling and their glances meeting, and it seemed to 
 them that new and better feelings were entering their 
 hearts, making them ready to love and take an interest 
 in things they had before cared nothing about. 
 
 When they returned from their walk they found that 
 the baron had gone to a cave formed in the clift, called 
 the Chambre aux Desmoiselles, so they waited for him 
 at the inn, where he did not appear till five o'clock, and 
 then they started to go home. The boat glided along 
 so smoothly that it hardly seemed to be moving; the 
 wind came in gentle puffs filling the sail one second 
 only to let it flap loosely against the mast the next, and 
 the tired sun was slowly approaching the sea. The 
 stillness around made them all silent for a long while, 
 but at last Jeanne said: 
 
 " How I should like to travel ! " 
 
 " Yes, but it would be rather dull traveling alone," 
 said the vicomte. " You want a companion to whom 
 you could confide your impressions." 
 
 " That is true," she answered thoughtfully; " still, I 
 like to go for long walks alone. When there is no one 
 with me I build such castles in the air." 
 
 " But two people can better still plan out a happy 
 future," he said, looking her full in the face. 
 
 Her eyes fell; did he mean anything? She gazed at 
 the horizon as though she would look beyond it; then 
 she said slowly : 
 
 " T should like to go to Italy — and to Greece — and
 
 36 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 to Corsica, It must be so wild and so beautiful there." 
 
 He preferred the chalets and lakes of Switzerland. 
 
 She said: " No, I should like to go either to a coun- 
 try with little or no history like Corsica, or else to one 
 with very old associations like Greece. It must be so 
 interesting to find the traces of those nations whose his- 
 tory one has known from childhood, and to see the 
 places where such great and noble deeds were done." 
 
 " Well, for my part, I should like to go to England; 
 it is such an instructive country," said the vicomte, who 
 was more practical than Jeanne. 
 
 Then they discussed the beauties of every country from 
 the poles to the equator, and went Into raptures over 
 the unconventional customs of such nations as the Chi- 
 nese or the Laplanders; but they came to the conclusion 
 that the most beautiful land In the world Is France, with 
 her temperate climate — cool In summer and warm In 
 winter — her fertile fields, her green forests, her great, 
 calm rivers, and her culture in the fine arts which has 
 existed nowhere else since the palmy days of Athens. 
 
 Silence again fell over the little party. The blood- 
 red sun was sinking, and a broad pathway of light lay 
 in the wake of the boat leading right up to the dazzling 
 globe. The wind died out, there was not a ripple on 
 the water, and the motionless sail was reddened by the 
 rays of the setting sun. The air seemed to possess some 
 soothing Influence which silenced everything around this 
 meeting of the elements. The sea, like some huge bird, 
 awaited the fiery lover who was approaching her shin- 
 ing, liquid bosom, and the sun hastened his descent, em- 
 purpled by the desire of their embrace. At length he 
 joined her, and gradually disappeared. Then a fresh- 
 ness came from the horizon, and a breath of air rippled
 
 UNE VIE 37 
 
 the surface of the water as if the vanished sun had given 
 a sigh of satisfaction. 
 
 The twilight was very short, and the sky soon be- 
 came dark and studded with stars. Lastique got out 
 the oars, and Jeanne and the vicomte sat side by side 
 watching the trembling, phosphorescent glimmer behind 
 the boat and feeling a keen enjoyment even in breathing 
 the cool night air. The vicomte's fingers were resting 
 against Jeanne's hand which was lying on the seat, and 
 she did not draw it away, the slight contact making her 
 feel happy and yet confused. 
 
 When she went to her room that evening Jeanne 
 felt so moved that the least thing would have made her 
 cry. She looked at the clock and fancied that the little 
 bee throbbed like a friendly heart; she thought of how 
 it would be the silent witness of her whole life, how it 
 would accompany all her joys and sorrows with its 
 quick, regular beat, and she stopped the gilded insect 
 to drop a kiss upon its wings. She could have kissed 
 anything, no matter what, and suddenly remembering 
 an old doll she had hidden away in the bottom of a 
 drawer, she got it out and found as much joy in seeing 
 it again as if it had been an old well-loved friend. 
 Pressing it to her bosom she covered its painted cheeks 
 and flaxen hair with warm kisses, then, still holding it 
 in her arms, she began to think. 
 
 Was HE the husband referred to by so many inward 
 voices, and was it by a supremely-kind Providence that 
 he was thus sent into her life? Was he really the being 
 created for her, to whom her whole existence would be 
 devoted? Were he and she really predestined to unite 
 their hearts and so beget Love? She did not yet experi- 
 ence those tumultuous feelings, those wild raptures, that
 
 38 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 profound stirring of her whole soul, which she believed 
 to be love; still she thought she was beginning to love 
 him, for sometimes she felt her senses fail her when 
 she thought of him and she always was thinking of him. 
 Her heart throbbed in his presence, her color came and 
 went when she met his glance, and the sound of his voice 
 sent a thrill through her. That night she hardly slept 
 at all. 
 
 Each day her longing for love became greater. She 
 was always consulting the marguerites, or the clouds, or 
 tossing a coin in the air to see whether she was loved 
 or not. 
 
 One ev^ening her father said to her: 
 
 " Make yourself look very pretty to-morrow morn- 
 ing, Jeanne." 
 
 " Why, papa? " she asked. 
 
 " That's a secret," replied the baron. 
 
 When she came down the next morning, looking fresh 
 and bright in a light summer dress, she found the draw- 
 ing-room table covered with bon-bon boxes, and an enor- 
 mous bouquet on a chair. 
 
 A cart turned in at the gateway with " Lerat, Confec- 
 tioner, Contractor for Wedding-breakfasts " on it, and 
 Ludivine, with the aid of a scullery-maid, took from 
 it a great many flat baskets from which issued an appe- 
 tizing odor. 
 
 The vicomte came in soon after; his trousers were 
 fastened tightly under the varnished boots which 
 showed off his small feet to perfection. His tightly- 
 fitting coat was closely fastened, except on the chest, 
 where it opened to show the lace shirt-frill; and a fine 
 cravat, twisted several times round his neck, forced him 
 tn hold up his handsome dark head. His careful toilet
 
 UNE VIE 39 
 
 made him look different from usual, and Jeanne stared 
 at him as though she had never seen him before; she 
 thought he looked a perfect gentleman from head to 
 foot. 
 
 He bowed, and asked with a smile : 
 " Well, godmother, are you ready? " 
 "What do you mean?" stammered out Jeanne. 
 "What Is It all about?" 
 
 " Oh, you shall know just now," answered the baron. 
 The carriage drew up before the door and Madame 
 Adelaide, in a handsome dress, came downstairs leaning 
 on Rosalie, who was struck with such admiration at 
 the sight of M. de Lamare's elegant appearance, that 
 the baron murmured : 
 
 " I say, vicomte, I think our maid likes the look of 
 you." 
 
 The vicomte blushed up to the roots of his hair, pre- 
 tended not to hear what the baron said, and, taking up 
 the big bouquet, presented it to Jeanne. She took it, 
 feeling still more astonished, and all four got Into the 
 carriage. 
 
 "Really, madame, It looks like a wedding!" ex- 
 claimed the cook, Ludivine, who had brought some cold 
 broth for the baroness to have before she started. 
 
 When they reached Yport they got out, and, as they 
 w^alked through the village, the sailors In new clothes 
 which still showed where the cloth had been folded, 
 came out of the houses, touched their hats, shook the 
 baron by the hand, and followed behind them, forming 
 a procession, at the head of which walked the vicomte 
 with Jeanne on his arm. 
 
 On arriving at the church a halt was made. A choir- 
 boy came out carrying a great silver cross, followed by
 
 40 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 another pink and white urchin carrying the holy water 
 with the brush in it; behind them came three old chor- 
 isters, one of whom limped, then the serpent-player, 
 then the cure in a stole with a gold cross embroidered 
 on it. He saluted the baron's party with a smile and a 
 nod, then, with half-closed eyes, his lips moving in 
 prayer, his miter pushed down over his eyes, he fol- 
 lowed his surpliced subordinates down to the sea. 
 
 On the beach a crowd was waiting round a new boat 
 decorated all over with garlands; its mast, sail, and 
 ropes were covered with long ribbons which fluttered in 
 the breeze, and its name, " Jeanne," was on the stern 
 in gilt letters. Old Lastique was the master of this 
 boat that the baron had had built, and he advanced to 
 meet the procession. 
 
 At the sight of the cross all the men took off their 
 caps, and a line of nuns, enveloped in their long, 
 straight, black mantles, knelt down. The cure went to 
 one end of the boat with the two choir-boys, while at 
 the other the three old choristers, with their dirty faces 
 and hairy chins shown up by their white surplices, sang 
 at the top of their voices. Each time they paused to 
 take breath, the serpent-player continued his music 
 alone, and he blew out his cheeks till his little gray eyes 
 could not be seen and the very skin of his forehead and 
 neck looked as if it was separated from the flesh. 
 
 The calm, transparent sea, its ripples breaking on the 
 shore with a faint, grating noise, seemed to be watching 
 the christening of the tiny boat. Great, white sea-gulls 
 flew by with outstretched wings, and then returned over 
 the heads of the kneeling crowd with a sweeping flight 
 as though they wanted to see what was going on. 
 
 The chanting stopped after an " Amen " which was
 
 UNE VIE 41 
 
 repeated and sustained for five minutes, and the priest 
 gabbled some Latin words of which only the sonorous 
 terminations could be made out. Then he walked all 
 round the boat sprinkling it with holy water, and com- 
 menced to murmur the oremus, stopping opposite the 
 two sponsors, who were standing hand in hand. 
 
 The young man's handsome face was quite calm, but 
 the young girl, almost suffocated by the palpitation of 
 her heart, felt as though she should faint, and she trem- 
 bled so violently that her teeth chattered. The dream 
 that had haunted her for so long seemed all at once to 
 have become a reality. She had heard this ceremony 
 compared to a wedding, the priest was there uttering 
 blessings, and surpliced men were chanting prayers; 
 surely she was being married ! 
 
 Did the vicomte feel the nervous trembling of her 
 fingers? Did his heart sympathize with hers? Did 
 he understand? did he guess? was he also under the in- 
 fluence of an all-absorbing love-dream ? Or was it only 
 the knowledge that women found him irresistible that 
 made him press her hand, gently at first, then harder 
 and harder till he hurt her? Then, without changing 
 the expression of his face, that no one might notice 
 him, he said very distinctly: "Oh, Jeanne, if you 
 liked, this might be our betrothal! " 
 
 She slowly bent her head with a movement which per- 
 haps meant " yes "; and some drops of holy water fell 
 on their hands. 
 
 The ceremony was over; the women rose from their 
 knees, and everyone began to hurry back. The choir- 
 boy let the cross swing from side to side, or tilt for- 
 ward till it nearly fell; the cure, no longer praying, hur- 
 ried behind him; the choristers and the serpent-player
 
 42 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 disappeared down a narrow turning to get back and un- 
 dress quickly, the sailors hastened past in twos and 
 threes; a good lunch was waiting for them at Les Peu- 
 ples and the very thought of it quickened their pace and 
 made their mouths water. 
 
 Sixty sailors and peasants sat down to the long table 
 laid in the courtyard under the apple trees. The bar- 
 oness sat at the middle of the table with the cure from 
 Yport on one side of her and the Abbe Picot on the 
 other ; opposite her was the baron between the mayor 
 and his wife. The mayoress was a thin, elderly country 
 woman with a nod for everyone; her big Normandy cap 
 fitted close round her thin face, making her head, with its 
 round, astonished-looking eyes, look like a white-tufted 
 fowl's, and she ate In little jerks as If she were pecking 
 at her plate. 
 
 Jeanne was silent, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, 
 her head turned with joy. At last she asked the vi- 
 comte, who was sitting beside her : 
 " What is your Christian name? " 
 " Julien," he replied; " did you not know? " 
 She did not answer him, for she was thinking: 
 *' How often I shall repeat that name to myself." 
 
 When lunch was over, the courtyard was left to the 
 sailors. The baroness began to take her exercise, lean- 
 ing on the baron and accompanied by the two priests^ 
 and Jeanne and Julien walked down to the wood, and 
 wandered along its little winding paths. All at once 
 he took her hands in his. 
 
 " Tell me," he said, " will you be my wife? " 
 
 She hung her head, and he pleaded: 
 
 " Do not keep me In suspense, I implore you."
 
 UNE VIE 43 
 
 Then she slowly raised her eyes to his, and in that 
 look he read her answer. 
 
 IV 
 
 The baron went into Jeanne's room before she was 
 up one morning soon after the christening of the boat, 
 and sat down at the foot of the bed. 
 
 " M. le Vicomte de Lamare has proposed for you," 
 he said. 
 
 Jeanne would have liked to hide her head under the 
 bed-clothes. 
 
 " We told him we must think over his proposal be- 
 fore we could give him an answer," continued the baron, 
 who was smiling. " We did not wish to arrange any- 
 thing without first consulting you; your mother and I 
 made no objection to the marriage, but at the same time 
 we did not make any promise. You are a great deal 
 richer than he is, but when the happiness of a life is 
 at stake the question of money ought not to be consid- 
 ered. He has no relations, so if you married him we 
 should gain a son, whereas if you married anyone else 
 you would have to go among strangers, and we should 
 lose our daughter. We like the young fellow, but the 
 question is, do you like him? " 
 
 " I am quite willing to marry him, papa," she stam- 
 mered out, blushing to the roots of her hair. 
 
 The baron looked into her eyes, and said with a 
 smile: " I thought as much, mademoiselle." 
 
 Until that evening Jeanne hardly knew what she was 
 doing. She went through everything mechanically, 
 feeling thoroughly worn out with fatigue, although she
 
 44 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 had done nothing to tire her. The vicomte came about 
 six o'clock and found her sitting with her mother under 
 the plane-tree, and Jeanne's heart beat wildly as the 
 young man came calmly towards them. He kissed the 
 baroness's fingers, then, raising the young girl's trem- 
 bling hand to his lips, he imprinted on it a long, tender 
 kiss of gratitude. 
 
 The happy betrothal time began. The young couple 
 spent their days sitting on the slope leading to the waste 
 land beyond the wood, or walking up and down the bar- 
 oness's avenue, she with her eyes fixed on the dusty track 
 her mother's foot had made, he talking of the future. 
 Once the marriage agreed to, they wanted it to take 
 place as soon as possible, so it was decided that they 
 should be married in six weeks' time, on the 15th of 
 August, and that they should start on their wedding 
 tour almost immediately afterwards. When Jeanne 
 was asked to what country she should like to go, she 
 chose Corsica, where they would be more alone than in 
 Italy. 
 
 They awaited the time of their union without very 
 much impatience, vaguely desiring more passionate em- 
 braces, and yet satisfied with a slight caress, a pressure 
 of the hand, a gaze so long that each seemed to read 
 the other's heart through their eyes. 
 
 No one was to be asked to the wedding besides Aunt 
 Lison, the baroness's sister, who was a lady-boarder in 
 a convent at Versailles. 
 
 After their father's death the baroness wanted her 
 sister to live with her, but the old maid was convinced 
 that she was a nuisance to everybody, and always in the 
 way, and she took apartments in one of the convents 
 which open their doors to the solitary and unhappy,
 
 UNE VIE 45 
 
 though she occasionally spent a month or two ^Yith her 
 relations. She was a small woman with very little to 
 say, and always kept in the background; when she stayed 
 with the baroness she was only seen at meal times, the 
 rest of the day she spent shut up in her room. She had 
 a kind, rather old-looking face, although she was only 
 forty-two, with sad, meek eyes. Her wishes had always 
 been sacrificed to those of everyone else. As a child 
 she had always sat quietly in some corner, never kissed 
 because she was neither pretty nor noisy, and as a young 
 girl no one had ever troubled about her. Her sister, 
 following the example of her parents, ahvays thought 
 of her as of someone of no importance, almost like some 
 object of furniture which she was accustomed to see 
 every day but which never occupied her thoughts. 
 
 She seemed ashamed of her name, Lise, because it 
 was so girlish and pretty, and when there seemed no 
 likelihood of her marrying, " Lise " had gradually 
 changed to " Lison." Since the birth of Jeanne she 
 had become " Aunt Lison," a sort of poor relation 
 whom everyone treated with a careless familiarity 
 which hid a good-natured contempt. She was prim 
 and very timid even with her sister and brother-in-law, 
 who liked her as they liked everyone, but whose affec- 
 tion was formed of an Indifferent kindness, and an un- 
 conscious compassion. 
 
 Sometimes when the baroness was speaking of the 
 far-away time of her childhood she would say to fix a 
 date: "It was about the time of Lison's mad at- 
 tempt." She never said anything more, and there was 
 a certain mystery about this " mad attempt," 
 
 One evening, when she was about nineteen years old, 
 Lise had tried to drown herself. No one could under-
 
 46 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 stand the reason of this act of folly; there was nothing 
 in her life or habits to at all account for it. She had 
 been rescued half-dead, and her parents, shocked at the 
 deed, had not attempted to discover its cause, but had 
 only talked about her " mad attempt," in the same way 
 as they had spoken of the accident to the horse Coco, 
 when he had broken his leg in a ditch and had to be 
 killed. Since then Lise had been thought very weak- 
 minded, and everyone around her gradually came to 
 look upon her with the mild contempt with which her 
 relations regarded her; even little Jeanne, perceiving 
 with the quickness of a child how her parents treated 
 her aunt, never ran to kiss her or thought of perform- 
 ing any little services for her. No one ever went to 
 her room, and Rosalie, the maid, alone seemed to know 
 where it was situated. If anyone wanted to speak to 
 her a servant was sent to find her, and if she could not 
 be found no one troubled about her, no one thought of 
 her, no one would ever have dreamt of saying : 
 
 *' Dear me ! I have not seen Lison this morning." 
 When she came down to breakfast of a morning, lit- 
 tle Jeanne went and held up her face for a kiss, and 
 that was the only greeting she received. She had no 
 position in the house and seemed destined never to be 
 understood even by her relations, never able to gain their 
 love or confidence, and when she died she would leave 
 no empty chair, no sense of loss behind her. 
 
 When anyone said " Aunt Lison " the words caused 
 no more feeling of affection in anyone's heart than if the 
 coffee pot or sugar basin had been mentioned. She al- 
 ways walked with little, quick, noiseless steps, never 
 making any noise, never stumbling against anything, and 
 her hands seemed to be made of velvet, so light and
 
 UNE VIE 47 
 
 delicate was their handling of anything she touched. 
 
 Lison arrived at the chateau about the middle of 
 July, quite upset by the idea of the marriage; she 
 brought a great many presents which did not receive 
 much attention as she was the giver, and the day after 
 her arrival no one noticed she was there. She could 
 not take her eyes off the sweethearts, and busied her- 
 self about the trousseau with a strange energy, a fever- 
 ish excitement, working in her room, where no one came 
 to see her, like a common seamstress. She was always 
 showing the baroness some handkerchiefs she had 
 hemmed, or some towels on which she had embroidered 
 the monogram, and asking : 
 
 *' Do you like that, Adelaide? " 
 
 The baroness would carelessly look at the work and 
 answer : 
 
 " Don't take so much trouble over it, my dear Lison." 
 
 About the end of the month, after a day of sultry 
 heat, the moon rose in one of those warm, clear nights 
 which seem to draw forth all the hidden poetry of the 
 soul. The soft breeze fluttered the hangings of the 
 quiet drawing-room, and the shaded lamp cast a ring 
 of soft light on the table where the baroness and her 
 husband were playing cards. Aunt Lison was sitting by 
 them knitting, and the young people were leaning 
 against the open window, looking out at the garden as 
 it lay bathed in light. 
 
 The shadows of the linden and the plane tree fell on 
 the moonlit grass which stretched away to the shadows 
 of the wood. 
 
 Irresistibly attracted by the beauty of the sight, 
 Jeanne turned and said : 
 
 " Papa, we are going for a walk on the grass."
 
 48 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 " Very well, my dear," answered the baron, without 
 looking up from his game. 
 
 Jeanne and the vicomte went out and walked slowly 
 down the grass till they reached the little wood at the 
 bottom. They stayed out so long that at last the bar- 
 oness, feeling tired and wanting to go to her room, said : 
 
 " We must call in the lovers." 
 
 The baron glanced at the moonlit garden, where the 
 two figures could be seen walking slowly about. 
 
 " Leave them alone," he answered, " it is so pleasant 
 out of doors ; Lison will wait up for them ; won't you, 
 Lison?" 
 
 The old maid looked up, and answered in her timid 
 voice: " Oh, yes, certainly." 
 
 The baron helped his wife to rise, and, tired himself 
 by the heat of the day, 
 
 " I will go to bed, too," he said. And he went up- 
 stairs with the baroness. 
 
 Then Aunt Lison got up, and, leaving her work on 
 the arm of the easy chair, leant out of the window and 
 looked at the glorious night. The two sweethearts 
 were walking backwards and forwards across the grass, 
 silently pressing each other's hands, as they felt the 
 sweet influence of the visible poetry that surrounded 
 them. 
 
 Jeanne saw the old maid's profile in the window, with 
 the lighted lamp behind. 
 
 " Look," she said, " Aunt Lison is watching us." 
 
 " Yes, so she is," answered the vicomte in the tone of 
 one who speaks without thinking of what he is saying; 
 and they continued their slow walk and their dreams of 
 love. But the dew was falling, and they began to feel 
 chilled.
 
 UNE VIE 49 
 
 *' We had better go in now," said Jeanne. 
 
 They went into the drawing-room, and found Aunt 
 Lison bending over the knitting she had taken up again; 
 her thin fingers were treliibling as if they were very 
 tired. Jeanne went up to her. 
 
 " Aunt, we will go to bed now," she said. 
 
 The old maid raised her eyes; they were red as if she 
 had been crying, but neither of the lovers noticed it. 
 Suddenly the young man saw that Jeanne's thin slippers 
 were quite wet, and fearing she would catch cold : 
 
 " Are not your dear little feet cold? " he asked affec- 
 tionately. 
 
 Aunt Lison's fingers trembled so they could no 
 longer hold the work; her ball of wool rolled across the 
 floor, and, hiding her face in her hands, she began 
 to sob convulsively. For a moment Jeanne and the 
 vicomte stood looking at her in mute surprise, then 
 Jeanne, feeling frightened, knelt down beside her, drew 
 away her hands from her face, and asked in dismay : 
 
 " What is it. Aunt Lison? What is the matter with 
 you?" 
 
 The poor, old maid, trembling all over, stammered 
 out in a broken voice: 
 
 " When he asked you — ' Are — are not your dear 
 little feet — cold? ' — I — I thought how no one had 
 — had ever said anything like that to me." 
 
 Jeanne felt full of pity for her aunt, but it seemed 
 very funny to think of anyone making love to Lison, 
 and the vicomte turned his head away to hide his laugh- 
 ter. Lison started up, left her wool on the ground and 
 her knitting on the armchair, and abruptly leaving the 
 room, groped her way up the dark staircase to her bed- 
 room. 
 
 V— 4
 
 50 A WOiMAN'S LIFE 
 
 The two young people looked at one another, feeling 
 sorry for her, and yet rather amused. 
 
 " Poor auntie," murmured Jeanne. 
 
 " She must be a little mad this evening," replied 
 Julien. 
 
 They were holding each other's hands as if they 
 could not make up their minds to say good-night, and 
 very gently they exchanged their first kiss before Aunt 
 Lison's empty chair. The next day they had forgotten 
 all about the old maid's tears. 
 
 The fortnight before her marriage, Jeanne passed 
 calmly and peacefully, as if she were almost exhausted 
 by the number of pleasant hours she had lately had. 
 The morning of the eventful day she had no time to 
 think; she was only conscious of a great sense of noth- 
 ingness within her, as if beneath her skin, her flesh, and 
 blood, and bones had vanished, and she noticed how her 
 fingers trembled when she touched anything. 
 
 She did not regain her self-possession till she was 
 going through the marriage service. Married! She 
 was married ! Everything which had happened since 
 dawn seemed a dream, and all around her seemed 
 changed; people's gestures had a new meaning; even 
 the hours of the day did not seem to be in their right 
 places. She felt stunned at the change. The day 
 before nothing had been altered in her life; her dearest 
 hope had only become nearer — almost within her 
 grasp. She had fallen asleep a girl, now she was a 
 woman. She had crossed the barrier which hides the 
 future with all its expected joys and fancied happiness, 
 and she saw before her an open door; she was at last 
 going to realize her dreams.
 
 UNE VIE 51 
 
 After the ceremony they went into the vestry, which 
 was nearly empty, for there were no wedding guests; 
 but when they appeared at the door of the church a loud 
 noise made the bride start and the baroness shriek; it 
 was a salvo fired by the peasants, who had arranged to 
 salute the bride, and the shots could be heard all the 
 way to Les Peuples. 
 
 Breakfast was served for the family, the cure from 
 Yport, the Abbe Picot, and the witnesses. Then every- 
 one went to walk in the garden till dinner was ready. 
 The baron and the baroness, Aunt Lison, the mayor, 
 and the abbe walked up and down the baroness's path, 
 and the priest from Yport strode along the other ave- 
 nue reading his breviary. 
 
 From the other side of the chateau came the noisy 
 laughter of the peasants drinking cider under the apple- 
 trees. The whole countiyside in its Sunday garb was 
 in the court, and the girls and young men were playing 
 games and chasing each other. 
 
 Jeanne and Julien went across the wood, and at the 
 top of the slope stood silently looking at the sea. It 
 was rather chilly, although it was the middle of Au- 
 gust; there was a north wind, and the sun was shining 
 in the midst of a cloudless sky, so the young couple 
 crossed the plain to find shelter in the wooded valley 
 leading to Yport. In the coppice no wind could be felt, 
 and they left the straight road and turned into a nar- 
 row path running under the trees. 
 
 They could hardly walk abreast, and he gently put 
 his arm round her waist; she did not say anything, but 
 her heart throbbed, and her breath came quickly; the 
 branches almost touched their heads, and they often had
 
 52 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 to bend low to pass under them. She broke off a leaf; 
 underneath it lay two lady-birds looking like delicate, 
 red shells. 
 
 " Look, it's a husband and wife," she said, inno- 
 cently, feeling a little more at ease. 
 
 Julien's mouth brushed her ear. 
 
 " To-night you will be my little wife," he said. 
 
 Although she had learnt a great deal since she had 
 been living among the fields, as yet only the poetical side 
 of love had presented itself to her mind, and she did 
 not understand him. Was she not already his wife? 
 
 Then he began to drop little kisses on her forehead, 
 and on her neck just where some soft, stray hairs curled; 
 instinctively she drew her head away from him, startled 
 and yet enraptured by these kisses to which she was not 
 accustomed. Looking up they found they had reached 
 the end of the wood. She stopped, a little confused at 
 finding herself so far from home; what would everyone 
 think? 
 
 " Let us go back," she said. 
 
 He withdrew his arm from her waist, and as they 
 turned round they came face to face, so close together 
 that she felt his breath on her cheek. They looked into 
 each other's eyes, each seeking to read the other's soul, 
 and trying to learn its secrets by a determined, pene- 
 trating gaze. What would each be like? What 
 would be the life they were commencing together? 
 What joys, what disillusions did married life reserve 
 for them? Suddenly Julien placed his hands on his 
 wife's shoulders, and pressed on her lips such a kiss 
 as she had never before received, a kiss which thrilled 
 her whole being, a kiss which gave her such a strange
 
 UNE VIE 53 
 
 shock that she almost fell to the ground. She wildly 
 pushed him from her. 
 
 " Let us go back. Let us go back," she stammered 
 out. 
 
 He did not make any answer, but took both her hands 
 and held them in his own, and they walked back to the 
 house in silence. 
 
 At dusk a simple dinner was served, but there was a 
 restraint upon the conversation. The two priests, the 
 mayor, and the four farmers, who had been invited as 
 witnesses, alone indulged in a little coarse gayety which 
 generally accompanies a wedding, and when the laugh- 
 ter died away the mayor would try to revive It with a 
 jest. It was about nine o'clock when the coffee was 
 served. Out of doors, under the apple-trees, the open- 
 air ball had just commenced; the tapers which had been 
 hung on the branches made the leaves look the color of 
 verdigris, and through the open windows of the dining- 
 room all the revelry could be seen. The rustics skipped 
 round, howling a dance-tune, accompanied by two vio- 
 lins and a clarionet, the musicians being perched upon a 
 kitchen table. The noisy voices of the peasants some- 
 times entirely drowned the sound of the instruments, 
 and the thin music sounded as if it was dropping from 
 the sky in little bits, a few notes being scattered every 
 now and then. 
 
 Two big barrels, surrounded by flaming torches, pro- 
 vided drink for the crowd, and two servants did nothing 
 but rinse glasses and bowls in a tub, and then hold them, 
 dripping wet, under the taps whence flowed a crimson 
 stream of wine, or a golden stream of cider. The 
 thirsty dancers crowded round, stretched out their hands
 
 54 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 to get hold of any drinking vessel, and poured the liquid 
 down their dust-filled throats. Bread, butter, cheese, 
 and sausages were laid on a table, and everyone swal- 
 lowed a mouthful from time to time. As they watched 
 this healthy, noisy fete, the melancholy guests in the 
 dining-room felt that they too would have liked to join 
 the dance, to drink from the great casks, and eat a slice 
 of bread-and-butter and a raw onion. 
 
 " By Jove! they are enjoying themselves! " said the 
 mayor, beating time to the music with his knife. " It 
 makes one think of the wedding feast at Ganache." 
 
 There was a murmur of suppressed laughter. 
 
 " You mean at Cana," replied the Abbe Picot, the 
 natural enemy of every civil authority. 
 
 But the mayor held his ground. 
 
 " No, M. le cure, I know quite well what I am say- 
 ing; when I say Ganache, I mean Ganache." 
 
 After dinner they went among the peasants for a 
 little while, and then the guests took their leave. The 
 baron and his wife had a little quarrel in a low voice. 
 Madame Adelaide, more out of breath than ever, 
 seemed to be refusing something her husband was ask- 
 ing her to do; and at last she said almost out loud: 
 " No, my dear, I cannot. I shouldn't know how to be- 
 gin." The baron abruptly left her, and went up to 
 Jeanne. 
 
 " Will you come for a walk with me, my child? " he 
 said. 
 
 " If you like, papa," she answered, feeling a little 
 uneasy. 
 
 As soon as they were outside the door they felt the 
 wind in their faces — a cold, dry wind which drove the 
 clouds across the sky, and made the summer night feel
 
 UNE VIE 55 
 
 like autumn. The baron pressed his daughter's arm 
 closely to him, and affectionately pressed her hand. 
 For some minutes they walked on in silence; he could 
 not make up his mind to begin, but, at last, he said: 
 
 " My pet, I have to perform a very difficult duty 
 which really belongs to your mother; as she refuses to 
 do what she ought, I am obliged to take her place. I 
 do not know how much you already know of the laws 
 of existence; there are some things which are carefully 
 hidden from children, from girls especially, for girls 
 ought to remain pure-minded and perfectly innocent un- 
 til the hour their parents place them in the arms of the 
 man who, henceforth, has the care of their happiness; 
 it is his duty to raise the veil drawn over the sweet 
 secret of life. But, if no suspicion of the truth has 
 crossed their minds, girls are often shocked by the some- 
 what brutal reality which their dreams have not re- 
 vealed to them. Wounded in mind, and even in body, 
 they refuse to their husband what is accorded to him as 
 an absolute right by both human and natural laws. I 
 cannot tell you any more, my darling; but remember 
 this, only this, that you belong entirely to your hus- 
 band." 
 
 What did she know in reality? What did she guess? 
 She began to tremble, and she felt low-spirited, and 
 overcome by a presentiment of something terrible. 
 When she and her father went In again they stopped In 
 surprise at the drawing-room door. Madame Ade- 
 laide was sobbing on Julien's shoulder. Her noisy 
 tears seemed to be forced from her, and issued at the 
 same time from her nose, mouth and eyes, and the 
 amazed vicomte was awkwardly supporting the huge 
 woman, who had thrown herself in his arms to ask him
 
 56 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 to be gentle with her darling, her pet, her dear child. 
 The baron hurried forward. 
 
 " Oh, pray do not make a scene, do not let us have 
 any tears," he said, taking hold of his wife, and seating 
 her in an armchair while she wiped her face. Then 
 turning towards Jeanne : 
 
 " Now then, my dear, kiss your mother and go to 
 bed," he said. 
 
 Ready to cry herself, Jeanne quickly kissed her par- 
 ents and ran away. Aunt Lison had already gone to 
 her room, so the baron and his wife were left alone 
 with Julien. They all three felt very awkward, and 
 could think of nothing to say; the two men, in their 
 evening-dress, remained standing, looking into space, 
 and Madame Adelaide leant back in her armchair, her 
 breast still heaved by an occasional sob. At last the 
 silence became unbearable, and the baron began to talk 
 about the journey the young couple were going to take 
 in a few days. 
 
 Jeanne, in her room, was being undressed by Rosalie, 
 whose tears fell like rain ; her trembling hands could not 
 find the strings and pins, and she certainly seemed a 
 great deal more affected than her mistress. But Jeanne 
 did not notice her maid's tears; she felt as though she 
 had entered another world, and was separated from all 
 she had known and loved. Everything in her life 
 seemed turned upside down; the strange idea came to 
 her: " Did she really love her husband? " He sud- 
 denly seemed some stranger she hardly knew. Three 
 months before she had not even been aware of his exist- 
 ence, and now she was his wife. How had it hap- 
 pened? Did people always plunge into marriage as 
 they might into some uncovered hole lying in their
 
 UxXE VIE 57 
 
 path? \Yhen she was in her night-dress she slipped 
 into bed, and the cold sheets made her shiver, and in- 
 creased the sensation of cold, and sadness and loneliness 
 which had weighed on her mind for two hours. Rosa- 
 lie went away still sobbing, and Jeanne lay still, anx- 
 iously awaiting the revelation she had partly guessed, 
 and that her father had hinted at in confused words — 
 awaiting the unveiling of love's great secret. 
 
 There came three soft knocks at the door, though she 
 had heard no one come upstairs. She started violently, 
 and made no answer; there was another knock, and then 
 the door-handle was turned. She hid her head under 
 the clothes as if a thief had got Into her room, and then 
 came a noise of boots on the boards, and all at once 
 some one touched the bed. She started again, and gave 
 a little cry; then, uncovering her head, she saw Julien 
 standing beside the bed, looking at her with a smile. 
 
 " Oh, how you frightened me ! " she said. 
 
 " Did you not expect me, then? " he asked. 
 
 She made no answer, feeling horribly ashamed of 
 being seen in bed by this man, who looked so grave and 
 correct in his evening-dress. They did not know what 
 to say or do next; they hardly dared to look at one an- 
 other, in this decisive hour, on which the intimate hap- 
 piness of their life depended. Perhaps he vaguely felt 
 what perfect self-possession, what affectionate strata- 
 gems are needed not to hurt the modesty, the extreme 
 delicacy of a maiden's heart. He gently took her hand 
 and kissed it; then, kneeling by the bed as he would be- 
 fore an altar, he murtnured, in a voice soft as a sigh : 
 
 "Will you love me?" 
 
 She felt a little reassured, and raised her head, which 
 was covered with a cloud of lace.
 
 58 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 " I love you already, dear," she said, with a smile. 
 
 He took his wife's little slender fingers in his mouth, 
 and, his voice changed by this living gag, he asked : 
 
 " Will you give me a proof of your love? " 
 
 The question frightened her again, and, only remem- 
 bering her father's words, and not quite understanding 
 what she said : 
 
 " I am yours, dear," she answered. 
 
 He covered her hand with humid kisses, and, slowly 
 rising, he bent towards her face, which she again began 
 to hide. Suddenly he threw one arm across the bed, 
 winding it around his wife over the clothes, and slipped 
 his other arm under the bolster, which he raised with 
 her head upon it; then he asked, in a low whisper : 
 
 " Then you will make room for me beside you? " 
 
 She had an instinctive fear, and stammered out: 
 *' Oh, not yet, I entreat you." 
 
 He seemed disappointed and a little hurt; then he 
 went on in a voice that was still pleading, but a little 
 more abrupt : 
 
 " Why not now, since Ave have got to come to it 
 sooner or later? " 
 
 She did not like him for saying that, but, perfectly 
 resigned and submissive, she said, for the second time : 
 
 " I am yours, dear." 
 
 Then he went quickly into his dressing-room, and 
 she could distinctly hear the rustling of his clothes as he 
 took them off, the jingling of the money in his pockets, 
 the noise his boots made as he let them drop on the 
 floor. All at once he ran across the room in his draw- 
 ers and socks to put his watch on the mantelpiece; then 
 he returned to the other room, where he moved about a
 
 UNE VIE 59 
 
 little while longer. Jeanne turned quickly over to the 
 other side and shut her eyes when she heard him com- 
 ing. She nearly started out of bed when she felt a 
 cold, hairy leg slide against hers, and, distractedly hid- 
 ing her face in her hands, she moved right to the edge 
 of the bed, almost crying with fear and horror. He 
 took her in his arms, although her back was turned to 
 him, and eagerly kissed her neck, the lace of her night- 
 cap, and the embroidered collar of her night-dress. 
 Filled with a horrible dread, she did not move, and then 
 she felt his strong hands caressing her. She gasped for 
 breath at this brutal touch, and felt an intense longing 
 to escape and hide herself somewhere out of this man's 
 reach. Soon he lay still, and she could feel the warmth 
 of his body against her back. She did not feel so 
 frightened then, and all at once the thought flashed 
 across her mind that she had only to turn round and her 
 lips would touch his. 
 
 At last he seemed to get impatient, and, in a sorrow- 
 ful voice, he said: 
 
 " Then you will not be my little wife? " 
 "Am I not your wife already?" she said, through 
 her hands. 
 
 " Come now, my dear, don't try to make a fool of 
 me," he answered, with a touch of bad temper in his 
 voice. 
 
 She felt very sorry when she heard him speak like 
 that, and with a sudden movement she turned towards 
 him to ask his pardon. He passionately seized her in 
 his arms and imprinted burning kisses all over her face 
 and neck. She had taken her hands from her face and 
 lay still, making no response to his efforts, her thoughts
 
 6o A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 so confused that she could understand nothing, until 
 suddenly she felt a sharp pain, and then she began to 
 moan and writhe in his arms. 
 
 What happened next? She did not know, for her 
 head was in a whirl. She was conscious of nothing 
 more until she felt him raining grateful kisses on her 
 lips. Then he spoke to her and she had to answer ; 
 then he made other attempts, which she repelled with 
 horror, and as she struggled she felt against her chest 
 the thick hair she had already felt against her leg, and 
 she drew back in dismay. Tired at last of entreating 
 her without effect, he lay still on his back; then she 
 could think. She had expected something so different, 
 and this destruction of her hopes, this shattering of her 
 expectations of delight, filled her with despair, and she 
 could only say to herself: "That, then, is what he 
 calls being his wife; that is it, that is it." 
 
 For a long time she lay thus, feeling very miserable, 
 her eyes wandering over the tapestry on the walls, with 
 its tale of love. As Julien did not speak or move, she 
 slowly turned her head towards him, and then she saw 
 that he was asleep, with his mouth half opened and his 
 face quite calm. Asleep ! she could hardly believe it, 
 and it made her feel more indignant, more outraged 
 than his brutal passion had done. How could he sleep 
 on such a night? There was no novelty for him, then, 
 in what had passed between them? She would rather 
 he had struck her, or bruised her with his odious ca- 
 resses till she had lost consciousness, than that he should 
 have slept. She leant on her elbow, and bent towards 
 him to listen to the breath which sometimes sounded 
 like a snore as it passed through his lips. 
 
 Daylight came, dim at first, then brighter, then pink,
 
 UNE VIE 6 1 
 
 then radiant. Jiillen opened his eyes, yawned, stretched 
 his arms, looked at his wife, smiled, and asked: 
 
 " Have you slept well, dear? " 
 
 She noticed with great surprise that he said " thou " 
 to her now, and she replied : 
 
 " Oh, yes; have you? " 
 
 "I? Oh, very well indeed," he answered, turning 
 and kissing her. Then he began to talk, telling her 
 his plans, and using the word " economy " so often that 
 Jeanne wondered. She listened to him without very 
 well understanding what he said, and, as she looked at 
 him, a thousand thoughts passed rapidly through her 
 mind. 
 
 Eight o'clock struck. 
 
 " We must get up," he said; " we shall look stupid 
 if we stay in bed late to-day;" and he got up first. 
 
 When he had finished dressing, he helped his wife in 
 all the little details of her toilet, and would not hear of 
 her calling Rosalie. As he was going out of the room, 
 he stopped to say: 
 
 " You know, when we are by ourselves, we can call 
 each other ' thee ' and ' thou,' but we had better wait a 
 little while before we talk like that before your parents. 
 It will sound quite natural when we come back after our 
 honeymoon." And then he went downstairs. 
 
 Jeanne did not go down till lunch-time; and the day 
 passed exactly the same as usual, without anything ex- 
 traordinary happening. There was only an extra man 
 in the house. 
 
 V 
 
 Four days after the wedding, the berlin in which 
 they were to travel to Marseilles arrived. After the
 
 62 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 anguish of that first night, Jeanne soon became accus- 
 tomed to JuHen's kisses and affectionate caresses, though 
 their more intimate relations still revolted her. When 
 they went away she had quite regained her gayety of 
 heart, and the baroness was the only one who showed 
 any emotion at the parting. Just as the carriage was 
 going off, she put a heavy purse in her daughter's hand. 
 
 " That is for any little thing you may want to buy," 
 she said. 
 
 Jeanne dropped It into her pocket and the carriage 
 started. 
 
 " How much did your mother give you In that 
 purse? " asked Jullen in the evening. 
 
 Jeanne had forgotten all about it, so she turned it 
 out on her knees, and found there were two thousand 
 francs In gold. 
 
 " What a lot of things I shall be able to buy! " she 
 cried, clapping her hands. 
 
 At the end of a week they arrived at Marseilles, 
 where the heat was terrible, and the next day they em- 
 barked on the Roi Louis, the little packet-boat which 
 calls at Ajaccio on Its way to Naples, and started for 
 Corsica. It seemed to Jeanne as if she were In a trance 
 which yet left her the full possession of all her senses, 
 and she could hardly believe she was really going to 
 Corsica, the birthplace of Napoleon, with Its wild un- 
 dergrowth. Its bandits, and its mountains. She and her 
 husband stood side by side on the deck of the boat 
 watching the cliffs of Provence fly past. Overhead was 
 a bright blue sky, and the waves seemed to be getting 
 thicker and firmer under the burning heat of the sun. 
 
 " Do you remember when we went to Etretat in old
 
 UNE VIE 63 
 
 Lastique's boat?" asked Jeanne; and, instead of an- 
 swering her, Julien dropped a kiss right on her ear. 
 
 The steamer's paddles churned up the sea, and be- 
 hind the boat, as far as the eye could reach, lay a long 
 foaming track where the troubled waves frothed like 
 champagne. All at once an immense dolphin leapt out 
 of the water a few fathoms ahead, and then dived in 
 again head foremost. It startled Jeanne, and she threw 
 herself in Julien's arms with a little cry of fear; then 
 she laughed at her terror, and watched for the reap- 
 pearance of the enormous fish. In a few seconds up 
 it came again, like a huge mechanical toy; then it 
 dived again, and again disappeared; then came two 
 more, then three, then six, which gamboled round the 
 boat, and seemed to be escorting their large wooden 
 brother with the iron fins. Sometimes they were on the 
 left of the boat, sometimes on the right, and, one follow- 
 ing the other in a kind of game, they would leap into 
 the air, describe a curve, and replunge into the sea one 
 after the other. Jeanne clapped her hands, delighted 
 at each reappearance of the big, pliant fish, and felt a 
 childish enjoyment in watching them. Suddenly they 
 disappeared, rose to the surface a long way out to sea, 
 then disappeared for good, and Jeanne felt quite sorry 
 when they went away. 
 
 The calm, mild, radiant evening drew on; there was 
 not a breath of air to cause the smallest ripple on the 
 sea ; the sun was slowly sinking towards that part of the 
 horizon beyond which lay the land of burning heat, 
 Africa, whose glow could almost be felf across the 
 ocean ; then, when the sun had quite disappeared, a cool 
 breath of wind, so faint that it could not be called a
 
 64 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 breeze, came over the sea. There were all the horri- 
 ble smells of a packet-boat in their cabin, so Jeanne and 
 Julien wrapped themselves in their cloaks and lay down 
 side by side on deck. Julien went to sleep directly, but 
 Jeanne lay looking up at the host of stars which spar- 
 kled with so bright and clear a light in this soft Southern 
 sky; then the monotonous noise of the engines made her 
 drowsy, and at last she fell asleep. In the morning she 
 was awakened by the voices of the sailors cleaning the 
 boat, and she aroused her husband and got up. The 
 sea was still all around them, but straight ahead some- 
 thing gray could be faintly seen in the dawn; it looked 
 like a bank of strange-shaped clouds, pointed and 
 jagged, lying on the waves. This vague outline gradu- 
 ally became more distinct, until, standing out against 
 the brightening sky, a long line of mountain-peaks could 
 be seen. It was Corsica, hidden behind a light veil of 
 mist. 
 
 The sun rose, throwing black shadows around and 
 below every prominence, and each peak had a crown 
 of light, while all the rest of the island remained en- 
 veloped in mist. 
 
 The captain, a little elderly man, bronzed, withered, 
 and toughened by the rough salt winds, came up on 
 deck. 
 
 "Can you smell my lady over there?" he asked 
 Jeanne, in a voice that thirty years of command, and 
 shouting above the noise of the wind, had made hoarse. 
 
 She had indeed noticed a strong, peculiar odor of 
 herbs and aromatic plants. 
 
 " It's -Corsica that smells like that, madame," went 
 on the captain. " She has a perfumed breath, just like 
 a pretty woman. I am a Corsican, and I should know
 
 UNE VIE 6s 
 
 that smell five miles off, if I'd been away twenty years. 
 Over there, at St. Helena, I hear he is always speaking 
 of the perfume of his country; he belongs to my fam- 
 
 And the captain took off his hat and saluted Corsica, 
 and then, looking across the ocean, he saluted the great 
 emperor who was a prisoner on that far-away isle, and 
 Jeanne's heart was touched by this simple action. Then 
 the sailor pointed towards the horizon. 
 
 " There are the Sanguinaires," he said. 
 
 Julien had his arm round his wife's waist, and they 
 both straineci their eyes to see what the captain was 
 pointing out. As last they saw some pointed rocks that 
 the boat rounded before entering a large, calm bay, sur- 
 rounded by high mountains, whose steep sides looked as 
 though they were covered with moss. 
 
 " That is the undergrowth," said the captain, point- 
 ing out this verdure. 
 
 The circle of mountains seemed to close in behind 
 the boat as she slowly steamed across the azure water 
 which was so transparent that in places the bottom could 
 be seen. Ajaccio came in sight; it was a white town 
 at the foot of the mountains, with a few small Italian 
 boats lying at. anchor in the harbor, and four or five 
 row-boats came beside the Roi Louis to take off the pas- 
 sengers. Julien, who was looking after the luggage, 
 asked his wife in a low tone: 
 
 " A franc is enough, isn't it, to give the steward? " 
 
 The whole week he had been constantly asking her 
 this question which she hated. 
 
 " When you don't know what is enough, give too 
 
 much," she answered, a little impatiently. 
 
 He haggled with every one, landlords and hotel- 
 V— 5
 
 66 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 waiters, cabmen and shopmen, and when he had ob- 
 tained the reduction he wanted, he would rub his hands, 
 and say to Jeanne: " I don't like to be robbed." She 
 trembled when the bills were brought, for she knew be- 
 forehand the remarks he would make on each item, and 
 felt ashamed of his bargaining; and when she saw the 
 scornful look of the servants as her husband left his 
 small fee in their hands, she blushed to the roots of her 
 hair. Of course he had a discussion with the boatmen 
 who took them ashore. 
 
 The first tree she saw on landing was a palm, which 
 delighted her. They went to a big empty hotel stand- 
 ing at the corner of a vast square, and ordered lunch. 
 When they had finished dessert, Jeanne got up to go 
 and wander about the town, but Julien, faking her in 
 his arms, whispered tenderly in her ear : 
 
 " Shall we go upstairs for a little while, my pet? " 
 
 " Go upstairs? " she said, with surprise; " but I am 
 not at all tired." 
 
 He pressed her to him: "Don't you understand? 
 For two days — " 
 
 She blushed crimson. 
 
 " Oh, what would everyone say? what would they 
 think? You could not ask for a bedroom in the mid- 
 dle of the day. Oh, Julien, don't say anything about 
 it now, please don't." 
 
 " Do you think I care what the hotel-people say or 
 think?" he interrupted. "You'll see what difference 
 they make to me." And he rang the bell. 
 
 She did not say anything more, but sat with down- 
 cast eyes, disgusted at her husband's desires, to which 
 she always submitted with a feeling of shame and degra- 
 dation; her senses were not yet aroused, and her hus-
 
 UNE VIE 67 
 
 band treated her as if she shared all his ardors. When 
 the waiter answered the bell, Julien asked him to show 
 them to their room ; the waiter, a man of true Corsican 
 type, bearded to the eyes, did not understand, and kept 
 saying that the room Avould be quite ready by the even- 
 ing. Julien got out of patience. 
 
 " Get it ready at once," he said. " The journey has 
 tired us and we want to rest." 
 
 A slight smile crept over the waiter's face, and 
 Jeanne would have liked to run away; when they came 
 downstairs again, an hour later, she hardly dared pass 
 the servants, feeling sure that they would whisper and 
 laugh behind her back. She felt vexed with Julien for 
 not understanding her feelings, and wondering at his 
 want of delicacv; it raised a sort of barrier between 
 them, and, for the first time, she understood that two 
 people can never be in perfect sympathy; they may pass 
 through life side by side, seemingly in perfect union, 
 but neither quite understands the other, and every soul 
 must of necessity be for ever lonely. 
 
 They stayed three days in the little town which was 
 like a furnace, for every breath of wind was shut out 
 by the mountains. Then they made out a plan of the 
 places they should visit, and decided to hire some 
 horses. They started one morning at daybreak on the 
 two wiry little Corsican horses they had obtained, and 
 accompanied by a guide mounted on a mule which also 
 carried some provisions, for inns are unknown in this 
 wild country. At first the road ran along the bay, but 
 soon it turned into a shallow valley leading to the moun- 
 tains. The uncultivated country seemed perfectly bare, 
 and the sides of the hills were covered with tall weeds, 
 turned sere and yellow by the burning heat; they often
 
 68 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 crossed ravines where only a narrow stream still ran with 
 a gurgling sound, and occasionally they met a moun- 
 taineer, sometimes on foot, sometimes riding his little 
 horse, or bestriding a donkey no bigger than a dog; 
 these mountaineers always carried a loaded gun which 
 might be old and rusty, but which became a very for- 
 midable weapon in their hands. The air was filled with 
 the pungent smell of the aromatic plants with which the 
 isle is covered, and the road sloped gradually upwards, 
 winding round the mountains. 
 
 The peaks of blue and pink granite made the island 
 look like a fairy palace, and, from the heights, the for- 
 ests of immense chestnut trees on the lower parts of the 
 hills looked like green thickets. Sometimes the guide 
 would point to some steep height, and mention a name ; 
 Jeanne and Julien would look, at first seeing nothing, 
 but at last discovering the summit of the mountain. It 
 was a village, a little granite hamlet, hanging and cling- 
 ing like a bird's nest to the vast mountain. Jeanne got 
 tired of going at a walking pace for so long. 
 
 " Let us gallop a little," she said, whipping up her 
 horse. 
 
 She could not hear her husband behind her, and, turn- 
 ing round to see where he was, she burst out laughing. 
 Pale with fright, he was holding onto his horse's mane, 
 almost jolted out of the saddle by the animal's motion. 
 His awkwardness and fear were all the more funny, 
 because he was such a grave, handsome man. Then 
 they trotted gently along the road between two thick- 
 ets formed of juniper trees, green oaks, arbutus trees, 
 heaths, bay trees, myrtles, and box trees, whose branches 
 were formed into a network by the climbing clematis, 
 and between and around which grew big ferns, honey-
 
 UNE VIE 69 
 
 suckles, rosemary, lavender, and briars, forming a per- 
 fectly impassable thicket, which covered the hill like a 
 cloak. The travelers began to get hungry, and the 
 guide rejoined them and took them to one of those 
 springs so often met with in a mountainous country, 
 with the icy water flowing from a little hole in the rock 
 where some passer-by has left the big chestnut leaf 
 which conveyed the water to his mouth. Jeanne felt 
 so happy that she could hardly help shouting aloud; and 
 they again remounted and began to descend, winding 
 round the Gulf of Sagone. 
 
 As evening was drawing on they went through Car- 
 gese, the Greek village founded so long ago by fugi- 
 tives driven from their country. Round a fountain 
 was a group of tall, handsome and particularly graceful 
 girls, with well formed hips, long hands, and slender 
 waists; Julien cried "Good-night" to them, and they 
 answered him in the musical tongue of their ancestors. 
 When they got to Piana they had to ask for hospitality 
 quite in the way of the middle ages, and Jeanne trem- 
 bled with joy as they waited for the door to open in 
 answer to Julien's knock. Oh, that was a journey! 
 There they did indeed meet with adventures ! 
 
 They had happened to appeal to a young couple who 
 received them as the patriarch received the messenger 
 of God, and they slept on a straw mattress in an old 
 house whose woodwork was so full of worms that it 
 seemed alive. At sunrise they started off again, and 
 soon they stopped opposite a regular forest of crimson 
 rocks ; there were peaks, columns, and steeples, all mar- 
 velously sculptured by time and the sea. l^hin, round, 
 twisted, crooked, and fantastic, these wonderful rocks 
 nine hundred feet high, looked like trees, plants, ani-
 
 • 70 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 mals, monuments, men, monks m their cassocks, horned 
 demons and huge bu'ds, such as one sees hi a nightmare, 
 the whole forming a monstrous tribe which seemed to 
 have been petrified by some eccentric god. 
 
 Jeanne could not speak, her heart was too full, but 
 she took Julien's hand and pressed it, feeling that she 
 must love something or some one before all this beauty; 
 and then, leaving this confusion of forms, they came 
 upon another bay surrounded by a wall of blood-red 
 granite, which cast crimson reflections Into the blue sea. 
 Jeanne exclaimed, " Oh, Jullen ! " and that was all she 
 could say; a great lump came in her throat and two 
 tears ran down her cheeks. Julien looked at her in 
 astonishment. 
 
 " What is it, my pet? " he asked. 
 
 She dried her eyes, smiled, and said in a voice that 
 still trembled a little. " Oh, it's nothing, I suppose I 
 am nervous. I am so happy that the least thing up- 
 sets me." 
 
 He could not understand this nervousness; he de- 
 spised the hysterical excitement to which women give 
 way and the joy or despair into which they are cast by 
 a mere sensation, and he thought her tears absurd. He 
 glanced at the bad road. 
 
 " You had better look after your horse," he said. 
 
 They went down by a nearly impassable road, then 
 turning to the right, proceeded along the gloomy valley 
 of Ota. The path looked very dangerous, and Julien 
 proposed that they should go up on foot. Jeanne was 
 only too delighted to be alone with him after the emo- 
 tion she had felt, so the guide went on with the mule 
 and horses, and they walked slowly after him. The 
 mountain seemed cleft from top to bottom, and the
 
 UNE VIE 71 
 
 path ran between two tremendous w^alls of rock which 
 looked nearly black. The ah* was icy cold, and the lit- 
 tle bit of sky that could be seen looked quite strange, it 
 seemed so far away. A sudden noise made Jeanne 
 look up. A large bird flew out of a hole in the rock; 
 it was an eagle, and its open wings seemed to touch the 
 two sides of the chasm as it mounted towards the sky. 
 Farther on, the mountain again divided, and the path 
 wound between the two ravines, taking abrupt turns. 
 Jeanne went first, walking lightly and easily, sending 
 the pebbles rolling from under her feet and fearlessly 
 looking down the precipices. Julien followed her, a 
 little out of breath, and keeping his eyes on the ground 
 so that he should not feel giddy and it seemed like com- 
 ing out of Hades when they suddenly came into the full 
 sunlight. 
 
 They were very thirsty, and, seeing a damp track, 
 they followed it till they came to a tiny spring flowing 
 into a hollow stick which some goat-herd had put there ; 
 all around the spring the ground was carpeted with 
 moss, and Jeanne knelt down to drink. Julien fol- 
 lowed her example, and as she was slowly enjoying the 
 cool water, he put his arm around her and tried to take 
 her place at the end of the wooden pipe. In the strug- 
 gle between their lips they would in turns seize the small 
 end of the tube and hold it in their mouths for a few 
 seconds; then, as they left it, the stream flowed on again 
 and splashed their faces and necks, their clothes and 
 their hands. A few drops shone in their hair like 
 pearls, and with the water flowed their kisses. 
 
 1 hen Jeanne had an inspiration of love. She filled 
 her mouth with the clear liquid, and, her cheeks puffed 
 out like bladders, she made Julien understand that he
 
 72 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 was to quench his thirst at her lips. He stretched his 
 throat, his head thrown backwards and his arms open, 
 and the deep draught he drank at this living spring en- 
 flamed him with desire. Jeanne leant on his shoulder 
 with unusual affection, her heart throbbed, her bosom 
 heaved, her eyes, filled with tears, looked softer, and 
 she whispered : 
 
 " Julien, I love you! " 
 
 Then, drawing him to her, she threw herself down 
 and hid her shame-stricken face in her hands. He 
 threw himself down beside her, and pressed her passion- 
 ately to him ; she gasped for breath as she lay nervously 
 waiting, and all at once she gave a loud cry as though 
 thunderstruck by the sensation she had invited. It was 
 a long time before they reached the top of the moun- 
 tain, so fluttered and exhausted v\'as Jeanne, and it was 
 evening when they got to Evisa, and went to the house 
 of Paoli Palabretti, a relation of the guide's. Paoli 
 was a tall man with a slight cough, and the melancholy 
 look of a consumptive; he showed them their room, a 
 miserable-looking chamber built of stone, but which was 
 handsome for this country, where no refinement is 
 known. He was expressing in his Corsican patois (a 
 mixture of French and Italian) his pleasure at receiv- 
 ing them, when a clear voice interrupted him, and a 
 dark little woman, with big black eyes, a sun-kissed skin, 
 and a slender waist, hurried forward, kissed Jeanne, 
 shook Julien by the hand and said: " Good-day, ma- 
 dame; good-day, monsieur; are you quite well? " She 
 took their hats and shawls and arranged everything 
 with one hand, for her other arm was in a sling; then 
 she turned them all out, saying to her hus-band : " Take 
 them for a walk till dinner is ready."
 
 UNE VIE 73 
 
 M. PalabrettI obeyed at once, and, walking between 
 Jeanne and her husband, he took them round the vil- 
 lage. His steps and his words both drawled, and he 
 coughed frequently, saying at each fit, " The cold air 
 has got on my lungs." He led them under some im- 
 mense chestnut-trees, and, suddenly stopping, he said in 
 his monotonous voice : 
 
 " It was here that Mathieu Lori killed my cousin 
 Jean Rinaldi. I was standing near Jean, just there, 
 when we saw Mathieu about three yards off. ' Jean,' 
 he cried; ' don't go to Albertacce; don't you go, Jean, 
 or I'll kill you :' I took Jean's arm. ' Don't go Jean,' 
 I said, ' or he'll do it.' It was about a girl, Paulina 
 Sinacoupi, that they were both after. Then Jean cried 
 out, 'I shall go, jVIathieu; and you won't stop me, 
 either.' Then Mathieu raised his gun, and, before I 
 could take aim, he fired. Jean leaped two feet from 
 the ground, monsieur, and then fell right on me, and 
 my gun dropped and rolled down to that chestnut 
 there. Jean's mouth was wide open, but he didn't say 
 a word; he was dead." 
 
 The young couple stared in astonishment at this 
 calm witness of such a crime. 
 
 " What became of the murderer? " asked Jeanne. 
 Paoli coughed for some time, then he went on : 
 " He gained the mountain, and my brother killed 
 him the next year. My brother, Philippi Palabretti, 
 the bandit, you know." 
 
 Jeanne shuddered. "Is your brother a bandit?" 
 she asked. 
 
 The placid Corsican's eye flashed proudly. 
 " Yes, madame, he was a celebrated bandit, he was; 
 he put an end to six gendarmes. He died with Nico-
 
 74 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 las Morall after they had been surrounded for six days, 
 and were almost starved to death." 
 
 Then they went in to dinner, and the little woman 
 treated them as if she had known them twenty years. 
 Jeanne was haunted by the fear that she would not 
 again experience the strange shock she had felt in 
 Julien's arms beside the fountain, and when they were 
 alone in their room she was still afraid his kisses would 
 again leave her insensible, but she was soon reassured, 
 and that was her first night of love. The next day she 
 could hardly bear to leave this humble abode, where 
 a new happiness had come to her; she drew her host's 
 little wife into her bedroom, and told her she did not 
 mean it as a present in return for their hospitality, but 
 she must absolutely insist on sending her a souvenir 
 from Paris, and to this souvenir she seemed to attach 
 a superstitious importance. For a long time the young 
 Corsican woman refused to accept anything at all, but 
 at last she said: 
 
 " Well, send me a little pistol, a very little one." 
 
 Jeanne opened her eyes in astonishment, and the 
 woman added in her ear, as though she were confiding 
 some sweet and tender secret to her : 
 
 " It's to kill my brother-in-law with." 
 
 And with a smile on her face, she quickly un- 
 bandaged the arm she could not use, and showed 
 Jeanne the soft, white flesh which had been pierced 
 right through with a stiletto, though the wound had 
 nearly healed. 
 
 " If I had not been as strong as he is," she said, " he 
 would have killed me. My husband is not jealous, for 
 he understands me, and then he is ill, you see, so he is 
 not so hot-blooded; besides, I am an honest woman,
 
 UNE VIE 75 
 
 madame. But my brother-in-law believes everything 
 that is told him about me, and he is jealous for my 
 husband. I am sure he will make another attempt 
 upon my life, but if I have a httle pistol I shall feel 
 safe, and I shall be sure of having my revenge." 
 
 Jeanne promised to send the weapon, affectionately 
 kissed her new friend and said good-bye. The rest of 
 her journey was a dream, an endless embrace, an intox- 
 ication of caresses; she no longer saw country or people 
 or the places where they stopped, she had eyes only for 
 Julien. When they got to Bastia the guide had to be 
 paid; Julien felt in his pockets, and not finding what 
 he wanted, he said to Jeanne: 
 
 " Since you don't use the two thousand francs your 
 mother gave you, I might as well carry them ; they 
 will be safer in my pocket, and, besides, then I shan't 
 have to change any notes." 
 
 They went to Leghorn, Florence, and Genoa, and, 
 
 one windy morning, they found themselv^es again at 
 
 Marseilles. It was then the fifteenth of October, and 
 
 they had been away from Les Peuples two months. 
 
 The cold wind, which seemed to blow from Normandy, 
 
 chilled Jeanne and made her feel miserable. There 
 
 had lately been a change in Julien's behavior towards 
 
 her, he seemed tired, and indifferent, and she had a 
 
 vague presentiment of evil. She persuaded him to stay 
 
 at Marseilles four days longer, for she could not bear 
 
 to leave these warm, sunny lands where she had been 
 
 so happy, but at last they had to go. They intended 
 
 to buy all the things they wanted for their housekeeping 
 
 at Paris, and Jeanne was looking forward to buying 
 
 all sorts of things for Les Peuples, thanks to her 
 
 mother's present; but the very first thing she meant to
 
 76 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 purchase was the pistol she had promised to the young 
 Corsican woman at Evisa. 
 
 The day after they reached Paris, she said to Juhen : 
 
 " Will you give me mamma's money, dear? I want 
 to buy some things," 
 
 He looked rather cross. 
 
 " EIow much do you want? " he asked. 
 
 " Oh — what you like," she answered in surprise. 
 
 " I will give you a hundred francs," he answered; 
 " and whatever you do, don't waste it." 
 
 She did not know what to say, she felt so amazed 
 and confused, but at last she said in a hesitating way: 
 
 " But — I gave you that money to — " 
 
 He interrupted her. 
 
 " Yes, exactly. What does it matter whether it's in 
 your pocket or mine now that we share everything? 
 I am not refusing you the money, am I ? I am going 
 to give you a hundred francs." 
 
 She took the five pieces of gold without another word; 
 she did not dare ask for more, so she bought nothing 
 but the pistol. 
 
 A week later they started for Les Peuples. 
 
 VI 
 
 When the post-chaise drove up, the baron and bar- 
 oness and all the servants were standing outside the 
 white railings to give the travelers a hearty welcome 
 home. The baroness cried, Jeanne quietly wiped away 
 two tears, and her father walked backwards and for- 
 wards nervously. Then, while the luggage was being 
 brought in, the whole journey was gone over again be- 
 fore the drawing-room fire. The eager words flowed
 
 UNE VIE 77 
 
 from Jeanne's lips, and in half-an-hour she had related 
 everything, except a few little details she forgot in her 
 haste. Then she went to unpack, with Rosalie, who 
 was in a state of great excitement, to help her; when 
 she had finished and everything had been put away in 
 its proper place Rosalie left her mistress, and Jeanne 
 sat down, feeling a little tired. She wondered what 
 she could do next, and she tried to think of some oc- 
 cupation for her mind, some task for her fingers. She 
 did not want to go down to the drawing-room again 
 to sit by her mother who was dozing, and she thought 
 of going for a walk, but it was so miserable out of 
 doors that only to glance out of the window made her 
 feel melancholy. 
 
 Then the thought flashed across her mind that now 
 there never would be anything for her to do. At the 
 convent the future had always given her something to 
 think about, and her dreams had filled the hours, so that 
 their flight had passed unnoticed; but she had hardly left 
 the convent when her love-dreams had been realized. In 
 a few weeks she had met, loved, and married a man who 
 had borne her away in his arms without giving her 
 time to think of anything. But now the sweet reality 
 of the first few weeks of married life was going to 
 become a daily monotony, barring the way to all the 
 hopes and delicious fears of an unknown luturc. 
 There was nothing more to which she could look for- 
 ward, nothing more for her to do, to-day, to-morrow, 
 or ever. She felt all that with a vague sensation of 
 disillusion and melancholy. She rose and went to lean 
 her forehead against the cold window-pane, and, after 
 looking for some time at the dull sky and heavy clouds, 
 she made up her mind to go out.
 
 78 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 Could it really be the same country, the same grass, 
 the same trees as she had seen with such joy in May? 
 What had become of the sun-bathed leaves, and the 
 flaming dandelions, the blood-red poppies, the pure 
 marguerites that had reared their heads amidst the 
 green grass above which had fluttered innumerable yel- 
 low butterflies? They were all gone, and the very 
 air seemed changed, for now it was no longer full of 
 life, and fertilizing germs and intoxicating perfumes. 
 The avenues were soaked by the autumn rains and 
 covered with a thick carpet of dead leaves, and the 
 thin branches of the poplars trembled in the wind which 
 was shaking off the few leaves that still hung on them. 
 All day long these last, golden leaves hovered and 
 whirled in the air for a few seconds and then fell, in 
 an incessant, melancholy rain. 
 
 Jeanne walked on down to the wood. It gave her 
 the sad impression of being in the room of a dying man. 
 The leafy walls which had separated the pretty winding 
 paths no longer existed, the branches of the shrubs 
 blew mournfully one against the other, the rustling of 
 the fallen leaves, that the wind was blowing about and 
 piling into heaps, sounded like a dying sigh, and the 
 birds hopped from tree to tree with shivering little 
 chirps, vainly seeking a shelter from the cold. Shielded 
 by the elms which formed a sort of vanguard against 
 the sea-wind, the linden and the plane-tree were still 
 covered with leaves, and the one was clothed in a 
 mantle of scarlet velvet, the other in a cloak of orange 
 silk. Jeanne walked slowly along the baroness's ave- 
 nue, by the side of Couillard's farm, beginning to 
 realize what a dull, monotonous life lay before her;
 
 UNE VIE 79 
 
 then she sat down on the slope where Julien had first 
 told his love, too sad even to think and only feeling that 
 she would like to go to bed and sleep, so that she might 
 escape from this melancholy day. Looking up she saw 
 a seagull blown along by a gust of wind, and she sud- 
 denly thought of the eagle she had seen in Corsica in 
 the somber valley of Ota. As she sat there she 
 could see again the island with its sun-ripened oranges. 
 Its strong perfumes. Its pink-topped mountains, its azure 
 bays. Its ravines, with their rushing torrents, and It gave 
 her a sharp pain to think of that happy time that was 
 past and gone; and the damp, rugged country by which 
 she was now surrounded, the mournful fall of the leaves, 
 the gray clouds hurrying before the wind, made her 
 feel so miserable that she went indoors, feeling that she 
 should cry If she stayed out any longer. She found 
 her mother, who was accustomed to these dull days, 
 dozing over the fire. The baron and Julien had gone 
 for a walk, and the night was drawing on filling the 
 vast drawing-room with dark shadows which were 
 sometimes dispersed by the fitful gleams of the fire; out 
 of doors the gray sky and muddy fields could just be 
 seen in the fading light. 
 
 The baron and Julien came in soon after Jeanne. As 
 soon as he came Into the gloomy room the baron rang 
 the bell, exclaiming: 
 
 " How miserable you look in here ! Let us have 
 some lights." 
 
 He sat down before the fire, putting his feet near 
 the flame, which made the mud drop off his steaming 
 boots. 
 
 *' I think it is going to freeze," he said, rubbing his
 
 8o A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 hands together cheerfully. " The sky is clearing 
 towards the north, and it's a full moon this evening. 
 We shall have a hard frost to-night." 
 
 Then, turning towards his daughter : 
 
 " Well, my dear," he asked, " are you glad to get 
 back to your own house and see the old people at home 
 again? " 
 
 This simple question quite upset Jeanne. Her eyes 
 filled with tears, and she threw herself into her father's 
 arms, covering his face with kisses as though she would 
 ask him to forgive her discontent. She had thought 
 she should be so pleased to see her parents again, and 
 now, instead of joy, she felt a coldness around her 
 heart, and it seemed as if she could not regain all her 
 former love for them until they had all dropped back 
 into their ordinary ways again. 
 
 Dinner seemed very long that evening ; no one spoke, 
 and Julien did not pay the least attention to his wife. 
 In the drawing-room after dinner, Jeanne dozed over 
 the fire opposite the baroness who was quite asleep, and, 
 when she was aroused for a moment by the voices of 
 the two men, raised in argument over something, she 
 wondered if she would ever become quite content with 
 a pleasureless, listless life like her mother. The crack- 
 ling fire burnt clear and bright, and threw sudden 
 gleams on the faded tapestry chairs, on the fox and the 
 stork, on the melancholy-looking heron, on the ant and 
 the grasshopper. The baron came over to the fireplace, 
 and held his hands to the blaze. 
 
 " The fire burns well to-night," he said; " there is a 
 frost, I am sure." 
 
 He put his hands on Jeanne's shoulder, and, point- 
 ing to the fire :
 
 UNE VIE 81 
 
 " My child," he said, " the hearth with all one's 
 family around it is the happiest spot on earth; there 
 is no place like it. But don't you think we had better, 
 go to bed? You must both be quite worn out with 
 fatigue.'' 
 
 Up in her bedroom Jeanne wondered how this 
 second return to the place she loved so well could be 
 so different from the first. " Why did she feel so mis- 
 erable? " she asked herself; " why did the chateau, the 
 fields, everything she had so loved, seem to-day so deso- 
 late?" Her eyes fell on the clock. The little bee 
 was swinging from left to right and from right to left 
 over the gilded flowers, with the same quick even move- 
 ment as of old. She suddenly felt a glow of affection 
 for this little piece of mechanism, which told her the 
 hour in its silvery tones, and beat like a human heart, 
 and the tears came into her eyes as she looked at it; 
 she had not felt so moved when she had kissed her 
 father and mother on her return, but the heart has no 
 rules or logic, to guide it. 
 
 Julien had made his fatigue the pretext for not 
 sharing his wife's chamber that night, so, for the first 
 time since her marriage, she slept alone. It had been 
 agreed that henceforth they should have separate 
 rooms, but she was not yet accustomed to sleep alone, 
 and, for a long time she lay awake while the moaning 
 wind swept round the house. In the morning she was 
 aroused by the blood-red light falling on her bed. 
 Through the frozen window-panes it looked as if the 
 whole sky were on fire. Throwing a big dressing- 
 gown round her, Jeanne ran to the window and opened 
 it, and In rushed an icy wind, stinging her skin and 
 
 bringing the water to her eyes. In the midst of a crim- 
 V—
 
 82 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 son sky, the great red sun was rising behind the trees, 
 and the white frost had made the ground so hard that 
 it rang under the farm-servant's feet. In this one 
 night all the branches of the poplars had been entirely 
 stripped of their few remaining leaves, and, through 
 the bare trees, beyond the plain, appeared the long, 
 green line of the sea, covered with white-crested waves. 
 The plane-tree and the linden were being rapidly 
 stripped of their bright coverings by the cold wind, and 
 showers of leaves fell to the ground as each gust swept 
 by. 
 
 Jeanne dressed herself, and for want of something 
 better to do, went to see the farmers. The Martins 
 were v^ery surprised to see her. Madame Martin 
 kissed her on both cheeks, and she had to drink a little 
 glass of noyau ; then she went over to the other farm. 
 The Couillards were also very surprised when she came 
 in; the farmer's wife gave two pecks at her ears and 
 insisted on her drinking a little glass of cassis; then she 
 went in to breakfast. And that day passed like the 
 previous one, only it was cold instead of damp, and the 
 other days of the week were like the first two, and all 
 the weeks of the month were like the first one. 
 
 Little by little, Jeanne's regrets for those happy, dis- 
 tant lands vanished; she began to get resigned to her 
 life, to feel an interest in the many unimportant details 
 of the days, and to perform her simple, regular occupa- 
 tions with care. A disenchantment of life, a sort of 
 settled melancholy gradually took possession of her. 
 What did she want? She did not know herself. She 
 had no desire for society, no thirst for the excitement of 
 the world, the pleasures she might have had possessed 
 ^o attraction for her, but all her dreams and illusions
 
 UNE VIE 83 
 
 had faded away, leaving her life as colorless as the old 
 tapestry chairs in the chateau drawing-room. 
 
 Her relations with Julien had completely changed, 
 for he became quite a different man when they settled 
 down after their wedding tour, like an actor who be- 
 comes himself again as soon as he has finished playing 
 his part. He hardly ever took any notice of his wife, or 
 even spoke to her; all his love seemed to have sud- 
 denly disappeared, and it was very seldom that he ac- 
 companied her to her room of a night. He had taken 
 the management of the estate and the household into 
 his own hands, and he looked into all the accounts, 
 saw that the peasants paid their arrears of rent, and cut 
 down every expense. No longer the polished, elegant 
 man who had won Jeanne's heart, he looked and dressed 
 like a well-to-do farmer, neglecting his personal ap- 
 pearance with the carelessness of a man w"ho no longer 
 strives to fascinate. He always wore an old velvet 
 shooting-jacket, covered all over with stains, which he 
 had found one day as he was looking over his old 
 clothes; then he left off shaving, and his long, un- 
 trimmed beard made him look quite plain, while his 
 hands never received any attention. 
 
 After each meal, he drank four or five small glasses 
 of brandy, and when Jeanne affectionately reproached 
 him, he answered so roughly: " Leave me alone, can't 
 you? " that she never tried to reason with him again. 
 
 She accepted all this in a calm way that astonished 
 herself, but she looked upon him now as a stranger 
 who was nothing whatever to her. She often thought 
 of it all, and wondered how it was that after having 
 loved and married each other in a delicious passion of 
 affection they should suddenly awake from their dream
 
 84 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 of love as utter strangers, as if they had never lain in 
 each other's arms. How was it his indifference did 
 not hurt her more? Had they been mistaken in each 
 other? Would she have been more pained if Julien 
 had still been handsome, elegant and attractive? 
 
 It was understood that at the new year the baron 
 and baroness were to spend a few months in their 
 Rouen house, leaving Les Peuples to the young people 
 who would become settled that winter, and so get ac- 
 customed to the place where they were to pass their 
 lives. Julien wanted to present his wife to the Brise- 
 villes, the Couteliers and the Fourvilles, but they could 
 not pay these visits yet because they had not been able 
 to get the painter to change the coat-of-arms on the 
 carriage; for nothing in the world would have per- 
 suaded Julien to go to the neighboring chateau in the 
 old family carriage, which the baron had given up to 
 him, until the arms of the De Lamares had been quar- 
 tered on it with those of the Leperthius des Vauds. 
 Now there was only one man in the whole province who 
 made a speciality of coats-of-arms, a painter from 
 Bolbec, named Bataille, who was naturally in great re- 
 quest among all the Normandy aristocracy; so Julien 
 had to wait for some time before he could secure his 
 services. 
 
 At last, one December morning just as they were 
 finishing lunch at Les Peuples, they saw a man, with a 
 box on his back, open the gate and come up the path; 
 It was Bataille. He was shown into the dining-room, 
 and lunch was served to him just as if he had been a 
 gentleman, for his constant intercourse with the provin- 
 cial aristocracy, his knowledge of the coats-of-arms»
 
 UNE VIE 85 
 
 their mottoes and signification, made him a sort of 
 herald with whom no gentleman need be ashamed ta 
 shake hands. 
 
 Pencils and paper were brought, and while Bataille 
 ate his lunch, the baron and Julien made sketches of 
 their escutcheons with all the quarters. The baroness, 
 always delighted when anything of this sort was dis- 
 cussed, gave her advice, and even Jeanne took part in 
 the conversation, as if it aroused some interest in her. 
 Bataille, without interrupting his lunch, occasionally 
 gave an opinion, took the pencil to make a sketch of his 
 idea, quoted examples, described all the aristocratic car- 
 riages in Normandy, and seemed to scatter an atmos- 
 phere of nobility all around him. He was a little man 
 with thin gray hair and paint-daubed hands which smelt 
 of oil. It was said that he had once committed a grave 
 offense against public morality, but the esteem in which 
 he was held by all the titled families had long ago 
 effaced this stain on his character. 
 
 As soon as the painter had finished his coffee, he was 
 taken to the coach-house and the carriage was un- 
 covered. Bataille looked at it, gave an idea of the size 
 he thought the shield ought to be, and then, after the 
 others had again giv^en their opinions, he began his 
 work. In spite of the cold the baroness ordered a chair 
 and a foot-warmer to be brought out for her that she 
 might sit and watch the painter. Soon she began to 
 talk to him, asking him about the marriages and births 
 and deaths of which she had not yet heard, and adding 
 these fresh details to the genealogical trees which she 
 already knew by heart. Beside her, astride a chair, 
 sat Julien, smoking a pipe and occasionally spitting on 
 the ground as he watched the growth of the colored
 
 86 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 certificate of his nobility. Soon old Simon on his way 
 to the kitchen garden stopped, with his spade on his 
 shoulder, to look at the painting, and the news of 
 Bataille's arrival having reached the two farms the 
 farmers' wives came hurrying up also. Standing on 
 either side of the baroness, they went into ecstasies over 
 the drawing and kept repeating: " He must be clever 
 to paint like that." 
 
 The shields on both carriage-doors were finished the 
 next morning about eleven o'clock. Everyone came to 
 look at the work now it was done, and the carriage was 
 drawn out of the coach-house that they might the better 
 judge of the effect. The design was pronounced per- 
 fect, and Bataille received a great many compliments 
 before he strapped his box on his back and went off 
 again ; the baron, his wife, Jeanne and Julien all agreed 
 that the painter was a man of great talent, and would, 
 no doubt, have become an artist, if circumstances had 
 permitted. 
 
 For the sake of economy, Julien had accomplished 
 some reforms which brought with them the need of 
 fresh arrangements. The old coachman now performed 
 the duties of gardener, the vicomte himself undertaking 
 to drive, and as he was obliged to have someone to 
 hold the horses when the family went to make a visit, 
 he had made a groom of a young cowherd named 
 Marius. The horses had been sold to do away with 
 the expense of their keep, so he had introduced a 
 clause in Couillard's and Martin's leases by which the 
 two farmers bound themselves to each provide a horse 
 once a month, on whatever day the vicomte chose. 
 
 When the day came the Couillards produced a big, 
 raw-boned, yellowish horse, and the Martins a little,
 
 UNE VIE 87 
 
 white, long-haired nag; the two horses w^ere harnessed, 
 and Marius, buried in an old livery of Simon's, brought 
 the carriage round to the door. Julien, who was in his 
 best clothes, would have looked a little like his old, 
 elegant self, if his long beard had not made him look 
 common. He inspected the horses, the carriage, and 
 the little groom, and thought they looked very well, the 
 only thing of any importance in his eyes being the new 
 coat-of-arms. The baroness came downstairs on her 
 husband's arm, got in, and had some cushions put be- 
 hind her back; then came Jeanne. She laughed first at 
 the strange pair of horses, and her laughter increased 
 when she saw JNIarius with his face buried under his 
 cockaded hat (which his nose alone prevented from slip- 
 ping down to his chin), and his hands lost in his ample 
 sleeves, and the skirts of his coat coming right dowm to 
 his feet, which were encased in enormous boots; but 
 when she saw him obliged to throw his head right back 
 before he could see anything, and raise his knee at each 
 step as though he were going to take a river in his 
 stride, and move like a blind man when he had an order 
 given him, she gave a shout of laughter. The baron 
 turned round, looked for a moment at the little fellow 
 who stood looking so confused in his big clothes, and 
 then he too was overcome with laughter, and, hardly 
 able to speak, called out to his wife: 
 
 " Lo-lo-look at Ma-Marlus! Does-doesn't he look 
 fun- funny? " 
 
 The baroness leaned out of the carriage-window, and, 
 catching sight of Marius, she was shaken by such a fit 
 of laughter that the carriage moved up and down on 
 its springs as if it were jolting over some deep ruts. 
 
 " What on earth is there to laugh at like that? " said
 
 88 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 Julien, his face pale with anger, " You must be per- 
 fect idiots, all of you." 
 
 Jeanne sat down on the steps, holding her sides and 
 quite unable to contain herself; the baron followed her 
 example, and, inside the carriage, convulsive sneezes 
 and a sort of continual clucking intimated that the bar- 
 oness was suffocating with laughter. At last Marlus' 
 coat began to shake; no doubt, he understood the cause 
 of all this mirth, and he giggled himself, beneath his big 
 hat. Julien rushed towards him in a rage; he gave 
 him a box on the ear which knocked the boy's hat oft 
 and sent it rolling onto the grass; then, turning to the 
 baron, he said, in a voice that trembled with anger : 
 
 " I think you ought to be the last one to laugh. 
 Whose fault is it that you are ruined ? We should not 
 be like this if you had not squandered your fortune and 
 thrown away your money right and left." 
 
 All the laughter stopped abruptly, but no one spoke. 
 Jeanne, ready to cry now, quietly took her place beside 
 her mother. The baron, without a word, sat down 
 opposite, and Julien got up on the box, after lifting up 
 the crying boy whose cheek was beginning to swell. 
 The long drive was performed in silence, for they all 
 felt awkward and unable to converse on ordinary topics. 
 They could only think of the incident that had just 
 happened,, and, rather than broach such a painful sub- 
 ject, they preferred to sit in dull silence. 
 
 They went past a great many farm-houses startling 
 the black fowls and sending them to the hedges for 
 refuge, and sometimes a yelping dog followed for a 
 little while and then ran back to his kennel with bristling 
 hair, turning round every now and then to send another 
 bark after the carriage. A lad in muddy sabots, was
 
 UNE VIE 89 
 
 slouching along with his hands in his pockets, his 
 blouse blown out by the wind and his long lazy legs 
 dragging one after the other, and as he stood on one 
 side for the carriage to pass, he awkwardly pulled off 
 his cap. Between each farm lay meadows with other 
 farms dotted here and there in the distance, and it 
 seemed a long while before they turned up an av^enue of 
 firs which bordered the road. Here the carriage leant 
 on one side as it passed over the deep ruts, and the 
 baroness felt frightened and began to give little screams. 
 At the end of the avenue there was a white gate which 
 Marius jumped down to open, and then they drove 
 round an immense lawn and drew up before a high, 
 gloomy-looking house which had all its shutters closed. 
 
 The hall-door opened, and an old, semi-paralyzed 
 servant (in a red and black striped waistcoat, over 
 which was tied an apron) limped sideways down the 
 steps; after asking the visitors' names he showed them 
 into a large drawing-room, and drew up the closed 
 Venetian blinds. The furniture was all covered up, 
 and the clock and candelabra were enveloped in white 
 cloths; the room smelt moldy, and its damp, cold at- 
 mosphere seemed to chill one to the very heart. The 
 visitors sat down and waited. Footsteps could be heard 
 on the floor above, hurrying along in an unusual bus- 
 tle, for the lady of the house had been taken unawares 
 and was changing her dress as quickly as possible; a 
 bell rang several times and then they could hear more 
 footsteps on the stairs. The baroness, feeling thor- 
 oughly cold, began to sneeze frequently; Julien walked 
 up and down the room, Jeanne sat by her mother, and 
 the baron stood with his back against the marble mantel- 
 piece
 
 90 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 At last a door opened, and the Vicomte and Vicom- 
 tesse de Briseville appeared. They were a little, thin 
 couple of an uncertain age, both very formal and rather 
 embarrassed. The vicomtesse wore a flowered silk 
 gown and a cap trimmed with ribbons, and when she 
 spoke it was in a sharp, quick voice. Her husband was 
 in a tight frock-coat; his hair looked as if it had been 
 waxed, and his nose, his eyes, his long teeth and his coat, 
 which was evidently his best one, all shone as if they 
 had been polished with the greatest care. He returned 
 his visitors' bow with a bend of the knees. 
 
 When the ordinary complimentary phrases had been 
 exchanged no one knew what to say next, so they all po- 
 litely expressed their pleasure at making this new ac- 
 quaintance and hoped it would be a lasting one; for, 
 living as they did in the country all the year round, an 
 occasional visit made an agreable change. The icy air 
 of the drawing-room froze the very marrow of their 
 bones, and the baroness was seized by a fit of coughing, 
 interrupted at intervals by a sneeze. The baron rose 
 to go. 
 
 " You are not going to leave us already? Pray< stay 
 a little longer," said the Brisevilles. 
 
 But Jeanne followed her father's example in spite of 
 all the signs made her by Julien, who thought they were 
 leaving too soon. The vicomtesse would have rung to 
 order the baron's carriage, but the bell was out of order, 
 so the vicomte went to find a servant. He soon re- 
 turned, to say that the horses had been taken out, and 
 the carriage would not be ready for some minutes. 
 Everyone tried to find some subject of conversation; the 
 rainy winter was discussed, and Jeanne, who could not
 
 Ux\E VIE 91 
 
 prevent herself shivering, try as she would, asked If 
 their hosts did not find it very dull living alone all the 
 year round. Such a question astounded the Brisevilles. 
 Their time was always fully occupied, what with writing 
 long letters to their numerous aristocratic relations and 
 pompously discussing the most trivial matters, for in all 
 their useless, petty occupations, they were as formally 
 polite to each other as they would have been to utter 
 strangers. At last the carriage, with its two ill-matched 
 steeds, drew up before the door, but Marius was no- 
 where to be seen; he had gone for a walk in the fields, 
 thinking he would not be wanted again until the even- 
 ing. Julien, in a great rage, left word for him to be 
 sent after them on foot, and, after a great many bows 
 and compliments, they started for Les Peuples again. 
 
 As soon as they were fairly off, Jeanne and the baron, 
 in spite of the uncomfortable feeling that Julien's ill- 
 temper had caused, began to laugh and joke about the 
 Brisevilles' ways and tones. The baron imitated the 
 husband and Jeanne the wife, and the baroness, feeling 
 a little hurt in her reverence for the aristocracy, said to 
 them : 
 
 " You should not joke in that way. I'm sure the 
 Brisevilles are very well-bred people, and they belong 
 to excellent families." 
 
 They stopped laughing for a time, out of respect for 
 the baroness's feelings, but every now and then Jeanne 
 would catch her father's eye, and then they began again. 
 The baron would make a very stiff bow, and say in a 
 solemn voice : 
 
 " Your chateau at Les Peuples must be very cold, 
 madame, with the sea-breeze blowing on it all day long."
 
 92 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 Then Jeanne put on a very prim look, and said with 
 a smirk, moving her head all the time like a duck on the 
 water : 
 
 " Oh, monsieur, I have plenty to fill up my time. 
 You see we have so many relations to whom letters must 
 be written, and M. de Briseville leaves all correspond- 
 ence to me, as his time is taken up with the religious his- 
 tory of Normandy that he is writing in collaboration 
 with the Abbe Pelle." 
 
 The baroness could not help smiling, but she re- 
 peated, in a half-vexed, half-amused tone: 
 
 " It isn't right to laugh at people of our own rank 
 like that." 
 
 All at once the carriage came to a standstill, and 
 Julien called out to someone on the road behind; Jeanne 
 and the baron leant out of the windows, and saw some 
 singular creature rolling, rather than running, towards 
 them. Hindered by the floating skirts of his coat, un- 
 able to see for his hat, which kept slipping over his eyes, 
 his sleeves waving like the sails of a windmill, splashing 
 through the puddles, stumbling over every large stone 
 in his way, hastening, jumping, covered with mud, Ma- 
 rius was running after the carriage as fast as his legs 
 could carry him. As soon as he came up Julien leant 
 down, caught hold of him by the coat collar, and.lifted 
 him up on the box seat; then, dropping the reins, he 
 began to pommel the boy's hat, which at once slipped 
 down to his shoulders. Inside the hat, which sounded 
 as if it had been a drum, Marius yelled at the top of 
 his voice, but it was in vain that he struggled and tried 
 to jump down, for his master held him firmly with one 
 hand while he beat him with the other.
 
 LINE VIK 93 
 
 "Papa! oh, papa!" gasped Jeanne; and the bar- 
 oness, filled with indignation, seized her husband's arm, 
 and exclaimed: "Stop him, Jacques, stop him!" 
 The baron suddenly let down the front window, and, 
 catching hold of the vicomte's sleeve : 
 
 " Are you going to stop beating that child? " he said 
 in a voice that trembled with anger. 
 
 Julien turned round in astonishment. 
 
 " But don't you see what a state the little wretch has 
 got his livery into? " 
 
 "What does that matter to me?" exclaimed the 
 baron, with his head between the two. " You sha'n't 
 be so rough with him." 
 
 Julien got angry. 
 
 " Kindly leave me alone," he said; " it's nothing to 
 do with you;" and he raised his hand to strike the lad 
 again. The baron caught hold of his son-in-law's wrist, 
 and flung his uplifted hand heavily down against the 
 woodwork of the seat, crying : 
 
 " If you don't stop that, I'll get out and soon make 
 you." 
 
 He spoke in so determined a tone that the vicomte's 
 rage suddenly vanished, and, shrugging his shoulders, 
 he whipped up the horses, and the carriage moved on 
 again. All this time Jeanne and her mother had sat 
 still, pale with fright, and the beating of the baroness's 
 heart could be distinctly heard. At dinner that evening 
 Julien was more agreeable than usual, and behaved as 
 if nothing had happened. Jeanne, her father, and Ma- 
 dame Adelaide easily forgave, and, touched by his good 
 temper, they joined in his gayety with a feeling of relief. 
 When Jeanne mentioned the Brisevilles, her husband
 
 94 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 even made a joke about them, though he quickly added: 
 " But one can see directly that they are gentle- 
 people." 
 
 No more visits were paid, as everyone dreaded any 
 reference to Marius, but they were going to send cards 
 to their neighbors on New Year's day, and then wait to 
 call on them until spring came, and the weather \tas 
 warmer. 
 
 On Christmas day and New Year's day, the cure, the 
 mayor, and his wife dined at Les Peuples, and their two 
 visits formed the only break in the monotonous days. 
 The baron and baroness were to leave the chateau on 
 the ninth of January; Jeanne' wanted them to stay 
 longer, but Julien did not second her invitation, so the 
 baron ordered the post-chaise to be sent from Rouen. 
 The evening before they went away was clear and 
 frosty, so Jeanne and her father walked down to Yport, 
 for they had not been there since Jeanne's return from 
 Corsica. 
 
 They went across the wood where she had walked on 
 her wedding-day with him whose companion she was 
 henceforth to be, where she had received his first kiss, 
 and had caught her first glimpse of that sensual love 
 which was not fully revealed to her till that day in the 
 valley of Ota when she had drunk her husband's kisses 
 with the water. 
 
 There were no leaves, no climbing plants, in the copse 
 now, only the rustling of the branches, and that dry, 
 crackling noise that seems to fill every wood in winter. 
 
 They reached the little village and went along the 
 empty, silent streets, which smelt of fish and of sea- 
 weed. The big brown nets were hanging before the 
 doors, or stretched out on the beach as of old ; towards
 
 UNE VIE 95 
 
 Fecamp the green rocks at the foot of the chff could be 
 seen, for the tide was going out, and all along the beach 
 the big boats lay on their sides looking like huge fish. 
 
 As night drew on, the fishermen, walking heavily in 
 their big sea-boots, began to come down on the shingle 
 in groups, their necks well wrapped up with woolen 
 scarfs, and carrying a liter of brandy in one hand, and 
 the boat-lantern in the other. They busied themselves 
 round the boats, putting on board, with true Normandy 
 slowness, their nets, their buoys, a big loaf, a jar of but- 
 ter, and the bottle of brandy and a glass. Then they 
 pushed oft the boats, which went down the beach with 
 a harsh noise, then rushed through the surf, balanced 
 themselves on the crest of a wave for a few seconds, 
 and spread^their brown wings and disappeared into the 
 night, with their little lights shining at the bottom of 
 the masts. The sailors' wives, their big, bony frames 
 shown oft by their thin dresses, stayed until the last fish- 
 erman had gone oft, and then went back to the hushed 
 village, where their noisy voices roused the sleeping 
 echoes of the gloomy streets. 
 
 The baron and Jeanne stood watching these men go 
 oft into the darkness, as they went off every night, risk- 
 ing their lives to keep themselves from starving, and 
 yet gaining so little that they could never afford to eat 
 meat. 
 
 "What a terrible, beautiful thing is the ocean!" 
 said the baron. " How many lives are at this very mo- 
 ment in danger on it, and yet how exquisite it looks now, 
 with the shadows falling over it! Doesn't it, Jean- 
 nette?" 
 
 " This is not so pretty as the Mediterranean," she 
 answered with a watery smile.
 
 96 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 "The Mediterranean! " exclaimed the baron scorn- 
 fully. " Why, the Mediterranean's nothing but oil or 
 sugared water, while this sea is terrific with its crests of 
 foam and its wild waves. And think of those men 
 who have just gone off on it, and who are already out 
 of sight." 
 
 Jeanne gave in. 
 
 " Yes, perhaps you are right," she said with a sigh, 
 for the word " Mediterranean " had sent a pang 
 through her heart, and turned her thoughts to those far- 
 away countries where all her dreams lay buried. 
 
 They did not go back through the wood, but walked 
 along the road; they walked in silence, for both were 
 saddened by the thought of the morrow's parting. As 
 they passed the farmhouses, they could smell the crushed 
 apples — that scent of new cider which pervades all 
 Normandy at this time of the year — or the strong 
 odor of cows and the healthy, warm smell of a dung- 
 hill. The dwelling houses could be distinguished by 
 their little lighted windows, and these tiny lights, scat- 
 tered over the country, made Jeanne think of the lone- 
 liness of human creatures, and how everything tends to 
 separate and tear them away from those they love, and 
 her heart seemed to grow bigger and more capable of 
 understanciing the mysteries of existence. 
 
 " Life is not always gay," she said in tones of resigna- 
 tion. 
 
 The baron sighed. 
 
 " That is true, my child," he replied; " but we can- 
 not help it." 
 
 The next day the baron anci baroness went away, 
 leaving Jeanne and Julien alone.
 
 UNE VIE 97 
 
 VII 
 
 The young couple got into the habit of playing 
 cards; every day after lunch Jeanne played several 
 games of bezique with her husband, while he smoked 
 his pipe and drank six or eight glasses of brandy. 
 When they had finished playing, Jeanne wenr upstairs 
 to her bedroom, and, sitting by the window, worked at 
 a petticoat flounce she was embroidering, while the wind 
 and rain beat against the panes. When her eyes ached 
 she looked out at the foamy, restless sea, gazed at it 
 for a few minutes, and then took up her work again. 
 
 She had nothing else to do, for Julien had taken the 
 entire management of the house into his hands, that he 
 might thoroughly satisfy his longing for authority and 
 his mania for economy. He was exceedingly stingy; 
 he never gave the servants anything beyond their exact 
 wages, never allowed any food that was not strictly nec- 
 essary. Every morning, ever since she had been at Les 
 Peuples, the baker had made Jeanne a little Normandy 
 cake, but Julien cut oft this expense, and Jeanne had to 
 content herself with toast. 
 
 Wishing to avoid all arguments and quarrels, she 
 never made any remark, but each fresh proof of her 
 husband's avarice hurt her like the prick of a needle. 
 It seemed so petty, so odious to her, brought up as she 
 had been in a family where money was never thought 
 of any importance. How often she had heard her 
 mother say: " Money is made to be spent "; but now 
 Julien kept saying to her: " Will you never be cured 
 of throwing money away? " Whenever he could man- 
 age to reduce a salary or a bill by a few pence he would 
 V— 7
 
 98 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 slip the money into his pocket, saying, with a pleased 
 
 smile 
 
 Little streams make big rivers." 
 
 Jeanne would sometimes find herself dreaming as she 
 used to do before she was married. She would gradu- 
 ally stop working, and with her hands lying idle in her 
 lap and her eyes fixed on space, she built castles in the 
 air as if she were a young girl again. But the voice of 
 Julien, giving an order to old Simon, would call her 
 back to the realities of life, and she would take up her 
 work, thinking, " Ah, that is all over and done with 
 now," and a tear would fall on her fingers as they 
 pushed the needle through the stuff. 
 
 Rosalie, who used to be so gay and lively, always 
 singing snatches of songs as she went about her work, 
 gradually changed also. Her plump round cheeks had 
 fallen in and lost their brightened color, and her skin 
 was muddy and dark. Jeanne often asked her if she 
 were ill, but the little maid always answered with a 
 faint blush, " No, madame," and got away as quickly 
 as she could. Listead of tripping along as she had 
 always done, she now dragged herself painfully from 
 room to room, and seemed not even to care how she 
 looked, for the peddlers in vain spread out their rib- 
 bons and corsets and bottles of scent before her; she 
 never bought anything from them now. 
 
 At the end of January, the heavy clouds came across 
 the sea from the north, and there was a heavy fall of 
 snow. In one night the whole plain was whitened, and, 
 in the morning the trees looked as if a mantle of frozen 
 foam had been cast over them. 
 
 Julien put on his high boots, and passed his time in 
 the ditch between the wood and the plain, watching for
 
 UNE VIE 99 
 
 the migrating birds. Every now and then his shots 
 would break the frozen silence of the fields, and hordes 
 of black crows flew from the trees in terror. Jeanne, 
 tired of staying indoors, would go out on the steps of 
 the house, where, in the stillness of this snow-covered 
 world, she could hear the bustle of the farms, or the 
 far-away murmur of the waves and the soft continual 
 rustle of the falling snow. 
 
 On one of these cold, white mornings she was sitting 
 by her bedroom fire, while Rosalie, who looked worse 
 and worse every day, was slowly making the bed. All 
 at once Jeanne heard a sigh of pain behind her. With- 
 out turning her head, she asked: 
 
 '' What is the matter with you, Rosalie? " 
 
 The maid answered as she always did : 
 
 " Nothing, madame," but her voice seemed to die 
 away as she spoke. 
 
 Jeanne had left off thinking about her, when she sud- 
 denly noticed that she could not hear the girl moving. 
 She called: " Rosalie." 
 
 There was no answer. Then she thought that the 
 maid must have gone quietly out of the room without 
 her hearing her, and she cried in a louder tone : 
 "Rosalie!" Again she received no answer, and she 
 was just stretching out her hand to ring the bell, when 
 she heard a low moan close beside her. She started up 
 in terror. 
 
 Rosalie was sitting on the floor with her back against 
 the bed, her legs stretched stifiiy out, her face livid, and 
 her eyes staring straight before her. Jeanne rushed to 
 her side. 
 
 "Oh, Rosalie! What is the matter? what is it?" 
 she asked In affright.
 
 loo A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 The maid did not answer a word, but fixed her wild 
 eyes on her mistress and gasped for breath, as if tor- 
 tured by some excruciating pain. Then, stiffening 
 every muscle in her body, and stifling a cry of anguish 
 between her clenched teeth, she slipped down on her 
 back, and all at once, something stirred underneath her 
 dress, which clung tightly round her legs. Jeanne 
 heard a strange, gushing noise, something like the 
 death-rattle of someone who is suffocating, and then 
 came a long low wail of pain; it was the first cry of suf- 
 fering of a child entering the world. 
 
 The sound came as a revelation to her, and, suddenly 
 losing her head, she rushed to the top of the stairs, 
 crying : 
 
 " Julien ! Julien ! " 
 
 " What do you want? " he answered, from below. 
 
 She gasped out, " It's Rosalie who — who — " but 
 before she could say any more Julien was rushing up the 
 stairs two at a time; he dashed into the bedroom, raised 
 the girl's clothes, and there lay a creased, shriveled, hid- 
 eous, little atom of humanity, feebly whining and try- 
 ing to move its limbs. He got up with an evil look on 
 his face, and pushed his distracted wife out of the room, 
 saying : 
 
 " This is no place for you. Go away and send me 
 Ludivine and old Simon." 
 
 Jeanne went down to the kitchen trembling all over, 
 to deliver her husband's message, and then afraid to go 
 upstairs again, she went into the drawing-room, where 
 a fire was never lighted, now her parents were away. 
 Soon she saw Simon run out of the house, and come 
 back five minutes after with Widow Dentu, the village 
 midwife. Next she heard a noise on the stairs which
 
 UNE VIE loi 
 
 sounded as if they were carrying a body, then Julien 
 came to tell her that she could go back to her room. 
 She went upstairs and sat down again before her bed- 
 room fire, trembling as if she had just witnessed some 
 terrible accident. 
 
 " How is she? " she asked. 
 
 Julien, apparently in a great rage, was walking about 
 the room in a preoccupied, nervous way. He did not 
 answer his wife for some moments, but at last he asked, 
 stopping in his walk: 
 
 " Well, what do you mean to do with this girl? " 
 
 Jeanne looked at her husband as if she did not un- 
 derstand his question. 
 
 " What do you mean? " she said. " 1 don't know; 
 how should I ? " 
 
 " Well, anyhow, we can't keep that child in the 
 house," he cried, angrily. 
 
 Jeanne looked very perplexed, and sat in silence for 
 some time. At last she said : 
 
 " But, my dear, we could put it out to nurse some- 
 where? " 
 
 He hardly let her finish her sentence. 
 
 " And who'll pay for it ? Will you ? " 
 
 " But surely the father will take care of it," she 
 said, after another long silence. " And if he marries 
 Rosalie, everything will be all right." 
 
 "The father!" answered Julien, roughly; "the 
 father! Do you know who is the father? Of course 
 you don't. \'ery well, then ! " 
 
 Jeanne began to get troubled: "But he certainly 
 will not forsake the girl; it would be such a cowardly 
 thing to do. We will ask her his name, and go and sec 
 him and force him to give some account of himself."
 
 102 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 Julien had become calmer, and was again walking 
 about the room. 
 
 " My dear girl," he replied, " I don't believe she will 
 tell you the man's name, or me either. Besides, sup- 
 pose he wouldn't marry her? You must see that we 
 can't keep a girl and her illegitimate child in our house." 
 
 But Jeanne would only repeat, doggedly: 
 
 "Then the man must be a villain; but we will find 
 out who he is, and then he will have us to deal with 
 instead of that poor girl." 
 
 Julien got very red. 
 
 " But until we know who he is? " he asked. 
 
 She did not know what to propose, so she asked 
 Julien what he thought was the best thing to do. He 
 gave his opinion very promptly. 
 
 " Oh, I should give her some money, and let her and 
 her brat go to the devil." 
 
 That made Jeanne very indignant. 
 
 "That shall never be done," she declared; " Rosa- 
 lie is my foster-sister, and we have grown up together. 
 She has erred, it is true, but I will never turn her out-of- 
 doors for that, and, if there is no other way out of the 
 difficulty, I will bring up the child myself." 
 
 " And we should have a nice reputation, shouldn't 
 we, with our name and connections? " burst out Julien. 
 " People would say that we encouraged vice, and shel- 
 tered prostitutes, and respectable people would never 
 come near us. Why, what can you be thinking of? 
 You must be mad! " 
 
 " I will never have Rosalie turned out," she repeated, 
 quietly. " If you will not keep her here, my mother 
 will take her back again. But we are sure to find out 
 the name of the father."
 
 UXE VIE 103 
 
 At that, he went out of the room, too angry to talk 
 to her any longer, and as he banged the door after him 
 he cried: 
 
 " Women are fools with their absurd notions! " 
 
 In the afternoon Jeanne went up to see the in\alid. 
 She was lying in bed, wide awake, and the \Yidow 
 Dentu was rocking the child in her arms. As soon as 
 she saw her mistress Rosalie began to sob violently, and 
 when Jeanne wanted to kiss her, she turned away and 
 hid her face under the bed-clothes. The nurse inter- 
 fered and drew down the sheet, and then Rosalie made 
 no further resistance, though the tears still ran down 
 her cheeks. 
 
 The room was very cold, for there was only a small 
 fire in the grate, and the child was crying. Jeanne did 
 not dare make any reference to the little one, for fear 
 of causing another burst of tears, but she held Rosalie's 
 hand and kept repeating mechanically: 
 
 " It won't matter; it won't matter." 
 
 The poor girl glanced shyly at the nurse from time 
 to time; the child's cries seemed to pierce her heart, and 
 sobs still escaped from her occasionally, though she 
 forced herself to swallow her tears. Jeanne kissed her 
 again, and whispered in her ear: "We'll take good 
 care of it, you may be sure of that," and then ran 
 quickly out of the room, for Rosalie's tears were begin- 
 ning to flow again. 
 
 After that, Jeanne went up every day to see the in- 
 valid, and every day Rosalie burst into tears when her 
 mistress came into the room. The child was put out 
 to nurse, and Julien would hardly speak to his wife, for 
 he could not forgive her for refusing to dismiss the 
 maid. One day he returned to the subject, but Jeanne
 
 'i04 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 drew out a letter from her mother In which the bar- 
 oness said that if they would not keep Rosalie at Les 
 Peuples she was to be sent on to Rouen directly, 
 
 " Your mother's as great a fool as you are," cried 
 Julien; but he did not say anything more about sending 
 Rosalie away, and a fortnight later the maid was able 
 to get up and perform her duties again. 
 
 One morning Jeanne made her sit down, and holding 
 both her hands in hers; 
 
 " Now, then, Rosalie, tell me all about it," she said, 
 looking her straight in the face. 
 
 Rosalie began to tremble. 
 
 " All about what, madame? " she said, timidly. 
 
 " Who is the father of your child? " asked Jeanne. 
 
 A look of despair came over the maid's face, arid she 
 struggled to disengage her hands from her mistress's 
 grasp, but Jeanne kissed her, in spite of her struggles, 
 and tried to console her. 
 
 " It is true you have been weak," she said, " but you 
 are not the first to whom such a misfortune has hap- 
 pened, and, if only the father of the child marries you, 
 no one will think anything more about it; we would 
 employ him, and he could live here with you." 
 
 Rosalie moaned as if she were being tortured, and 
 tried to get her hands free that she might run away. 
 
 " I can quite understand how ashamed you feel," 
 went on Jeanne, " but you see that I am not angry, and 
 that I speak kindly to you. I wish to know this man's 
 name for your own good, for I fear, from your grief, 
 that he means to abandon you, and I want to prevent 
 that. Julien will see him, and we will make him marry 
 you, and we shall employ you both; we will see that he 
 makes you happy."
 
 UNE VIE 105 
 
 This time Rosalie made so vigorous an effort that 
 she succeeded in wrenching her hands away from her 
 mistress, and she rushed from the room as if she were 
 mad. 
 
 " I have tried to make Rosalie tell me her seducer's 
 name," said Jeanne to her husband at dinner that even- 
 ing, " but I did not succeed in doing so. Try and see 
 if she will tell you, that we may force the wretch to 
 marry her." 
 
 " There, don't let me hear any more about all that," 
 he said, angrily. " You wanted to keep this girl, and 
 you have done so, but don't bother me about her." 
 
 He seemed still more irritable since Rosalie's confine- 
 ment than he had been before. He had got into the 
 habit of shouting at his wife, whenever he spoke to her, 
 as if he were always angry, while she, on the contrary, 
 spoke softly, and did everything to avoid i. quarrel ; but 
 she often cried when she was alone in her room at night. 
 In spite of his bad temper, Julien had resumed the mar- 
 ital duties he had so neglected since his wedding tour, 
 and it was seldom now that he let three nights pass with- 
 out accompanying his wife to her room. 
 
 Rosalie soon got quite well again, and with better 
 health came better spirits, but she always seemed fright- 
 ened and haunted by some strange dread. Jeanne tried 
 twice more to make her name her seducer, but each time 
 she ran aw^ay, without saying anything. Julien sud- 
 denly became better tempered, and his young wife began 
 to cherish vague hopes, and to regain a little of her 
 former gayety; but she often felt very unwell, though 
 she never said anything about it. 
 
 For five weeks the crisp, shining snow had lain on the 
 frozen ground; in the daytime there was not a cloud to
 
 io6 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 be seen, and at night the sky was strewn with stars. 
 Standing alone in their square courtyards, behind the 
 great frosted trees, the farms seemed dead beneath their 
 snowy shrouds. Neither men nor cattle could go out, 
 and the only sign of life about the homesteads and cot- 
 tages was the smoke that went straight up from the 
 chimneys into the frosty air. 
 
 The grass, the hedges and the wall of elms seemed 
 killed by the cold. From time to time the trees cracked, 
 as if the fibers of their branches were separating be- 
 neath the bark, and sometimes a big branch would 
 break oft and fail to the ground, its sap frozen and 
 dried up by the intense cold. 
 
 Jeanne thought the severe weather was the cause of 
 her ill-health, and she longed for the warm spring 
 breezes. Sometimes the very idea of food disgusted 
 her, and she could eat nothing; at other times she vom- 
 ited after every meal, unable to digest the little she did 
 eat. She had violent palpitations of the heart, and she 
 lived in a constant and intolerable state of nervous ex- 
 citement. 
 
 One evening, when the thermometer was sinking still 
 lower, Julien shivered as he left the dinner table ( for 
 the dining-room was never sufficiently heated, so careful 
 was he over the wood) , and rubbing his hands together : 
 
 " It's too cold to sleep alone to-night, isn't it, dar- 
 ling? " he whispered to his wife, with one of his old 
 good-tempered laughs. 
 
 Jeanne threw her arms round his neck, but she felt 
 so ill, so nervous, and she had such aching pains that 
 evening, that, with her lips close to his, she begged him 
 to let her sleep alone.
 
 UNE VIE 107 
 
 " I feel so ill to-night," she said, " but I am sure to 
 be better to-morrow." 
 
 " Just as you please, my dear," he answered. " If 
 you are ill, you must take care of yourself." And he 
 began to talk of something else. 
 
 Jeanne Avent to bed early. Julien, for a wonder, or- 
 dered a fire to be lighted in his own room ; and when the 
 servant came to tell him that " the fire had burnt up," 
 he kissed his wife on the forehead and said good-night. 
 
 The very walls seemed to feel the cold, and made 
 little cracking noises as if they were shivering. Jeanne 
 lay shaking with cold; twice she got up to put more 
 logs on the fire, and to pile her petticoats and dresses on 
 the bed, but nothing seemed to make her any warmer. 
 There were nervous twitchings in her legs, which made 
 her toss and turn restlessly from side to side. Her feet 
 were numbed, her teeth chattered, her hands trembled, 
 her heart beat so slowly that sometimes it seemed to 
 stop altogether; and she gasped for breath as if she 
 could not draw the air into her lungs. 
 
 As the cold crept higher and higher up her limbs, she 
 was seized with a terrible fear. She had never felt like 
 this before; life seemed to be gradually slipping away 
 from her, and she thought each breath she drew would 
 be her last. 
 
 "I am going to die! I am going to die!" she 
 thought; and, in her terror, she jumped out of bed, and 
 rang for Rosalie. 
 
 No one came; she rang again, and again waited for 
 an answer, shuddering and half-frozen; but she waited 
 in vain. Perhaps the maid was sleeping too heavily 
 for the bell to arouse her, and, almost beside herself
 
 io8 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 with fear, Jeanne rushed out onto the landing without 
 putting anything around her, and with bare feet. She 
 went noiselessly up the dark stairs, felt for Rosalie's 
 door, opened it, and called " Rosalie ! " then went into 
 the room, stumbled against the bed, passed her hands 
 over it, and found it empty and quite cold, as if no one 
 had slept in it that night. 
 
 " Surely she cannot have gone out in such weather 
 as this," she thought. 
 
 Her heart began to beat so violently that it almost 
 suffocated her, and she went downstairs to rouse Julien, 
 her legs giving way under her as she walked. She burst 
 open her husband's door, and hurried across the room, 
 spurred on by the idea that she was going to die and 
 the fear that she would become unconscious before she 
 could see him again. 
 
 Suddenly she stopped with a shriek, for by the light 
 of the dying fire she saw Rosalie's head on the pillow 
 beside her husband's. At her cry they both started up. 
 but she had already recovered from the first shock of her 
 discovery, and fled to her room, while Julien called after 
 her, "Jeanne! Jeanne!" She felt she could not see 
 him or listen to his excuses and his lies, and again rush- 
 ing out of her room she ran downstairs. The staircase 
 was in total darkness, but filled with the desire of flight, 
 of getting away without seeing or hearing any more, 
 she never stayed to think that she might fall and break 
 her limbs on the stone stairs. 
 
 On the last step she sat down, unable to think, un- 
 able to reason, her head in a whirl. Julien had jumped 
 out of bed, and was hastily dressing himself. She 
 heard him moving about, and she started up to escape
 
 UNE VIE 109 
 
 from him. He came downstairs, crying; "Jeanne, 
 do listen to me ! " 
 
 No, she would not Hsten ; he should not degrade her 
 by his touch. She dashed into the dining-room as if a 
 murderer were pursuing her, looked round for a hiding- 
 place or some dark corner where she might conceal her- 
 self, and then crouched down under the table. The 
 door opened, and Julien came in with a light in his 
 hand, still calling, " Jeanne! Jeanne! " She started off 
 again like a hunted hare, tore into the kitchen, round 
 which she ran twice like some wild animal at bay, then, 
 as he was getting nearer and nearer to her, she suddenly 
 flung open the garden door, and rushed out into the 
 night. 
 
 Her bare legs sank into the snow up to her knees, and 
 this icy contact gave her new strength. Although she 
 had nothing on but her chemise she did not feel the bit- 
 ter cold; her mental anguish was too great for the con- 
 sciousness of any mere bodily pain to reach her brain, 
 and she ran on and on, looking as white as the snow- 
 covered earth. She did not stop once to take breath, 
 but rushed on across wood and plain without knowing 
 or thinking of what she was doing. Suddenly she 
 found herself at the edge of the cliff. She instinctively 
 stopped short, and then crouched down in the snow and 
 lay there with her mind as powerless to think as her 
 body to move. 
 
 All at once she began to tremble, as does a sail when 
 caught by the wind. Her arms, her hands, her feet, 
 shook and twitched convulsively, and consciousness re- 
 turned to her. Things that had happened a long time 
 before came back to her memory : the sail in Lastique's
 
 no A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 boat with him, their conversation, the dawn of their 
 love; the christening of the boat; then her thoughts 
 went still farther back till they reached the night of 
 her arrival from the convent — the night she had spent 
 in happy dreams. And now, now! Her life was 
 ruined; she had had all her pleasure; there were no 
 joys, no happiness, in store for her; and she could see 
 the terrible future with all its tortures, its deceptions, 
 and despair. Surely it would be better to die now, at 
 once. 
 
 She heard a voice In the distance crying : 
 
 "This way! this way! Here are her footmarks! " 
 It was Julien looking for her. 
 
 Oh ! she could not, she would not, see him again ! 
 Never again ! From the abyss before her came the 
 faint sound of the waves as they broke on the rocks. 
 She stood up to throw herself over the cliff, and in a 
 despairing farewell to life, she moaned out that last cry 
 of the dying — the word that the soldier gasps out 
 as he lies wounded to death on the battlefield — 
 "Mother!" 
 
 Then the thought of how her mother would sob when 
 she heard of her daughters death, and how her father 
 would kneel in agony beside her mangled corpse, flashed 
 across her mind, and In that one second she realized all 
 the bitterness of their grief. She fell feebly back on 
 the snow, and Julien and old Simon came up, with 
 Marius behind them holding a lantern. They drew 
 her back before they dared attempt to raise her, so near 
 the edge of the cliff was she; and they did with her what 
 they liked, for she could not move a muscle. She knew 
 that they carried her indoors, that she was put to bed,
 
 UNE VIE III 
 
 and rubbed with hot flannels, and then she was conscious 
 of nothing more. 
 
 A nightmare — but was it a nightmare? — haunted 
 her. She thought she was in bed in her own room; it 
 was broad dayhght, but she could not get up, though 
 she did not know why she could not. She heard a noise 
 on the boards — a scratching, rustling noise — and all 
 at once a little gray mouse ran over the sheet. Then 
 another one appeared, and another which came running 
 towards her chest. Jeanne was not frightened; she 
 wanted to take hold of the little animal, and put out her 
 hand towards it, but she could not catch it. 
 
 Then came more mice — ten, twenty, hundreds, 
 thousands, sprang up on all sides. They ran up the 
 bed-posts, and along the tapestry, and covered the whole 
 bed. They got under the clothes, and Jeanne could 
 feel them gliding over her skin, tickling her legs, run- 
 ning up and down her body. She could see them com- 
 ing from the foot of the bed to get inside and creep 
 close to her breast, but when she struggled and stretched 
 out her hands to catch one, she always clutched the air. 
 Then she got angry, and cried out, and wanted to run 
 away; she fancied someone held her down, and that 
 strong arms were thrown around her to prevent her 
 moving, but she could not see anyone. She had no idea 
 of the time that all this lasted; she only knew that it 
 seemed a very long while. 
 
 At last she became conscious again — conscious that 
 she was tired and aching, and yet better than she had 
 been. She felt very, very weak. She looked round, 
 and did not feel at all surprised to see her mother sit- 
 ting by her bedside with a stout man whom she did not
 
 112 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 know. She had forgotten how old she was, and 
 thought she was a httle child again, for her memory 
 was entirely gone. 
 
 " See, she is conscious," said the stout man. 
 The baroness began to cry, and the big man said: 
 "Come, come, madame le baronne; I assure you 
 there is no longer any danger, but you must not talk 
 to her; just let her sleep." 
 
 It seemed to Jeanne that she lay for a long time in a 
 doze, which became a heavy sleep if she tried to think 
 of anything. She had a vague idea that the past con- 
 tained something dreadful, and she was content to lie 
 still without trying to recall anything to her memory. 
 But one day, when she opened her eyes, she saw Julien 
 standing beside the bed, and the curtain which hid 
 everything from her was suddenly drawn aside, and she 
 remembered what had happened. 
 
 She threw back the clothes and sprang out of bed 
 to escape from her husband; but as soon as her feet 
 touched the floor she fell to the ground, for she was too 
 weak to stand. Julien hastened to her assistance, but 
 when he attempted to raise her, she shrieked and rolled 
 from side to side to avoid the contact of his hands. 
 The door opened, and Aunt Lison and the Widow 
 Dentu hurried in, closely followed by the baron and his 
 wife, the latter gasping for breath. 
 
 They put Jeanne to bed again, and she closed her 
 eyes and pretended to be asleep that she might think 
 undisturbed. Her mother and aunt busied themselves 
 around her, saying from time to time : 
 " Do you know us now, Jeanne, dear? " 
 She pretended not to hear them, and made no an- 
 swer; and in the evening they went away, leaving her to
 
 UNE VIE 113 
 
 the care of the nurse. She could not sleep all that 
 night, for she was painfully trying to connect the inci- 
 dents she could remember, one with the other; but there 
 seemed to be gaps in her memory which she could not 
 bridge over. Little by little, however, all the facts 
 came back to her, and then she tried to decide what she 
 had better do. She must have been very ill, or her 
 mother and Aunt Lison and the baron would not have 
 been sent for; but what had Julien said? Did her par- 
 ents know everything ? And where was Rosalie ? 
 
 The only thing she could do was to go back to Rouen 
 with her father and mother; they could all live there 
 together as they used to do, and it w^ould be just the 
 same as if she had not been married. 
 
 The next day she noticed and listened to all that went 
 on around her, but she did not let anyone see that she 
 understood everything and had recovered her full 
 senses. Towards evening, when no one but the bar- 
 oness was in her room, Jeanne whispered softly: 
 
 "Mother, dear!" 
 
 She was surprised to hear how changed her own voice 
 was, but the baroness took her hands, exclaiming : 
 
 " My child ! my dear little Jeanne ! Do you know 
 me, my pet? " 
 
 " Yes, mother. But you mustn't cry; I want to talk 
 to you seriously. Did Julien tell you why I ran out 
 Into the snow? " 
 
 " Yes, my darling. You have had a very dangerous 
 fever." 
 
 " That was not the reason, mamma; I had the fever 
 afterwards. Hasn't he told you why I tried to run 
 away, and what was the cause of the fever? " 
 
 " No, dear." 
 
 V— 8
 
 114 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 " It was because I found Rosalie in his bed." 
 
 The baroness thought she was still delirious, and tried 
 to soothe her. 
 
 "There, there, my darling; lie down and try to go 
 to sleep." 
 
 But Jeanne would not be quieted. 
 
 " I am not talking nonsense now, mamma dear, 
 though I dare say I have been lately," she said. " I 
 felt very ill one night, and I got up and went to Julien's 
 room ; there I saw Rosalie lying beside him. My grief 
 nearly drove me mad, and I ran out into the snow, 
 meaning to throw myself over the cliff." 
 
 "Yes, darling, you have been ill; very ill indeed," 
 answered the baroness. 
 
 " It wasn't that, mamma. I found Rosalie in Juli- 
 en's bed, and I will not stay with him any longer. You 
 shall take me back to Rouen with you." 
 
 The doctor had told the baroness to let Jeanne have 
 her own way in everything, so she answered : 
 
 " Very well, my pet." 
 
 Jeanne began to lose patience. 
 
 " I see you don't believe me," she said pettishly. 
 "Go and find papa; perhaps he'll manage to under- 
 stand that I am speaking the truth." 
 
 The baroness rose slowly to her feet, dragged herself 
 out of the room with the aid of two sticks, and came 
 back in a few minutes with the baron. They sat down 
 by the bedside, and Jeanne began to speak in her weak 
 voice. She spoke quite coherently, and she told them 
 all about Julien's odd ways, his harshness, his avarice, 
 and, lastly, his infidelity. 
 
 The baron could see that her mind was not wander-
 
 UNE VIE 115 
 
 Ing, but he hardly knew what to say or think. He af- 
 fectionately took her hand, like he used to do when she 
 was a child and he told her fairy tales to send her to 
 sleep, 
 
 " Listen, my dear," he said. " We must not do any- 
 thing rashly. Don't let us say anything till we have 
 thought it well over. Will you promise me to try and 
 bear with your husband until we have decided what is 
 best to be done? " 
 
 "Very well," she answered; "but I will not stay 
 here after I get well." 
 
 Then she added, in a whisper: "Where is Rosalie 
 now : 
 
 " You shall not see her any more," replied the baron. 
 
 But she persisted: "Where is she? I want to 
 know." 
 
 He owned that she was still in the house, but he de- 
 clared she should go at once. 
 
 Directly he left Jeanne's room, his heart full of pity 
 for his child and indignation against her husband, the 
 baron went to find Julien, and said to him sternly: 
 
 " Monsieur, I have come to ask for an explanation 
 of your behavior to my daughter. You have not only 
 been false to her, but you have deceived her with your 
 servant, which makes your conduct doubly infamous." 
 
 Julien swore he was innocent of such a thing, and 
 called heaven to witness his denial. What proof was 
 there? Jeanne was just recovering from brain fever, 
 and of course her thoughts were still confused. She 
 had rushed out in the snow one night at the beginning 
 of her illness, in a fit of delirium, and how could her 
 statement be believed when, on the very night that she
 
 ii6 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 said she had surprised her maid in her husband's bed, 
 she was dashing over the house nearly naked, and quite 
 unconscious of what she was doing! 
 
 Juhen got very angry, and threatened the baron with 
 an action if he did not withdraw his accusation; and the 
 baron, confused by this indignant denial, began to make 
 excuses and to beg his son-in-law's pardon; but Julien 
 refused to take his outstretched hand. 
 
 Jeanne did not seem vexed when she heard what her 
 husband had said. 
 
 "He is telling a lie, papa," she said, quietly; "but 
 we will force him to own the truth." 
 
 For two days she lay silent, turning over all sorts of 
 things in her mind; on the third morning she asked for 
 Rosalie. The baron refused to let the maid go up and 
 told Jeanne that she had left. But Jeanne insisted on 
 seeing her, and said: 
 
 " Send someone to fetch her, then." 
 
 When the doctor came she was very excited because 
 they would not let her see the maid, and they told him 
 what was the matter. Jeanne burst into tears and al- 
 most shrieked: " I will see her! I will see her! " 
 
 The doctor took her hand and said in a low voice: 
 
 " Calm yourself, madame. Any violent emotion 
 might have very serious results just now, for you are 
 enceinte." 
 
 Jeanne's tears ceased directly; even as the doctor 
 spoke she fancied she could feel a movement within 
 her, and she lay still, paying no attention to what was 
 being said or done around her. She could not sleep 
 that night ; it seemed so strange to think that within 
 her was another life, and she felt sorry because it was
 
 UNE VIE 117 
 
 Julien's child, and full of fears in case It should resem- 
 ble its father. 
 
 The next morning she sent for the baron. 
 
 " Papa, dear," she said, " 1 have made up my mind 
 to know the whole truth ; especially novv'. You hear, I 
 a;'// know it, and you know, you must let me do as I 
 like, because of my condition. Now listen; go and 
 fetch ]\I, le cure ; he must be here to make Rosalie tell 
 the truth. Then, as soon as he is here, you must send 
 her up to me, and you and mamma must come too ; but, 
 whatever you do, don't let Julien know what is go- 
 ing on." 
 
 The priest came about an hour afterwards. He was 
 fatter than ever, and panted quite as much as the bar- 
 oness. He sat down in an armchair and began joking, 
 while he wiped his forehead with his checked handker- 
 chief from sheer habit. 
 
 " Well, Madame la baronne, I don't think we are 
 either of us getting thinner; in my opinion we make a 
 very handsome pair." Then turning to the invalid, he 
 said: " Ah, ah! my young lady, I hear we're soon to 
 have a christening, and that it won't be the christening 
 of a boat either, this time, ha, ha, ha ! " Then he went 
 on in a grave voice, " It will be one more defender for 
 the country, or," after a short silence, " another good 
 wife and mother like you, madame," with a bow to the 
 baroness. 
 
 The door flew open and there stood Rosalie, crying, 
 struggling, and refusing to move, while the baron tried 
 to push her in. At last he gave her a sudden shake, 
 and threw her into the room with a jerk, and she stood 
 in the middle of the floor, with her face in her hands,
 
 ii8 A WOiMAN'S LIFE 
 
 sobbing violently. Jeanne started up as white as a 
 sheet, and her heart could be seen beating under her 
 thin nightdress. It was some time before she could 
 speak, but at last she gasped out: 
 
 " There — there — is no — need for m.e to — ques- 
 tion you. Your confusion in my presence — is — is 
 quite sufficient — proof — of your guilt." 
 
 She stopped for a few moments for want of breath, 
 and then went on again: 
 
 " But I wish to know all. You see that M. le cure 
 is here, so you understand you will have to answer as if 
 you were at confession." 
 
 Rosalie had not moved from where the baron had 
 pushed her; she made no answer, but her sobs became 
 almost shrieks. The baron, losing all patience with 
 her, seized her hands, drew them roughly from her face 
 and threw her on her knees beside the bed, saying: 
 
 " Why don't you say something? Answer your mis- 
 tress." 
 
 She crouched down on the ground in the position in 
 which Mary Magdalene is generally depicted; her cap 
 was on one side, her apron on the floor, and as soon as 
 her hands were free she again buried her face in them. 
 
 " Come, come, my girl," said the cure, *' we don't 
 want to do you any harm, but we must know exactly 
 what has happened. Now listen to what is asked you 
 and answer truthfully." 
 
 Jeanne was leaning over the side of the bed, looking 
 at the girl. 
 
 " Is it not true that I found you in Julien's bed? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " Yes, madame," moaned out Rosalie through her 
 fingers.
 
 UNE VIE 119 
 
 At that the baroness burst into tears also, and the 
 •sound of her sobs mingled with the maid's. 
 
 " How long had that gone on?" asked Jeanne, her 
 eyes fixed on the maid. 
 
 " Ever since he came here," stammered Rosalie, 
 
 " Since he came here," repeated Jeanne, hardly un- 
 derstanding what the words meant. " Do you mean 
 since — since the spring? " 
 
 " Yes, madame." 
 
 " Since he first came to the house? " 
 
 " Yes, madame." 
 
 " But how did it happen? How did he come to say 
 anything to you about it? " burst out Jeanne, as if she 
 could keep back the questions no longer. " Did he 
 force you, or did you give yourself to him? How 
 could you do such a thing? " 
 
 " I don't know," answered Rosalie, taking her hands 
 from her face and speaking as if the words were forced 
 from her by an irresistible desire to talk and to tell all. 
 " The day he dined 'ere for the first time, 'e came up 
 to my room. He 'ad 'idden in the garret and I dursn't 
 cry out for fear of what everyone would say. He got 
 into my bed, and I dunno' how it was or what I did, 
 but he did just as 'e liked with me. I never said nothin' 
 about it because I thought he was nice." 
 
 " But your — your child? Is it his? " cried Jeanne. 
 
 " Yes, madame," answered Rosalie, between her 
 sobs. Then neither said anything more, and the silence 
 was only broken by the baroness's and Rosalie's sobs. 
 
 The tears rose to Jeanne's eyes, and fldnved noise- 
 lessly down her cheeks. So her maid's child had the 
 same father as her own ! All her anger had evapo- 
 rated and in its place was a dull, gloomy, deep despair.
 
 120 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 After a short silence she said in a softer, tearful voice. 
 
 " After we returned from — from our wedding 
 tour — when did he begin again? " 
 
 "The — the night you came back," answered the 
 maid, who was now almost lying on the floor. 
 
 Each word rung Jeanne's heart. He had actually 
 left her for this girl the very night of their return to 
 Les Peuples! That, then, was why he had let her 
 sleep alone. She had heard enough now; she did not 
 want to know anything more, and she cried to the girl: 
 
 " Go away! go away! " 
 
 As Rosalie, overcome by her emotion, did not move, 
 she called to her father: 
 
 " Take her away ! Carry her out of the room ! " 
 
 But the cure, who had said nothing up to now, 
 thought the time had come for a little discourse. 
 
 " You have behaved very wickedly," he said to Rosa- 
 lie, " very wickedly indeed, and the good God will not 
 easily forgive you. Think of the punishment which 
 awaits you if you do not live a better life henceforth. 
 Now you are young is the time to train yourself in good 
 ways. No doubt Madame la baronne will do some- 
 thing for you, and we shall be able to find you a hus- 
 band — " 
 
 He would have gone on like this for a long time had 
 not the baron seized Rosalie by the shoulders, dragged 
 her to the door and thrown her Into the passage like a 
 bundle of clothes. 
 
 When he came back, looking whiter even than his 
 daughter, the cure began again : 
 
 " Well, you know, all the girls round here are the 
 same. It Is a very bad state of things, but it can't be 
 helped, and we must make a little allowance for the
 
 UNE VIE 121 
 
 weakness of human nature. They never marry until 
 they are enceintes; never, madame. One might almost 
 call it a local custom," he added, with a smile. Then 
 he went on indignantly: "Even the children are the 
 same. Only last year I found a little boy and girl 
 from my class in the cemetery together. I told their 
 parents, and what do you think they replied : ' Well, 
 M'sieu I'cure, we didn't teach it them; we can't help 
 it.' So you see, monsieur, your maid has only done like 
 the others — " 
 
 " The maid ! " Interrupted the baron, trembling with 
 excitement. "The maid! What do I care about her? 
 It's Julien's conduct which I think so abominable, and I 
 shall certainly take my daughter away with me." He 
 walked up and down the room, getting more and more 
 angry with every step he took. " It is infamous the 
 way he has deceived my daughter, infamous ! He's a 
 wretch, a villain, and I will tell him so to his face. I'll 
 horsewhip him within an inch of his life." 
 
 The cure was slowly enjoying a pinch of snuff as he 
 sat beside the baroness, and thinking how he could make 
 peace. " Come now, M. le baron, between ourselves 
 he has only done like everyone else. I am quite sure 
 you don't know many husbands who are faithful to their 
 wives, do you now? " And he added in a sly, good- 
 natured way: " I bet you, yourself, have played your 
 little games ; you can't say conscientiously that you 
 haven't, I know. Why, of course you have ! And 
 who knows but what you have made the acquaintance 
 of some little maid just like Rosalie. I tell you every 
 man is the same. And your escapades didn't make your 
 wife unhappy, or lessen your affection for her; did 
 thev?"
 
 122 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 The baron stood still in confusion. It was true that 
 he had done the same himself, and not only once or 
 twice, but as often as he had got the chance; his wife's 
 presence in the house had never made any difference, 
 when the servants were pretty. And was he a villain 
 because of that? Then why should he judge Julien's 
 conduct so severely when he had never thought that 
 any fault could be found with his own ? 
 
 Though her tears were hardly dried, the Idea of her 
 husband's pranks brought a slight smile to the baron- 
 ess's lip, for she was one of those good-natured, tender- 
 hearted, sentimental women to whom love adventures 
 are an essential part of existence. , 
 
 Jeanne lay back exhausted, thinking, with open un- 
 seeing eyes, of all this painful episode. The expres- 
 sion that had wounded her most in Rosalie's confession 
 was: "I never said anything about It because I 
 thought he was nice." She, his wife, had also thought 
 him " nice," and that was the sole reason why she had 
 united herself to him for life, had given up every other 
 hope, every other project to join her destiny to his. 
 She had plunged into marriage. Into this pit from which 
 there was no escape, Into all this misery, this grief, this 
 despair, simply because, like Rosalie, she had thought 
 him " nice." 
 
 The door was flung violently open and Jullen came 
 in, looking perfectly wild with rage. He had seen 
 Rosalie moaning on the landing, and guessing that she 
 had been forced to speak, he had come to see what was 
 going on; but at the sight of the priest he was 
 taken thoroughly aback. 
 
 " What is it? What is the matter? " he asked. In a
 
 UNE VIE 123 
 
 voice which trembled in spite of his efforts to make it 
 sound calm. 
 
 The baron, who had been so violent just before, dared 
 say nothing after the cure's argument, in case his son- 
 in-lav>' should quote his own example; the baroness only 
 wept more bitterly than before, and Jeanne raised her- 
 self on her hands and looked steadily at this man who 
 was causing her so much sorrow. Her breath came 
 and went quickly, but she managed to answer: 
 
 '' The matter is that we know all about your shame- 
 ful conduct ever since — ever since the day you first 
 came here ; we know that — that — Rosalie's child is 
 yours — like — like mine, and that they will be — 
 brothers." 
 
 Her grief became so poignant at this thought that she 
 hid herself under the bedclothes and sobbed bitterly. 
 Julien stood open-mouthed, not knowing what to say or 
 do. The cure again interposed. 
 
 " Come, come, my dear young lady," he said, " you 
 mustn't give way like that. See now, be reasonable." 
 
 He rose, went to the bedside, and laid his cool hand 
 on this despairing woman's forehead. His simple 
 touch seemed to soothe her wonderfully; she felt calmer 
 at once, as if the large hand of this country priest, ac- 
 customed to gestures of absolution and sympathy, had 
 borne with it some strange, peace-giving power. 
 
 " Madame, we must always forgive," said the good- 
 natured priest. " You are borne down by a great 
 grief, but God, in His mercy, has also sent you a great 
 joy, since He has permitted you to have hopes of be- 
 coming a mother. This child will console you for all 
 your trouble and It Is in its name that I implore, that
 
 124 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 I adjure, you to forgive M. Julien. It will be a 
 fresh tie between you, a pledge of your husband's 
 future fidelity. Can you steel your heart against the 
 father of your unborn child? " 
 
 Too weak to feel either anger or resentment, and 
 only conscious of a crushed, aching, exhausted sensation, 
 she made no answer. Her nerves were thoroughly 
 unstrung, and she clung to life but by a very slender 
 thread. 
 
 The baroness, to whom resentment seemed utterly 
 Impossible and whose mind was simply incapable of 
 bearing any prolonged strain, said in a low tone : 
 
 " Come, Jeanne! " 
 
 The cure drew Julien close to the bed and placed 
 his hand in his wife's, giving it a little tap as if to 
 make the union more complete. Then, dropping his 
 professional pulpit tone, he said, with a satisfied air : 
 
 " There! that's done. Believe me, it is better so." 
 
 The two hands, united thus for an instant, loosed 
 their clasp directly. Julien, not daring to embrace 
 Jeanne, kissed his mother-in-law, then turned on his 
 heel, took the baron (who. In his heart, was not sorry 
 that everything had finished so quietly) by the arm, 
 and drew him from the room to go and smoke a cigar. 
 
 Then the tired Invalid went to sleep and the baroness 
 and the priest began to chat In low tones. The abbe 
 talked of what had just occurred and proceeded to 
 explain his ideas on the subject, while the baroness 
 assented to everything he said with a nod. 
 
 " Very well, then, it's understood," he said, In con- 
 clusion. " You give the girl the farm at Barvllle and 
 I will undertake to find her a good, honest husband. 
 Oh, you may be sure that with twenty thousand francs
 
 UNE VIE ■ 125 
 
 we shall not want candidates for her hand. We shall 
 have an emharras de choix.^^ 
 
 The baroness was smiling happily now, though two 
 tears still lingered on her cheeks. 
 
 " Barville is worth twenty thousand francs, at the 
 very least," she said; "and you understand that it is 
 to be settled on the child though the parents will have 
 it as long as they live." 
 
 Then the cure shook hands w'ith the baroness, and 
 rose to go. 
 
 " Don't get up, Madame la baronne, don't get up," 
 he exclaimed. '' I know the value of a step too well 
 myself." 
 
 As he went out he met Aunt Lison coming to see her 
 patient. She did not notice that anything extraordi- 
 nary had happened. No one had told her anything, 
 and, as usual, she had not the slightest idea of what 
 was going on. 
 
 VIII 
 
 Rosalie had left the house and the time of 
 Jeanne's confinement was drawing near. The sorrow 
 she had gone through had taken away all pleasure from 
 the thought of becoming a mother, and she waited for 
 the child's birth without any impatience or curiosity, 
 her mind entirely filled with her presentiment of coming 
 evils. 
 
 Spring was close at hand. The bare trees still 
 trembled in the cold wind, but, in the damp ditches, 
 the yellow primroses were already blossoming among the 
 decaying autumn leaves. The rain-soaked fields, the 
 farm-yards and the commons exhaled a damp odor, as
 
 126 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 of fermenting liquor, and little green leaves peeped 
 out of the brown earth and glistened in the sun. 
 
 A big, strongly-built woman had been engaged in 
 Rosalie's place, and she now supported the baroness 
 in her dreary walks along the avenue, where the traclc 
 made by her foot was always damp and muddy. 
 
 Jeanne, low-spirited and in constant pain, leant 
 on her father's arm when she went out, while on her 
 other side walked Aunt Lison, holding her niece's 
 hand, and thinking nervously, of this mysterious suffer- 
 ing that she would never know. They would all three 
 walk for hours without speaking a word, and, while 
 they were out, Julien went all over the country on 
 horseback, for he had suddenly become very fond of 
 riding. 
 
 The baron, his wife, and the vicomte, paid a visit 
 to the Fourvilles (whom Julien seemed to know very 
 well, though no one at the chateau knew exactly how 
 the acquaintance had begun), and another duty call 
 was paid to the Brisevilles, and those two visits were 
 the only break in their dull, monotonous life. 
 
 One afternoon, about four o'clock, two people on 
 horseback trotted up to the chateau. Julien rushed 
 into his wife's room in great excitement: 
 
 " Make haste and go down," he exclaimed. " Here 
 are the Fourvilles. They have come simply to make 
 a neighborly call as they know the condition you are 
 in. Say I am out but that I shall be in soon. I am 
 just going to change my coat." 
 
 Jeanne went downstairs and found in the drawing- 
 room a gigantic man with big, red moustaches, and a 
 pale, pretty woman with a sad-looking face, sentimental 
 eyes and hair of a dead gold that looked as if the sua
 
 UNE VIE 127 
 
 had never caressed It, When the fair-haired woman 
 had introduced the big man as her husband, she 
 said: 
 
 " M. de Lamare, whom we have met several times, 
 has told us how unwell you are, so we thought we 
 would not put off coming to see you any longer. You 
 see we have come on horseback, so you must look upon 
 this simply as a neighborly call; besides, I have already 
 had the pleasure of receiving a visit from your mother 
 and the baron." 
 
 She spoke easily in a refined, familiar way, and 
 Jeanne fell in love with her at once. " In her I might, 
 indeed, find a friend," she thought. 
 
 The Comte de Fourville, unlike his wife, seemed as 
 much out of place in a drawing-room as a bull in a 
 china shop. When he sat down he put his hat on a 
 chair close by him, and then the problem of what he 
 should do with his hands presented itself to him. First 
 he rested them on his knees, then on the arms of his 
 chair, and finally joined them as if in prayer. 
 
 Julien came in so changed in appearance that Jeanne 
 stared at him in mute surprise. He had shaved him- 
 self and looked as handsome and charming as when 
 he was wooing her. His hair, just now so coarse and 
 dull, had been brushed and sprinkled with perfumed 
 oil till it had recovered its soft shining waves, and his 
 large eyes, which seemed made to express nothing but 
 love, had their old winning look in them. He made 
 himself as amiable and fascinating as he had been 
 before his marriage. He pressed the hairy paw of the 
 comte, who seemed much relieved by his presence, and 
 kissed the hand of the comtesse, whose ivory cheek 
 became just tinged with pink.
 
 128 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 When the Fourvilles were going away the comtesse 
 said: 
 
 " Will you come for a ride on Thursday, vicomte? " 
 And as Julien bowed and replied, " I shall be very 
 pleased, madame," she turned and took Jeanne's hand, 
 saying to her, affectionately : 
 
 " When you are well again we must all three go 
 for long rides together. We could make such delight- 
 ful excursions if you would." 
 
 Then she gracefully caught up the skirt of her riding- 
 habit and sprang into the saddle as lightly as a bird, 
 and her husband, after awkwardly raising his hat, 
 leapt on his huge horse, feeling and looking at his ease 
 as soon as he was mounted. 
 
 " What charming people! " cried Julien, as soon as 
 they were out of sight. " We may, indeed, think our- 
 selves lucky to have made their acquaintance." 
 
 " The little comtesse is delightful," answered 
 Jeanne, feeling pleased herself though she hardly knew 
 why. " I am sure I shall like her; but the husband 
 seems a bear. How did you get to know them ? " 
 
 " I met them one day at the Brisevilles," he replied, 
 rubbing his hands together cheerfully. " The husband 
 certainly is a little rough, but he is a true gentleman. 
 He is passionately fond of shooting." 
 
 Nothing else happened until the end of July. Then, 
 one Tuesday evening, as they were all sitting under 
 the plane-tree beside a little table, on which stood 
 two liqueur glasses and a decanter of brandy, Jeanne 
 suddenly turned very white and put both her hands to 
 her side with a cry. A sharp pain had shot through 
 her and at once died away. In about ten minutes came 
 another one, hardly so severe but of longer duration
 
 UNE VIE 129 
 
 than the first. Her father and husband almost carried 
 her indoors, for the short distance between the plane- 
 tree and her room seemed miles to her; she could not 
 stifle her moans, and, overpowered by an intolerable 
 sense of heaviness and weight, she implored them to let 
 her sit down and rest. 
 
 The child was not expected until September but, in 
 case of accident, a horse was harnessed and old Simon 
 galloped oft after the doctor. He came about mid- 
 night and at once recognized the signs of a premature 
 confinement. The actual pain had a little diminished, 
 but Jeanne felt an awful deathly faintness, and she 
 thought she was going to die, for Death is sometimes 
 so close that his icy breath can almost be felt. 
 
 The room was full of people. The baroness lay 
 back in an armchair gasping for breath; the baron 
 ran hither and thither, bringing all manner of things 
 and completely losing his head; Julien walked up and 
 down looking very troubled, but really feeling quite 
 calm, and the Widow Dentu, whom nothing could 
 surprise or startle, stood at the foot of the bed with 
 an expression suited to the occasion on her face. 
 
 Nurse, mid-wife and watcher of the dead, equally 
 ready to welcome the new-born infant, to receive its 
 first cry, to immerse it in its first bath and to wrap 
 it in its first covering, or to hear the last word, the last 
 death-rattle, the last moan of the dying, to clothe them 
 in their last garment, to sponge their wasted bodies, to 
 draw the sheet about their still faces, the Widow Dentu 
 had become utterly indifferent to any of the chances 
 accompanying a birth or a death. 
 
 Every now and then Jeanne gave a low moan. For 
 
 two hours It seemed as if the child would not be born 
 V— ff
 
 I30 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 yet, after all; but about daybreak the pains recom- 
 menced and soon became almost intolerable. As the 
 involuntary cries of anguish burst through her clenched 
 teeth, Jeanne thought of Rosalie who had hardly even 
 moaned, and whose bastard child had been born with- 
 out any of the torture such as she was suffering. In 
 her wretched, troubled mind she drew comparisons 
 between her maid and herself, and she cursed God 
 Whom, until now, she had believed just. She thought 
 in angry astonishment of how fate favors the wicked, 
 and of the unpardonable lies of those who hold forth 
 inducements to be upright and good. 
 
 Sometimes the agony was so great that she could 
 think of nothing else, her suffering absorbing all her 
 strength, her reason, her consiousness. In the intervals 
 of relief her eyes were fixed on Julien, and then she 
 was filled with a mental anguish as she thought of the 
 day her maid had fallen at the foot of this very bed 
 with her new-born child — the brother of the infant 
 that was now causing her such terrible pain. She 
 remembered perfectly every gesture, every look, every 
 word of her husband as he stood beside the maid, 
 and now she could see in his movements the same ennui, 
 the same indifference for her suffering as he had felt 
 for Rosalie's; it was the selfish carelessness of a man 
 whom the idea of paternity irritates. 
 
 She was seized by an excruciating pain, a spasm so 
 agonizing that she thought, "I am going to die! I 
 am dying! " And her soul was filled with a furious 
 hatred; she felt she must curse this man who was the 
 cause of all her agony, and this child which was killing 
 her. She strained every muscle in a supreme effort to 
 rid herself of this awful burden, and then it felt as if
 
 UNE VIE 131 
 
 her whole inside were pouring away from her, and 
 her suffering suddenly became less. 
 
 The nurse and the doctor bent over her and took 
 something away; and she heard the choking noise she 
 had heard once before, and then the low cry of pain, 
 the feeble whine of the new-born child filled her ears 
 and seemed to enter her poor, exhausted body till it 
 reached her very soul; and, in an unconsciousness move- 
 ment she tried to hold out her arms. 
 
 With the child was born a new joy, a fresh rapture. 
 In one second she had been delivered from that ter- 
 rible pain and made happier than she had ever been 
 before, and she revived in mind and body as she 
 realized, for the first time, the pleasure of being a 
 mother. 
 
 She wanted to see her child. It had not any hair 
 or nails, for it had come before its time, but when she 
 saw. this human larva move its limbs and open its 
 mouth, and when she touched Its wrinkled little face, 
 her heart overflowed with happiness, and she knew 
 that she would never feel weary of life again, for her 
 love for the atom she held in her arms would be so 
 absorbing that it would make her indifferent to every- 
 thing else. 
 
 From that time her child was her chief, her only 
 care, and she idolized it more, perhaps, because she 
 had been so deceived in her love and disappointed in 
 her hopes. She insisted on having the cot close to 
 her bed, and, when she could get up, she sat by the 
 window the whole day rocking the cradle with her foot. 
 She was even jealous of the wet-nurse, and when the 
 hungry baby held out its arms and mouth towards the 
 big blue-veined breast, she felt as if she would like to
 
 132 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 tear her son from this strong, quiet peasant woman's 
 arms, and strike and scratch the bosom to which he 
 clung so eagerly. 
 
 She embroidered his fine robes herself, putting into 
 them the most elaborate work; he was always sur- 
 rounded by a cloud of lace and wore the handsomest 
 caps. The only thing she could talk about was the 
 baby's clothes, and she was always interrupting a con- 
 versation to hold up a band, or bib, or some especially 
 pretty ribbon for admiration, for she took no notice of 
 what was being said around her as she turned and 
 twisted some tiny garment about in her hands, and 
 held it up to the light to see better how it looked. 
 
 " Don't you think he will look lovely in that? " she 
 was always asking, and her mother and the baron 
 smiled at this all-absorbing affection; but Julien would 
 exclaim, impatiently, " What a nuisance she is with 
 that brat!" for his habits had been upset and his 
 overweening importance diminished by the arrival of 
 this noisy, imperious tyrant, and he was half-jealous 
 of the scrap of humanity who now held the first place 
 in the house. Jeanne could hardly bear to be away 
 from her baby for an instant, and she even sat watch- 
 ing him all night through as he lay sleeping in his 
 cradle. These vigils and this continual anxiety began 
 to tell upon her health. The want of sleep weakened 
 her and she grew thinner and thinner, until, at last, the 
 doctor ordered the child to be separated from her. 
 
 It was in vain that she employed tears, commands 
 and entreaties. Each night the baby slept with his 
 nurse, and each night his mother rose from her bed 
 and went, barefooted, to put her ear to the keyhole 
 and listen if he was sleeping quietly. Julien found
 
 UNE VIE 133 
 
 her there one night as he was coming in late from din- 
 ning at the Fourvilles, and after that she was locked into 
 her room every evening to compel her to stay in bed. 
 
 The child was to be named Pierre Simon Paul (they 
 were going to call him Paul) and at the end of August 
 he was christened, the baron being godfather, and Aunt 
 Lison godmother. At the beginning of September 
 Aunt Lison went away, and her absence was as un- 
 noticed as her presence had been. 
 
 One evening, after dinner, the cure called at the 
 chateau. There seemed an air of mystery about him, 
 and, after a few commonplace remarks, he asked the 
 baron and baroness if he could speak to them in pri- 
 vate for a few moments. They all three walked 
 slowly down the avenue talking eagerly as they went, 
 while Julien, feeling uneasy and Irritated at this secrecy, 
 was left behind with Jeanne. He offered to accompany 
 the priest when he went away, and they walked off 
 towards the church where the angelus was ringing. It 
 was a cool, almost cold, evening, and the others soon 
 went- into the house. They were all beginning to feel 
 a little drowsy when the drawing-room door was sud- 
 denly thrown open and Julien came in looking very 
 vexed. Without stopping to see whether Jeanne was 
 there or not, he cried to the baron, as soon as he 
 entered the room : 
 
 " Upon my soul you must be mad to go and give 
 twenty thousand francs to that girl ! " 
 
 They were all taken too much by surprise to make 
 any answer, and he went on, too angry to speak dis- 
 tinctly: " I can't understand how you can be such 
 fools ! But there I suppose you will keep on till we 
 haven't a sou left ! "
 
 134 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 The baron, recovering himself, a little, tried to check 
 his son-in-law : 
 
 "Be quiet!" he exclaimed. "Don't you see that 
 your wife is in the room ? " 
 
 " I don't care if she is," answered Jullen, stamping 
 his foot. " Besides, she ought to know about it. It 
 is depriving her of her rightful inheritance." 
 
 Jeanne had listened to her husband in amazement, 
 utterly at a loss to know what It was all about : 
 
 " Whatever Is the matter? " she asked. 
 
 Then Julien turned to her, expecting her to side with 
 him, as the loss of the money would affect her also. 
 He told her in a few words how her parents were 
 trying to arrange a marriage for Rosalie, and how the 
 maid's child was to have the farm at Barville, which 
 was worth twenty thousand francs at the very least. 
 And he kept on repeating : 
 
 " Your parents must be mad, my dear, raving mad! 
 Twenty thousand francs ! Twenty thousand francs ! 
 They can't be in their right senses ! Twenty thousand 
 francs for a bastard ! " 
 
 Jeanne listened to him quite calmly, astonished her- 
 self to find that she felt neither anger nor sorrow at 
 his meanness, but she was perfectly indifferent now to 
 everything which did not concern her child. The 
 baron was choking with anger, and at last he burst out, 
 with a stamp of the foot : 
 
 " Really, this Is too much! Whose fault is it that 
 this girl has to have a dowry? You seem to forget 
 who Is her child's father; but, no doubt, you would 
 abandon her altogether if you had your way ! " 
 
 Julien gazed at the baron for a few moments In 
 silent surprise. Then he went on more quietly :
 
 UNE VIE 135 
 
 *' But fifteen hundred francs would have been ample 
 to give her. All the peasant-girls about here have 
 children before they marry, so what does It matter who 
 they have them by? And then, setting aside the In- 
 justice you will be doing Jeanne and me, you forget 
 that if you give Rosalie a farm worth twenty thousand 
 francs everybody will see at once that there must be a 
 reason for such a gift. You should think a little of 
 what Is due to our name and position." 
 
 He spoke in a calm, cool way as if he were sure of 
 his logic and the strength of his argument. The baron, 
 disconcerted by this fresh view of the matter, could 
 find nothing to say in reply, and Jullen, feeling his ad- 
 vantage, added : 
 
 " But fortunately, nothing Is settled. I know the 
 man who Is going to marry her and he Is an honest 
 fellow with whom everything can yet be satisfactorily 
 arranged. I will see to the miatter myself." 
 
 With that he went out of the room, wishing to avoid 
 any further discussion, and taking the silence with 
 which his words were received to mean acquiescence. 
 
 As soon as the door had closed after his son-in-law, 
 the baron exclaimed: 
 
 " Oh, this is more than I can stand! " 
 
 Jeanne, catching sight of her father's horrified ex- 
 pression, burst Into a clear laugh which rang out as It 
 used to do whenever she had seen something very funny : 
 
 " Papa, papa ! " she cried. " Did you hear the tone 
 In which he said ' twenty thousand francs! ' " 
 
 The baroness, whose smiles lay as near the surface 
 as her tears, quivered with laughter as she saw Jeanne's 
 gayety, and thought of her son-in-law's furious face, 
 and his indignant exclamations and determined attempt
 
 136 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 to prevent this money, which was not his, being given 
 to the girl he had seduced. Finally the baron caught 
 the contagion and they all three laughed till they ached 
 as in the happy days of old. When they were a little 
 calmer, Jeanne said: 
 
 " It is very funny, but really I don't seem to mind 
 in the least what he says or does now. I look upon 
 him quite as a stranger, and I can hardly believe 1 am 
 his wife. You see I am able to laugh at his — his want 
 of delicacy." 
 
 And the parents and child involuntarily kissed each 
 other, with smiles on their lips, though the tears were 
 not very far from their eyes. 
 
 Two days after this scene, when Julien had gone out 
 for a ride, a tall, young fellow of about four or iive-and- 
 twenty, dressed in a brand-new blue blouse, which hung 
 in stiff folds, climbed stealthily over the fence, as if he 
 had been hiding there all the morning, crept along the 
 Couillards' ditch, and went round to the other side of 
 the chateau where Jeanne and her father and mother 
 were sitting under the plane-tree. He took oft his cap 
 and awkwardly bowed as he came towards them, and, 
 when he was within speaking distance, mumbled : 
 
 " Your servant, monsieur le baron, madame and 
 company." Then, as no one said anything to him he 
 introduced himself as " Desire Lecoq." 
 
 This name failing to explain his presence at the 
 chateau, the baron asked: 
 
 " What do you want? " 
 
 The peasant was very disconcerted when he found 
 he had to state his business. He hesitated, stammered, 
 cast his eyes from the cap he held in his hands to the 
 chateau roof and back again, and at last began:
 
 UNE VIE 137 
 
 ** M'sieu I'cure has said somethin' to me about this 
 business — " then, fearing to say too much and thus 
 injure his own interests, he stopped short. 
 
 "What business?" asked the baron. "I don't 
 know what you mean," 
 
 " About your maid — what's her name — Rosalie," 
 said the man in a low voice. 
 
 Jeanne, guessing what he had come about, got up 
 and went away with her child in her arms. 
 
 " Sit down," said the baron, pointing to the chair 
 his daughter had just left. 
 
 The peasant took the seat with a " Thank you, 
 kindly," and then waited as if he had nothing whatever 
 to say. After a few moments, during which no one 
 spoke, he thought he had better say something, so he 
 looked up to the blue sky and remarked: 
 
 " What fine weather for this time of year to be sure. 
 It'll help on the crops finely." And then he again 
 relapsed into silence. 
 
 The baron began to get Impatient. 
 
 " Then you are going to marry Rosalie? " he said in 
 a dry tone, going straight to the point. 
 
 At that all the crafty suspicious nature of the Nor- 
 mandy peasant was on the alert. 
 
 " That depends," he answered quickly. " Perhaps 
 I am and perhaps I ain't, that depends." 
 
 All this beating about the bush irritated the baron. 
 
 " Can't you give a straightforward answer? " he ex- 
 claimed. " Have you come to say you will marry the 
 girl or not? " 
 
 The man looked at his feet as though he expected to 
 find advice there:
 
 138 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 " If It's as M'sieu I'cure says," he replied, " I'll 
 have her; but if it's as M'sieu Julien says, I won't." 
 
 "What did M. Julien tell you?" 
 
 " M'sieu Julien told me as how I should have fifteen 
 hundred francs; but M'sieu I'cure told me as how I 
 should 'ave twenty thousand. I'll have her for twenty 
 thousand, but I won't for fifteen hundred." 
 
 The baroness was tickled by the perplexed look on 
 the yokel's face and began to shake with laughter as 
 she sat In her armchair. Her gayety surprised the 
 peasant, who looked at her suspiciously out of the cor- 
 ner of his eye as he waited for an answer. 
 
 The baron cut short all this haggling. 
 
 " I have told M. le cure that you shall have the farm 
 at Barvllle, which Is worth twenty thousand francs, for 
 life, and then it Is to become the child's. That is all 
 I have to say on the matter, and I always keep my word. 
 Now is your answer yes or no? " 
 
 A satisfied smile broke over the man's face, and, with 
 a sudden loquacity: 
 
 " Oh, then, I don't say no," he replied. " That was 
 the only thing that pulled me up. When M'sieu I'cure 
 said somethin' to me about It in the first place, I said 
 yes at once, 'specially as it was to oblige M'sieu I'baron 
 who'd be sure to pay me back for it, as I says to myself. 
 Ain't It always the way, and doesn't one good turn 
 always deserve another? But M'sieu Julien comes up 
 and then it was only fifteen 'undred francs. Then I 
 says to myself, ' I must find out the rights o' this and 
 so I came 'ere. In coorse I b'lieved your word, M'sieu 
 I'baron, but I wanted to find out the rights o' the case. 
 Short reck'nings make long friends, don't they, M'sieu 
 I'baron?"
 
 UNE VIE 139 
 
 He would have gone on like this till dinner-time if 
 no one had interrupted him, so the baron broke in 
 with : 
 
 " When will you marry her? " 
 
 The question aroused the peasant's suspicions again 
 directly. 
 
 " Couldn't I have it put down in writin' first? " he 
 asked in a halting way. 
 
 " Why bless my soul, isn't the marriage-contract 
 good enough for you?" exclaimed the baron, angered 
 by the man's suspicious nature. 
 
 " But until I get that I should like it wrote down, 
 on paper," persisted the peasant. " Havin' it down, 
 on paper never does no harm." 
 
 " Give a plain answer, now at once," said the baron, 
 rising to put an end to the interview. " If you don't 
 choose to marry the girl, say so. I know someone else 
 who would be glad of the chance." 
 
 The idea of twenty thousand francs slipping from 
 his hands into someone else's, startled the peasant out 
 of his cautiousness, and he at once decided to say 
 *'yes": 
 
 " Agreed, M'sieu I'baron ! " he said, holding out his 
 hand as if he were concluding the purchase of a cow. 
 *' It's done, and there's no going back from the bar- 
 gain." 
 
 The baron took his hand and cried to the cook: 
 
 " Ludivine! Bring a bottle of wine," 
 
 The wine was drunk and then the peasant went 
 away, feeling a great deal lighter-hearted than when he 
 had come. 
 
 Nothing was said about this visit to Julien. The 
 drawing up of the marriage-contract was kept a great
 
 I40 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 secret; then the banns were published and Rosalie was 
 married on the Monday morning. At the church a 
 neighbor stood behind the bride and bridegroom with 
 a child in her arms as an omen of good luck, and ev^ery- 
 one thought Desire Lecoq very fortunate. " He was 
 born with a caul," said the peasants with a smile. 
 
 When Julien heard of the marriage he had a violent 
 quarrel with the baron and baroness and they decided 
 to shorten their visit at Les Peuples. Jeanne was sorry 
 but she did not grieve as before when her parents went 
 away, for now all her hopes and thoughts were cen- 
 tered on her son. 
 
 IX 
 
 Now Jeanne was quite well again she thought she 
 would like to return the Fourville's visit, and also to 
 call on the Couteliers. Julien had just bought another 
 carriage at a sale, a phaeton. It only needed one horse, 
 so they could go out twice a month, now, instead of 
 once, and they used It for the first time one bright De- 
 cember morning. 
 
 After driving for two hours across the Normandy 
 plains they began to go down to a little valley, whose 
 sloping sides were covered with trees, while the level 
 ground at the bottom was cultivated. The ploughed 
 fields were followed by meadows, the meadows by a 
 fen covered with tall reeds, which waved in the wind 
 like yellow ribbons, and then the road took a sharp 
 turn and the Chateau de la Vrlllette came In sight. It 
 was built between a wooded slope on the one side and 
 a large lake on the other, the water stretching from the
 
 UNE VIE 141 
 
 chateau wall to the tall fir-trees which covered the op- 
 posite acclivity. 
 
 The carriage had to pass over an old draw-bridge 
 and under a vast Louis XIII. archway before it drew up 
 in front of a handsome building of the same period as 
 the archway, with brick frames round the windows and 
 slated turrets. Julien pointed out all the different 
 beauties of the mansion to Jeanne as if he were 
 thoroughly acquainted with every nook and corner of it. 
 
 "Isn't it a superb place?" he exclaimed. "Just 
 look at that archway! On the other side of the house, 
 which looks on to the lake, there is a magnificent flight 
 of steps leading right down to the water. Four boats 
 are moored at the bottom of the steps, two for the 
 comte and two for the comtesse. The lake ends down 
 there, on the right, where you can see that row of 
 poplars, and there the river, which runs to Fecamp, 
 rises. The place abounds in wild-fowl, and the comtc 
 passes all his time shooting. Ah! it is indeed a lordly 
 residence." 
 
 The hall door opened and the fair-haired comtesse 
 came to meet her visitors with a smile on her face. 
 She wore a trailing dress like a chatelaine of the middle 
 ages, and, exactly suited to the place in which she lived, 
 she looked like some beautiful Lady of the Lake. 
 
 Four out of the eight drawing-room windows looked 
 on to the lake, and the water looked dull and dismal, 
 overshadowed as it was by the gloomy fir-trees which 
 covered the opposite slope. 
 
 The comtesse took both Jeanne's hands in hers as if 
 she had known her for ages, placed her in a seat and 
 then drew a low chair beside her for herself, while
 
 142 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 Jullen, who had regained all his old refinement during 
 the last five months, smiled and chatted in an easy, 
 familiar way. The comtesse and he talked about the 
 rides they had had together. She laughed a little at 
 his bad horsemanship, and called him " The Tottering 
 Knight," and he too laughed, calling her in return 
 *' The Amazon Queen." 
 
 A gun went off just under the window, and Jeanne 
 gave a little cry. It was the comte shooting teal, and 
 his wife called him in. There was the splash of oars, 
 the grating of a boat against the stone steps and then 
 the comte came In, followed by two dogs of a reddish 
 hue, which lay down on the carpet before the door, 
 while the water dripped from their shaggy coats. 
 
 The comte seemed more at his ease in his own house, 
 and was delighted to see the vicomte and Jeanne. He 
 ordered the fire to be made up, and Madeira and bis- 
 cuits to be brought. 
 
 " Of course you will dine with us," he exclaimed. 
 
 Jeanne refused the Invitation, thinking of Paul; and 
 as he pressed her to stay and she still persisted In her 
 refusal, Jullen made a movement of impatience. Then 
 afraid of arousing her husband's quarrelsome temper,. 
 she consented to stay, though the Idea of not seeing 
 Paul till the next day was torture to her. 
 
 They spent a delightful afternoon. First of all the 
 visitors were taken to see the springs which flowed from 
 the foot of a moss-covered rock into a crystal basin of 
 water which bubbled as if it were boiling, and then they 
 went in a boat among the dry reeds, where paths of 
 water had been formed by cutting down the rushes. 
 
 The comte rowed (his two dogs sitting each side of
 
 UNE VIE 14;^ 
 
 him with their noses in the air) and each vigorous stroke 
 of the oars lifted the boat half out of the water and sent 
 it rapidly on its way. Jeanne let her hand trail in the 
 water, enjoying the icy coolness, which seemed to soothe 
 her, and Julien and the comtesse, well wrapped up In 
 rugs, sat in smiling silence in the stern of the boat, as 
 if they were too happy to talk. 
 
 The evening drew on, and with It the Icy, northerly 
 wind came over the withered reeds. The sun had dis- 
 appeared behind the firs, and It made one cold only to 
 look at the crimson sky, covered with tiny, red fantastl- 
 cally-sbaped clouds. 
 
 They all went In to the big drawing-room where an 
 enormous fire was blazing. The room seemed to be 
 filled with an atmosphere of warmth and comfort, and 
 the comte gayly took up his wife In his strong arms like 
 a child, and gave her two hearty kisses on her cheeks. 
 
 Jeanne could not help smiling at this good-natured 
 giant to whom his moustaches gave the appearance of 
 an ogre. " What wrong Impressions of people one 
 forms every day," she thought; and, almost Involun- 
 tarily, she glanced at Julien. He was standing In the 
 doorway his eyes fixed on the comte and his face very 
 pale. His expression frightened her and, going up to 
 him, she asked: 
 
 " What Is the matter? are you 111? " 
 
 " There's nothing the matter with me," he answered, 
 churlishly. " Leave me alone. I only feel cold." 
 
 Dinner was announced and the comte begged permis- 
 sion for his dogs to come Into the dining-room. They 
 came and sat one on each side of their master, who every 
 minute threw them some scrap of food. The animals
 
 144 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 stretched out their heads, and wagged their tails, quiv- 
 ering with pleasure as he drew their long silky ears 
 through his fingers. 
 
 After dinner, when Jeanne and Julien began to say 
 good-bye, the comte insisted on their staying to see some 
 fishing by torchlight. They and the comtesse stood on 
 the steps leading down to the lake, while the comte got 
 into his boat with a servant carrying a lighted torch and 
 a net. The torch cast strange trembling reflections over 
 the water, its dancing glimmers even lighting up the 
 firs beyond the reeds; and suddenly, as the boat turned 
 round, an enormous fantastic shadow was thrown on 
 the background of the illumined wood. It was the 
 shadow of a man, but the head rose above the trees and 
 was lost against the dark sky, while the feet seemed to 
 be down in the lake. This huge creature raised its 
 arms as if it would grasp the stars; the movement was a 
 rapid one, and the spectators on the steps heard a little 
 splash. 
 
 The boat tacked a little, and the gigantic shadow 
 seemed to run along the wood, which was lighted up as 
 the torch moved with the boat; then it was lost in the 
 darkness, then reappeared on the chateau wall, smaller, 
 but more distinct; and the loud voice of the comte was 
 heard exclaiming: 
 
 " Gilberte, I have caught eight! " 
 
 The oars splashed, and the enormous shadow re- 
 mained standing in the same place on the wall, but grad- 
 ually it became thinner and shorter; the head seemed 
 to sink lower and the body to get narrower, and when 
 M. de Fourville came up the steps, followed by the 
 servant carrying the torch, it was reduced to his exact
 
 UNE VIE 145 
 
 proportions, and faithfully copied all his movements. 
 In the net he had eight big fish which were still quiv- 
 ering. 
 
 As Jeanne and Julien were driving home, well 
 wrapped up in cloaks and rugs which the Fourvilles had 
 lent them, 
 
 " What a good-hearted man that giant is," said 
 Jeanne, almost to herself. 
 
 "Yes," answered Julien; "but he makes too much 
 show of his affection, sometimes, before people." 
 
 A week after their visit to the Fourvilles, they called 
 on the Couteliers, who w'ere supposed to be the highest 
 family in the province, and whose estate lay near Cany, 
 The new chateau, built in the reign of Louis XIV, lay 
 In a magnificent park, entirely surrounded by w'alls, and 
 the ruins of the old chateau could be seen from the 
 higher parts of the grounds. 
 
 A liveried servant showed the visitors into a large, 
 handsome room. In the middle of the floor an enor- 
 mous Sevres vase stood on a pedestal, Into which a crys- 
 tal case had been let containing the king's autograph 
 letter, offering this gift to the Marquis Leopold Herve 
 Joseph Germer de Varnevllle, de Rollebosc de Coute- 
 lier. Jeanne and Julien were looking at this royal pres- 
 ent when the marquis and marquise came In, the latter 
 wearing her hair powdered. 
 
 The marquise thought her rank constrained her to 
 
 be amiable, and her desire to appear condescending 
 
 made her affected. Her husband was a big man, with 
 
 white hair brushed straight up all over his head, and a 
 
 haughtiness in his voice, in all his movements. In his 
 
 every attitude which plainly showed the esteem in 
 V— 10
 
 146 A WOiMAN'S LIFE 
 
 which he held himself. They were people who had a 
 strict etiquette for everything, and whose feelings 
 seemed always stilted, like their words. 
 
 They both talked on without waiting for an answer, 
 smiled with an air of indifference, and behaved as if 
 they were accomplishing a duty imposed upon them by 
 their superior birth, in receiving the smaller nobles of 
 the province with such politeness. Jeanne and Julien 
 tried to make themselves agreeable, though they felt 
 ill at ease, and when the time came to conclude their 
 visit they hardly knew how to retire, though they did 
 not want to stay any longer. However, the marquise, 
 herself, ended the visit naturally and simply by stopping 
 short the conversation, like a queen ending an audience. 
 
 " I don't think we will call on anyone else, unless you 
 want to," said Julien, as they were going back. " The 
 Fourvilles are quite as many friends as I want." 
 
 And Jeanne agreed with him. 
 
 Dark, dreary December passed slowly away. Every- 
 one stayed at home like the winter before, but Jeanne's 
 thoughts were too full of Paul for her ever to feel dull. 
 She would hold him in her arms covering him with those 
 passionate kisses which mothers lavish on their children, 
 then offering the baby's face to his father : 
 
 " Why don't you kiss him? " she would say. " You 
 hardly seem to love him." 
 
 Julien would just touch the infant's smooth forehead 
 with his lips, holding his body as far away as possible, 
 as If he were afraid of the little hands touching him in 
 their aimless movements. Then he would go quickly 
 out of the room, almost as though the child disgusted 
 him. 
 
 The mayor, the doctor, and the cure came to dinner
 
 UNE VIE 147 
 
 occasionally, and sometimes the Fourvilles, who had be- 
 come very intimate with Jeanne and her husband. The 
 comte seemed to worship Paul. He nursed the child 
 on his knees from the time he entered Les Peuples to 
 the time he left, sometimes holding him the whole after- 
 noon, and it was marvelous to see how delicately and 
 tenderly he touched him with his huge hands. He 
 would tickle the child's nose with the ends of his long 
 moustaches, and then suddenly cover his face with 
 kisses almost as passionate as Jeanne's. It was the 
 great trouble of his life that he had no children. 
 
 March was bright, dry, and almost mild. The 
 Comtesse Gilberte again proposed that they should all 
 four go for some rides together, and Jeanne, a little 
 tired of the long weary evenings and the dull, monoto- 
 nous days, was only too pleased at the idea and agreed 
 to it at once. It took her a week to make her riding- 
 habit, and then they commenced their rides. 
 
 They always rode two and two, the comtesse and 
 Julien leading the way, and the comte and Jeanne about 
 a hundred feet behind. The latter couple talked easily 
 and quietly as they rode along, for, each attracted by 
 the other's straightforward ways and kindly heart, they 
 had become fast friends. Julien and the comtesse 
 talked in whispers alternated by noisy bursts of laugh- 
 ter, and looked in each other's eyes to read there the 
 things their lips did not utter, and often they would 
 break into a gallop, as if impelled by a desire to escape 
 alone to some country far away. 
 
 Sometimes it seemed as if something irritated Gil- 
 berte. Her sharp tones would be borne on the breeze 
 to the ears of the couple loitering behind, and the comte 
 would say to Jeanne, with a smile :
 
 148 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 " I don't think my wife got out of bed the right side 
 this morning." 
 
 One evening, as they were returning home, the com- 
 tesse began to spur her mare, and then pull her in with 
 sudden jerks on the rein. 
 
 " Take care, or she'll run away wuth you," said Julien 
 two or three times. 
 
 " So much the worse for me; it's nothing to do with 
 you," she replied, in such cold, hard tones that the clear 
 words rang out over the fields as if they were actually 
 floating in the air. 
 
 The mare reared, kicked, and foamed at the mouth, 
 and the comte cried out anxiously : 
 
 " Do take care what you are doing, Gilberte ! " 
 
 Then, in a fit of defiance, for she was in one of those 
 obstinate moods that will brook no word of advice, she 
 brought her whip heavily down between the animal's 
 ears. The mare reared, beat the air with her fore legs 
 for a moment, then,, with a tremendous bound, set off 
 over the plain at the top of her speed. First she crossed 
 a meadow, then some ploughed fields, kicking up the 
 wet heavy soil behind her, and going at such a speed 
 that in a few moments the others could hardly distin- 
 guish the comtesse from her horse. 
 
 Julien stood stock still, crying: "Madame! Ma- 
 dame! " The comte gave a groan, and, bending down 
 over his powerful steed, galloped after his wife. He 
 encouraged his steed with voice and hand, urged it on 
 with whip and spur, and it seemed as though he carried 
 the big animal between his legs, and raised it from the 
 ground at every leap it took. The horse went at an 
 inconceivable speed, keeping a straight line regardless 
 of all obstacles; and Jeanne could see the two outlines
 
 UNE VIE 149 
 
 of the husband and wife diminish and fade in the dis- 
 tance, till they vanished altogether, like two birds chas- 
 ing each other till they are lost to sight beyond the 
 horizon. 
 
 Julien walked his horse up to his wife, murmuring 
 angrily: " She is mad to-day." And they both went 
 off after their friends, who were hidden in a dip in the 
 plain. In about a quarter of an hour they saw them 
 coming back, and soon they came up to them. 
 
 The comte, looking red, hot and triumphant, was 
 leading his wife's horse. The comtesse was very pale; 
 her features looked drawn and contracted, and she leant 
 on her husband's shoulder as if she were going to faint. 
 That day Jeanne understood, for the first time, how 
 madly the comte loved his wife. 
 
 All through the following month the comtesse was 
 merrier than she had ever been before. She came to 
 Les Peuples as often as she could, and was always laugh- 
 ing and jumping up to kiss Jeanne. She seemed to have 
 found some unknown source of happiness, and her hus- 
 band simply worshiped her now, following her about 
 with his eyes and seeking ev^ery pretext for touching her 
 hand or her dress. 
 
 " We are happier now than we have ever been be- 
 fore," he said, one evening, to Jeanne. " Gilberte has 
 never been so affectionate as she is now; nothing seems 
 to vex her or make her angry. Until lately I was never 
 quite sure that she loved me, but now I know she does." 
 
 Julien had changed for the better also; he had be- 
 come gay and good-tempered, and their friendship 
 seemed to have brought peace and happiness to both 
 families. 
 
 The spring v/as exceptionally warm and forward.
 
 I50 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 The sun cast his warm rays upon the budding trees and 
 flowers from early morn until the sweet, soft evening. 
 It was one of those favored years when the world seems 
 to have grown young again, and nature to delight in 
 bringing everything to life once more. 
 
 Jeanne felt a vague excitement in the presence of this 
 reawakening of the fields and woods. She gave way to 
 a sweet melancholy and spent hours languidly dream- 
 ing. All the tender incidents of her first hours of love 
 came back to her, not that any renewal of affection for 
 her husband stirred her heart; that had been completely 
 destroyed; but the soft breeze which fanned her cheek 
 and the sweet perfume which filled the air seemed to 
 breathe forth a tender sigh of love which made her 
 pulse beat quicker. She liked to be alone, and in the 
 warm sunshine, to enjoy these vague, peaceful sensations 
 which aroused no thoughts. 
 
 One morning she was lying thus half-dormant, when 
 suddenly she saw in her mind that sunlit space in the 
 little wood near Etretat where for the first time she had 
 felt thrilled by the presence of the man who loved her 
 then, where he had for the first time timidly hinted 
 at his hopes, and where she had believed that she was 
 going to realize the radiant future of her dreams. She 
 thought she should like to make a romantic, supersti- 
 tious pilgrimage to the wood, and she felt as if a visit 
 to that sunny spot would in some way alter the course 
 of her life. 
 
 Julien had gone out at daybreak, she did not know 
 whither, so she ordered the Martins' little white horse, 
 which she sometimes rode, to be saddled, and set off. 
 
 It was one of those calm days when there is not a leaf 
 nor a blade of grass stirring. The wind seemed dead,
 
 UNE VIE 151 
 
 and everything looked as though it would remain mo- 
 tionless until the end of time; even the insects had dis- 
 appeared. A burning, steady heat descended from the 
 sun in a golden mist, and Jeanne walked her horse along, 
 enjoying the stillness, and every now and then looking 
 up at a tiny white cloud which hung like a snowy fleece 
 in the midst of the bright blue sky. She went down 
 into the valley leading to the sea, between the two great 
 arches which are called the gates of Etretat, and went 
 slowly towards the wood. 
 
 The sunlight poured down through the foliage which, 
 as yet, was not very thick, and Jeanne wandered along 
 the little paths unable to find the spot where she had sat 
 with Julien. She turned into a long alley and, at the 
 other end of it, saw two saddle-horses fastened to a tree; 
 she recognized them at once; they were Gilberte's and 
 Julien's. Tired of being alone and pleased at this un- 
 expected meeting, she trotted quickly up to them, and 
 when she reached the two animals, which were waiting 
 quietly as if accustomed to stand like this, she called 
 aloud. There was no answer. 
 
 On the. grass, which looked as if someone had rested 
 there, lay a w^oman's glove and two whips. Julien and 
 Gilberte had evidently sat down and then gone farther 
 on, leaving the horses tied to the tree. Jeanne won- 
 dered what they could be doing, and getting off her 
 horse, she leant against the trunk of a tree and waited 
 for a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes. She stood 
 quite motionless, and two little birds flew down onto the 
 grass close by her. One of them hopped round the 
 other, fluttering his outstretchec wings, and chlrpmg and 
 nodding his little head; all at once they coupled. 
 Jeanne watched them, as surprised as if she had never
 
 152 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 known of such a thing before ; then she thought : " Oh, 
 of course! It is springtime." 
 
 Then came another thought — a suspicion. She 
 looked again at the glove, the whips and the two horses 
 standing riderless ; then she sprang on her horse with an 
 intense longing to leave this place. She started back 
 to Les Peuples at a gallop. Her brain was busy rea- 
 soning, connecting different incidents and thinking it all 
 out. 
 
 How was it that she had never noticed anything, had 
 never guessed this before? How was It that Julien's 
 frequent absence from home, his renewed attention to 
 his toilet, his better temper had told her nothing? Now 
 she understood Gilberte's nervous irritability, her ex- 
 aggerated affection for herself and the bliss In which 
 she had appeared to be living lately, and which had so 
 pleased the comte. 
 
 She pulled up her horse for she wanted to think 
 calmly, and the quick movement confused her Ideas. 
 After the first shock she became almost Indifferent; she 
 felt neither jealousy nor hatred, only contempt. She 
 did not think about Jullen at all, for nothing that he 
 could do w^ould have astonished her, but the twofold 
 treachery of the comtesse, who had deceived her friend 
 as well as her husband, hurt her deeply. So everyone 
 was treacherous, and untrue and faithless ! Her eyes 
 filled with tears, for sometimes It Is as bitter to see an 
 Illusion destroyed as to witness the death of a friend. 
 She resolved to say nothing more about her discovery. 
 Her heart would be dead to everyone but Paul and her 
 parents, but she would bear a smiling face. 
 
 When she reached home she caught up her son In her 
 arms, carried him to her room and pressed her lips to
 
 UNE VIE 153 
 
 his face again and again, and for a whole hour she 
 played with and caressed him. 
 
 Julien came in to dinner in a very good temper and 
 full of plans for his wife's pleasure. 
 
 " Won't your father and mother come and stay with 
 us this year? " he said. 
 
 Jeanne almost forgave him his infidelity, so grateful 
 was she to him for making this proposal. She longed 
 to see the two people she loved best after Paul, and she 
 passed the whole evening in writing to them, and urg- 
 ing them to come as soon as possible. 
 
 They wrote to say they would come on the twentieth 
 of May; it was then the seventh, and Jeanne awaited 
 their arrival with intense impatience. Besides her natu- 
 ral desire to see her parents, she felt it would be such a 
 relief to have near her two honest hearts, two simple- 
 minded beings whose life and every action, thought and 
 desire had always been upright and pure. She felt she 
 stood alone in her honesty among all this guilt. She 
 had learnt to dissimulate her feelings, to meet the com- 
 tesse with an outstretched hand and a smiling face, but 
 her sense of desolation increased with her contempt for 
 her fellow-men. 
 
 Every day some village scandal reached her ears 
 which filled her with still greater disgust and scorn for 
 human frailty. The Couillards' daughter had just had 
 a child and was therefore going to be married. The 
 Martins' servant, who was an orphan, a little girl only 
 fifteen years old, who lived near, and a widow, a lame, 
 poverty-stricken woman who was so horribly dirty that 
 she had been nicknamed La Crotte, were all pregnant; 
 and Jeanne was continually hearing of the misconduct 
 of some girl, some married woman with a family, or of
 
 154 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 some rich farmer who had been held in general respect. 
 
 This warm spring seemed to revive the passions of 
 mankind as it revived the plants and the flowers; but 
 to Jeanne, whose senses were dead, and whose wounded 
 heart and romantic soul were alone stirred by the warm 
 springtide breezes, and who only dreamed of the poetic 
 side of love, these bestial desires were revolting and 
 hateful. She was angry with Gilberte, not for having 
 robbed her of her husband, but for having bespattered 
 herself with this filth. The comtesse was not of the 
 same class as the peasants, who could not resist their 
 brutal desires ; then how could she have fallen into the 
 same abomination? 
 
 The very day that her parents were to arrive, Julien 
 Increased his wife's disgust by telling her laughingly, as 
 though it were something quite natural and very funny, 
 that the baker having heard a noise In his oven the day 
 before, which was not baking day, had gone to see what 
 it was, and instead of finding the stray cat he ex- 
 pected to see, had surprised his wife, " who was cer- 
 tainly not putting bread into the oven." " The baker 
 closed the mouth of the oven," went on Julien, " and 
 they would have been suffocated if the baker's little boy, 
 who had seen his mother go into the oven with the 
 blacksmith, had not told the neighbors what was going 
 on." He laughed as he added, " That will give a nice 
 flavor to the bread. It is just like a tale of La Fon- 
 tame s. 
 
 For some time after that Jeanne could not touch 
 bread. 
 
 ' When the post-chaise drew up before the door with 
 the baron's smiling face looking out of the window,
 
 UNE VIE 155 
 
 Jeanne felt fonder of her parents and more pleased to 
 see them than she had ever been before; but when she 
 saw her mother she was overcome with surprise and 
 grief. The baroness looked ten years older than when 
 she had left Les Peuples six months before. Her huge, 
 flabby cheeks were suffused with blood, her eyes had a 
 glazed look, and she could not move a step unless she 
 was supported on either side; she drew her breath with 
 so much difficulty that only to hear her made everyone 
 around her draw theirs painfully also. 
 
 The baron, who had lived with her and seen her ev^ery 
 day, had not noticed the gradual change in his wife, and 
 if she had complained or said her breathing and the 
 heavy feeling about her heart were getting worse, he 
 had answered: 
 
 " Oh, no, my dear. You have always been like this." 
 
 Jeanne went to her own room and cried bitterly when 
 she had taken her parents upstairs. Then she went to 
 her father and, throwing herself in his arms, said, with 
 her eyes still full of tears : 
 
 " Oh, how changed mother is! What is the matter 
 with her? Do tell me what is the matter with her? " 
 
 " Do you think she is changed? " asked the baron in 
 surprise. " It must be your fancy. You know I have 
 been with her all this time, and to me she seems just the 
 same as she has always been; she is not any worse." 
 
 " Your mother is in a bad way," said Julien to his 
 wife that evening. " I don't think she's good for much 
 now." 
 
 Jeanne burst into tears. 
 
 " Oh, good gracious! " went on Julien irritably. " I 
 don't say that she is dangerously ill. You always see so
 
 156 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 much more than is meant. She is changed, that's all; 
 it's only natural she should begin to break up at her 
 age." 
 
 In a week Jeanne had got accustomed to her mother's 
 altered appearance and thought no more about it, thrust- 
 ing her fears from her, as people always do put aside 
 their fears and cares, with an instinctive and natural, 
 though selfish dislike of anything unpleasant. 
 
 The baroness, unable to walk, only went out for about 
 half an hour every day. When she had gone once up 
 and down " her " avenue, she could not move another 
 step and asked to sit down on " her " seat. Some days 
 she could not walk even to the end of the avenue, and 
 would say: 
 
 " Let us stop; my hypertrophy is too much for me 
 to-day." 
 
 She never laughed as she used to; things which, the 
 year before, would have sent her into fits of laughter, 
 only brought a faint smile to her lips now. Her eye- 
 sight was still excellent, and she passed her time in read- 
 ing Corinne and Lamartine's Meditations over again, 
 and in going through her " Souvenir-drawer." She 
 would empty on her knees the old letters, which were so 
 dear to her heart, place the drawer on a chair beside 
 her, look slowly over each " relic," and then put it back 
 in its place. When she was quite alone she kissed some 
 of the letters as she might have kissed the hair of some 
 loved one who was dead. 
 
 Jeanne, coming into the room suddenly, sometimes 
 found her in tears. 
 
 "What is the matter, mamma, dear?" she would 
 ask. 
 
 " My souvenirs have upset me," the baroness would
 
 UNE VIE 157 
 
 answer, with a long-drawn sigh. " They bring to my 
 mind so vividly the happy times which are all over now, 
 and make me think of people whom I had almost for- 
 gotten. I seem to see them, to hear their voices, and it 
 makes me sad. You will feel the same, later on." 
 
 If the baron came In and found them talking like this, 
 he would say : 
 
 " Jeanne, my dear, if you take my advice, you will 
 burn all your letters — those from your mother, mine, 
 everyone's. There Is nothing more painful than to stir 
 up the memories of one's youth when one Is old." 
 
 But Jeanne, who had Inherited her mother's senti- 
 mental instincts, though she differed from her In nearly 
 ever}'thing else, carefully kept all her old letters to form 
 a " souvenir-box " for her old age, also. 
 
 A few days after his arrival, business called the baron 
 away again. The baroness soon began to get better, 
 and Jeanne, forgetting Julien's Infidelity and Gilberte's 
 treachery, was almost perfectly happy. The weather 
 was splendid. Mild, starlit nights followed the soft 
 evenings, and dazzling sunrises commenced the glorious 
 days. The fields were covered with bright, sweet- 
 smelling flowers, and the vast calm sea glittered In the 
 sun from morning till night. 
 
 One afternoon Jeanne went Into the fields with Paul 
 In her arms. She felt an exquisite gladness as she 
 looked now at her son, now at the flowery hedgerows, 
 and every minute she pressed her baby closely to her 
 and kissed him. The earth exhaled a faint perfume, 
 and, as she walked along, she felt as though her happi- 
 ness were too great for her. Then she thought of her 
 child's future. What would he be? Sometimes she 
 hoped he would become a great and famous man.
 
 158 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 Sometimes she felt she would rather he remanied with 
 her, passing his hfe in tender devotion to his mother and 
 unknown to the world. When she listened to the 
 promptings of her mother's heart, she wished him to 
 remain simply her adored son; but when she listened to 
 her reason and her pride she hoped he would make a 
 name and become something of importance in the world. 
 
 She sat down at the edge of a ditch and studied the 
 child's face as if she had never really looked at it before. 
 It seemed so strange to think that this little baby would 
 grow up, and walk with manly strides, that these soft 
 cheeks would become bearded, and the feeble murmur 
 change to a deep-toned voice. 
 
 Someone called her, and, looking up, she saw Marius 
 running towards her. Thinking he had come to an- 
 nounce some visitor, she got up, feeling vexed at being 
 disturbed. The boy was running as fast as his legs 
 could carry him. 
 
 " Madame ! " he cried, when he was near enough to 
 be heard. " Madame la baronne is very ill." 
 
 Jeanne ran quickly towards the house, feeling as if 
 a douche of cold water had been poured down her spine. 
 There was quite a little crowd standing under the plane 
 tree, which opened to let her through as she rushed for- 
 ward. There, in the midst, lay the baroness on the 
 ground, her head supported by two pillows, her face 
 black, her eyes closed, and her chest, which for the last 
 tw^enty years had heaved so tumultuously, motionless. 
 The child's nurse was standing there; she took him 
 from his mother's arms, and carried him away. 
 
 "How did it happen? What made her fall?" 
 asked Jeanne, looking up with haggard eyes. " Send 
 for the doctor immediately."
 
 UNE VIE 159 
 
 As she turned she saw the cure ; he at once offered his 
 services, and, turning up his sleeves, began to rub the 
 baroness with Eau de Cologne and vinegar; but she 
 showed no signs of returning consciousness. 
 
 " She ought to be undressed and put to bed," said 
 the priest; and, with his aid, Joseph Couillard, old 
 Simon and Ludivine tried to raise the baroness. 
 
 x^s they lifted her, her head fell backwards, and her 
 dress, which they were grasping, gave way under the 
 dead weight of her huge body. They were obliged to 
 lay her down again, and Jeanne shrieked with horror. 
 
 At last an armchair was brought from the drawing- 
 room ; the baroness was placed in it, carried slowly in- 
 doors, then upstairs, and laid on the bed. The cook 
 was undressing her as best she could when the Widow 
 Dentu came in, as if, like the priest, she had " smelt 
 death," as the servants said. Joseph Couillard hurried 
 off for the doctor, and the priest was going to fetch the 
 holy oil, when the nurse whispered in his ear: 
 
 " You needn't trouble to go. Monsieur le cure. I 
 have seen too much of death not to know that she is 
 gone." 
 
 Jeanne, in desperation, begged them to tell her what 
 she could do, what remedies they had better apply. 
 The cure thought that anyhow he might pronounce an 
 absolution, and for two hours they watched beside the 
 lifeless, livid body, Jeanne, unable to contain her grief, 
 sobbing aloud as she knelt beside the bed. When the 
 door opened to admit the doctor, she thought that with 
 him came safety and consolation and hope, and she 
 rushed to meet him, trying to tell him, in a voice broken 
 with sobs, all the details of the catastrophe. 
 
 " She was walking — like she does every day — and
 
 i6o A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 she seemed quite well, better even — than usual. She 
 had eaten some soup and two eggs for lunch, and — 
 quite suddenly, without any warning she fell — and 
 turned black, like she is now ; she has not moved since, 
 and we have — tried everything to restore her to con- 
 sciousness — everything — " 
 
 She stopped abruptly for she saw the nurse making 
 a sign to the doctor to intimate that it was all over. 
 Then she refused to understand the gesture, and went 
 on anxiously: 
 
 " Is it anything serious? Do you think there is any 
 danger? " 
 
 He answered at last : 
 
 " I very much fear that — that life is extinct. Be 
 brave and try to bear up." 
 
 For an answer Jeanne opened her arms, and threw 
 herself on her mother's body. Julien came in. He 
 made no sign of grief or pity, but stood looking simply 
 vexed; he had been taken too much by surprise to at 
 once assume an expression of sorrow. 
 
 " I expected it," he whispered. " I knew she could 
 not live long." 
 
 He drew out his handkerchief, wiped his eyes, knelt 
 down and crossed himself as he mumbled something, 
 then rose and attempted to raise his wife. She was 
 clinging to the corpse, almost lying on it as she passion- 
 ately kissed it; they had to drag her away for she was 
 nearly mad with grief, and she was not allowed to go 
 back for an hour. 
 
 Then every shadow of hope had vanished, and the 
 room had been arranged fittingly for its dead occupant. 
 The day was drawing to a close, and Julien and the 
 priest were standing near one of the windows, talking
 
 UNE VIE i6i 
 
 in whispers. The Widow Dentu, thoroughly accus- 
 tomed to death, was ah-eady comfortably dozing in an 
 armchair. The cure went to meet Jeanne as she came 
 into the room, and taking both her hands in his, he ex- 
 horted her to be brave under this sorrow, and attempted 
 to comfort her with the consolation of religion. Then 
 he spoke of her dead mother's good life, anci offered to 
 pass the night In prayers beside the body. 
 
 But Jeanne refused this offer as well as she could for 
 her tears. She wanted to be alone, quite alone, Nvith 
 her mother this last night. 
 
 " That cannot be," interposed Julien; " we will watch 
 beside her together." 
 
 She shook her head, unable to speak for some mo- 
 ments; then she said: 
 
 " She was my mother, and I want to watch beside 
 her alone." 
 
 "Let her do as she wants," whispered the doctor; 
 *' the nurse can stay in the next room," and Julien anci 
 the priest, thinking of their night's rest, gave in. 
 
 The Abbe Picot knelt down, prayed for a few mo- 
 ments, then rose and went out of the room, saying, " She 
 was a saintly woman," in the same tone as he always 
 said, " Dominus vobiscum." 
 
 " Won't you have some dinner? " asked the vicomte 
 in a perfectly ordinary voice. 
 
 Jeanne, not thinking he was speaking to her, made 
 no answer. 
 
 " You would feel much better If you would eat some- 
 thing," he went on again. 
 
 " Let someone go for papa, directly," she said as if 
 she had not heard what he said; and he went out of the 
 room to dispatch a mounted messenger to Rouen. 
 
 V— 11
 
 1 62 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 Jeanne sank into a sort of stupor, as if she were wait- 
 ing to give way to her passion of regret until she should 
 be alone with her mother. The room became filled 
 with shadows. The Widow Dentu moved noiselessly 
 about, arranging everything for the night, and at last 
 lighted two candles which she placed at the head of 
 the bed on a small table covered with a white cloth. 
 Jeanne seemed unconscious of everything; she was wait- 
 ing until she should be alone. 
 
 When he had dined, Julien came upstairs again and 
 asked for the second time : 
 
 " Won't you have something to eat? " 
 His wife shook her head, and he sat down looking 
 more resigned than sad, and did not say anything more. 
 They all three sat apart from one another; the nurse 
 dropped off to sleep every now and then, snored for a 
 little while, then awoke with a start. After some time 
 Julien rose and went over to his wife. 
 
 " Do you still want to be left alone? " he asked. 
 She eagerly took his hand in hers: " Oh, yes; do 
 leave me," she answered. 
 
 He kissed her on the forehead, whispered, " I shall 
 come and see you during the night," then went away 
 with the Widow Dentu, who wheeled her armchair into 
 the next room. 
 
 Jeanne closed the door and put both windows wide 
 open. A warm breeze, laden with the sweet smell of 
 the hay, blew into the room, and on the lawn, which 
 had been mown the day before, she could see the heaps 
 of dry grass lying in the moonlight. She turned away 
 from the window and went back to the bed, for the soft, 
 beautiful night seemed to mock her grief. 
 
 Her mother was no longer swollen as she had been
 
 UNE VIE 163 
 
 when she died; she looked simply asleep, only her sleep 
 was more peaceful than it had ever been before; the 
 wind made the candles flicker, and the changing shad- 
 ows made the dead face look as though It moved and 
 lived again. As Jeanne gazed at it the memories of 
 her early childhood came crowding Into her mind. She 
 could see again her mother sitting In the convent parlor, 
 holding out the bag of cakes she had brought for her 
 little girl; she thought of all her little ways, her affec- 
 tionate words, the way she used to move, the wrinkles 
 that came round her eyes when she laughed, the deep 
 sigh she always heaved when she sat down, and all her 
 little, daily habits, and as she stood gazing at the dead 
 body she kept repeating, almost mechanically: "She 
 is dead; she Is dead;" until at last she realized all the 
 horror of that word. 
 
 The woman who was lying there — mamma — little 
 mother — Madame Adelaide, was dead ! She would 
 never move, never speak, never laugh, never say, 
 "Good morning, Jeannette " ; never sit opposite her 
 husband at the dinner table again. She was dead. 
 She would be enclosed In a coffin, placed beneath the 
 ground, and that would be the end; they would never 
 see her again. It could not be possible ! What! She, 
 her daughter, had now no mother! Had she Indeed 
 lost for ever this dear face, the first she had ever looked 
 upon, the first she had ever loved, this kindly loving 
 mother, whose place In her heart could never be filled? 
 And In a few hours even this still, unconscious face 
 would have vanished, and then there would be nothing 
 left her but a memory. She fell on her knees In despair, 
 wringing her hands and pressing her lips to the bed. 
 " Oh, mother, mother! My darling mother! " she
 
 1 64 A WOiMAN'S LIFE 
 
 cried, in a broken voice which was stifled by the bed- 
 covering. 
 
 She felt she was going mad; mad, like the night she 
 had fled into the snow. She rushed to the window to 
 breathe the fresh air which had not passed over the 
 corpse or the bed on which it lay. The new-mown hay, 
 the trees, the waste land and the distant sea lay peace- 
 fully sleeping in the moonlight, and the tears welled up 
 into Jeanne's eyes as she looked out into the clear, calm 
 night. She went back to her seat by the bedside and 
 held her mother's dead hand in hers, as if she were 
 lying ill instead of dead. Attracted by the lighted can- 
 dles, a big, winged insect had entered through the open 
 window and was flying about the room, dashing against 
 the wall at every moment with a faint thud. It dis- 
 turbed Jeanne, and she looked up to see where it was, 
 but she could only see its shadow moving over the white 
 ceiling. 
 
 Its buzzing suddenly ceased, and then, besides the 
 regular ticking of the clock, Jeanne noticed another 
 fainter rustling noise. It was the ticking of her moth- 
 er's watch, which had been forgotten when her dress 
 had been taken off and thrown at the foot of the bed, 
 and the idea of this little piece of mechanism still mov- 
 ing while her mother lay dead, sent a fresh pang of an- 
 guish through her heart. She looked at the time. It 
 was hardly half-past ten, and as she thought of the long 
 night to come, she was seized with a horrible dread, 
 
 She began to think of her own life — of Rosalie, of 
 Gilberte — of all her illusions which had been, one by 
 one, so cruelly destroyed. Life contained nothing but 
 misery and pain, misfortune and death; there was noth- 
 ing true, nothing honest, nothing but what gave rise to
 
 UNE VIE 165 
 
 suffering and tears. Repose and happiness could only 
 be expected in another existence, when the soul had been 
 delivered from its early trials. Her thoughts turned 
 to the unfathomable mystery of the soul, but, as she 
 reasoned about it, her poetic theories were invariably 
 upset by others, just as poetic and just as unreal. 
 Where was now her mother's soul, the soul which had 
 forsaken this still, cold body? Perhaps it was far 
 away, floating in space. But had it entirely vanished 
 like the perfume from a withered flower, or was it wan- 
 dering like some invisible bird freed from its cage? 
 Had it returned to God, or was it scattered among the 
 new germs of creation? It might be very near; per- 
 haps in this very room, hovering around the inanimate 
 body it had left, and at this thought Jeanne fancied she 
 felt a breath, as if a spirit had passed by her. Her 
 blood ran cold with terror ; she did not dare turn round 
 to look behind her, and she sat motionless, her heart 
 beating wildly. 
 
 At that moment the invisible insect again commenced 
 its buzzing, noisy flight, and Jeanne trembled from head 
 to foot at the sound. Then, as she recognized the 
 noise, she felt a little reassured, and rose and looked 
 around. Her eyes fell on the escritoire with the 
 sphinxes' heads, the guardian of the " souvenirs." As 
 she looked at it she thought it would be fulfilling a sa- 
 cred, filial duty, which would please her mother as she 
 looked down on her from another world, to read these 
 letters, as she might have done a holy book during this 
 last watch. 
 
 She knew it was the correspondence of her grand- 
 father and grandmother, whom she had never known; 
 and it seemed as if her hands would join theirs across
 
 1 66 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 her mother's corpse, and so a sacred chain of affection 
 would be formed between those who had died so long 
 ago, their daughter who had but just joined them, and 
 her child who was still on earth. 
 
 She opened the escritoire and took out the letters; 
 they had been carefully tied into ten little packets, which 
 were laid side by side in the lowest drawer. A refine- 
 ment of sentimentality prompted her to place them all 
 on the bed in the baroness's arms; then she began to 
 read. 
 
 They were old-fashioned letters with the perfume of 
 another century about them, such as are treasured up in 
 every family. The first commenced " My dearie " ; 
 another "My little darling"; then came some begin- 
 ning " My pet " — " My beloved daughter," then 
 " My dear child "— " My dear Adelaide "— " My dear 
 daughter," the commencements varying as the letters 
 had been addressed to the child, the young girl, and, 
 later on, to the young wife. They were all full of fool- 
 ish, loving phrases, and news about a thousand insig- 
 nificant, homely events, which, to a stranger, would have 
 seemed too trivial to mention: " Father has an influ- 
 enza; Hortense has burnt her finger; Croquerat, the cat, 
 is dead; the fir tree which stood on the right-hand side 
 of the gate has been cut down; mother lost her mass 
 book as she was coming home from church, she thinks 
 someone must have stolen it," and they talked about 
 people whom Jeanne had never known, but whose names 
 were vaguely familiar to her. 
 
 She was touched by these simple details which seemed 
 to reveal all her mother's life and inmost thoughts to 
 her. She looked at the corpse as it lay there, and sud- 
 denly she began to read the letters aloud, as though to
 
 UNE VIE 167 
 
 console and gladden the dead heart once more; and a 
 smile of happiness seemed to light up the face. As she 
 finished reading them, Jeanne threw the letters on the 
 foot of the bed, resolving to place them all in her 
 mother's coffin. 
 
 She untied another packet. These were in another 
 handwriting, and the first ran thus : 
 
 " I cannot live without your kisses. I love you 
 madly." 
 
 There was nothing more, not even a signature. 
 Jeanne turned the paper over, unable to understand it. 
 It was addressed clearly enough to " Madame la bar- 
 onne Le Perthuis des Vauds." 
 
 She opened the next : 
 
 " Come to-night as soon as he has gone out. We 
 shall have at least one hour together. I adore you." 
 
 A third: 
 
 " I have passed a night of longing and anguish. I 
 fancied you In my arms, your mouth quivering beneath 
 mine, your eyes looking into my eyes. And then I 
 could have dashed myself from the window, as I 
 thought that, at that very moment, you were sleeping 
 beside him, at the mercy of his caresses." 
 
 Jeanne stopped In amazement. What did It all 
 mean? To whom were these words of love addressed? 
 She read on, finding In every letter the same distracted 
 phrases, the same assignations, the same cautions, and,
 
 1 68 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 at the end, always the five words : " Above all, burn 
 this letter." At last she came to an ordinary note, 
 merely accepting an invitation to dinner; it was signed 
 " Paul d'Ennemare." Why, that was the man of 
 whom the baron still spoke as " Poor old Paul," and 
 whose wife had been the baroness's dearest friend ! 
 
 Then into Jeanne's mind came a suspicion which at 
 once changed to a certainty — he had been her moth- 
 er's lover ! With a sudden gesture of loathing, she 
 threw from her all these odious letters, as she would 
 have shaken off some venomous reptile, and, running to 
 the window, she wept bitterly. All her strength seemed 
 to have left her; she sank on the ground, and, hiding 
 her face in the curtains to stifle her moans, she sobbed 
 in an agony of despair. She would have crouched there 
 the whole night if the sound of someone moving in the 
 next room had not made her start to her feet. Per- 
 haps it was her father! And all these letters were 
 lying on the bed and on the floor ! He had only to 
 come in and open one, and he would know all ! 
 
 She seized all the old, yellow papers — her grand- 
 parents' epistles, the love letters, those she had not un- 
 folded, those that w^ere still lying in the drawer — and 
 threw them all into the fireplace. Then she took one 
 of the candles which were burning on the little table, 
 and set fire to this heap of paper. A bright flame 
 sprang up at once, lighting up the room, the bed and the 
 corpse with a bright, flickering light, and casting on the 
 white bed-curtain a dark, trembling shadow of the rigid 
 face and huge body. 
 
 When there was nothing left but a heap of ashes in 
 the bottom of the grate, Jeanne went and sat by the 
 window, as though now she dare not sit by the corpse.
 
 UNE VIE 169 
 
 The tears streamed from her eyes, and, hiding her face 
 in her hands, she moaned out in heartbroken tones: 
 *' Oh, poor mamma ! Poor mamma ! " 
 
 Then a terrible thought came to her: Suppose her 
 mother, by some strange chance, was not dead; suppose 
 she was only in a trance-like sleep and should suddenly 
 rise and speak ! Would not the knowledge of this hor- 
 rible secret lessen her, Jeanne's, love for her mother? 
 Should she be able to kiss her with the same respect, 
 and regard her with the same esteem as before? No! 
 She knew it would be impossible; and the thought al- 
 most broke her heart. 
 
 The night wore on; the stars were fading, and a cool 
 breeze sprang up. The moon was slowly sinking to- 
 wards the sea over which she was shedding her silver 
 light, and the memory of that other night she had passed 
 at the window, the night of her return from the con- 
 vent, came back to Jeanne. Ah ! how far away was 
 that happy time ! How changed everything was, and 
 w^hat a different future lay before her from what she 
 had pictured then ! Over the sky crept a faint, tender 
 tinge of pink, and the brilliant dawn seemed strange 
 and unnatural to her, as she wondered how such glori- 
 ous sunrises could illumine a world in which there was 
 no joy or happiness. 
 
 A slight sound startled her, and looking round she 
 saw Julien. ■ 
 
 " Well, are you not very tired? " he said. 
 
 " No," she answered, feeling glad that her lonely 
 vigil had come to an end. 
 
 " Now go and rest," said her husband. 
 
 She pressed a long sorrowful kiss on her mother's 
 face; then left the room.
 
 I70 A WOiMAN'S LIFE 
 
 That day passed in attending to those melancholy 
 duties that always surround a death; the baron came 
 in the evening, and cried a great deal over his wife. 
 The next day the funeral took place; Jeanne pressed her 
 lips to the clammy forehead for the last time, drew the 
 sheet once more over the still face, saw the coffin fas- 
 tened down, and then went to await the people who 
 were to attend the funeral. 
 
 Gilberte arrived first, and threw herself into Jeanne's 
 arms, sobbing violently. The carriages began to drive 
 up, and voices were heard in the hall. The room grad- 
 ually filled w^th women with whom Jeanne was not ac- 
 quainted; then the Marquise de Coutelier and the 
 Vicomtesse de Briseville arrived, and went up to her 
 and kissed her. She suddenly perceived that Aunt 
 Lison was in the room, and she gave her such an affec- 
 tionate embrace, that the old maid was nearly overcome. 
 Julien came in dressed in deep mourning; he seemed 
 very busy, and very pleased that all these people had 
 come. He whispered some question to his wife about 
 the arrangements, and added in a low tone : 
 
 " It will be a very grand funeral; all the best fami- 
 lies are here." 
 
 Then he went away again, bowing to the ladies as he 
 passed down the room. 
 
 Aunt Lison and the Comtesse Gilberte stayed with 
 Jeanne while the burial was taking place. The com- 
 tesse repeatedly kissed her, murmuring: " Poor dar- 
 ling, poor darling," and when the Comte de Fourville 
 came to take his wife home, he wept as if he had lost 
 his own mother.
 
 UNE VIE 171 
 
 X 
 
 The next few days were very sad, as they always 
 must be directly after a death. The absence of the 
 familiar face from its accustomed place makes the 
 house seem empty, and each time the eye falls on 
 anything the dear, dead one has had in constant use, a 
 fresh pang of sorrow darts through the heart. There 
 is the empty chair, the umbrella still standing in the hall, 
 the glass which the maid has not yet washed. In every 
 room there is something lying just as it was left for the 
 last time; the scissors, an odd glove, the fingered book, 
 the numberless other objects, which, insignificant in 
 themselves, become a source of sharp pain because they 
 recall so vividly the loved one who has passed away. 
 And the voice rings in one's ears till it seems almost a 
 reality, but there is no escape from the house haunted 
 by this presence, for others are suffering also, and all 
 must stay and suffer with each other. 
 
 In addition to her natural grief, Jeanne had to bear 
 the pain of her discovery. She was always thinking of 
 it, and the terrible secret increased her former sense of 
 desolation tenfold, for now she felt that she could never 
 put her trust or confidence in anyone again. 
 
 The baron soon went away, thinking to find relief 
 from the grief which was deadening all his faculties in 
 change of air and change of scene, and the household 
 at Les Peuples resumed its quiet regular life again. 
 
 Then Paul fell ill, and Jeanne passed twelve days In 
 an agony of fear, unable to sleep and scarcely touching 
 food. The boy got well, but there remained the 
 thought that he might die. What should she do if he 
 ^'d? What would become of her? Gradually there
 
 172 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 came a vague longing for another child, and soon she 
 could think of nothing else; she had always fancied she 
 should like two children, a boy and a girl, and the idea 
 of having a daughter haunted her. But since Rosalie 
 had been sent away, she had lived quite apart from her 
 husband, and at the present moment it seemed utterly 
 Impossible to renew their former relations. Julien's 
 affections were centered elsewhere; she knew that; and, 
 on her side, the mere thought of having to submit to his 
 caresses again, made her shudder with disgust. 
 
 Still, she would have overcome her repugnance (so 
 tormented was she by the desire of another child) if 
 she could have seen any way to bring about the Intimacy 
 she desired; but she would have died rather than let 
 her husband guess what was in her thoughts, and he 
 nev^er seemed to dream of approaching her now. Per- 
 haps she would have given up the idea had not each 
 night the vision of a daughter playing with Paul under 
 the plane tree appeared to her. Sometimes she felt she 
 must get up and join her husband In his room; twice, in 
 fact, she did glide to his door, but each time she came 
 back, without having turned the handle, her face burn- 
 ing with shame. 
 
 The baron was away, her mother was dead, and she 
 had no one to whom she could confide this delicate se- 
 cret. She made up her mind, at last, to tell the Abbe 
 Picot her difficulty, under the seal of confession. She 
 went to him one day and found him in his little garden, 
 reading his breviary among the fruit trees. She talked 
 to him for a few minutes about one thing and another, 
 then, " Monsieur I'abbe, I want to confess," she said, 
 with a deep blush. 
 
 He put on his spectacles to look at her better, for the
 
 UNE VIE 173 
 
 request astonished him. " I don't think you can have 
 any very heavy sins on your conscience," he said, with a 
 smile. 
 
 " No, but I want to ask your advice on a subject so — 
 so painful to enter upon, that I dare not talk about it in 
 an ordinary way," she replied, feeling very confused. 
 
 He put on his priestly air immediately. 
 
 " Very well, my daughter, come to the confessional, 
 and I will hear you there." 
 
 But she suddenly felt a scruple at talking of such 
 things in the quietness of an empty church. 
 
 " No, Monsieur le cure — after all — if you will let 
 me — I can tell you here what I want to say. See, we 
 will go and sit in your little arbor over there." 
 
 As they walked slowly over to the arbor she tried to 
 find the words in which she could best begin her confi- 
 dence. They sat down, and she commenced, as if she 
 were confessing, " My father," then hesitated, said 
 again, " My father," then stopped altogether, too 
 ashamed to continue. 
 
 The priest crossed his hands over his stomach and 
 waited for her to go on. " Well, my daughter," he 
 said, perceiving her embarrassment, " you seem afraid 
 to say what it is; come now, be brave." 
 
 " My father, I want to have another child," she said 
 abruptly, like a coward throwing himself headlong into 
 the danger he dreads. 
 
 The priest, hardly understanding what she meant, 
 made no answer, and she tried to explain herself, but, 
 in her confusion, her words became more and more dif- 
 ficult to understand. 
 
 I am quite alone in life now; my father and my hus- 
 band do not agree; my mother is dead, and — and —
 
 174 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 the other day I almost lost my son," she whispered with 
 a shudder. " What would have become of me if he 
 had died?" 
 
 The priest looked at her in bewilderment. " There, 
 there; come to the point," he said. 
 
 " I want to have another child," she repeated. 
 
 The abbe was used to the coarse pleasantries of the 
 peasants, who did not mind what they said before him, 
 and he answered, with a sly smile and a knowing shake 
 of the head : " Well, I don't think there need be much 
 difficulty about that." 
 
 She raised her clear eyes to his and said, hesitatingly: 
 
 "But — but — don't you understand that since — 
 since that trouble with — the — maid — my husband 
 and I live — quite apart." 
 
 These words came as a revelation to the priest, ac- 
 customed as he was to the promiscuity and easy morals 
 of the peasants. Then he thought he could guess what 
 the young wife really wanted, and he looked at her out 
 of the corner of his eye, pitying her, and sympathizing 
 with her distress. 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know exactly what you mean. I can 
 quite understand that you should find your — your wid- 
 owhood hard to bear. You are young, healthy, and it 
 is only natural; very natural." He began to smile, his 
 lively nature getting the better of him. " Besides, the 
 Church allows these feelings, sometimes," he went on, 
 gently tapping Jeanne's hands. "What are we told? 
 That carnal desires may be satisfied lawfully in wedlock 
 only. Well, you are married, are you not? " 
 
 She, in her turn, had not at first understood what his 
 words implied, but when his meaning dawned on her,
 
 UNE VIE 175 
 
 her face became crimson, and her eyes filled with tears. 
 
 " Oh! Monsieur le cure, what do you mean? What 
 do you think? I assure you — I assure — " and she 
 could not continue for her sobs. 
 
 Her emotion surprised the abbe, and he tried to con- 
 sole her. 
 
 "There, there," he said; " I did not mean to pain 
 you. I was only joking, and there's no harm in a joke 
 between honest people. But leave it all in my hands, 
 and I will speak to M. Jullen." 
 
 She did not know what to say. She wished, now, 
 that she could refuse his help, for she feared his want 
 of tact would only increase her difficulties, but she did 
 not dare say anything. 
 
 " Thank you, Monsieur le cure," she stammered; and 
 then hurried away. 
 
 The next week was passed by Jeanne in an agony of 
 doubts and fears. Then one evening, Julien watched 
 her all through dinner with an amused smile on his lips, 
 and evinced towards her a gallantry which was faintly 
 tinged with irony. After dinner they walked up and 
 down the baroness's avenue, and he whispered in her 
 ear: 
 
 " Then we are going to be friends again? " 
 
 She made no answer, and kept her eyes fixed on the 
 ground, where there was a straight line, hardly so 
 thickly covered with grass as the rest of the path. It 
 was the line traced by the baroness's foot, which was 
 gradually being effaced, just as her memory was fading, 
 and, as she looked at it, Jeanne's heart felt bursting with 
 grief; she seemed so lonely, so separated from every- 
 body.
 
 176 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 " For my part, I am only too pleased," continued 
 Jiilien. " I should have proposed It before, but I was 
 afraid of displeasing you." 
 
 The sun was setting; it was a mild, soft evening, and 
 Jeanne longed to rest her head on some loving heart, 
 and there sob out her sorrows. She threw herself into 
 Julien's arms, her breast heaving, and the tears stream- 
 ing from her eyes. He looked at her in surprise, think- 
 ing this outburst was occasioned by the love she still felt 
 for him, and, unable to see her face, he dropped a con- 
 descending kiss upon her hair. Then they went indoors 
 in silence and he followed her to her room. 
 
 To him this renewal of their former relations was a 
 duty, though hardly an unpleasant one, while she sub- 
 mitted to his embraces as a disgusting, painful necessity, 
 and resolved to put an end to them for ever, as soon 
 as her object was accomplished. Soon, however, she 
 found that her husband's caresses were not like they 
 used to be ; they may have been more refined, they cer- 
 tainly were not so complete. He treated her like a carC' 
 ful lover, instead of being an easy husband. 
 
 " Why do you not give yourself up to me as you used 
 to do? " she whispered one night, her lips close to his. 
 
 " To keep you out of the family way, of course," he 
 answered, with a chuckle. 
 
 She started. 
 
 " Don't you wish for any more children, then? " she 
 asked. 
 
 His amazement was so great, that, for a moment, he 
 was silent; then: 
 
 "Eh? What do you say?" he exclaimed. "Are 
 you in your right senses? Another child? I should 
 think not, indeed! We've already got one too many,
 
 UNE VIE 177 
 
 squalling and costing money, and bothering everybody. 
 Another child ! No, thank you ! " 
 
 She clasped him in her arms, pressed her lips to his 
 and m.urmured : 
 
 " Oh I I entreat you, make me a mother once more." 
 
 " Don't be so foolish," he replied, angrily. " Pray 
 don't let me hear any more of this nonsense." 
 
 She said no more, but she resolved to trick him into 
 giving her the happiness she desired. She tried to pro- 
 long her kisses, and threw her arms passionately around 
 him, pressing 'him to her, and pretending a delirium of 
 love she was very far from feeling. She tried every 
 means to make him lose control over himself, but she 
 never once succeeded. 
 
 Tormented more and more by her desire, driven to 
 extremities, and ready to do or dare anything to gain 
 her ends, she went again to the Abbe Picot. She found 
 him just finishing lunch, with his face crimson from indi- 
 gestion. He looked up as she came in, and, anxious to 
 hear the result of his mediation: 
 
 "Well?" he exclaimed. 
 
 " My husband does not want any more children," she 
 answered at once without any of the hesitation or 
 shame-faced timidity she had shown before. 
 
 The abbe got very interested, and turned towards her, 
 ready to hear once more of those secrets of wedded life, 
 the revelation of which made the task of confessing so 
 pleasant to him. 
 
 " How is that? " he asked. 
 
 In spite of her determination to tell him all, Jeanne 
 hardly knew how to explain herself. 
 
 " He — he refuses — to make me a mother." 
 
 The priest understood at once; It was not the first
 
 178 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 time he had heard of such things, but he asked for all 
 the details, and enjoyed them as a hungry man would a 
 feast. When he had heard all, he reflected for a few 
 moments, then said in the calm, matter-of-fact tone he 
 might have used if he had been speaking of the best way 
 to insure a good harvest. 
 
 " My dear child, the only thing you can do Is to make 
 your husband believe you are pregnant; then he will 
 cease his precautions, and you will become so in reality." 
 
 Jeanne blushed to the roots of her hair, but, deter- 
 mined to be ready for every emergency, she argued: 
 
 " But — but suppose he should not believe me? " 
 
 The cure knew too well the inns and outs of human 
 nature not to have an answer for that. 
 
 " Tell everybody you are enceinte. When he sees 
 that everyone else believes It, he will soon believe it 
 himself. You will be doing no wrong," he added, to 
 quiet his conscience for advising this deception; "the 
 Church does not permit any connection between man 
 and woman, except for the purpose of procreation." 
 
 Jeanne followed the priest's artful device, and, a fort- 
 night later, told Julien she thought she was enceinte. 
 He started up. 
 
 " It isn't possible ! You can't be ! " 
 
 She gave him her reasons for thinking so. 
 
 " Bah! " he answered. " You wait a little while." 
 
 Every morning he asked, "Well?" but she always 
 replied: " No, not yet; I am very much mistaken if I 
 am not enceinte^ 
 
 He also began to think so, and his surprise was only 
 equaled by his annoyance. 
 
 " Well, I can't understand it," was all he could say. 
 *' I'll be hanged if I know how It can have happened."
 
 UNE VIE 179 
 
 At the end of a month she began to tell people the 
 news, but she said nothing about it to the Comtesse Gil- 
 berte, for she felt an old feeling of delicacy in mention- 
 ing it to her. At the very first suspicion of his wife's 
 pregnancy, Julien had ceased to touch her, then, an- 
 grily thinking, " Well, at any rate, this brat wasn't 
 wanted," he made up his mind to make the best of it, 
 and recommenced his visits to his wife's room. Every- 
 thing happened as the priest had predicted, and Jeanne 
 found she would a second time become a mother. 
 Then, in a transport of joy, she took a vow of eternal 
 chastity as a token of her rapturous gratitude to the 
 distant divinity she adored, and thenceforth closed her 
 door to her husband. 
 
 She again felt almost happy. She could hardly be- 
 lieve that it was barely two months since her mother 
 had died, and that only such a short time before she 
 had thought herself inconsolable. Now her wounded 
 heart was nearly healed, and her grief had disappeared, 
 while in its place was merely a vague melancholy, like 
 the shadow of a great sorrow resting over her life. It 
 seemed impossible that any other catastrophe could hap- 
 pen now; her children would grow up and surround her 
 old age with their affection, and her husband, could go 
 his way while she went hers. 
 
 Towards the end of September the Abbe Picot came 
 to the chateau, in a new cassock which had only one 
 week's stains upon it, to introduce his successor, the 
 Abbe Tolbiac. The latter was small, thin, and very 
 young, with hollow, black-encircled eyes which beto- 
 kened the depth and violence of hie feelings, and a de- 
 cisive way of speaking as If there could be no appeal 
 from his opinion. The Abbe Picot had been appointed
 
 i8o A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 doyen of Goderville. Jeanne felt very sad at the 
 thought of his departure; he was connected, in her 
 thoughts, with all the chief events of her life, for he had 
 married her, christened Paul, and buried the baroness. 
 She liked him because he was always good-tempered 
 and unaffected, and she could not Imagine Etouvent 
 without the Abbe Picot's fat figure trotting past the 
 farms. He himself did not seem very rejoiced at his 
 adv^ancement. 
 
 " I have been here eighteen years, Madame la Com- 
 tesse," he said, " and it grieves me to go to another 
 place. Oh ! this living is not worth much, I know, and 
 as for the people — well, the men have no more re- 
 ligion than they ought to have, the women are not so 
 moral as they might be, and the girls never dream of 
 being married until it is too late for them to wear a 
 wreath of orange blossoms; still, I love the place." 
 
 The new cure had been fidgeting impatiently during 
 this speech, and his face had turned very red. 
 
 " I shall soon have all that changed," he said, 
 abruptly, as soon as the other priest had finished speak- 
 ing; and he looked like an angry child in his worn but 
 spotless cassock, so thin and small was he. 
 
 The Abbe Picot looked at him sideways, as he always 
 did when anything amused him. 
 
 " Listen, I'abbe," he said. " You will have to chain 
 up your parishioners if you want to prevent that sort 
 of thing; and I don't believe even that would be any 
 good." 
 
 " We shall see," answered the little priest in a cut- 
 ting tone. 
 
 The old cure smiled and slowly took a pinch of snuff. 
 
 "Age and experience will alter your views, I'abbe;
 
 UNE VIE i8i 
 
 if they don't you will only estrange the few good 
 Churchmen you have. When I see a girl come to mass 
 with a waist bigger than it ought to be, I say to myself 
 — ' \Yell, she is going to give me another soul to look 
 after;' — and I try to marry her. You can't prevent 
 them going wrong, but you can find out the father of the 
 child and prevent him forsaking the mother. Marry 
 them, I'abbe, marry them, and don't trouble yourself 
 about anything else." 
 
 " We will not argue on this point, for we should 
 never agree," answered the new cure, a little roughly; 
 and the Abbe Picot again began to express his regret at 
 leaving the village, and the sea which he could see from 
 the vicarage windows, and the little funnel-shaped val- 
 leys, where he went to read his breviary and where he 
 could see the boats in the distance. Then the two 
 priests rose to go, and the Abbe Picot kissed Jeanne, 
 who nearly cried when she said good-bye. 
 
 A week afterwards, the Abbe Tolbiac called again. 
 He spoke of the reforms he was bringing about as if 
 he were a prince taking possession of his kingdom. 
 He begged the vicomtesse to communicate on all the 
 days appointed by the Church, and to attend mass 
 regularly on Sundays. 
 
 " You and I are at the head of the parish," he said 
 " and we ought to rule it, and always set it a good 
 example; but, if we wish to have any influence, we 
 must be united. If the Church and the chateau sup- 
 port each other, the cottage will fear and obey us." 
 
 Jeanne's religion was simply a matter of sentiment; 
 she had merely the dreamy faith that a woman never 
 quite loses, and if she performed any religious duties 
 at all it was only because she had been so used to them
 
 1 82 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 at the convent, for the baron's carping philosophy had 
 long ago overthrown all her convictions. The Abbe 
 Picot had always been contented with the little she did 
 do, and never chid her for not confessing or attend- 
 ing mass oftener; but when the Abbe Tolbiac did not 
 see her at church on the Sunday, he hastened to the 
 chateau to question and reprimand her. She did not 
 wish to quarrel with the cure, so she promised to be 
 more attentive to the services, inwardly resolving to 
 go regularly only for a few weeks, out of good nature. 
 
 Little by little, however, she fell into the habit of 
 frequenting the church, and, in a short time, she was 
 entirely under the influence of the delicate-looking, 
 strong-willed priest. His zeal and enthusiasm appealed 
 to her love of everything pertaining to mysticism, and 
 he seemed to make the chord of religious poetry, which 
 she possessed in common with every woman, vibrate 
 within her. His austerity, his contempt for every 
 luxury and sensuality, his disdain for the things that 
 usually occupy the thoughts of men, his love of God, 
 his youthful, intolerant inexperience, his scathing words, 
 his inflexible will made Jeanne compare him, in her 
 mind, to the early martyrs; and she, who had already 
 suffered so much, whose eyes had been so rudely opened 
 to the deceptions of life, let herself be completely ruled 
 by the rigid fanaticism of this boy who was the minister 
 of Heaven. He led her to the feet of Christ the 
 Consoler, teaching her how the holy joys of religion 
 could alleviate all her sorrows, and, as she knelt in the 
 confessional she humbled herself and felt little and weak 
 before this priest, who looked about fifteen years old. 
 
 Soon he y/as detested by the whole country-side.
 
 UNE VIE 183 
 
 With no pity for his own weaknesses, he showed a 
 violent intolerance for those of others. The thing 
 above all others that roused his anger and indignation 
 was — love. He denounced it from the pulpit in 
 crude, ecclesiastical terms, thundering out terrible judg- 
 ments against concupiscence over the heads of his rustic 
 audience; and, as tl:fce pictures he portrayed in his fury 
 persistently haunted his mind, he trembled with rage 
 and stamped his foot In anger. The grown-up girls 
 and the young fellows cast side-long glances at each 
 other across the aisle; and the old peasants, who liked 
 to joke about such m.atters, expressed their disapproval 
 of the little cure's intolerance as they walked back to 
 their farms after service with their wives and sons. 
 
 The whole country was in an uproar. The priest's 
 severity and the harsh penances he inflicted at confession 
 were rumored about, and, as he obstinately refused to 
 grant absolution to the girls whose chastity was not im- 
 maculate, smiles accompanied the whispers. When, at 
 the holy festivals, several of the youths and girls stayed 
 in their seats instead of going to communicate with the 
 others, most of the congregation laughed outright as 
 they looked at them. He began to watch for lovers 
 like a keeper on the look-out for poachers, and on 
 moonlight nights he hunted up the couples along the 
 ditches, behind the barns and among the long grass on 
 the hill-sides. One night he came upon two who did 
 not cease their love-making even before him ; they were 
 strolling along a ditch filled with stones, with their arms 
 round one another, kissing each other as they walked, 
 
 "Will you stop that, you vagabonds?" cried the 
 abbe.
 
 1 84 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 " You mind yer own bus'ness, M'sieu I'cure," re= 
 plied the lad, turning round. " This ain't nothin' to 
 do with you." 
 
 The abbe picked up some stones and threw them at 
 the couple as he might hav^e done at stray dogs, and 
 they both ran oft", laughing. The next Sunday the 
 priest mentioned them by name before the whole con- 
 gregation. All the young fellows soon ceased to at- 
 tend mass. 
 
 The cure dined at the chateau every Thursday, but 
 he very often went there on other days to talk to his 
 penitente. Jeanne became as ardent and as enthusiastic 
 as he as she discussed the mysteries of a future existence, 
 and grew familiar with all the old and complicated 
 arguments employed in religious controversy. They 
 would both walk along the baroness's avenue talking of 
 Christ and the Apostles, of the Virgin Mary and of the 
 Fathers of the Church as if they had really known them. 
 Sometimes they stopped their walk to ask each other 
 profound questions, and then Jeanne would wander oft 
 into sentimental arguments, and the cure would reason 
 like a lawyer possessed with the mania of proving the 
 possibility of squaring the circle. 
 
 Julien treated the new cure with great respect. 
 " That's the sort of a priest I like," he was continually 
 saying. " Half-measures don't do for him," and he 
 zealously set a good example by frequently confessing 
 and communicating. Hardly a day passed now without 
 the vicomte going to the Fourvilles, either to shoot with 
 the comte, who could not do without him, or to ride with 
 the comtesse regardless of rain and bad weather. 
 
 "They are riding-mad," remarked the comte; "but 
 the exercise does my wife good ''
 
 UNE VIE 185 
 
 The baron returned to Les Peuples about the middle 
 of November. He seemed a different man, he had 
 aged so much and was so low-spirited; he was fonder 
 than ever of his daughter, as if the last few months of 
 melancholy solitude had caused in him an imperative 
 need of affection and tenderness. Jeanne told him 
 nothing about her new ideas, her intimacy with the Abbe 
 Tolbiac, or her religious enthusiasm, but the first time 
 he saw the priest, he felt an invincible dislike for him, 
 and when his daughter asked him in the evening : 
 *' Well, what do you think of him? " 
 
 "He is like an inquisitor!" he answered. "He 
 seems to me a very dangerous man." 
 
 When the peasants told him about the young priest's 
 harshness and bigotry and the sort of war of persecu- 
 tion he waged against natural laws and instincts, his 
 dislike changed to a violent hatred. He, the baron, 
 belonged to the school of philosophers who worship 
 nature; to him it seemed something touching, when he 
 saw two animals unite, and he was always ready to fall 
 on his knees before the sort of pantheistic God he wor- 
 shiped; but he hated the catholic conception of a God, 
 Who has petty schemes, and gives way to tyrannical 
 anger and indulges in mean revenge; a God, in fact. 
 Who seemed less to him than that boundless omnipo- 
 tent nature, which is at once life, light, earth, thought, 
 plant, rock, man, air, animal, planet, god and insect, 
 that nature which produces all things in such bountiful 
 profusion, fitting each atom to the place it is to occupy 
 in space, be that position close to or far from the suns 
 which heat the worlds. Nature contained the germ of 
 everything, and she brought forth life and thought, as 
 trees bear flowers and fruit.
 
 i86 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 To the baron, therefore, reproduction was a great 
 law of Nature, and to be respected as the sacred and 
 divine act which accomplished the constant, though un- 
 expressed will of this Universal Being; and he at once 
 began a campaign against this priest who opposed the 
 laws of creation. It grieved Jeanne to the heart, and 
 she prayed to the Lord, and implored her father not to 
 run counter to the cure, but the baron always answered : 
 
 " It is everyone's right and duty to fight against 
 such men, for they are not like human creatures. They 
 are not human," he repeated, shaking his long vvhite 
 hair. " They understand nothing of life, and their 
 conduct is entirely influenced by their harmful dreams, 
 which are contrary to Nature." And he pronounced 
 " contrary to Nature " as if he were uttering a curse. 
 
 The priest had at owce recognized in him> an enemy, 
 and, as he wished to remain master of the chateau and 
 its young mistress, he temporized, feeling sure of vic- 
 tory in the end. By chance he had discovered the 
 liaison between Julien and Gilberte, and his one idea 
 was to break it off by no matter what means. He came 
 to see Jeanne one day towards the end of the wet, mild 
 winter, and, after a long talk on the mystery of life, 
 he asked her to unite with him in fighting against and 
 destroying the wickedness which was in her own family, 
 and so save two souls which were in danger. She 
 asked him vv'hat he meant. 
 
 " The hour has not come for me to reveal all to you," 
 he replied; "but I will see you again soon," and with 
 that he abruptly left her. 
 
 He came again in a few days, and spoke in vague 
 terms of a disgraceful connection between people whose 
 conduct ought to be irreproachablco It was the duty,
 
 UNE VIE 187 
 
 he said, of those who were aware of what was going on, 
 to use every means to put an end to it. He used all 
 sorts of lofty arguments, and then, taking Jeanne's 
 hand, adjured her to open her eyes, to understand and 
 to help him. 
 
 This time Jeanne saw what he meant, but terrified at 
 the thought of all the trouble that might be brought 
 to her home, which was now so peaceful, she pretended 
 not to know to what he was alluding. Then he hesi- 
 tated no longer, but spoke In terms there could be no 
 misunderstanding. 
 
 " I am going to perform a very painful duty, 
 Madame la comtesse, but I cannot leave it undone. 
 The position I hold forbids me to leave you in ignorance 
 of the sin you can prevent. Learn that your husband 
 cherishes a criminal affection for Madame de Four- 
 ville." 
 
 Jeanne only bent her head in feeble resignation, 
 
 " What do you intend to do? " asked the priest. 
 
 "What do you wish me to do. Monsieur I'abbe?" 
 she murmured. 
 
 " Throw yourself in the way as an obstacle to this 
 guilty love," he answered, violently. 
 
 She began to cry, and said in a broken voice: 
 
 " But he has deceived me before with a servant; he 
 wouldn't listen to me; he doesn't love mc now; he ill- 
 treats me if I manifest any desire that does not please 
 him, so what can I do? " 
 
 The cure did not make any direct answer to this 
 appeal. 
 
 " Then you bow before this sin ! You submit to it ! " 
 he exclaimed. " You consent to and tolerate adultery 
 under your own roof ! The crime is being perpetrated
 
 1 88 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 before your eyes, and you refuse to see It! Are you a 
 Christian woman? Are you a wife and a mother? " 
 
 " What would you have me do? " she sobbed. 
 
 " Anything rather than allow this sin to continue,'* 
 he replied. " Anything, I tell you. Leave him. Flee 
 from this house which has been defiled." 
 
 " But I have no money, Monsieur I'abbe," she re- 
 plied. " And I am not brave now like I used to be. 
 Besides, how can I leave without any proofs of what 
 you are saying? I have not the right to do so." 
 
 The priest rose to his feet, quivering with Indigna- 
 tion, 
 
 " You are listening to the dictates of your coward- 
 Ice, madame. I thought you were a different woman, 
 but you are unworthy of God's mercy." 
 
 She fell on her knees : 
 
 " Oh ! Do not abandon me, I implore you. Advise 
 me what to do." 
 
 " Open M. de Fourville's eyes," he said, shortly. 
 " It is his duty to end this liaisony 
 
 She was seized with terror at this advice. 
 
 " But he would kill them, Monsieur I'abbe ! And 
 should I be the one to tell him ? Oh, not that ! Never, 
 never! " 
 
 He raised his hand as if to curse her, his whole soul 
 stirred with anger. 
 
 " Live on in your shame and in your wickedness, for 
 you are more guilty than they are. You are the wife 
 who condones her husband's sin ! My place is no 
 longer here." 
 
 He turned to go, trembling all over with wrath. 
 She followed him distractedly, ready to give in, and 
 beginning to promise ; but he would not listen to her and
 
 UNE VIE 189 
 
 strode rapidly along, furiously shaking his big blue 
 umbrella which was nearly as high as himself. He saw 
 Julien standing near the gate superintending the pruning 
 of some trees, so he turned off to the left to reach the 
 road by way of the Couillards' farm, and as he 
 walked he kept saying to Jeanne : 
 
 " Leave me, madame. I have nothing further to say 
 to you." 
 
 In the middle of the yard, and right In his path, some 
 children were standing around the kennel of the dog 
 INIIrza, their attention concentrated on something which 
 the baron was also carefully considering as he stood in 
 their midst with his hands behind his back, looking like 
 a schoolmaster. 
 
 " Do come and see me again, Monsieur I'abbe," 
 pleaded Jeanne. " If you will return In a few days, I 
 shall be able to tell you then what I think Is the best 
 course to take, and we can talk It over together." 
 
 By that time they had almost reached the group of 
 children (which the baron had left, to avoid meeting 
 and speaking to his enemy, the priest) and the cure 
 AA'ent to see what It was that was Interesting them so 
 deeply. It was the dog whelping; five little pups were 
 already crawling round the mother, who gently licked 
 them as she lay on her side before the kennel, and just 
 as the cure looked over the children's heads, a sixth 
 appeared. When they saw it, all the boys and girls 
 clapped their hands, crying: 
 
 " There's another! There's another! " 
 
 To them It was simply a perfectly pure and natural 
 amusement, and they watched these pups being born as 
 they might have watched the apples falling from a tree. 
 
 The Abbe Tolblac stood still for a moment In hor-
 
 I90 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 rified surprise, then, giving way to his passion, he 
 raised his umbrella and began to rain down blows on 
 the children's heads. The startled urchins ran off as 
 fast as they could go, and the abbe found himself left 
 alone with the dog, which was painfully trying to rise. 
 Before she could stand up, he knocked her back again, 
 and began to hit her with all his strength. The animal 
 moaned pitifully as she writhed under these blows from 
 which there was no escape (for she was chained up) 
 and at last the priest's umbrella broke. Then, unable 
 to. beat the dog any longer, he jumped on her, and 
 stamped and crushed her under-foot in a perfect frenzy 
 of anger. Another pup was born beneath his feet be- 
 fore he dispatched the mother with a last furious kick, 
 and then the mangled body lay quivering in the midst of 
 the whining pups, which were awkwardly groping for 
 their mother's teats. Jeanne had escaped, but the 
 baron returned and, almost as enraged as the priest, 
 suddenly seized the abbe by the throat, and giving him 
 a blow which knocked his hat off, carried him to the 
 fence and threw^ him out into the road. 
 
 When he turned round, M. le Perthuls saw his 
 daughter kneeling in the midst of the pups, sobbing as 
 she picked them up and put them in her skirt. He 
 strode up to her gesticulating wildly. 
 
 " There ! " he exclaimed. " What do you think of 
 that surpliced wretch, now? " 
 
 The noise had brought the farmpeople to the spot, 
 and they all stood round, gazing at the remains of the 
 dog. 
 
 " Could one have believed that a man would be so 
 cruel as that ! " said Couillard's wife. 
 
 Jeanne picked up the pups, saying she would bring
 
 UNE VIE 191 
 
 them up by hand; she tried to give them some milk, 
 but three out of seven died the next day. Then old 
 Simon went all over the neighborhood trying to find a 
 foster-mother for the others; he could not get a dog, 
 but he brought back a cat, asserting that she would do 
 as well. Three more pups were killed, and the seventh 
 was given to the cat, who took to it directly, and lay 
 down on her side to suckle it. That it might not 
 exhaust its foster-mother the pup was weaned a fort- 
 night later, anci Jeanne undertook to feed it herself with 
 a feeding-bottle ; she had named it Toto, but the baron 
 rechristened it, and called it Massacre. 
 
 The priest did not go to see Jeanne again. The 
 next Sunday he hurled curses and threats against the 
 chateau, denouncing it as a plague-spot which ought to 
 be removed, and going on to anathematize the baron 
 (who laughed at him) and to make veiled, half-timid 
 allusions to Julien's latest amour. The vicomte was 
 very vexed at this, but he did not dare say anything for 
 fear of giving rise to a scandal; and the priest continued 
 to call down vengeance on their heads, and to foretell 
 the downfall of God's enemies in every sermon. At 
 last, Julien wrote a decided, though respectful, letter to 
 the archbishop, and the Abbe Tolbiac, finding himself 
 threatened with disgrace, ceased his denunciations. He 
 began to take long solitary walks; often he was to be 
 m.et striding along the roads with an ardent, excited 
 look on his face. Gilberte and Julien were always 
 seeing him when they were out riding, sometimes in 
 the distance, on the other side of a common, or on the 
 edge of the cliff, sometimes close at hand, reading his 
 breviary in a narrow valley they were just about to 
 pass through; they always turned another way to avoid
 
 192 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 passing him. Spring had come, enflaming their hearts 
 with fresh desires, and urging them to seek each other's 
 embraces in any secluded spot to which their rides might 
 lead them ; but the leaves were only budding, the grass 
 was still damp from the rains of winter, and they could 
 not, as in the height of summer, hide themselves 
 amidst the undergrowth of the woods. Lately, they 
 had generally sheltered their caresses within a movable 
 shepherd's hut which had been left since autumn, on the 
 very top of the Vaucotte hill. It stood all alone on the 
 edge of the precipitous descent to the valley, five hun- 
 dred yards above the cliff. There they felt quite secure, 
 for they overlooked the whole of the surrounding 
 country, and they fastened their horses to the shafts to 
 wait until their masters were satiated with love. 
 
 One evening as they were leaving the hut, they saw 
 the Abbe Tolbiac sitting on the hill-side, nearly hidden 
 by the rushes. 
 
 " We must leave our horses in that ravine, another 
 time," said Julien; " in case they should tell our where- 
 abouts," and thenceforth they always tied their horses 
 up in a kind of recess in the valley, which was hidden 
 by bushes. 
 
 Another evening, they were both returning to La 
 Vrillette where the comte was expecting Julien to dinner, 
 when they met the cure coming out of the chateau. He 
 bowed, without looking them in the face, and stood on 
 one side to let them pass. For the moment his visit 
 made them uneasy, but their anxiety was soon dispelled. 
 
 Jeanne was sitting by the fire reading, one windy 
 afternoon at the beginning of May, when she suddenly 
 saw the Comte de Fourville running towards the
 
 UNE VIE 193 
 
 chateau at such a rate as to make her fear he was the 
 bearer of bad news. She hastened downstairs to meet 
 him, and when she saw him close, she thought he must 
 have gone mad. He had on his shooting-jacket and a 
 big fur cap, that he generally only wore on his own 
 grounds, and he was so pale that his red moustaches 
 (which, as a rule, hardly showed against his ruddy face) 
 looked the color of flame. His eyes were haggard 
 and stared vacantly or rolled from side to side. 
 
 " My wife is here, isn't she? " he gasped. 
 
 " No," answered Jeanne, too frightened to think 
 of what she was saying; " I have not seen her at all to- 
 day." 
 
 The comte dropped into a chair, as if his legs had no 
 longer strength to support him, and, taking off his cap, 
 he mechanically passed his handkerchief several times 
 across his forehead; then he started to his feet, and 
 went towards Jeanne with outstretched hands, and 
 mouth opened to speak and tell her of his terrible grief. 
 But suddenly he stopped short, and fixing his eyes on 
 her, murmured, as if he were delirous : " But it is your 
 husband — you also — " and breaking off abruptly, he 
 rushed out towards the sea. 
 
 Jeanne ran after him, calling him and imploring him 
 to stop. "He knows all!" she thought, in terror. 
 " What will he do? Oh, pray heaven he may not find 
 them." 
 
 He did not listen to her, and evidently knowing 
 whither to direct his steps, ran straight on without any 
 hesitation as to the path he should take. Already he 
 had leapt across the ditch, and was rapidly striding 
 across the reeds towards the cliff. Finding she could 
 not catch him up, Jeanne stood on the slope beyond the 
 V— 13
 
 194 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 wood, and watched him as long as he was In sight ; then, 
 when she could see him no longer, she went indoors 
 again, tortured with fear and anxiety. 
 
 When he reached the edge of the cliff, the comte 
 turned to the right, and again began to run. The sea 
 was very rough, and one after the other the heavy 
 clouds came up and poured their contents on the land, 
 A whistling moaning wind swept over the grass, laying 
 low the young barley, and carrying the great, white sea- 
 gulls inland like sprays of foam. The rain, which 
 came In gusts, beat in the comte's face and drenched his 
 cheeks and moustaches, and the tumult of the elements 
 seemed to fill his heart as well as his ears. There, 
 straight before him In the distance, lay the Vaucotte val- 
 ley, and between it and him stood a solitary shepherd's 
 hut, with two horses tied to the shafts. (What fear 
 could there be of anyone seeing them on such a day as 
 this?) 
 
 As soon as he caught sight of the animals, the comte 
 threw himself flat on the ground, and dragged himself 
 along on his hands and knees, his hairy cap and mud- 
 stained clothes making him look like some monstrous 
 animal. He crawled to the lonely hut, and, in case Its 
 occupants should see him through the cracks in the 
 planks he hid himself beneath It. The horses had seen 
 him and were paAving the ground. He slowly cut the 
 reins by which they were fastened with a knife that he 
 held open In his hand, and, as a fresh gust of wind swept 
 by, the two animals cantered oft, their backs stung by 
 the hail which lashed against the sloping roof of the 
 shepherd's cot, and made the frail abode tremible on its 
 w^heels. 
 
 Then the comte rose to his knees, put his eye to the
 
 aNE VIE 195 
 
 slit at the bottom of the door, and remained perfectly 
 motionless while he watched and waited. Some time 
 passed thus, and then he suddenly leapt to his feet, 
 covered with mire from head to foot. Furiously he 
 fastened the bolt, which secured the shelter on the 
 outside, and seizing the shafts, he shook the hut as 
 if he would have broken it to atoms. After a moment 
 he began to drag it along — exerting the strength of a 
 bull, and bending nearly double in his tremendous ef- 
 fort — and it was towards the almost perpendicular 
 slope to the valley that he hurried the cottage and its 
 human occupants who were desperately shouting and 
 trying to burst open the door, in their ignorance of what 
 had happened. 
 
 At the extreme edge of the slope, the comte let go 
 of the hut, and it at once begun to run down towards 
 the valley. At first it moved but slowly, but, its speed 
 increasing as it went, it moved quicker and quicker, until 
 soon it was rushing down the hill at a tremendous rate. 
 Its shafts bumped along the ground and it leaped over 
 and dashed against the obstacles in its path, as if it had 
 been endowed with life; it bounded over the head of an 
 old beggar who was crouching in a ditch, and, as it 
 passed, the man heard frightful cries issuing from 
 within it. All at once one of the wheels was torn off, 
 and the hut turned over on its side. That however, 
 did not stop it, and now it rolled over and over like a 
 ball, or like some house uprooted from its foundations 
 and hurled from the summit of a mountain. It rolled 
 on and on until it reached the edge of the last ravine; 
 there it took a final leap, and after describing a curve, 
 fell to the earth, and smashed like an egg-shell. 
 
 Directly it had dashed upon the rocks at the bottom
 
 196 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 of the valley, the old beggar, who had seen it falling, 
 began to make his way down through the brambles. 
 He did not go straight to the shattered hut, but, like 
 the cautious rustic that he was, went to announce the 
 accident at the nearest farm-house. The farm people 
 ran to the spot the beggar pointed out, and beneath the 
 fragments of the hut, found two bruised and mangled 
 corpses. The man's forehead was split open, and his 
 face crushed; the woman's jaw was almost separated 
 from her head, and their broken limbs were as soft as 
 if there had not been a bone beneath the flesh. Still 
 the farmers could recognize them, and they began to 
 make all sorts of conjectures as to the cause of the 
 accident. 
 
 "What could they have been doin' in the cabin?" 
 said a woman. 
 
 The old beggar replied that apparently they had 
 taken refuge from the weather, and that the high wind 
 had overturned the hut, and blown it down the preci- 
 pice. He added that he himself was going to take 
 shelter in it when he saw the horses fastened to the 
 shafts and concluded that the place was already oc- 
 cupied. 
 
 " If it hadn't been for that I should have been where 
 they are now," he said with an air of self-congratula- 
 tion. 
 
 " Perhaps it would have been all the better if you 
 had been," said some one. 
 
 " Why would it have been better? " exclaimed the 
 beggar in a great rage. " 'Cause I'm poor and they're 
 rich? Look at them now! " he said, pointing to the 
 two corpses with his hooked stick, as he stood trembling 
 and ragged, with the water dripping from him, and his
 
 UNE VIE 197 
 
 battered hat, his matted beard, his long unkempt hair, 
 making him look terribly dirty and miserable. " We're 
 all equal when we're dead." 
 
 The group had grown bigger, and the peasants stood 
 round with a frightened, cowardly look on their faces. 
 After a discussion as to what they had better do, it was 
 finally decided to carry the bodies back to their homes, 
 in the hope of getting a reward. Two carts were got 
 ready, and then a fresh difficulty arose; some thought it 
 would be quite enough to place straw at the bottom of 
 the carts, and others thought it would look better to 
 Dut mattresses. 
 
 " But the mattresses would be soaked with blood," 
 cried the woman who had spoken before. " They'd 
 have to be washed with eaii de javelle.^^ 
 
 " The chateau people'll pay for that," said a jolly- 
 faced farmer. " They can't expect to get things for 
 nothing." 
 
 That decided the matter, and the two carts set off, 
 one to the right, the other to the left, jolting and shak- 
 ing the remains of these two beings who had so often 
 been clasped in each other's arms, but who would never 
 meet again. 
 
 When the comte had seen the hut set off on its terri- 
 ble journey, he had fled away through the rain and the 
 wind, and had run on and on across the country like a 
 madman. He ran for several hours, heedless of which 
 way his steps were taking him, and, at nightfall, he 
 found himself at his own chateau. The servants were 
 anxiously awaiting his return, and hastened to tell him 
 that the two horses had just returned riderless, for 
 Julien's had followed the other one. 
 
 M. de Fourville staggered back. " Some accident
 
 198 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 must have happened to my wife and the vicomte," he 
 said in broken tones. " Let everyone go and look for 
 them." 
 
 He started off again, himself, as though he were go- 
 ing to seek them, but, as soon as he was out of sight, 
 he hid behind a bush, and watched the road along 
 which the woman he still loved so dearly would be 
 brought dead or dying, or perhaps maimed and disfig- 
 ured for life. In a little while a cart passed by, bearing 
 a strange load ; it drew up before the chateau-gates, then 
 passed through them. Yes, he knew It was she ; but the 
 dread of hearing the horrible truth forced him to stay 
 in his hiding-place, and he crouched down like a hare, 
 trembling at the faintest rustle. 
 
 He waited for an hour — perhaps two — and yet the 
 cart did not come back again. He was persuaded that 
 his wife was dying, and the thought of seeing her, of 
 meeting her eyes was such a torture to him, that, seized 
 with a sudden fear of being discovered and compelled 
 to witness her death, he again set off running, and did 
 not stop till he was hidden in the midst of a wood. 
 Then he thought that perhaps she needed help and that 
 there was no one to take care of her as he could, and he 
 sped back in mad haste. 
 
 As he was going Into the house, he met his gardener. 
 
 " Well? " he cried, excitedly. 
 
 The man dared not answer the truth. 
 
 " Is she dead? " almost yelled M. de Fourvillc. 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur le comte," stammered the servant. 
 
 The comte experienced an Intense relief at the an- 
 swer; all his agitation left him, and he went quietly and 
 firmly up the steps. 
 
 In the meantime, the other cart had arrived at Les
 
 UXE VIE 199 
 
 Peuples. Jeanne saw it in the distance, and guessing 
 that a corpse lay upon the mattress, understood at once 
 what had happened ; the shock was so great that she fell 
 to the ground unconscious. When she came to herself 
 again she found her father supporting her head, and 
 bathing her forehead with vinegar. 
 
 " Do you know — ? " he asked hesitatingly. 
 
 " Yes, father," she whispered, trying to rise; but she 
 was in such pain that she was forced to sink back again. 
 
 That evening she gave birth to a dead child — a girl. 
 
 She did not see or hear anything of Julien's funeral, 
 for she was delirious when he was buried. In a few 
 days she was conscious of Aunt Lison's presence in her 
 room, and, in the midst of the feverish nightmares by 
 which she was haunted, she strove to recall when, and 
 under what circumstances, the old maid had last left 
 Les Peuples. But even in her lucid moments she could 
 not remember, and she could only feel sure she had seen 
 her since the baroness's death. 
 
 XI 
 
 Jeanne was confined to her room for three months 
 and everyone despaired of her life, but very, very 
 gradually health and strength returned to her. Her 
 father and Aunt Lison had come to live at the 
 chateau, and they nursed her day and night. The 
 shock she had sustained had entirely upset her nervous 
 system ; she started at the least noise, and the slight- 
 est emotion caused her to go off into long swoons. She 
 had never asked the details of Julien's death. Why 
 should she? Did she not already know enough? 
 Everyone except herself thought it had been an accident,
 
 200 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 and she never revealed to anyone the terrible secret of 
 her husband's adultery, and of the comte's sudden, fear- 
 ful visit the day of the catastrophe. 
 
 Her soul was filled with the sweet, tender memories 
 of the few, short hours of bliss she owed to her hus- 
 band, and she always pictured him to herself as he had 
 been when they were betrothed, and when she had 
 adored him in the only moments of sensual passion of 
 her life. She forgot all his faults and harshness; even 
 his infidelity seemed more pardonable now that death 
 stood between him and her. She felt a sort of vague 
 gratitude to this man who had clasped her in his arms, 
 and she forgave him the sorrows he had caused her, 
 and dwelt only on the happy moments they had passed 
 together. 
 
 As time wore on and month followed month, cover- 
 ing her grief and memories with the dust of forgetful- 
 ness, Jeanne devoted herself entirely to her son. The 
 child became the idol, the one engrossing thought, of 
 the three beings over whom he ruled like any despot; 
 there was even a sort of jealousy between his three 
 slaves, for Jeanne grudged the hearty kisses he gave the 
 baron when the latter rode him on his knees, and Aunt 
 Lison, who was neglected by this baby, as she had al- 
 ways been by everyone, and was regarded as a servant 
 by this master who could not talk yet, would go to her 
 room and cry as she compared the few kisses, which she 
 had so much difliculty in obtaining, with the embraces 
 the child so freely lavished on his mother and grand- 
 father. 
 
 Two peaceful, uneventful years were passed thus in 
 devoted attention to the child; then, at the beginning 
 of the third winter, it was arranged that they should
 
 UNE VIE 20 1 
 
 all go to Rouen until the spring. But they had hardly 
 arrived at the damp, old house before Paul had such a 
 severe attack of bronchitis, that pleurisy was feared. 
 His distracted mother was convinced that no other air 
 but that of Les Peuples agreed with him, and they all 
 went back there as soon as he was well. 
 
 Then came a series of quiet, monotonous years. 
 Jeanne, her father, and Aunt Lison spent all their time 
 with the child, and were continually going into raptures 
 over the way he lisped, or with his funny sayings and 
 doings. Jeanne lovingly called him " Paulet," and, 
 when he tried to repeat the word, he made them all 
 laugh by pronouncing it " Poulet," for he could not 
 speak plainly. The nickname " Poulet " clung to him, 
 and henceforth he was never called anything else. He 
 grew very quickly, and one of the chief amusements of 
 his " three mothers," as the baron called them, was to 
 measure his height. On the wainscoting, by the draw- 
 ing-room door, was a series of marks made with a pen- 
 knife, showing how much the boy had grown every 
 month, and these marks, which were called " Poulet's 
 ladder," were of great importance in everyone's eyes. 
 
 Then there came a very unexpected addition to the 
 important personages of the household — the dog Mas- 
 sacre, which Jeanne had neglected since all her atten- 
 tion had been centered in her son. Ludivine fed him, 
 and he lived quite alone, and always on the chain, in an 
 old barrel in front of the stables. Paul noticed him 
 one morning, and at once wanted to go and kiss him. 
 The dog made a great fuss over the child, who cried 
 when he was taken away, so Massacre was unchained, 
 and henceforth lived in the house. He became Paul's 
 inseparable friend and companion; they played to-
 
 202 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 gether, and lay down side by side on the carpet to go to 
 sleep, and soon Massacre shared the bed of his playfel- 
 low, who would not let the dog leave him. Jeanne 
 lamented sometimes over the fleas, and Aunt Lison felt 
 angry with the dog for absorbing so much of the child's 
 affection, affection for which she longed, and which, it 
 seemed to her, this animal had stolen. 
 
 At long intervals visits were exchanged with the 
 Brisevilles and the Coutellers, but the mayor and the 
 doctor were the only regular visitors at the chateau. 
 
 The brutal way in which the priest had killed the 
 dog, and the suspicions he had Instilled into her mind 
 about the time of Julien's and Gilberte's horrible death, 
 had roused Jeanne's Indignation against the God who 
 could have such ministers, and she had entirely ceased 
 to attend church. From time to time the abbe in- 
 veighed in outspoken terms against the chateau, which, 
 he said, was inhabited by the Spirit of Evil, the Spirit 
 of Everlasting Rebellion, the Spirit of Errors and of 
 Lies, the Spirit of Iniquity, the Spirit of Corruption 
 and Impurity; it was by all these names that he alluded 
 to the baron. 
 
 The church was deserted, and when the cure hap- 
 pened to walk past any fields In which the ploughmen 
 were at work, the men never ceased their task to speak 
 to him, or turned to touch their hats. He acquired the 
 reputation of being a wizard because he cast out the 
 devil from a woman who was possessed, and the peas- 
 ants believed he knew words to dispel charms. He laid 
 his hands on cows that gave thin milk, discovered the 
 whereabouts of things which had been lost by means of 
 a mysterious Incantation, and devoted his narrow mind 
 to the study of all the ecclesiastical books In which he
 
 UXE VIE 203 
 
 could find accounts of the devil's apparitions upon earth, 
 or descriptions of his resources and stratagems, and the 
 various ways in which he manifested his power and exer- 
 cised his influence. 
 
 Believing himself specially called to combat this in- 
 visible, harmful Power, the priest had learnt all the 
 forms given in religious manuals to exorcise the devil. 
 He fancied Satan lurked in every shadow, and the 
 phrase Sieiit Ico riigiens circuit, quarens quern devoret 
 was continually on his lips. People began to be afraid 
 of his strange power; even his fellow-clergy (ignorant 
 country priests to whom Beelzebub was an article of 
 their faith, and who, perplexed by the minute directions 
 for the rites to be observed in case of any manifestations 
 of the Evil One's power, at last confounded religion 
 with magic) regarded the Abbe Tolbiac as somewhat of 
 a wizard, and respected him as much for the supernatu- 
 ral power he was supposed to possess as for the irre- 
 proachable austerity of his life. 
 
 The cure never bowed to Jeanne if he chanced to 
 meet her, and such a state of things worried and grieved 
 Aunt Lison, who could not understand how anyone 
 could systematically stay away from church. Everyone 
 took it for granted that she was religious and confessed 
 and communicated at proper intervals, and no one ever 
 tried to find out what her views on religion really were. 
 Whenever she was quite alone with Paul, Lison talked 
 to him, in whispers, about the good God. The child 
 listened to her with a faint degree of Interest when she 
 related the miracles which had been performed in the 
 old times, and, when she told him he must love the good 
 God, very, very dearly, he sometimes asked : 
 
 " Where is he, auntie? "
 
 204 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 She would point upwards and answer : " Up there, 
 above the sky, Poulet; but you must not say anything 
 about it," for she feared the baron would be angry if 
 he knew what she was teaching the boy. One day, 
 however, Poulet startled her by asserting: " The good 
 God is everywhere except in church," and she found he 
 had been talking to his grandfather about what she had 
 told him, 
 
 Paul was now ten years old ; his mother looked forty. 
 He was strong, noisy, and boldly climbed the trees, but 
 his education had, so far, been very neglected. He dis- 
 liked lessons, would never settle down to them, and, if 
 ever the baron managed to keep him reading a little 
 longer than usual, Jeanne would interfere, saying : 
 
 " Let him go and play, now. He is so young to be 
 tired with books." 
 
 In her eyes he was still an infant, and she hardly 
 noticed that he walked, ran, and talked like a man in 
 miniature. She lived in constant anxiety lest he should 
 fall down, or get too cold or too hot, or overload his 
 stomach, or not eat as much as his growth demanded. 
 
 When the boy was twelve years old a great difficulty 
 arose about his first communion. Lise went to Jeanne's 
 room one morning, and pointed out to her that the child 
 could not be permitted to go any longer without reli- 
 gious instruction, and without performing the simplest 
 sacred duties. She called every argument to her aid, 
 and gave a thousand reasons for the necessity of what 
 she was urging, dwelling chiefly upon the danger of 
 scandal. The Idea worried Jeanne, and, unable to give 
 a decided answer, she replied that Paul could very well 
 go on as he was for a little longer. A month after this
 
 UNE VIE 205 
 
 discussion with Lise, Jeanne called on the Mcomtesse de 
 Briseville. 
 
 " I suppose it will be Paul's first communion this 
 year," said the vicomtesse, in the course of conversation. 
 
 " Yes, maciame," answered Jeanne, taken unawares. 
 
 These few words had the effect of deciding her, and, 
 without saying anything about it to her father, she 
 asked Lise to take the child to the catechism class. 
 Everything went on smoothly for a month ; then Poulet 
 came back, one evening, with a sore throat, and the 
 next day he began to cough. His frightened mother 
 questioned him as to the cause of his cold and he told 
 her that he had not behaved very well in class, so the 
 cure had sent him to wait at the door of the church, 
 where there was a draught from the porch, until the 
 end of the lesson. After that Jeanne kept him at home, 
 and taught him his catechism herself; but the Abbe Tol- 
 biac refused to admit him to communion, in spite of all 
 Lison's entreaties, alleging, as his reason, that the boy 
 had not been properly prepared. 
 
 The following year he refused him again, and the 
 baron was so exasperated that he said plainly there was 
 no need for Paul to believe in such foolery as this absurd 
 symbol of transubstantiation, to become a good and hon- 
 est man. So it was resolved to bring the boy up in 
 the Christian faith, but not in the Catholic Church, and 
 that he should decide his religion for himself when he 
 reached his majority. 
 
 A short time afterwards, Jeanne called on the Brise- 
 villes and received no visit in return. Knowing how 
 punctilious they were in all matters of etiquette, she felt 
 very much surprised at the omission, until the Marquise
 
 2o6 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 de Coutelier haughtily told her the reason of this neg- 
 lect. Aware that her husband's rank and wealth made 
 her the queen of the Normandy aristocracy, the mar- 
 quise ruled in queen-like fashion, showing herself gra- 
 cious or severe as occasions demanded. She never hesi- 
 tated to speak as she thought, and reproved, or con- 
 gratulated, or corrected whenever she thought fit. 
 When Jeanne called on her she addressed a few icy 
 words to her visitor, then said in a colci tone: " Soci- 
 ety divides itself naturally into two classes : those who 
 believe in God, and those who do not. The former, 
 however lowly they may be, are our friends and equals; 
 with the latter we can have nothing to do," 
 
 Jeanne felt that she was being attacked, and replied : 
 
 " But cannot one believe in God without constantly 
 attending church? " 
 
 " No, madame. Believers go to pray to God in his 
 church, as they would go to visit their friends at their 
 houses." 
 
 " God is everywhere, madame, and not only in the 
 churches," answered Jeanne, feeling very hurt. " I 
 believe in his goodness and mercy from the bottom of 
 my heart, but when there are certain priests between him 
 and me, I can no longer realize his presence." 
 
 " The priest is the standard-bearer of the church, 
 madame," said the marquise, rising, " and, whoever 
 does not follow that flag is as much our enemy as the 
 church's." 
 
 Jeanne had risen also. " You believe In the God 
 of a sect, madame," she replied, quivering with indigna- 
 tion. " / believe in the God whom every upright man 
 reveres," and, with a bow, she left the marquise. 
 
 Among themselv^es the peasants also blamed Jeanne
 
 UXE VIE 207 
 
 for not sending Poulet to his first communion. They 
 themselves did not go to mass, and never took the sac- 
 rament, or at least, only at Easter when the Church 
 formally commanded it; but when it came to the chil- 
 dren, that was a different matter, and not one of them 
 would have dared to bring a child up outside the com- 
 mon faith, for, after all, " Religion is Religion." 
 
 Jeanne was quite conscious of the disapproval with 
 which ever}'one regarded her conduct, but such incon- 
 sistency only roused her indignation, and she scorned 
 the people who could thus quiet their consciences so eas- 
 ily, and hide the cowardly fears which lurked at the 
 bottom of their hearts under the mask of righteousness. 
 
 The baron undertook to direct Paul's studies, and be- 
 gan to instruct him in Latin. The boy's mother had 
 but one word to say on the subject, " Whatever you do, 
 don't tire him," and, while lessons were going on, she 
 would anxiously hang round the door of the school- 
 room, which her father had forbidden her to enter, be- 
 cause, at every moment, she interrupted his teaching to 
 ask: "You're sure your feet are not cold, Poulet?" 
 or " Your head does not ache, does it, Poulet? " or to 
 admonish the master with : " Don't make him talk so 
 much, he will have a sore throat." 
 
 As soon as lessons were over the boy went into the 
 garden with his mother and aunt. They were all three 
 very fond of gardening, and took great pleasure and 
 interest in planting and pruning, in watching the seeds 
 they had sown come up and blossom, and in cutting 
 flowers for nosegays. Paul devoted himself chiefly to 
 raising salad plants. He had the entire care of four 
 big beds in the kitchen garden, and there he cultivated 
 lettuce, endive, cos-lettuce, mustardcress, and every
 
 2o8 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 other known kind of salad,* He dug, watered, weeded, 
 and planted, and made his two mothers work like day 
 laborers, and for hours together they knelt on the bor- 
 ders, soiling their hands and dresses as they planted the 
 seedlings in the holes they made with their forefingers 
 in the mold. 
 
 Poulet was almost fifteen; he had grown wonderfully, 
 and the highest mark on the drawing-room wall was 
 over five feet from the ground, but in mind he was still 
 an ignorant, foolish child, for he had no opportunity 
 of expanding his intellect, confined as he was to the soci- 
 ety of these two women and the good-tempered old man 
 who was so far behind the times. At last one evening 
 the baron said it was time for the boy to go to college. 
 Aunt Lison withdrew into ^ dark corner in horror at 
 the idea, and Jeanne began to sob. 
 
 " Why does he want to know so much? " she replied. 
 *' We will bring him up to be a gentleman farmer, to 
 devote himself to the cultivation of his property, as so 
 many noblemen do, and he will pass his life happily in 
 this house, where we have lived before him and where 
 we shall die. What more can he want? " 
 
 The baron shook his head. 
 
 " What answer will you make if he comes to you a 
 few years hence, and says : ' I am nothing, and I know 
 nothing through your selfish love. I feel incapable of 
 working or of becoming anyone now, and yet I know I 
 was not intended to lead the dull, pleasureless life to 
 which your short-sighted affection has condemned me.' " 
 
 Jeanne turned to her son with the tears rolling down 
 her cheeks. 
 
 " Oh, Poulet, you will never reproach me for having , 
 loved you too much, will you? "
 
 UNE VIE 209 
 
 *' No, mamma," promlse'd the boy in surprise. 
 
 *' You swear you will not? " 
 
 " Yes, mamma/' 
 
 " You want to stay here, don't you? " 
 
 " Yes, mamma." 
 
 " Jeanne, you have no right to dispose of his life in 
 that way," said the baron, sternly. " Such conduct is 
 cowardly — almost criminal. You are sacrificing your 
 child to 3^our own personal happiness." 
 
 Jeanne hid her face In her han^s, while her sobs came 
 in quick succession. 
 
 " I have been so unhappy — so unhappy," she mur- 
 mured, through her tears. " And now my son has 
 brought peace and rest into my life, you want to take 
 him from me. What will become of me — if I am 
 left — all alone now ? " 
 
 Her father went and sat down by her side. " And 
 am I no one, Jeanne? " he asked, taking her in his arms. 
 She threw her arms round his neck, and kissed him 
 fondly. Then in a voice still choked with tears and 
 sobs : 
 
 " Yes, perhaps you are right papa, dear," she an- 
 swered; " and I was foolish; but I have had so much 
 sorrow. I am quite willing for him to go to college 
 now." 
 
 Then Poulet, who hardly understood what was going 
 
 to be done with him, began to cry too, and his three 
 
 mothers kissed and coaxed him and told him to be brave. 
 
 They all went up to bed with heavy hearts, and even 
 
 the baron wept when he was alone in his own room, 
 
 though he had controlled his emotion downstairs. It 
 
 was resolved to send Paul to the college at Havre at 
 
 the beginning of the next term, and during the summer 
 V— 14
 
 2IO A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 he was more spoilt than ever. His mother moaned as 
 she thought of the approaching separation and she got 
 ready as many clothes for the boy as if he had been 
 about to start on a ten years' journey. 
 
 One October morning, after a sleepless night, the 
 baron, Jeanne, and Aunt Lison went away with Poulet 
 in the landau. They had already paid a visit to fix 
 upon the bed he was to have in the dormitory and the 
 seat he was to occupy in class, and this time Jeanne and 
 Aunt Lison passed the whole day in unpacking his 
 things and arranging them in the little chest of draw- 
 ers. As the latter would not contain the quarter of 
 what she had brought, Jeanne went to the head master 
 to ask if the boy could not have another. The steward 
 was sent for, and he said that so much linen and so 
 many clothes were simply in the way, instead of being 
 of any use, and that the rules of the house forbade him 
 to allow another chest of drawers, so Jeanne made up 
 her mind to hire a room in a little hotel close by, and to 
 ask the landlord himself to take Poulet all he wanted, 
 directly the child found himself in need of anything. 
 
 They all went on the pier for the rest of the after- 
 noon and watched the ships entering and leaving the 
 harbor ; then, at nightfall, they went to a restaurant for 
 dinner. But they were too unhappy to eat, and the 
 dishes were placed before them and removed almost 
 untouched as they sat looking at each other with tearful 
 eyes. After dinner they walked slowly back to the col- 
 lege. Boys of all ages were arriving on every side, 
 some accompanied by their parents, others by servants. 
 A great many were crying, and the big, dim courtyard 
 was filled with the sound of tears. 
 
 When the time came to say good-bye, Jeanne and
 
 UXE VIE 211 
 
 Poulet clung to each other as if they could not part, 
 while Aunt Lison stood, quite forgotten, in the back- 
 ground, with her face buried in her handkerchief. The 
 baron felt he too was giving way, so he hastened the 
 farewells, and took his daughter from the college. The 
 landau was waiting at the door, and they drove back to 
 Les Peuples in a silence that was only broken by an occa- 
 sional sob. 
 
 Jeanne wept the whole of the following day, and the 
 next she ordered the phaeton and drove over to Havre. 
 Poulet seemed to have got over the separation already; 
 it was the first time he had ever had any companions of 
 his own age, and, as he sat beside his mother, he fidgeted 
 on his chair and longed to run out and play. Every 
 other day Jeanne went to see him, and on Sundays took 
 him out. She felt as though she had not energy enough 
 to leave the college between the recreation hours, so she 
 waited in the parloir while the classes were going on 
 until Poulet could come to her again. At last the head 
 master asked her to go up and see him, and begged her 
 not to come so often. She did not take any notice of 
 his request, and he warned her that if she still persisted 
 in preventing her son from enjoying his play hours, and 
 in interrupting his work, he would be obliged to dismiss 
 him from the college. He also sent a note to the baron, 
 to the same effect, and thenceforth Jeanne was always 
 kept In sight at Les Peuples, like a prisoner. She lived 
 in a constant state of nervous anxiety, and looked for- 
 ward to the holidays with more impatience than her 
 son. She began to take long walks about the country, 
 with Massacre as her only companion, and would stay 
 out of doors all day long, dreamily musing. Some- 
 time^ she sat on the cliff the whole afternoon watching
 
 212 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 the sea ; sometimes she walked, across the wood, to 
 Yport, thinking, as she went, of how she had walked 
 there when she was young, and of the long, long years 
 w^hich had elapsed since she had bounded along these 
 very paths, a hopeful, happy girl. 
 
 Every time she saw her son, it seemed to Jeanne as 
 if ten years had passed since she had seen him last; for 
 every month he became more of a man, and every month 
 she became more aged. Her father looked like her 
 brother, and Aunt Lison (who had been quite faded 
 when she was twenty-five, and had never seemed to get 
 older since) might have been taken for her elder sister. 
 
 Poulet did not study very hard; he spent two years 
 in the fourth form, managed to get through the third 
 in one twelvemonth, then spent two more in the second, 
 and was nearly twenty when he reached the rhetoric 
 class. He had grown into a tall, fair youth, with whis- 
 kered cheeks and a budding moustache. He came over 
 to Les Peuples every Sunday now, instead of his mother 
 going to see him ; and as he had been taking riding les- 
 sons for some time past, he hired a horse and accom- 
 plished the journey from Havre in two hours. 
 
 Every Sunday Jeanne started out early in the m.orn- 
 °ng to go and meet him on the road, and with her went 
 A.unt Lison and the baron, who was beginning to stoop, 
 .nd who walked like a little old man, with his hands 
 clasped behind his back as if to prevent himself from 
 pitching forward on his face. The three walked slowly 
 along, sometimes sitting down by the wayside to rest, 
 and all the while straining their eyes to catch the first 
 glimpse of the rider. As soon as he appeared, looking 
 like a black speck on the white road, they waved their 
 handkerchiefs, and he at once put his horse at a gallop,
 
 UNE VIE 213 
 
 and came up like a whirlwind, frightening his mother 
 and Aunt Lison, and making his grandfather exclaim, 
 " Bravo ! " in the admiration of impotent old age. 
 
 Although Paul was a head taller than his mother, she 
 always treated him as if he were a child and still asked 
 him, as in former years, " Your feet are not cold, are 
 they, Poulet? " If he went out of doors, after lunch, 
 to smoke a cigarette, she opened the window to cry: 
 " Oh, don't go out without a hat, you will catch cold 
 in your head"; and when, at night, he mounted his 
 horse to return, she could hardly contain herself for 
 nervousness, and entreated her son not to be reck- 
 less. 
 
 • " Do not ride too quickly, Poulet, dear," she would 
 say. " Think of your poor mother, who would go mad 
 if anything happened to you, and be careful." 
 
 One Saturday morning she received a letter from 
 Paul to say he should not come to Les Peuples as usual, 
 the following day, as he had been invited to a party 
 some of his college friends had got up. The whole of 
 Sunday Jeanne was tortured by a presentiment of evil, 
 and when Thursday came, she was unable to bear her 
 suspense any longer, and went over to Havre. 
 
 Paul seemed changed, though she could hardly tell 
 in what way. He seemed more spirited, and his words 
 and tones were more manly. 
 
 " By the way, mamma, we are going on another ex- 
 cursion and I sha'n't come to Les Peuples next Sunday, 
 as you have come to see me to-day," he said, all at once, 
 as if it were the most natural thing in the world. 
 
 Jeanne felt as much surprised and stunned as if he 
 had told her he was going to America; then, when she 
 was again able to speak:
 
 214 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 " Oh, PoLilet," she exclaimed, " what is the matter 
 with you? Tell me what is going on." 
 
 He laughed and gave her a kiss. 
 
 " Why, nothing at all, mamma. I am only going to 
 enjoy myself with some friends, as everyone does at 
 my age." 
 
 She made no reply, but when she was alone in the car- 
 riage, her head was filled with new and strange ideas. 
 She. had not recognized her Poulet, her little Poulet, as 
 of old; she perceived for the first time that he was 
 grown up, that he was no longer hers, that henceforth 
 he was going to live his own life, independently of the 
 old people. To her he seemed to have changed entirel}" 
 in a day. What ! Was this strong, bearded, firm- 
 wulled lad her son, her little child who used to make her 
 help him plant his lettuces? 
 
 Paul only came to Les Peuples at very long intervals 
 for the next three months, and even when he was rhere, 
 It was only too plain that he longed to get away again 
 as soon as possible, and that, each evening, he tried to 
 leave an hour earlier. Jeanne imagined all sorts of 
 things, while the baron tried to console her by saying: 
 " There, let him alone, the boy is twenty years old, you 
 know." 
 
 One morning, a shabbily dressed old man who spoke 
 with a German accent asked for " Matame la vicom- 
 tesse." He was shown in, and, after a great many cere- 
 monious bows, pulled out a dirty pocketbook, saying : 
 
 " I have a leetle paper for you," and then unfolded, 
 and held out a greasy scrap of paper. 
 
 Jeanne read it over twice, looked at the Jew, read it 
 over again, then asked : 
 
 " What does it mean? "
 
 UNE VIE 215 
 
 " I vlll tell you," replied the man obsequiously. 
 " Your son wanted a leetle money, and, as I know what 
 a goot mother you are, I lent him joost a leetle to go 
 on vith." 
 
 Jeanne was trembling. " But why did he not come 
 to me for it? " 
 
 The Jew entered Into a long explanation about a gam- 
 bling debt which had had to be paid on a certain 
 morning before midday, that no one would lend Paul 
 anything as he was not yet of age, and that his " honor 
 would have been compromised," if he, the Jew, had 
 not " rendered this little service " to the young man. 
 Jeanne wanted to send for the baron, but her emotion 
 seemed to have taken all the strength from her limbs, 
 and she could not rise from her seat. 
 
 " Would you be kind enough to ring? " she said to 
 the money-lender, at last. 
 
 He feared some trick, and hesitated for a moment. 
 
 " If I inconvenience you, I vill call again," he stam- 
 mered. 
 
 She answered him by a shake of the head, and when 
 he had rung they waited in silence for the baron. The 
 latter at once understood it all. The bill was for fif- 
 teen hundred francs. He paid the Jew a thousand, 
 saying to him : 
 
 " Don't let me see you here again," and the man 
 thanked him, bowed, and went away. 
 
 Jeanne and the baron at once went over to Havre, 
 but when they arrived at the college they learnt that 
 Paul had not been there for a month. The principal 
 had received four letters, apparently from Jeanne, the 
 first telling him that his pupil was ill, the others to say 
 how he was getting on, and each letter was accompanied
 
 2i6 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 by a doctor's certificate; of course they were all forged. 
 Jeanne and her father looked at each other in dismay 
 when they heard this news, and the principal feeling 
 very sorry for them took them to a magistrate that the 
 police might be set to find the young man. 
 
 Jeanne and the baron slept at an hotel that night, and 
 the next day Paul was discovered at the house of a fast 
 woman. His mother and grandfather took him back 
 with them to Les Peuples and the whole of the way 
 not a word was exchanged. Jeanne hid her face in 
 her handkerchief and cried, and Paul looked out of the 
 window with an air of indifference. 
 
 Before the end of the week they found out that, dur- 
 ing the last three months, Paul had contracted debts to 
 the amount of fifteen thousand francs, but the creditors 
 had not gone to his relations about the money, because 
 they knew the boy would soon be of age. Poulet was 
 asked for no explanation and received no reproof, as 
 his relations hoped to reform him by kindness. He 
 was pampered and caressed in every way; the choicest 
 dishes were prepared for him, and, as it was spring- 
 time, a boat was hired for him at Yport, in spite of 
 Jeanne's nervousness, that he might go sailing when- 
 ever he liked; the only thing that was denied him was 
 a horse, for fear he should ride to Havre. He became 
 very irritable and passionate and lived a perfectly aim- 
 less life. The baron grieved over his neglected studies, 
 and even Jeanne, much as she dreaded to be parted 
 from him again, began to wonder what was to be done 
 with him. 
 
 One evening he did not come home. It was found, 
 on inquiry, that he had gone out in a boat with two sail- 
 ors, and his distracted mother hurried down to Yport,
 
 UNE VIE 217 
 
 without stopping even to put anything over her head. 
 On the beach she found a few men awaiting the return 
 of the boat, and out on the sea was a little swaying light, 
 which was drawing nearer and nearer to the shore. 
 The boat came in, but Paul was not on board; he had 
 ordered the men to take him to Havre, and had landed 
 there. 
 
 The police sought him in vain; he was nowhere to be 
 found, and the woman who had hidden him once be- 
 fore had sold all her furniture, paid her rent, and dis- 
 appeared also, without leaving any trace behind her. 
 In Paul's room at Les Peuples two letters were found 
 from this creature (who seemed madly in love with 
 him) saying that she had obtained the necessary money 
 for a journey to England. The three inmates of the 
 chateau lived on, gloomy and despairing, through all 
 this mental torture. Jeanne's hair, which had been 
 grav before, was now quite white, and she sometimes 
 asked herself what she could have done, that Fate 
 should so mercilessly pursue her. One day she received 
 the following letter from the Abbe Tolbiac : 
 
 " Madame: The hand of God has been laid heav- 
 ily upon you. You refused to give your son to him, 
 and he has delivered him over to a prostitute; will you 
 not profit by this lesson from heaven? God's mercy is 
 infinite, and perhaps he will pardon you If you throw 
 yourself at his feet. I am his humble servant, and I 
 will open his door to you when you come and knock." 
 
 Jeanne sat for a long time with this letter lying open 
 on her knees. Perhaps, after all, the priest's words 
 were true; and all her religious doubts and uncertainties
 
 2i8 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 returned to harass her mind. Was it possible that God 
 could be vindictive and jealous like men? But if he 
 was not jealous, he would no longer be feared and loved, 
 and, no doubt, it was that we might the better know 
 him, that he manifested himself to men, as influenced 
 by the same feeling as themselves. Then she felt the 
 fear, the cowardly dread, which urges those who hesi- 
 tate and doubt to seek the safety of the Church, and one 
 evening, when it was dark, she stealthily ran to the 
 vicarage, and knelt at the foot of the fragile-looking 
 priest to solicit absolution. He only promised her a 
 semi-pardon, as God could not shower all his favors on 
 a house which sheltered such a man as the baron. 
 *' Still, you will soon receive a proof of the divine 
 mercy," said the priest. 
 
 Two days later, Jeanne did indeed receive a letter 
 from her son, and in the excess of her grief, she looked 
 upon it as the forerunner of the consolation promised 
 by the abbe. The letter ran thus : 
 
 "My Dear Mother: Do not be uneasy about 
 me, I am at London, and in good health, but in great 
 need of money. W^e have not a sou, and some days 
 we have to go without anything to eat. She who is 
 with me, and whom I love with all my heart, has spent 
 all she had (some five thousand francs that she might 
 remain with me, and you will, of course, understand 
 that I am bound in honor to discharge my debt to her 
 at the very first opportunity. I shall soon be of age, 
 but It would be very good of you if you would advance 
 me fifteen thousand francs of what I inherit from papa; 
 it would relieve me from great embarrassments.
 
 UNE VIE 219 
 
 *' Good-bye, mother dear ; I hope soon to see you 
 again, but in the meantime, I send much lov^e to grand- 
 father. Aunt Lison and yourself. Your son, 
 
 " VicoMTE Paul de Lamare/' 
 
 Then he had not forgotten her, for he had written 
 to her! She did not stop to think that it was simply 
 to ask her for money; he had not any and some should 
 be sent him; what did money matter? He had writ- 
 ten to her ! 
 
 She ran to show the letter to the baron, the tears 
 streaming from her eyes. Aunt Lison was called, and, 
 word by word, they read over this letter which spoke 
 of their loved one, and lingered over every sentence. 
 Jeanne, transported from the deepest despair to a kind 
 of intoxication of joy, began to take Paul's part. 
 
 " Now he has written, he will come back," she said. 
 " I am sure he will come back." 
 
 " Still he left us for this creature," said the baron, 
 who was calm enough to reason; " and he must love her 
 better than he does us, since he did not hesitate in his 
 choice between her and his home." 
 
 The words sent a pang of anguish through Jeanne's 
 heart, and within her sprang up the fierce, deadly hatred 
 of a jealous mother against the woman who had robbed 
 her of her son. Until then her every thought had been 
 for Paul, and she had hardly realized that this creature 
 was the cause of all his errors; but the baron's argu- 
 ment had suddenly brought this rival who possessed 
 such fatal influence vividly to her mind, and she felt 
 that between this woman and herself there must be a 
 determined, bitter warfare. With that thought came
 
 220 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 another one as terrible — that she would rather lose 
 her son than share him with this other; and all her joy 
 and delight vanished. 
 
 The fifteen thousand francs were sent, and for five 
 months nothing more was heard of Paul. At the end 
 of that time a lawyer came to the chateau to see about 
 his inheritance. Jeanne and the baron acceded to all 
 his demands without any dispute, even giving up the 
 money to which the mother had a right for her lifetime, 
 and when he returned to Paris, Paul found himself the 
 possessor of a hundred and twenty thousand francs. 
 During the next six months only four short letters were 
 received from him, giving news of his doings in a few, 
 concise sentences, and ending with formal protestations 
 of affection. 
 
 " I am not Idle," he said. " I have obtained a post 
 in connection with the Stock Exchange, and I hope some 
 day to see my dear relations at Les Peuples." 
 
 He never mentioned his mistress, but his silence was 
 more significant than If he had written four pages about 
 her; and, in these icy letters, Jeanne could perceive the 
 influence of this unknown woman who was, by instinct, 
 the implacable enemy of every mother. 
 
 Ponder as they would, the three lonely beings at the 
 chateau could think of no means by which they might 
 rescue Paul from his present life. They would have 
 gone to Paris, but they knew that would be no good. 
 
 " We must let his passion wear itself out," said the 
 baron; " sooner or later he will return to us of his own 
 accord." And the niournful days dragged on. 
 
 Jeanne and Lison got into the habit of going to 
 church together without letting the baron know; and a 
 long time passed without any news from Paul. Then,
 
 UNE VIE 221 
 
 one morning they received a desperate letter which ter- 
 rified them. 
 
 " My Dear Mother: I am lost; I shall have no 
 resource left but to blow out my brains If you do not 
 help me. A speculation which held out every hope of 
 success has turned the wrong way, and I owe eighty-five 
 thousand francs. It means dishonor, ruin, the destruc- 
 tion of all my future if I do not pay, and, I say again, 
 rather than survive the disgrace, I will blow my brains 
 out. I should, perhaps, have done so already, had It 
 not been for the brave and hopeful words of a woman, 
 whose name I never mention to you, but who Is the good 
 genius of my life. 
 
 " I send you my very best love, dear mother. Good- 
 bye, perhaps for ever. 
 
 " Paul." 
 
 Enclosed In the letter was a bundle of business papers 
 giving the details of this unfortunate speculation. The 
 baron answered by return post that they would help as 
 much as they could. Then he went to Havre to get 
 legal advice, mortgaged some property and forwarded 
 the m.oney to Paul. The young man wrote back three 
 letters full of hearty thanks, and said they might ex- 
 pect him almost Immediately. But he did not come, 
 and another year passed away. 
 
 Jeanne and the baron were on the point of starting 
 for Paris, to find him and make one last effort to per- 
 suade him to return, when they received a few lines 
 saying he was again In London, starting a steamboat 
 company which was to trade under the name of " Paul 
 Delamare & Co." " I am sure to get a living out of
 
 222 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 it," he wrote, " and perhaps it will make my fortune. 
 At any rate I risk nothing, and you must at once see the 
 advantages of the scheme. When I see you again, I 
 shall be well up in the world ; there is nothing like trade 
 for making money, nowadays." 
 
 Three months later, the company went into liquida- 
 tion, and the manager was prosecuted for falsifying the 
 books. When the news reached Les Peuples, Jeanne 
 had a hysterical fit which lasted several hours. The 
 baron went to Havre, made every inquiry, saw lawyers 
 and attorneys, and found that the Delamare Company 
 had failed for two hundred and fifty thousand francs. 
 He again mortgaged his property, and borrowed a large 
 sum on Les Peuples and the two adjoining farms. One 
 evening he was going through some final formalities in 
 a lawyer's office, when he suddenly fell to the ground 
 in an apoplectic fit. A mounted messenger was at once 
 dispatched to Jeanne, but her father died before she 
 could arrive. The shock was so great that it seemed 
 to stim Jeanne and she could not realize her loss. The 
 body was taken back to Les Peuples, but the Abbe Tol- 
 biac refused to allow it to be interred with any sacred 
 rites, in spite of all the entreaties of the two women, so 
 the burial took place at night without any ceremony 
 whatever. Then Jeanne fell into a state of such utter 
 depression that she took no interest in anything, and 
 seemed unable to comprehend the simplest things. 
 
 Paul, who was still in hiding in England, heard of his 
 grandfather's death through the liquidators of the com- 
 pany, and wrote to say he should have come before, but 
 he had only just heard the sad news. He concluded: 
 " Now you have rescued me from my difficulties,
 
 UNE VIE 223 
 
 mother dear, I shall return to France, and shall at once 
 come to see you." 
 
 Towards the end of that winter Aunt Lison, who was 
 now sixty-eight, had a severe attack of bronchitis. It 
 turned to inflammation of the lungs, and the old maid 
 quietly expired. 
 
 '' I will ask the good God to take pity on you, my 
 poor little Jeanne," were the last words she uttered. 
 
 Jeanne followed her to the grave, saw the earth fall 
 on the coffin, and then sank to the ground, longing for 
 death to take her also that she might cease to think and 
 to suffer. As she fell a big, strong peasant woman 
 caught her in her arms and carried her away as if she 
 had been a child ; she took her back to the chateau, and 
 Jeanne let herself be put to bed by this stranger, who 
 handled her so tenderly and firmly, and at once fell 
 asleep, for she had spent the last five nights watching 
 beside the old maid, and she was thoroughly exhausted 
 by sorrow and fatigue. It was the middle of the night 
 when she again opened her eyes. A night-lamp was 
 burning on the mantelpiece, and, in the armchair, lay a 
 woman asleep. Jeanne did not know who it was, and, 
 leaning over the side of the bed, she tried to make out 
 her features by the glimmering light of the night-lamp. 
 She fancied she had seen this face before, but she could 
 not remember when or where. 
 
 The woman was quietly sleeping, her head drooping 
 on one shoulder, her cap lying on the ground and her 
 big hands hanging on each side of the armchair. She 
 was a strong, square-built peasant of about forty or 
 forty-five, with a red face and hair that was turrting 
 gray. Jeanne was sure she had seen her before, 'lut
 
 224 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 she had not the least Idea whether It was a long time 
 ago or quite recently, and It worried her to find she 
 could not remember. She softly got out of bed, and 
 went on tiptoe to see the sleeping woman nearer. She 
 recognized her as the peasant who had caught her in 
 her arms In the cemetery, and had afterwards put her 
 to bed; but surely she had known her in former times, 
 under other circumstances. And yet perhaps the face 
 was only familiar to her because she had seen It that 
 day In the cemetery. Still how was It that the woman 
 was sleeping here? 
 
 Just then the stranger opened her eyes and saw 
 Jeanne standing beside her. She started up, and they 
 stood face to face, so close together that they touched 
 each other. 
 
 " How Is it that you're out of bed? " said the peas- 
 ant; "you'll make yourself 111, getting up at this time 
 of night. Go back to bed again." 
 
 " Who are you? " asked Jeanne. 
 
 The woman made no answer, but picked Jeanne up 
 and carried her back to bed as easily as If she had been 
 a baby. She gently laid her down, and, as she bent 
 over her, she suddenly began to cover her cheeks, her 
 hair, her eyes with violent kisses, while the tears 
 streamed from her eyes. 
 
 "My poor mistress! Mam'zelle Jeanne, my poor 
 mistress ! Don't you know me? " she sobbed. 
 
 " Rosalie, my lass! " cried Jeanne, throwing her arms 
 round the woman's neck and kissing her; and, clasped 
 in each other's arms they mingled their tears and sobs 
 together. 
 
 Rosalie dried her eyes the first. " Come now," she 
 said, " you must be good and not catch cold."
 
 UNE VIE 225 
 
 She picked up the clothes, tucked up the bed and put 
 the pillow back under the head of her former mistress, 
 who lav choking with emotion as the memories of days 
 that were past and gone rushed back to her mind. 
 
 " How is it you have come back, my poor girl? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " Do you think I was going to leave you to live all 
 alone now? " answered Rosalie. 
 
 " Light a candle and let me look at you," went on 
 Jeanne. 
 
 Rosalie placed a light on the table by the bedside, and 
 for a long time they gazed at each other in silence. 
 
 " I should never have known you again," murmured 
 Jeanne, holding out her hand to her old servant. 
 " You have altered very much, though not so much as I 
 have." 
 
 " Yes, you have changed, Madame Jeanne, and more 
 than you ought to have done," answered Rosalie, as she 
 looked at this thin, faded, white-haired woman, whom 
 she had left young and beautiful; "but you must re- 
 mem.ber It's twenty-four years since we have seen one 
 another." 
 
 " Well, have you been happy? " asked Jeanne after 
 a long pause. 
 
 "Oh, yes — yes, madame. I haven't had much to 
 grumble at ; I've been happier than you — that's cer- 
 tain. The only thing that I'v^e always regretted is that 
 I didn't stop here — " She broke off abruptly, finding 
 she had unthinkingly touched upon the very subject she 
 wished to avoid. 
 
 " Well, you know, Rosalie, one cannot have every- 
 thing one wants," replied Jeanne gently; " and now you 
 
 too arc a widow, are you not? " Then her voice trcm- 
 V— 15
 
 226 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 bled, as she went on, " Have you any — any other chil- 
 dren? " 
 
 '' No, madame." 
 
 "And what is your — your son? Are you satisfied 
 with him? " 
 
 " Yes, madame; he's a good lad, and a hard-working 
 one. He married about six months ago, and he is 
 going to have the farm now I have come back to you." 
 
 "Then you will not leave me again?" murmured 
 Jeanne. 
 
 " No fear, madame," answered Rosalie in a rough 
 tone. " I've arranged all about that." 
 
 And for some time nothing more was said. 
 
 Jeanne could not help comparing Rosalie's life with 
 her own, but she had become quite resigned to the cru- 
 elty and injustice of Fate, and she felt no bitterness as 
 she thought of the difference between her maid's peace- 
 ful existence and her own. 
 
 " Was your husband kind to you? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, madame; he was a good, industrious fel- 
 low, and managed to put by a good deal. He died of 
 consumption," 
 
 Jeanne sat up in bed. " Tell me all about your life, 
 and everything that has happened to you," she said. 
 " I feel as if it would do me good to hear it." 
 
 Rosalie drew up a chair, sat down, and began to talk 
 about herself, her house, her friends, entering into all 
 the little details in which country people delight, laugh- 
 ing sometimes over things which made her think of the 
 happy times that were over, and gradually raising her 
 voice as she went on, like a woman accustomed to com- 
 mand, she wound up by saying: 
 
 " Oh, I'm well off now; I needn't be afraid of any-
 
 UNE VIE 227 
 
 thing. But I owe It all to you," she added in a lower, 
 faltering voice; " and now I've come back I'm not going 
 to take any wages. No! I won't! So, if you don't 
 choose to have me on those terms, I shall go away 
 again." 
 
 '' But you do not mean to serve me for nothing? " 
 said Jeanne. 
 
 "Yes, I do, madame. Money! You give me 
 money! Why, I've almost as much as you have your- 
 self. Do you know how much you will have after all 
 these loans and mortgages have been cleared off, and 
 you have paid all the interest you have let run on and 
 increase ? You don't know, do you ? Well, then, let 
 me tell you that you haven't ten thousand livres a year; 
 not ten thousand. But I'm going to put everything 
 straight, and pretty soon, too." 
 
 She had again raised her voice, for the thought of the 
 ruin which hung ov^er the house, and the way in which 
 the Interest money had been neglected and allowed to 
 accumulate roused her anger and Indignation. A faint, 
 sad smile which passed over her mistress's face angered 
 her still more, and she cried: 
 
 " You ought not to laugh at It, madame. People 
 are good for nothing without money." 
 
 Jeanne took both the servant's hands in hers. 
 " I have never had any luck," she said slowly, as if 
 she could think of nothing else. " Everything has 
 gone the wrong way with me. My whole life has been 
 ruined by a cruel Fate." 
 
 " You must not talk like that, madame," said Rosa- 
 He, shaking her head. " You made an unhappy mar- 
 riage, that's all. But people oughtn't to marry before 
 they know anything about their future husbands."
 
 228 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 They went on talking about themselves and their past 
 loves like two old friends, and when the day dawned 
 they had not yet told all they had to say. 
 
 XII 
 
 In less than a week Rosalie had everything and 
 everybody in the chateau under her control, and 
 even Jeanne yielded a passive obedience to the serv- 
 ant, who scolded her or soothed her as if she had 
 been a sick child. She was very weak now, and her 
 legs dragged along as the baroness's used to do; the 
 maid supported her when she went out and their con- 
 versation was always about bygone times, of which 
 Jeanne talked with tears in her eyes, and Rosalie in 
 the calm quiet way of an impassive peasant. 
 
 The old servant returned several times to the ques- 
 tion of the interest that was owing, and demanded the 
 papers which Jeanne, ignorant of all business matters, 
 had hidden away that Rosalie might not know of Paul's 
 misdoings. Next Rosalie went over to Fecamp each 
 day for a week to get everything explained to her by a 
 lawyer whom she knew; then one evening after she had 
 put her mistress to bed she sat down beside her and 
 said abruptly: 
 
 " Now you're in bed, madame, we will have a little 
 talk." 
 
 She told Jeanne exactly how matters stood, and that 
 when every claim had been settled she, Jeanne, would 
 have about seven or eight thousand francs a year; not 
 a penny more. 
 
 " Well, Rosalie," answered Jeanne, " I know I shall
 
 UNE VIE 229 
 
 not live to be very old, and I shall have enough until 
 1 die." 
 
 " Very likely you will, madame," replied Rosalie, get- 
 ting angry; "but how about JM. Paul? Don't you 
 mean to leave him anything? " 
 
 Jeanne shuddered. " Pray, don't ever speak to me 
 about him; I cannot bear to think of him." 
 
 " Yes, but I want to talk to you about him, because 
 you don't look at things in the right light, Madame 
 Jeanne. He may be doing all sorts of foolish things 
 now, but he won't always behave the same. He'll 
 marry and then he'll want money to educate his chil- 
 dren and to bring them up properly. Now listen to 
 what I am going to say; you must sell Les Peuples — " 
 
 But Jeanne started up in bed. 
 
 " Sell Les Peuples! How can you think of such a 
 thing? No! I will never sell the chateau!" 
 
 Rosalie was not in the least put out. 
 
 " But I say you will, madame, simply because you 
 must." 
 
 Then she explained her plans and her calculations. 
 She had already found a purchaser for Les Peuples and 
 the two adjoining farms, and when they had been sold 
 Jeanne would still have four farms at Saint Leonard, 
 which, freed from the mortgages, would bring in about 
 eight thousand three hundred francs a year. Out of 
 this income thirteen hundred francs would have to go 
 for the keeping up and repairing of the property; two 
 thousand would be put by for unforeseen expenses, and 
 Jeanne would have five thousand francs to live upon. 
 
 " Everything else is gone, so there's an end of it," 
 said Rosalie. " But, in future, I shall keep the monev.
 
 230 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 and M. Paul sha'n't have another penny off you. He'd 
 take your last farthing." 
 
 "But if he has not anything to eat?" murmured 
 Jeanne, who was quietly weeping. 
 
 " He can come to us if he's hungry; there'll always 
 be victuals and a bed for him. He'd never have got 
 into trouble if you hadn't given him any money the first 
 time he asked for some." 
 
 " But he was in debt; he would have been dishon- 
 ored." 
 
 " And don't you think he'll get into debt just the 
 same when you've no more money to give him? You 
 have paid his debts up to now, so well and good; but 
 you won't pay any more, I can tell you. And now, 
 good-night, madame." 
 
 And away she went. 
 
 The idea of selling Les Peuples and leaving the house 
 where she had passed all her life threw Jeanne into a 
 state of extreme agitation, and she lay awake the whole 
 night, " I shall never be able to go away from here," 
 she said, when Rosalie came into the room next morn- 
 ing. 
 
 " You'll have to, all the same, madame," answered 
 the maid with rising temper. " The lawyer is coming 
 presently with the man who wants to buy the chateau, 
 and, if you don't sell it, you won't have a blade of 
 grass to call your own in four years' time." 
 
 " Oh, I cannot! I cannot! " moaned Jeanne. 
 
 But an hour afterwards came a letter from Paul ask- 
 ing for ten thousand francs. What was to be done? 
 Jeanne did not know, and, in her distress, she consulted 
 Rosalie, who shrugged her shoulders, and observed: 
 
 " What did I tell you, madame? Oh, you'd both of
 
 UNE VIE 231 
 
 you have been in a nice muddle if I hadn't come back." 
 Then, by her advice, Jeanne wrote baclc : 
 
 " My Dear Son : I cannot help you any more ; you 
 have ruined me, and I am even obliged to sell Les Peu- 
 ples. But I shall always have a home for you whenever 
 you choose to return to your poor old mother, who has 
 suffered so cruelly through you. Jeanne." 
 
 The lawyer came with M. Jeoffrin, who was a re- 
 tired sugar baker, and Jeanne herself received them, and 
 invited them to go all over the house and grounds. 
 Then a month after this visit, she signed the deed of 
 sale, and bought, at the same time, a little villa in the 
 hamlet of Batteville, standing on the JMontivilliers high- 
 road, near Goderville. 
 
 After she had signed the deeds she went out to the 
 baroness's avenue, and walked up and down, heart- 
 broken and miserable while she bade tearful, despairing 
 farewells to the trees, the worm-eaten bench under the 
 plane tree, the wood, the old elm trunk, against which 
 she had leant so many times, and the hillock, where 
 she had so often sat, and whence she had watched the 
 Comte de Fourville running towards the sea on the 
 awful day of Julien's death. She stayed out until the 
 evening, and at last Rosalie went to look for her and 
 brought her in. A tall peasant of about twenty-five 
 v/as waiting at the door. He greeted Jeanne in a 
 friendly way, as if he had known her a long while : 
 
 " Good-day, Madame Jeanne, how are you? Mother 
 told me I was to come and help with the moving, and I 
 wanted to know what you meant to take with you, so 
 that I could move it a little at a tim.e without it hinder- 
 ing the farm work."
 
 232 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 He was Rosalie's son — Jullen's son and Paul's 
 brother. Jeanne's heart almost stood still as she looked 
 at him, and yet she would have liked to kiss the young 
 fellow. She gazed at him, trying to find any likeness to 
 her husband or her son. He was robust and ruddy- 
 cheeked and had his mother's fair hair and blue eyes, 
 but there was something in his face which reminded 
 Jeanne of Julien, though she could not discover where 
 the resemblance lay. 
 
 " I should be very much obliged if you could show 
 me the things now," continued the lad. 
 
 But she did not know herself yet what she should be 
 able to take, her new house was so small, and she asked 
 him to come again in a week's time. 
 
 For some time the removal occupied Jeanne's 
 thoughts, and made a change, though a sad one, in her 
 dull, hopeless life. She went from room to room, seek- 
 ing the pieces of furniture which were associated in her 
 mind with various events in her life, for the furniture 
 among which we live becomes, in time, part of our 
 lives — almost of ourselves — ■ and, as it gets old, and 
 we look at its faded colors, its frayed coverings, its tat- 
 tered linings, we are reminded of the prominent dates 
 and events of our existence by these time-worn objects 
 which have been the mute companions of our happy and 
 of our sad moments alike. 
 
 As agitated as if the decisions she were making had 
 been of the last importance, Jeanne chose, one by one, 
 the things she should take with her, often hesitating and 
 altering her mind at every moment, as she stood unable 
 to decide the respective merits of two armchairs, or of 
 some old escritoire and a still older worktable. She 
 opened and searched every drawer, and tried to con-
 
 UNE VIE 233 
 
 nect every object with something that had happened in 
 bygone days, and when at last she made up her mind 
 and said: " Yes, I shall take this," the article she had 
 decided upon was taken downstairs and put into the 
 dining-room. She wished to keep the whole of her bed- 
 room furniture, the bed, the tapestry, the clock — every- 
 thing, and she also took a few of the drawing-room 
 chairs, choosing those with the designs she had always 
 liked ever since she could remember — the fox and the 
 stork, the fox and the crow, the ant and the grasshop- 
 per, and the solitary heron. 
 
 One day, as she was wandering all over this house 
 she should so soon have to leave, Jeanne went up into 
 the garret. She was amazed when she opened the 
 door; there lay articles of furniture of every description, 
 some broken, others only soiled, others again stored 
 away simply because fresh things had been bought and 
 put in their places. She recognized a hundred little 
 odds and ends which used to be downstairs and had dis- 
 appeared without her noticing their absence — things of 
 no value which she had often used, insignificant little 
 articles, which had stood fifteen years beneath her eyes 
 and had never attracted her attention, but which now — 
 suddenly discovered in the lumber-room, lying side by 
 side with other things older still and which she could 
 quite distinctly remember seeing when she first returned 
 from the convent — became as precious In her eyes as 
 if they had been valued friends that had been a long 
 time absent from her. They appeared to her under 
 a new light, and as she looked at them she felt as she 
 might have done if any very reserved acquaintances had 
 suddenly begun to talk and to reveal thoughts and feel- 
 ings she had never dreamed they possessed.
 
 234 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 As she went from one thing to another, and remem- 
 bered Httle incidents in connection with them, her heart 
 felt as if it would break. " Why, this is the china cup 
 I cracked a few days before I was married, and here 
 is mamma's little lantern, and the cane papa broke try- 
 ing to open the wooden gate the rain had swollen." 
 
 Besides all these familiar objects there were a great 
 many things she had never seen before, which had be- 
 longed to her grandparents or her great-grandparents. 
 Covered with dust they looked like sad, forsaken exiles 
 from another century, their history and adventures for 
 ever lost, for there was no one living now who had 
 known those who had chosen, bought and treasured 
 them, or who had seen the hands which had so often 
 touched them or the eyes which had found such pleasure 
 in looking at them. Jeanne touched them, and turned 
 them about, her fingers leaving their traces on the thick 
 dust; and she stayed for a long, long time amidst these 
 old things, in the garret which was dimly lighted by a 
 little skylight. 
 
 She tried to find other things with associations to 
 them, and very carefully she examined some three- 
 legged chairs, a copper warming-pan, a dented foot- 
 warmer (which she thought she remembered) and all 
 the other worn-out household utensils. Then she put 
 all the things she thought she should like to take away 
 together, and going downstairs, sent Rosalie up to fetch 
 them. The latter indignantly refused to bring down 
 " such rubbish," but Jeanne, though she hardly ever 
 showed any will of her own, now would have her own 
 way this time, and the servant had to obey. 
 
 One morning young Denis Lecoq (Julien's son) 
 came, with his cart, to take way the first lot of things,
 
 UNE VIE 235 
 
 and Rosalie went off with him to look after the unload- 
 ing, and to see that the furniture was put into the right 
 rooms. 
 
 When she was alone Jeanne began to visit every room 
 in the chateau, and to kiss in a transport of passionate 
 sorrow and regret everything that she was forced to 
 leave behind her — the big white birds in the drawing- 
 room tapestry, the old candlesticks, anything and every- 
 thing that came in her way. She v/ent from room to 
 room, half mad with grief, and the tears streaming 
 from her eyes, and, when she had gone all over the 
 house, she went out to " say good-bye " to the sea. It 
 was the end of September, and the dull yellowish waves 
 stretched away as far as the eye could reach, under the 
 lowering gray sky which hung over the world. For 
 a long, long while, Jeanne stood on the cliff, her 
 thoughts running on all her sorrows and troubles, and it 
 was not till night drew on that she went indoors. In 
 that day she had gone through as much suffering as she 
 had ever passed through in her greatest griefs. 
 
 Rosalie had returned enchanted with the new house, 
 *' which was much livelier than this big barn of a place 
 that was not even on a main road," but her mistress 
 wept the whole ev^ening. 
 
 Now they knew the chateau was sold the farmers 
 showed Jeanne barely the respect that was due to her, 
 and, though they hardly knew why, among themselves 
 they always spoke of her as " that lunatic." Perhaps, 
 with their brute-like instinct, they perceived her un- 
 healthy and increasing sentimentality, her morbid 
 reveries, and the disordered and pitiful state of her 
 mind which so much sorrow and affliction had unhinged. 
 
 Happening to go through the stables the day before
 
 236 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 she was to leave Les Peuples, Jeanne came upon Pvias- 
 sacre, whose existence she had entirely forgotten. 
 Long past the age at which dogs generally die, he had 
 become blind and paralyzed, and dragged out his life 
 on a bed of straw, whither Ludivine, who never forgot 
 him, brought him his food. Jeanne took him up in 
 her arms, kissed him and carried him into the house; 
 he could hardly creep along, his legs were so stiff, and 
 he barked like a child's wooden toy-dog. 
 
 At length the last day dawned. Jeanne had passed 
 the night in Julien's old room, as all the furniture had 
 been moved out of hers, and when she rose she felt 
 as tired and exhausted as if she had just been running 
 a long distance. 
 
 Li the court-yard stood the gig in which Rosalie and 
 her mistress were to go, and a cart on which the re- 
 mainder of the furniture and the trunks were already 
 loaded. Ludivine and old Simon were to stay at the 
 chateau until its new owner arrived, and then, too old 
 to stay in service any longer, they were going to their 
 friends to live on their savings and the pensions Jeanne 
 had given them. Marius had married and left the 
 chateau long ago. 
 
 About eight o'clock a fine, cold rain, which the wind 
 drove in slanting lines, began to fall, and the furniture 
 on the cart had to be covered over with tarpaulins. 
 Some steaming cups of coffee stood on the kitchen-table, 
 and Jeanne sat down and slowly drank hers up ; then 
 rising: 
 
 " Let us go," she said. 
 
 She began to put on her hat and shawl, while Rosalie 
 put on her goloshes. A great lump rose in her throat, 
 and she whispered :
 
 UNE VIE 237 
 
 " Rosalie, do you remember how it rained the day 
 we left Rouen to come here? " 
 
 She broke off abruptly, pressed her hands to her 
 heart, and fell backwards in a sort of fit. For more 
 than an hour she lay as if she were dead, then, when 
 she at length recovered consciousness, she went into 
 violent hysterics. Gradually she became calmer, but 
 this attack had left her so weak that she could not rise 
 to her feet. Rosalie, fearing another attack if they did 
 not get her away at once, went for her son, and between 
 them, they carried her to the gig, and placed her on the 
 leather-covered seat. Rosalie got up beside her, 
 wrapped up her legs, threw a thick cloak over her 
 shoulders, then, opening an umbrella over her head, 
 cried: 
 
 " Make haste, and let's get off, Denis." 
 
 The young man climbed up by his mother, sat down 
 with one leg right outside the gig, for want of room, 
 and started off his horse at a quick jerky trot, which 
 shook the two women from side to side. As they 
 turned the corner of the village, they saw someone 
 walking up and down the road; It was the Abbe Tol- 
 biac, apparently waiting to see their departure. He 
 was holding up his cassock with one hand to keep it 
 out of the wet, regardless of showing his thin legs 
 which were encased in black stockings, and his huge, 
 muddy boots. When he saw the carriage coming he 
 stopped, and stood on one side to let it pass. Jeanne 
 looked down to avoid meeting his eyes, while Rosalie, 
 who had heard all about him, furiously muttered: 
 " You brute, you brute! " and seizing her son's hand, 
 *' Give him a cut with the whip ! " she exclaimed. The 
 young man did not do that, but he urged on his horse
 
 238 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 and then, jus'c as they were passing the Abbe, suddenly 
 let the wheel of the gig drop into a deep rut. There 
 was a splash, and, in an instant, the priest was covered 
 with mud from head to foot. Rosalie laughed all over 
 her face, and turning round, she shook her fist at the 
 abbe as he stood wiping himself down with his big 
 handkerchief. 
 
 '' Oh, we have forgotten Massacre ! " suddenly cried 
 Jeanne. Denis pulled up, gave Rosalie the reins to 
 hold, and jumped down to run and fetch the dog. 
 Then in a few minutes he came back with the big, 
 shapeless animal in his arms and placed him in the gig 
 between the two women. 
 
 XIII 
 
 After a two hours' drive the gig drew up be- 
 fore a little brick house, standing by the high 
 road in the middle of an orchard planted with 
 pear-trees. Four lattice-work arbors covered with 
 honeysuckle and clematis stood at the four corners of 
 the garden, which was planted with vegetables, and laid 
 out in little beds with narrow paths bordered with fruit- 
 trees running between them, and both garden and 
 orchard were entirely surrounded by a thickset hedge 
 which divided them from a field belonging to the next 
 farm. About thirty yards lower down the road was a 
 forge, and that was the only dwelling within a mile. 
 All around lay fields and plains with farms scattered 
 here and there, half-hidden by the four double rows of 
 big trees which surrounded them. 
 
 Jeanne wanted to rest as soon as they arrived, but 
 Rosalie, wishing to keep her from thinking, would not
 
 UNE VIE 239 
 
 let her do so. The carpenter from Godervllle had 
 come to help them put the place In order, and they all 
 began to arrange the furniture which was already there 
 without waiting for the last cart-load which was coming 
 on. The arrangement of the rooms took a long time, 
 for everyone's ideas and opinions had to be consulted, 
 and then the cart from Les Peuples arrived, and had to 
 be unloaded In the rain. When night fell the house 
 was In a state of utter disorder, and all the rooms were 
 full of things piled anyhow one on top of the other. 
 Jeanne was tired out and fell asleep as soon as her 
 head touched the pillow. 
 
 The next few days there was so much to do that 
 she had no time to fret; in fact, she even found a 
 certain pleasure in making her new home pretty, for all 
 the time she was working she thought that her son 
 would one day come and live there. The tapestry 
 from her bedroom at Les Peuples was hung In the 
 dining-room, which was also to serve as drawing-room, 
 and Jeanne took especial pains over the arrangement 
 of one of the rooms on the first floor, which in her 
 own mind she had already named " Poulet's room;" 
 she was to have the other one on that floor, and Rosalie 
 was to sleep upstairs next to the box-room. The little 
 house thus tastefully arranged, looked pretty when it 
 was all finished, and at first Jeanne was pleased with it 
 though she was haunted by the feeling that there was 
 something missing though she could not tell what. 
 
 One morning a clerk came over from the attorney at 
 Fecamp with the three thousand six hundred francs, the 
 price at which an upholsterer had valued the furniture 
 left at Les Peuples. Jeanne felt a thrill of pleasure as 
 she took the money, for she had not expected to get so
 
 240 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 much, and as soon as the man had gone she put on her 
 hat and hurried off to Goderville to send Paul this un- 
 looked-for sum as quicls-ly as possible. But as she was 
 hastening along the road she met Rosalie coming back 
 from market; the maid suspected that something had 
 happened though she did not at once guess the truth. 
 She soon found it out, however, for Jeanne could not 
 hide anything from her, and placing her basket on the 
 ground to give way to her wrath at her ease, she put 
 her hands on her hips and scolded Jeanne at the top 
 of her voice; then she took hold of her mistress with 
 her right hand and her basket with her left and walked 
 on again towards the house in a great passion. As 
 soon as they were indoors Rosalie ordered the money 
 to be given into her care, and Jeanne gave it her with 
 the exception of the six hundred francs which she said 
 nothing about; but this trick was soon detected and 
 Jeanne had to give it all up. However, Rosalie con- 
 sented to these odd hundreds being sent to the young 
 man, who in a few days wrote to thank his mother for 
 the money. " It was a most welcome present, mother 
 dear," he said, " for we were reduced to utter want." 
 
 Time went on but Jeanne could not get accustomed 
 to her new home. It seemed as if she could not breathe 
 freely at Batteville, and she felt more alone and for- 
 saken than ever. She would often walk as far as the 
 village of Verneuil and come back through Trois-Mares, 
 but as soon as she was home she started up to go out 
 again as if she had forgotten to go to the very place 
 to which she had meant to walk. The same thing hap- 
 pened time after time and she could not understand 
 where it was she longed to go; one evening, however, 
 she unconsciously uttered a sentence which at once re-
 
 UNE VIE 241 
 
 vealed to her the secret of her restlessness. " Oh! how 
 I long to see the ocean," she said as she sat down to 
 dinner. 
 
 The sea ! That was what she missed. The sea with 
 its salt breezes, its never-ceasing roar, its tempests, its 
 strong odors ; the sea, near which she had lived for 
 five and twenty years, which had always felt near her 
 and which, unconsciously, she had come to love like a 
 human being. 
 
 Massacre, too, was very uneasy. The very evening 
 of his arrival at the new house he had installed him- 
 self under the kitchen-dresser and no one could get him 
 to move out. There he lay all day long, never stirring, 
 except to turn himself over with a smothered grunt, 
 until it was dark; then he got up and dragged himself 
 towards the garden door, grazing himself agaiast the 
 wall as he went. After he had stayed out of doors a 
 few minutes he came in again and sat down before the 
 stove which was still warm, and as soon as Jeanne and 
 Rosalie had gone to bed he began to 'howl. The 
 ■whole night long he howled, in a pitiful, deplorable 
 way, sometimes ceasing for an hour only to recom- 
 mence in a still more doleful tone. A barrel was put 
 outside the house and he was tied up to it, but he 
 howled just the same out of doors as in, and as he was 
 old and almost dying, he was brought back to the 
 kitchen again. 
 
 It was impossible for Jeanne to sleep, for the whole 
 night she could hear the old dog moaning and scratch- 
 ing as he tried to get used to this new house whi>ch he 
 found so different from his old home. Nothing would 
 quiet him; his eyes were dim and It seemed as if the 
 
 knowledge of his infirmity made him keep still while 
 V— IG
 
 242 A WOiMAN'S LIFE 
 
 everyone else was awake and downstairs, and at night 
 he wandered restlessly about until daybreak, as if he 
 only dared to move in the darkness which makes all 
 beings sightless for the time. It was an intense relief 
 to everyone when one morning he was found dead. 
 
 Winter wore on, and Jeanne gave way more and 
 more to an insuperable hopelessness; it was no longer 
 a keen, heartrending grief that she felt, but a dull, 
 gloomy melancholy. There was nothing to rouse her 
 from it, no one came to see her, and the road which 
 passed before her door was almost deserted. Some- 
 times a gig passed by driven by a red-faced man whose 
 blouse, blown out by the wind, looked like a blue 
 balloon, and sometimes a cart crawled past, or a peasant 
 and his wife could be seen coming from the distance, 
 growing larger and larger as they approached the 
 house and then diminishing again when they had passed 
 it, till they looked like two insects at the end of the 
 long white line which stretched as far as the eye could 
 reach, rising and falling with the undulation of the 
 earth. When the grass again sprang up a little girl 
 passed the gate every morning with two thin cows which 
 browsed along the side of the road, and in the evening 
 she returned, taking, as in the morning, one step every 
 ten minutes as she followed the animals. 
 
 Every night Jeanne dreamt that she was again at Les 
 Peuples. She thought she was there with her father 
 and mother and Aunt Lison as in the old times. Again 
 she accomplished the old, forgotten duties and sup- 
 ported Madame Adelaide as she walked in her avenue; 
 and each time she awoke she burst into tears. 
 
 Paul was continually in her thoughts and she won- 
 dered what he was doing. If he were well and if he
 
 UNE VIE 243 
 
 ever thought of her. She revolved all these painful 
 thoughts in her mind as she walked along the low-lying 
 roads between the farms, and what was more torture 
 to her than anything else was the fierce jealousy of the 
 woman who had deprived her of her son. It was this 
 hatred alone which restrained her from taking any steps 
 towards finding Paul and trying to see him. She could 
 imagine her son's mistress confronting her at the door 
 and asking, "What is your business here, madame?" 
 and her self-respect would not permit her to run the 
 risk of such an encounter. In the haughty pride of a 
 chaste and spotless woman, who had never stooped to 
 listen to temptation, she became still more bitter against 
 the base and cowardly actions to which sensual love will 
 drive a man who is not strong enough to throw off its 
 degrading chains. The whole of humanity seemed to 
 her unclean as she thought of the obscene secrets of the 
 senses, of the caresses which debase as they are given 
 and received, and of all the mysteries which surround 
 the attraction of the sexes. 
 
 Another spring and summer passed away, and when 
 the autumn came again with its rainy days, its dull, gray 
 skies, its heavy clouds, Jeanne felt so weary of the life 
 she was leading that she determined to make a supreme 
 attempt to regain possession of her Poulet. Surely the 
 young man's passion must have cooled by this time, and 
 she wrote him a touching, pitiful letter: 
 
 *' My Dear Child — I am coming to entreat you to 
 return to me. Think how I am left, lonely, aged and 
 ill, the whole year with only a servant. I am living now 
 in a little house by the roadside and it is very miserable 
 for me, but if you were here everything would seem
 
 244 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 different. You are all I have in the world, and I have 
 not seen you for seven years. You will never know 
 how unhappy I have been and how my every thought 
 was centered in you. You were my life, my soul, my 
 only hope, my only love, and you are away from me, 
 you have forsaken me. 
 
 " Oh! come back, my darling Poulet, come back, and 
 let me hold you in my arms again ; come back to your 
 old mother who so longs to see you. jeanne." 
 
 A few days later came the following reply : 
 
 " My Dear Mother — I should only be too glad 
 to come and see you, but I have not a penny; send me 
 some money and I will come. I had myself been think- 
 ing of coming to speak to you about a plan which, if 
 carried out, would permit me to do as you desire. 
 
 " I shall never be able to repay the disinterested 
 affection of the woman who has shared all my troubles, 
 but I can at least make a public recognition of her faith- 
 ful love and devotion. Her behavior Is all you could 
 desire ; she is well-educated and well-read and you can- 
 not imagine what a comfort she has been to me. I 
 should be a brute If I did not make her some recom- 
 pense, and I ask your permission to marry her. Then 
 we could all live together In your new house, and you 
 would forgive my follies. I am convinced that you 
 would give your consent at once, if you knew her; I 
 assure you she Is very lady-like and quiet, and I know 
 you would like her. As for me, I could not live with- 
 out her. 
 
 " I shall await your reply with every Impatience, dear 
 mother. We both send you much love. — Your son, 
 
 " Vicomte Paul de Lamare."
 
 UNE VIE 245 
 
 Jeanne was thunderstruck. As she sat with the letter 
 on her knees, she could see so plainly through the 
 designs of this woman who had not once let Paul return 
 to his friends, but had always kept him at her side while 
 she patiently waited until his mother should give in and 
 consent to anything and everything in the irresistible 
 desire of having her son with her again; and it was with 
 bitter pain that she thought of how Paul obstinately 
 persisted in preferring this creature to herself. " He 
 does not love me, he does not love me," she murmured 
 over and over again. 
 
 " He wants to marry her now," she said, when Rosa- 
 lie came In. 
 
 The servant started. 
 
 "Oh! madame, you surely will not consent to it. 
 M. Paul can't bring that hussy here." 
 
 All the pride in Jeanne's nature rose in revolt at the 
 thought, and though she was bowed down with grief, 
 she replied decidedly: 
 
 " No, Rosalie, never. But since he won't come here 
 I will go to him, and we will see which of us two will 
 have the greater influence over him." 
 
 She wrote to Paul at once, telling him that she was 
 coming to Paris, and would see him anywhere but at 
 the house where he was living with that wretch. Then 
 while she awaited his reply, she began to make all her 
 preparations for the journey, and Rosalie commenced 
 to pack her mistress's linen and clothes In an old trunk. 
 
 " You haven't a single thing to put on," exclaimed 
 the servant, as she was folding up an old, badly-made 
 dress. " I won't have you go with such clothes; you'd 
 be a disgrace to everyone, and the Paris ladles would 
 think you were a servant."
 
 246 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 Jeanne let her have her own way, and they both went 
 to Goderville and chose some green, checked stuff, which 
 they left with the dressmaker to be made up. Then 
 they went to see Me. Roussel the lawyer, who went to 
 Paris for a fortnight every year, to obtain a few direc- 
 tions, for it was twenty-eight years since Jeanne had 
 been to the capital. He gave them a great deal of 
 advice about crossing the roads and the way to avoid 
 being robbed, saying that the safest plan was to carry 
 only just as much money as was necessary in the pockets 
 and to sew the rest in the lining of the dress; then he 
 talked for a long time about the restaurants where the 
 charges were moderate, and mentioned two or three to 
 which ladies could go, and he recommended Jeanne to 
 stay at the Hotel de Normandie, which was near the 
 railway station. He always stayed there himself, and 
 she could say he had sent her. There had been a 
 railway between Paris and Havre for the last six years, 
 but Jeanne had never seen one of these steam-engines of 
 which everyone was talking, and which were revolution- 
 izing the whole country. 
 
 The day passed on, but still there came no answer 
 from Paul. Every morning, for a fortnight, Jeanne 
 had gone along the road to meet the postman, and had 
 asked, in a voice which she could not keep steady: 
 
 " You have nothing for me to-day, Pere Malan- 
 dain? " And the answer was always the same: " No 
 nothing yet, ma honne dame^ 
 
 Fully persuaded that it was that woman w-ho was 
 preventing Paul from answering, Jeanne determined 
 not to wait any longer, but to start at once. She wanted 
 to take Rosalie with her, but the maid would not go
 
 UNE VIE 247 
 
 because of Increasing the expense of the journey, and 
 she only allowed her mistress to take three hundred 
 francs with her. 
 
 " If you want any more money," she said, " write to 
 me, and I'll tell the lawyer to forward you some; but 
 if I give you any more now, Monsieur Paul w^ill hav^e it 
 all." 
 
 Then one December morning, Denis Lecoq's gig 
 came to take them both to the railway station, for Rosa- 
 lie w^as going to accompany her mistress as far as that. 
 When they reached the station, they found out first how 
 much the tickets were, then, when the trunk had been 
 labeled and the ticket bought, they stood watching the 
 rails, both too much occupied in wondering what the 
 train would be like to think of the sad cause of this 
 journey. At last a distant whistle made them look 
 round, and they saw a large, black machine approach- 
 ing, which came up with a terrible noise, dragging after 
 it a long chain of little rolling houses. A porter 
 opened the door of one of these little huts, and Jeanne 
 kissed Rosalie and got in. 
 
 " An revoir, madame. I hope you will have a pleas- 
 ant journey, and will soon be back again." 
 
 " Jii revoir, Rosalie." 
 
 There was another whistle, and the string of car- 
 riages moved slowly off, gradually going faster and 
 faster, till they reached a terrific speed. In Jeanne's 
 compartment there were only two other passengers, who 
 were both asleep, and she sat and watched the fields and 
 farms and villages rush past. She was frightened at 
 the speed at which she was going, and the feeling came 
 over her that she was entering a new phase of life, and
 
 248 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 was being hurried towards a very different world from 
 that in which she had spent her peaceful girlhood and 
 her monotonous life. 
 
 It was evening when she reached Paris. A porter 
 took her trunk, and she followed closely at his heels, 
 sometimes almost running for fear of losing sight of 
 him, and feeling frightened as she was pushed about by 
 the swaying crowd through which she did not know 
 how to pass. 
 
 " I was recommended here by Me. Roussel," she 
 hastened to say when she was in the hotel office. 
 
 The landlady, a big, stolid-looking woman, was sit- 
 ting at the desk. 
 
 " Who is Me. Roussel? " she asked. 
 
 " The lawyer from Goderville, who stays here every 
 year," replied Jeanne, in surprise. 
 
 " Very likely he does," responded the big woman, 
 " but I don't know him. Do you want a room? " 
 
 " Yes, madame." 
 
 A waiter shouldered the luggage and led the way 
 upstairs. 
 
 Jeanne followed, feeling very low-spirited and de- 
 pressed, and sitting down at a little table, she ordered 
 some soup and the wing of a chicken to be sent up to 
 her, for she had had nothing to eat since day-break. 
 She thought of how she had passed through this same 
 town on her return from her wedding tour, as she ate 
 her supper by the miserable light of one candle, and 
 of how Julien had then first shown himself in his true 
 character. But then she was young and brave and 
 hopeful; now she felt old and timid; and the least 
 thing worried and frightened her. 
 
 When she had finished her supper, she went to the
 
 UNE VIE 249 
 
 window and watched the crowded street. She would 
 have hked to go out If she had dared, but she thought 
 she should be sure to lose herself, so she went to bed. 
 But she had hardly yet got over the bustle of the jour- 
 ney, and that, and the noise and the sensation of being 
 in a strange place, kept her awake. The hours passed 
 on, and the noises outside gradually ceased, but still she 
 could not sleep, for she was accustomed to the sound, 
 peaceful sleep of the country, which is so different from 
 the semi-repose of a great city. Here she was conscious 
 of a sort of restlessness all around her; the murmur of 
 voices reached her ears, and every now and then a board 
 creaked, a door shut, or a bell rang. She was just doz- 
 ing oft, about two o'clock in the morning, when a 
 woman suddenly began to ' scream in a neighboring 
 room. Jeanne started up in bed, and next she thought 
 she heard a man laughing. As dawn approached she 
 became more and more anxious to see Paul, and as soon 
 as it was light, she got up and dressed. 
 
 He lived in the Rue du Sauvage, and she meant to 
 follow Rosalie's advice about spending as little as possi- 
 ble, and walk there. It was a fine day, though the 
 wind was keen, and there were a great many people hur- 
 rying along the pavements. Jeanne walked along the 
 street as quickly as she could. When she reached the 
 other end, she was to turn to the right, then to the left; 
 then she would come to a square, where she was to ask 
 again. She could not find the square, and a baker from 
 whom she inquired the way gave her different directions 
 altogether. She started on again, missed the way, wan- 
 dered about, and in trying to follow other directions, 
 lost herself entirely. She walked on and on, and was 
 just going to hail a cab when she saw the Seine. Then
 
 250 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 she decided to walk along the quays, and in about an 
 hour she reached the dark, dirty lane called Rue du 
 Sauvage. 
 
 When she came to the number she was seeking, she 
 was so excited that she stood before the door unable 
 to move another step. Poulet was there, in that house ! 
 Her hands and knees trembled violently, and it was 
 some moments before she could enter and walk along 
 the passage to the doorkeeper's box. 
 
 " Will you go and tell M. Paul de Lamare that an 
 old lady friend of his mother's, is waiting to see him? " 
 she said, slipping a piece of money into the man's hand. 
 
 " He does not live here now, madame," answered 
 the doorkeeper. 
 
 She started. 
 
 "Ah! Where — where is he living now?" she 
 gasped. 
 
 " I do not know." 
 
 She felt stunned, and it was some time before she 
 could speak again. 
 
 " When did he leave? " she asked at last, controlling 
 herself by a violent effort. 
 
 The man was quite ready to tell her all he knew. 
 
 " About a fortnight ago," he replied. "They just 
 walked out of the house one evening and didn't come 
 back. They owed all over the neighborhood, so you 
 may guess they didn't leave any address." 
 
 Tongues of flame were dancing before Jeanne's eyes, 
 as if a gun were being fired off close to her face; but 
 she wanted to find Poulet, and that kept her up and 
 made her stand opposite the doorkeeper, as if she were 
 calmly thinking. 
 
 " Then he did not say anything when he left? "
 
 UNE VIE 251 
 
 "No, nothing at all; they went away to get out of 
 paying their debts. 
 
 " But he will have to send for his letters." 
 
 " He'll send a good many times before he gets them, 
 then; besides, they didn't have ten in a twelvemonth, 
 though I took them up one two days before they left." 
 
 That must have been the one she sent. 
 
 " Listen," she said, hastily. " I am his mother, and 
 I have come to look for him. Here are ten francs for 
 yourself. If you hear anything from or about him, let 
 me know at once at the Hotel de Normandie, Rue du 
 Havre, and you shall be well paid for your trouble." 
 
 " You may depend upon me, madame," answered the 
 doorkeeper ; and Jeanne went away. 
 
 She hastened along the streets as if she were bent on 
 an important mission, but she was not looking or caring 
 whither she was going. She walked close to the walls, 
 pushed and buffeted by errand boys and porters; crossed 
 the roads, regardless of the vehicles and the shouts of 
 the drivers ; stumbled against the curbstones, which she 
 did not see; and hurried on and on, unconscious of 
 everything and everyone. At last she found herself In 
 some gardens, and, feeling too weary to walk any fur- 
 ther, she dropped on a seat. She sat there a long while, 
 apparently unaware that the tears were running down 
 her cheeks, and that passersby stopped to look at her. 
 At last the bitter cold made her rise to go, but her legs 
 would hardly carry her, so weak and exhausted was she. 
 She would have liked some soup, but she dared not go 
 into a restaurant, for she knew people could see she 
 was in trouble, and it made her feel timid and ashamed. 
 When she passed an eating-place she would stop a mo- 
 ment at the door, look Inside, and see all the people
 
 252 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 sitting at the tables eating, and then go on again, saying 
 to herself: " I will go into the next one "; but when 
 she came to the next her courage always failed her 
 again. In the end she went into a baker's shop, and 
 bought a little crescent-shaped roll, which she ate as she 
 went along. She was very thirsty, but she did not know 
 where to go to get anything to drink, so she went with- 
 out. 
 
 She passed under an arch, and found herself in some 
 more gardens with arcades running all round them, and 
 she recognized the Palais Royal. Her walk in the sun 
 had made her warm again, so she sat down for another 
 hour or two. A crowd of people flowed into the gar- 
 dens — an elegant crowd composed of beautiful women 
 and wealthy men, who only lived for dress and pleasure, 
 and who chatted and smiled and bowed as they saun- 
 tered along. Feeling ill at ease amidst this brilliant 
 throng, Jeanne rose to go away; but suddenly the 
 thought struck her that perhaps she might meet Paul 
 here, and she began to walk from end to end of the gar- 
 dens, with hasty, furtive steps, carefully scanning every 
 face she met. 
 
 Soon she saw that people turned to look and laugh at 
 her, and she hurried away, thinking it was her odd ap- 
 pearance and her green-checked dress, which Rosalie had 
 chosen and had made up, that attracted everyone's at- 
 tention and smiles. She hardly dared ask her way, but 
 she did at last venture, and when she had reached her 
 hotel, she passed the rest of the day sitting on a chair 
 at the foot of the bed. In the evening she dined off 
 some soup and a little meat, like the day before, and 
 then undressed and went to bed, performing all the 
 duties of her toilet quite mechanically, from sheer habit.
 
 UNE VIE 253 
 
 The next morning she went to the police office to see 
 if she could get any help there towards the discovery 
 of her son's whereabouts. They told her they could 
 not promise her anything, but that they would attend 
 to the matter. After she had left the police office, she 
 wandered about the streets, in the hopes of meeting her 
 child, and she felt more friendless and forsaken among 
 the busy crowds than she did in the midst of the lovely 
 fields. 
 
 When she returned to the hotel in the evening, she 
 was told that a man from M. Paul had asked for her, 
 and was coming again the next day. All the blood in 
 her body seemed to suddenly rush to her heart and she 
 could not close her eyes all night. Perhaps it was Paul 
 himself ! Yes, it must be so, although his appearance 
 did not tally with the description the hotel people had 
 given of the man who had called, and when, about nine 
 o'clock in the morning, there came a knock at her door, 
 she cried, " Come in ! " expecting her son to rush into 
 her arms held open to receive him. 
 
 But it was a stranger who entered — a stranger who 
 began to apologize for disturbing her and to explain 
 that he had come about some money Paul owed him. 
 As he spoke she felt herself beginning to cry, and she 
 tried to hide her tears from the man by wiping them 
 away with the end of her finger as soon as they reached 
 the corners of her eyes. The man had heard of her 
 arrival from the concierge at the Rue du Sauvage, and 
 as he could not find Paul he had come to his mother. 
 He held out a paper which Jeanne mechanically took; 
 she saw " 90 francs " written on it, and she drew out 
 the money and paid the man. She did not go out at all 
 that day, and the next morning more creditors appeared.
 
 254 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 She gave them all the money she had left, except twenty 
 francs, and wrote and told Rosalie how she was placed. 
 
 Until her servant's answer came she passed the days 
 In wandering aimlessly about the streets. She did not 
 know what to do or how to kill the long, miserable 
 hours; there was no one who knew of her troubles, or 
 to whom she could go for sympathy, and her one desire 
 was to get away from this city and to return to her little 
 house beside the lonely road, where, a few days before, 
 she had felt she could not bear to live because it was so 
 dull and lonely. Now she was sure she could live no- 
 where else but in that little home where all her mourn- 
 ful habits had taken root. 
 
 At last, one evening, she found a letter from Rosalie 
 awaiting her with two hundred francs enclosed. 
 
 " Come back as soon as possible, Madame Jeanne," 
 wrote the maid, " for I shall send you nothing more. 
 As for M. Paul, I will go and fetch him myself the next 
 time we hear anything from him. — With best respects, 
 your servant, Rosalie." 
 
 And Jeanne started back to Batteville one bitterly 
 cold, snowy morning. 
 
 XIV 
 
 After her return from Paris, Jeanne would not 
 go out or take any interest in anything. She rose at 
 the same hour every morning, looked out of the 
 window to see what sort of day it was, then went 
 downstairs and sat before the fire in the dining-room. 
 She stayed there the whole day, sitting perfectly
 
 UNE VIE 255 
 
 still with her eyes fixed on the flames while she thought 
 of all the sorrows she had passed through. The little 
 room grew darker and darker, but she never moved, ex- 
 cept to put more wood on the fire, and when Rosalie 
 brought in the lamp she cried; 
 
 " Come, Madame Jeanne, you must stir about a bit, 
 or you won't be able to eat any dinner again this even- 
 ing," 
 
 Often she was worried by thoughts which she could 
 not dismiss from her mind, and she allowed herself to 
 be tormented by the veriest trifles, for the most insignifi- 
 cant matters appeared of the greatest importance to her 
 diseased mind. She lived in the memories of the past, 
 and she would think for hours together of her girlhood 
 and her wedding tour in Corsica. The wild scenery 
 that she had long forgotten suddenly appeared before 
 her in the fire, and she could recall every detail, every 
 event, everv face connected with the island. She could 
 always see the features of Jean Ravoli, the guide,, and 
 sometimes she fancied she could even hear his voice. 
 
 At other times she thought of the peaceful years of 
 Paul's childhood — of how he used to make her tend 
 the salad plants, and of how she and Aunt Lison used 
 to kneel on the ground, each trying to outdo the other 
 in giving pleasure to the boy, and in rearing the greater 
 number of plants. 
 
 Her lips would form the words, " Poulet, my little 
 Poulet," as if she were talking to him, and she would 
 cease to muse, and try for hours to write in the air the 
 letters which formed her son's name, with her out- 
 stretched finger. Slowly she traced them before the 
 fire, fancying she could see them, and, thinking she had 
 made a mistake, she began the word over and over
 
 256 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 again, forcing herself to write the whole name though 
 her arm trembled with fatigue. At last she would be- 
 come so nervous that she mixed up the letters, and 
 formed other words, and had to give it up. 
 
 She had all the manias and fancies which beset those 
 who lead a solitary life, and It Irritated her to the last 
 degree to see the slightest change in the arrangement 
 of the furniture. Rosalie often made her go out with 
 her along the road, but after twenty minutes or so 
 Jeanne would say: " I cannot walk any further, Rosa- 
 lie," and would sit down by the roadside. Soon move- 
 ment of any kind became distasteful to her, and she 
 stayed in bed as late as she could. Ever since a child 
 she had always been In the habit of jumping out of bed 
 as soon as she had drunk her cafe an lait. She was 
 particularly fond of her morning coffee, and she would 
 have missed It more than anything. She always waited 
 for Rosalie to bring it with an Impatience that had a 
 touch of sensuality In It, and as soon as the cup was 
 placed on the bedside table she sat up, and emptied It, 
 somewhat greedily. Then she at once drew back the 
 bedclothes and began to dress. But gradually she fell 
 Into the habit of dreaming for a few moments after she 
 had placed the empty cup back in the saucer, and from 
 that she soon began to lie down again, and at last she 
 stayed In bed every day until Rosalie came back In a 
 temper and dressed her almost by force. 
 
 She had no longer the slightest will of her own. 
 Whenever her servant asked her advice, or put any ques- 
 tion to her, or wanted to know her opinion, she always 
 answered: " Do as you like, Rosalie." So firmly did 
 she believe herself pursued by a persistent ill luck that 
 she became as great a fatalist as an Oriental, and she
 
 UNE VIE 257 
 
 was so accustomed to seeing her dreams unfulfilled, and 
 her hopes disappointed, that she did not dare undertake 
 anything fresh, and hesitated for days before she com,-- 
 menced the simplest task, so persuaded was she that 
 whatever she touched would be sure to go wrong. 
 
 " I don't think anyone could have had more misfor- 
 tune than I have had all my life," she was always say- 
 ing. 
 
 " How would it be if you had to work for your bread, 
 and if you were obliged to get up every morning at six 
 o'clock to go and do a hard day's work? " Rosalie 
 would exclaim. " That's what a great many people 
 have to do, and then when they get too old to work, they 
 die of want." 
 
 " But my son has forsaken me, and I am all alone," 
 Jeanne would reply. 
 
 That enraged Rosalie. 
 
 "And what if he has? How about those whose 
 children enlist, or settle in America?" (America, In. 
 her eyes, was a shadowy country whither people went 
 to make their fortune, and whence they never returned) . 
 " Children always leave their parents sooner or later; 
 old and young people aren't meant to stay together. 
 And then, what if he were dead? " she would finish up 
 with savagely, and her mistress could say nothing after 
 that. 
 
 Jeanne got a little stronger when the first warm days 
 of spring came, but she only took advantage of her bet- 
 ter health to bury herself still deeper in her gloomy 
 thoughts. 
 
 She went up to the garret one morning to look for 
 something, and, while she was there, happened to open 
 
 a box full of old almanacs. It seemed as If she had 
 
 V— 17
 
 258 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 found the past years themselves, and she was filled with 
 emotion as she looked at the pile of cards. They were 
 of all sizes, big and little, and she took them every one 
 down to the dining-room and began to lay them out on 
 the table in the right order of years. Suddenly she 
 picked up the very first one — the one she had taken 
 with her from the convent to Les Peuples. For a long 
 time she gazed at It with its dates which she had crossed 
 out the day she had left Rouen, and she began to shed 
 slow, bitter tears — the weak, pitiful tears of an aged 
 woman — as she looked at these cards spread out be- 
 fore her on the table, and which represented all her 
 wretched life. 
 
 Then the thought struck her that by means of these 
 almanacs she could recall all that she had ever done, 
 and giving way to the idea, she at once devoted herself 
 to the task of retracing the past. She pinned all the 
 cards, which had grown yellow with age, up on the tap- 
 estry, and then passed hours before one or other of 
 them, thinking, " What did I do in that month? " 
 
 She had put a mark beside all the important dates In 
 her life, and sometimes, by means of linking together 
 and adding one to the other, all the little circumstances 
 which had preceded and followed a great event, she suc- 
 ceeded in remembering a whole month. By dint of 
 concentrated attention, and efforts of will and of mem- 
 ory, she retraced nearly the whole of her first two years 
 at Les Peuples, recalling without much dlfl^culty this 
 far-away period of her life, for it seemed to stand out 
 in relief. But the following years were shrouded in a 
 sort of mist and seemed to run one Into the other, and 
 sometimes she pored over an almanac for hours without 
 being able to remember whether It was even In that
 
 UNE VIE 259 
 
 year that such and such a thhig had happened. She 
 would go slowly round the dining-room lookhig at these 
 images of past years, which, to her, were as pictures 
 of an ascent to Calvary, until one of them arrested her 
 attention and then she would sit gazing at it all the rest 
 of the day, absorbed in her recollections. 
 
 Soon the sap began to rise in the trees; the seeds were 
 springing up, the leaves were budding and the air was 
 filled with the faint, sweet smell of the apple blossoms 
 which made the orchards a glowing mass of pink. As 
 summer approached Jeanne became very restless. She 
 could not keep still; she went in and out twenty times a 
 day, and, as she rambled along past the farms, she 
 worked herself into a perfect state of fever. 
 
 A daisy half hidden In the grass, a sunbeam falling 
 through the leaves, or the reflection of the sky in a 
 splash of w^ater in a rut was enough to agitate and affect 
 her, for their sight brought back a kind of echo of the 
 emotions she had felt when, as a young girl, she had 
 wandered dreamily through the fields; and though now 
 there was nothing to which she could look forward, the 
 soft yet exhilarating air sent the same thrill through her 
 as when all her life had lain before her. But this pleas- 
 ure was not unalloyed with pain, and it seemed as if the 
 universal joy of the awakening world could now only 
 impart a delight which was half sorrow to her grief- 
 crushed soul and withered heart. Everything around 
 her seemed to have changed. Surely the sun was hardly 
 so warm as in her youth, the sky so deep a blue, the 
 grass so fresh a green, and the flowers, paler and less 
 sweet, could no longer arouse within her the exquisite 
 ecstasies of delight as of old. Still she could enjoy the 
 beauty around her, so much that sometimes she found
 
 26o A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 herself dreaming and hoping again; for, however cruel 
 Fate may be, is It possible to give way to utter despair 
 when the sun shines and the slcy is blue? 
 
 She went for long walks, urged on and on by her 
 inward excitement, and sometimes she would suddenly 
 stop and sit down by the roadside to think of her trou- 
 bles. Why had she not been loved like other women? 
 Why had even the simple pleasure of an uneventful 
 existence been refused her? 
 
 Sometimes, again forgetting for a moment that she 
 was old, that there was no longer any pleasure in store 
 for her, and that, with the exception of a few more 
 lonely years, her life was over and done, she would build 
 all sorts of castles in the air and make plans for such a 
 happy future, just as she had done when she was sixteen. 
 Then suddenly remembering the bitter reality she would 
 get up again, feeling as if a heavy load had fallen upon 
 her, and return home, murmuring: 
 
 " Oh, you old fool ! You old fool ! " 
 
 Now Rosalie was always saying to her : 
 
 " Do keep still, madame. What on earth makes you 
 want to run about so? " 
 
 " I can't help it," Jeanne would reply sadly. " I am 
 like Massacre was before he died." 
 
 One morning Rosalie went into her mistress's room 
 '?arlier than usual. 
 
 " Make haste and drink up your coffee," she said as 
 she placed the cup on the table. " Denis is waiting to 
 take us to Les Peuples. I have to go over there on 
 business." 
 
 Jeanne was so excited that she thought she would 
 have fainted, and, as she dressed herself with trembling
 
 UNE VIE 261 
 
 fingers, she could hardly believe she was going to see 
 her dear home once more. 
 
 Overhead was a bright, blue sky, and, as tney went 
 along, Denis's pony would every now and then break 
 into a gallop. When they reached Etouvent, Jeanne 
 could hardly breathe, her heart beat so quickly, and 
 when she saw the brick pillars beside the chateau gate, 
 she exclaimed, " Oh," two or three times in a low voice, 
 as if she were in the presence of something which stirred 
 her very soul, and she could not help herself. 
 
 They put up the horse at the Couillards' farm, and, 
 when Rosalie and her son went to attend to their busi- 
 ness, the farmer asked Jeanne if she would like to go 
 over the chateau, as the owner was away, and gave her 
 the key. 
 
 She went off alone, and when she found herself oppo- 
 site the old manor she stood still to look at it. The 
 outside had not been touched since she had left. All 
 the shutters were closed, and the sunbeams were danc- 
 ing on the gray walls of the big, weather-beaten build- 
 ing. A little piece of wood fell on her dress, she looked 
 up and saw that it had fallen from the plane tree, and 
 she went up to the big tree and stroked its pale, smooth 
 bark as if it had been alive. Her foot touched a piece 
 of rotten wood lying in the grass; it was the last frag- 
 ment of the seat on which she had so often sat with her 
 loved ones — the seat which had been put up the very 
 day of Julien's first visit to the chateau. 
 
 Then she went to the hall-door. She had some dif- 
 ficulty in opening it as the key was rusty and would not 
 turn, but at last the lock gave way, and the door itself 
 only required a slight push before it swung back. The
 
 262 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 first thing Jeanne did was to run up to her own room. 
 It had been hung with a light paper and she hardly 
 knew it again, but when she opened one of the windows 
 and looked out, she was moved almost to tears as she 
 saw again the scene she loved so well — the thicket, the 
 elms, the common, and the sea covered with brown sails 
 which, at this distance, looked as if they were motionless. 
 
 Then she went all over the big, empty house. She 
 stopped to look at a little hole in the plaster which the 
 baron had made with his cane, for he used to make a 
 few thrusts at the wall whenever he passed this spot, in 
 memory of the fencing bouts he had had in his youth. 
 In her mother's bedroom she found a small gold-headed 
 pin stuck In the wall behind the door, in a dark corner 
 near the bed. She had stuck it there a long while ago 
 (she remembered it now), and had looked everywhere 
 for it since, but it had never been found; and she kissed 
 It and took it with her as a priceless relic. 
 
 She went into every room, recognizing the almost in- 
 visible spots and marks on the hangings which had not 
 been changed and again noting the odd forms and faces 
 which the imagination so often traces in the designs of 
 the furniture coverings, the carvings of mantelpieces 
 and the shadows on soiled ceilings. She walked 
 through the vast, silent chateau as noiselessly as if she 
 were In a cemetery; all her life was interred there. 
 
 She went down to the drawing-room. The closed 
 shutters made It very dark, and It was a few moments 
 before she could distinguish anything; then, as her eyes 
 became accustomed to the darkness, she gradually made 
 out the tapestry with the big, white birds on It. Two 
 armchairs stood before the fireplace, looking as if they 
 had just been vacated, and the very smell of the room —
 
 UNE yiE 263 
 
 a smell that had always been peculiar to it, as each hu- 
 man being has his, a smell which could be perceived at 
 once, and yet was vague like all the faint perfumes 
 of old rooms — brought the memories crowding to 
 Jeanne's mind. 
 
 Her breath came quickly us she stood with her eyes 
 fixed on the two chairs, inhaling this perfume of the 
 past; and, all at once, in a sudden hallucination occa- 
 sioned by her thoughts, she fancied she saw — she did 
 see — her father and mother with their feet on the 
 fender as she had so often seen them before. She drew 
 back in terror, stumbling against the door-frame, and 
 clung to it for support, still keeping her eyes fixed on 
 the armchairs. The vision disappeared and for some 
 minutes she stood horror-stricken ; then she slowly re- 
 gained possession of herself and turned to fly, afraid 
 that she was going mad. Her eyes fell on the wain- 
 scoting against which she was leaning and she saw 
 Poulet's ladder. There were all the faint marks traced 
 on the wall at unequal Intervals and the figures which 
 had been cut with a penknife to Indicate the month, and 
 the child's age and growth. In some places there was 
 the baron's big writing, in others her own, in others 
 again Aunt Lison's, which was a little shaky. She could 
 see the boy standing there now, with his fair hair, and 
 his little forehead pressed against the wall to have his 
 height measured, while the baron exclaimed : " Jeanne, 
 he has grown half an Inch In six weeks," and she began 
 to kiss the wainscoting In a frenzy of love for the very 
 wood. 
 
 Then she heard Rosalie's voice outside, calling: 
 "Madame Jeanne! Madame Jeanne! lunch is wait- 
 ing," and she went out with her head In a whirl. She
 
 264 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 felt unable to understand anything that was said to her. 
 She ate what was placed before her, listened to what 
 was being said without realizing the sense of the words, 
 answered the farmers' wives when they inquired after 
 her health, passively received their kisses and kissed the 
 cheeks which were offered to her, and then got into the 
 chaise again. 
 
 When she could no longer see the high roof of the 
 chateau through the trees, something within her seemed 
 to break, and she felt that she had just said good-bye to 
 her old home for ever. 
 
 They went straight back to Batteville, and as she was 
 going indoors Jeanne saw something white under the 
 door ; it was a letter which the postman haci slipped there 
 during their absence. She at once recognized Paul's 
 handwriting and tore open the envelope in an agony 
 of anxiety. He wrote : 
 
 " My Dear Mother: I have not written before 
 because I did not want to bring you to Paris on a fruit- 
 less errand, for I have always been meaning to come and 
 see you myself. At the present moment I am in great 
 trouble and difficulty. My wife gave birth to a little 
 girl three days ago, and now she is dying and I have 
 not a penny. I do not know what to do with the child; 
 the doorkeeper is trying to nourish it with a feeding- 
 bottle as best she can, but I fear I shall lose it. Could 
 not you take it? I cannot send it to a wet nurse as I 
 have not any money, and I do not know which way to 
 turn. Pray answer by return post. 
 
 " Your loving son, 
 
 " Paul."
 
 UNE VIE 265 
 
 Jeanne dropped on a chair with hardly enough 
 strength left to call Rosalie. The maid came and they 
 read the letter over again together, and then sat look- 
 ing at each other in silence. 
 
 " I'll go and fetch the child myself, madame," said 
 Rosalie at last. " We can't leave it to die." 
 
 " Very well, my girl, go," answered Jeanne. 
 
 " Put on your hat, madame," said the maid, after a 
 pause, " and we will go and see the lawyer at Goder- 
 ville. If that woman Is going to die, M. Paul must 
 marry her for the sake of the child." 
 
 Jeanne put on her hat without a word. Her heart 
 was overflowing with joy, but she would not have al- 
 lowed anyone to see it for the world, for It was one of 
 those detestable joys In which people can revel in their 
 hearts, but of which they are all the same ashamed; her 
 son's mistress was going to die. 
 
 The lawyer gave Rosalie detailed Instructions which 
 the servant made him repeat two or three times ; then, 
 when she was sure she knew exactly what to do, she 
 said: 
 
 " Don't you fear; I'll see It's all right now." And 
 she started for Paris that very night. 
 
 Jeanne passed two days In such an agony of mind that 
 she could fix her thoughts on nothing. The third morn- 
 ing she received a line from Rosalie merely saying she 
 was coming back by that evening's train; nothing more; 
 and In the afternoon, about three o'clock, Jeanne sent 
 round to a neighbor to ask him If he would drive her 
 to the Beuzeville railway station to meet her servant. 
 
 She stood on the platform looking down the rails 
 (which seemed to get closer together right away as far
 
 266 A WOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 off as she could see), and turning every now and then 
 to look at the clock. Ten minutes more — five min- 
 utes — two — and at last the train was due, though as 
 yet she could see no signs of it. Then, all at once, she 
 saw a cloud of white smoke, and underneath it a black 
 speck which got rapidly larger and larger. The big 
 engine came into the station, snorting and slackening its 
 speed, and Jeanne looked eagerly into every window as 
 the carriages went past her. 
 
 The doors opened and several people got out — 
 peasants in blouses, farmers' wives with baskets on their 
 arms, a few bourgeois in soft hats — and at last Rosa- 
 lie appeared, carrying what looked like a bundle of linen 
 in her arms. Jeanne would have stepped forward to 
 meet her, but all strength seemed to have left her legs 
 and she feared she would fall if she moved. The maid 
 saw her and came up in her ordinary, calm way. 
 
 " Good-day, madame; here I am again, though I've 
 had some bother to get along." 
 
 " Well? " gasped Jeanne. 
 
 " Well," answered Rosalie, " she died last night. 
 They were married and here's the baby," and she held 
 out the child which could not be seen for its wraps. 
 Jeanne mechanically took it, and they left the station 
 and got into the carriage which was waiting. 
 
 " M. Paul is coming directly after the funeral. I 
 suppose he'll be here to-morrow, by this train." 
 
 " Paul — " murmured Jeanne, and then stopped with- 
 out saying anything more. 
 
 The sun was sinking towards the horizon, bathing in 
 a glow of light the green fields which were flecked here 
 and there with golden colewort flowers or blood-red 
 poppies, and over the quiet country fell an infinite peace.
 
 UNE VIE 267 
 
 The peasant who was driving the chaise kept clicking 
 his tongue to urge on his horse which trotted swiftly 
 along, and Jeanne looked straight up into the sky which 
 the circling flight of the swallows seemed to cut asunder. 
 
 All at once she became conscious of a soft warmth 
 which was making itself felt through her skirts; it was 
 the heat from the tiny being sleeping on her knees, and 
 it moved her strangely. She suddenly drew back the 
 covering from the child she had not yet seen, that she 
 might look at her son's daughter; as the light fell on its 
 face the little creature opened its blue eyes, and moved 
 its lips, and then Jeanne hugged it closely to her, and, 
 raising it in her arms, began to cover it with passionate 
 kisses. 
 
 " Come,, come, Madame Jeanne, have done," said 
 Rosalie, in sharp, though good-tempered tones; "you'll 
 make the child cry." 
 
 Then she added, as if in reply to her own thoughts: 
 
 " After all, life is never so jolly or so miserable as 
 people seem to think."
 
 HAUTOT SENIOR 
 
 AND 
 
 HAUTOT JUNIOR 
 PART I 
 
 IN front of the building, half farm-house, half 
 manor-house, one of those rural habitations of a 
 mixed character which were all but seigneurial, and 
 which are at the present time occupied by large cultiva- 
 tors, the dogs lashed beside the apple-trees in the orchard 
 near the house, kept barking and howling at the sight of 
 the shooting-bags carried by the gamekeepers and the 
 boys. In the spacious dining-room kitchen, Hautot 
 Senior and Hautot Junior, M. Bermont, the tax-col- 
 lector, and M. Mondaru, the notary were taking a pick 
 and drinking a glass before going out to shoot, for it 
 was the opening day. 
 
 Hautot Senior, proud of all his possessions, talked 
 boastfully beforehand of the game which his guests were 
 going to find on his lands. He was a big Norman, one 
 of those powerful, sanguineous, bony men, who lift 
 wagon-loads of apples on their shoulders. Half- 
 peasant, half-gentleman, rich, respected, influential, in- 
 vested with authority he made his son Cesar go as far 
 as the third form at school, so that he might be an 
 educated man, and there he had brought his studies to 
 a stop for fear of his becoming a fine gentleman and 
 paying no attention to the land. 
 
 Cesar Hautot, almost as tall as his father, but 
 
 268
 
 HAUTOT SENIOR AND JUNIOR 269 
 
 thinner, was a good son, docile, content with everything, 
 full of admiration, respect, and deference, for the wishes 
 and opinions of his sire. 
 
 M, Bermont, the tax-collector, a stout little man, who 
 showed on his red cheeks a thin network of violet veins 
 resembling the tributaries and the winding courses of 
 rivers on maps, asked : 
 
 " And hares — are there any hares on it? " 
 
 Hautot Senior answered: 
 
 " As much as you like, especially in the Puysatier 
 lands." 
 
 ''Which direction are we to begin at?" asked the 
 notary, a jolly notary fat and pale, big paunched too, 
 and strapped up in an entirely new hunting-costume 
 bought at Rouen. 
 
 " Well, that way, through these grounds. We will 
 drive the partridges into the plain, and we will beat 
 there again." 
 
 And Hautot Senior rose up. They all followed his 
 example, took their guns out of the corners, examined 
 the locks, stamped with their feet in order to feel them- 
 selves firmer in their boots which were rather hard, not 
 having as yet been rendered flexible by the heat of the 
 blood. Then they went out; and the dogs, standing 
 erect at the ends of their lashes, gave vent to piercing 
 howls while beating the air with their paws. 
 
 They set forth for the lands referred to. They 
 consisted of a little glen, or rather a long undulating 
 stretch of inferior soil, which had on that account re- 
 mained uncultivated, furrowed with mountain-torrents, 
 covered with ferns, an excellent preserve for game. 
 
 The sportsmen took up their positions at some dis- 
 tance from each other, Hautot Senior posting himself
 
 270 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 at the right, Hautot Junior at the left, and the two 
 guests in the middle. The keeper and those who car- 
 ried the game-bags followed. It was the solemn 
 moment when the first shot it awaited, when the heart 
 beats a little, while the nervous finger keeps feeling at 
 the gun-lock every second. 
 
 Suddenly the shot went off. Hautot Senior had 
 fired. They all stopped, and saw a partridge breaking 
 off from a covey which was rushing along at a single 
 flight to fall down into a ravine under a thick growth 
 of brushwood. The sportsman, becoming excited, 
 rushed forward with rapid strides, thrusting aside the 
 briers which stood in his path, and he disappeared in 
 his turn into the thicket, in quest of his game. 
 
 Almost at the same instant, a second shot was heard. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! the rascal ! " exclaimed M. Bermont, " he 
 will unearth a hare down there." 
 
 They all waited, with their eyes riveted on the heap 
 of branches through which their gaze failed to 
 penetrate. 
 
 The notary, making a speaking-trumpet of his hands, 
 shouted: 
 
 " Have you got them? " 
 
 Hautot Senior made no response. 
 
 Then Cesar, turning towards the keeper, said to him : 
 
 " Just go, and assist him, Joseph. We must keep 
 walking in a straight line. We'll wait." 
 
 And Joseph, an old stump of a man, lean and knotty, 
 all whose joints formed protuberances, proceeded at an 
 easy pace down the ravine, searching at every opening 
 through which a passage could be effected with the cau- 
 tiousness of a fox. Then, suddenly, he cried:
 
 HAUTOT SENIOR AND JUNIOR 271 
 
 "Oh! come! come! an unfortunate thing has oc- 
 curred." 
 
 They all hurried forward, plunging through the 
 briers. 
 
 The elder Hautot, who had fallen on his side, 
 in a fainting condition, kept both his hands over 
 his stomach, from which flowed down upon the 
 grass through the linen vest torn by the lead, long 
 streamlets of blood. As he was laying down his gun, 
 in order to seize the partridge, within reach of him, he 
 had let the firearm fall, and the second discharge going 
 oft with the shock, had torn open his entrails. They 
 drew him out of the trench; they removed his clothes, 
 and they saw a frightful wound, through which the in- 
 testines came out. Then, after having bandaged him 
 the best way they could, they brought him back to his 
 own house, and they awaited the doctor, who had been, 
 sent for, as well as a priest. 
 
 When the doctor arrived, he gravely shook his head, 
 and, turning towards young Hautot, who was sobbing 
 on a chair: 
 
 " My poor boy," said he, " this has not a good look," 
 
 But, when the dressing was finished, the wounded man 
 moved his fingers, opened his mouth, then his eyes, cast 
 around his troubled, haggard glances, then appeared to 
 search about in his memory, to recollect, to understand, 
 and he murmured: 
 
 " Ah ! good God ! this has done for me ! " 
 
 The doctor held his hand. 
 
 " Why no, why no, some days of rest merely — it 
 will be nothing." 
 
 Hautot returned:
 
 272 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "It has done for me! My stomach is split! I 
 know it well." 
 
 Then, all of a sudden : 
 
 " I want to talk to the son, if I have the time." 
 
 Hautot Junior, in spite of himself, shed tears, and 
 kept repeating like a little boy. 
 
 " P'pa, p'pa, poor p'ps ! " 
 
 But the father, in a firmer tone : 
 
 "Come! stop crying — this is not the time for it. 
 I have to talk to you. Sit down there quite close to me. 
 It will be quickly done, and I will be more calm. As 
 for the rest of you, kindly give me one minute." 
 
 They all went out, leaving the father and son face to 
 face. 
 
 As soon as they were alone : 
 
 " Listen, son! you are twenty-four years; one can say 
 things like this to you. And then there is -not such 
 mystery about these matters as we import into them. 
 You know well that your mother is seven years dead, 
 isn't that so? and that I am not more than forty-five 
 years myself, seeing that I got married at nineteen. Is 
 not that true? " 
 
 The son faltered: 
 
 " Yes, it is true." 
 
 " So then your mother is seven years dead, and I 
 have remained a widower. Well ! a man like me cannot 
 remain without a wife at thirty-seven isn't that true? " 
 
 The son replied: 
 
 " Yes, it is true." 
 
 The father, out of breath, quite pale, and his face 
 contracted with suffering, went on : 
 
 "God! what pain I feel! Well, you understand. 
 Man is not made to live alone, but I did not want to
 
 HAUTOT SENIOR AND JUNIOR 273 
 
 take a successor to your mother, since I promised her 
 not to do so. Then — you understand? " 
 
 " Yes, father." 
 
 " So, I kept a young girl at Rouen, Reu de I'Eperlan 
 18, in the third story, the second door — I tell you all 
 this, don't forget — but a young girl, who has been very 
 nice to me, loving, devoted, a true woman, eh? You 
 comprehend, my lad? " 
 
 " Yes, father." 
 
 " So then, if I am carried off, I owe something to her, 
 but something substantial, that will place her in a safe 
 position. You understand? " 
 
 " Yes, father." 
 
 " I tell you that she is an honest girl, and that, but 
 for you, and the remembrance of your mother, and 
 again but for the house in which we three lived, I would 
 hav^e brought her here, and then married her, for certain 
 
 — listen — listen, my lad. I might have made a will 
 
 — I haven't done so. I did not wish to do so — for 
 it is not necessary to write down things — things of this 
 sort — it is too hurtful to the legitimate children — and 
 then it embroils everything — it ruins everyone ! Look 
 you, the stamped paper, there's no need of it — never 
 make use of it. If I am rich, it is because I have not 
 made use of what I have during my own life. You un- 
 derstand, my son? " 
 
 " Yes, father." 
 
 " Listen again — listen well to me ! So then, I have 
 
 made no will — I did not desire to do so — and then I 
 
 knew what you were; you have a good heart; you are 
 
 not niggardly, not too near, in any way, I said to myself 
 
 that when my end approached I would tell you all about 
 
 it, and that I would beg of you not to forget the girl. 
 V— 18
 
 274 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 And then listen again ! When I am gone, make your 
 way to the place at once — and make such arrange- 
 ments that she may not blame my memory. You have 
 plenty of means. I leave it to you — I leave you 
 enough. Listen ! You won't find her at home every 
 day in the week. She works at Madame Moreau's in 
 the Rue Beauvoisine. Go there on a Thursday. That 
 is the day she expects me. It has been my day for 
 the past six years. Poor little thing ! she will weep ! — 
 I say all this to you, because I have known you so well, 
 my son. One does not tell these things in public either 
 to the notary or to the priest. They happen — every- 
 one knows that — but they are not talked about, save 
 in case of necessity. Then there is no outsider m the 
 secret, nobody except the family, because the family con- 
 sists of one person alone. You understand? " 
 
 " Yes, father." 
 
 " Do you promise? " 
 
 " Yes, father." 
 
 " Do you swear it? " 
 
 " Yes, father." 
 
 " I beg of you, I implore of you, son do not forget. 
 I bind you to it." 
 
 ■" No, father." 
 
 " You will go yourself. I want you to make. sure of 
 evervthing." 
 
 "Yes, father." 
 
 "And, then, you will see — you will see what she 
 will explain to you. As for me, I can say no more to 
 you. You have vowed to do it." 
 
 " Yes, father." 
 
 " That's good, my son. Embrace me. Farewell.
 
 HAUTOT SENIOR AND JUNIOR 275 
 
 I am going to break up, I'm sure. Tell them they may 
 
 come in." 
 
 Young Hautot embraced his father, groaning while 
 he did so; then, always docile, he opened the door, and 
 the priest appeared in a white surplice, carrying the 
 holy oils. 
 
 But the dying man had closed his eyes, and he refused 
 to open them again, he refused to answer, he refused 
 to show, even by a sign, that he understood. 
 
 He had spoken enough, this man; he could speak no 
 more. Besides he now felt his heart calm; he wanted 
 to die in peace. What need had he to make a confession 
 to the deputy of God, since he had just done so to his 
 son, who constituted his own family? 
 
 He received the last rites, was purified and absolved, 
 in the midst of his friends and his servants on their 
 bended knees, without any movement of his face indicat- 
 ing that he still lived. 
 
 He expired about midnight, after four hours' con- 
 vulsive movements, which showed that he must have 
 suffered dreadfully in his last moments. 
 
 PART II 
 
 It was on the following Tuesday that they buried 
 him, the shooting opened on Sunday. On his return 
 home, after having accompanied his father to the ceme- 
 tery, Cesar Hautot spent the rest of the day weeping. 
 He scarcely slept at all on the following night, and he 
 felt so sad on awakening that he asked himself how he 
 could go on living. 
 
 However, he kept thinking until evening that, in or-
 
 276 GUY. DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 der to obey the last wish of his father, he ought to re- 
 pair to Rouen next day, and see this girl Catholine 
 Donet, who resided in the Rue d'Eperlan in the third 
 story, second door. He had repeated to himself in a 
 whisper, just as a little boy repeats a prayer, this name 
 and address, a countless number of times, so that he 
 might not forget them, and he ended by lisping them 
 continually, without being able to stop or to think of 
 what it was, so much were his tongue and his mind 
 possessed by the appellation. 
 
 According, on the following day, about eight o'clock, 
 he ordered Graindorge to be yoked to the tilbury, and 
 set forth, at the quick trotting pace of the heavy Nor- 
 man horse, along the high road from the Ainville to 
 Rouen, He wore his black frock coat drawn over his 
 shoulders, a tall silk hat on his head, and on his legs 
 his breeches with straps ; and he did not wish, on account 
 of the occasion, to dispense with the handsome cos- 
 tume, the blue overall which swelled in the wind, pro- 
 tected the cloth from dust and from stains, and which 
 was to be removed quickly on reaching his destination 
 the moment he had jumped out of the coach. 
 
 He entered Rouen accordingly just as it was striking 
 ten o'clock, drew up, as he had usually done at the Hotel 
 des Bon-Enfants, in the Rue des Trois-Mares, sub- 
 mitted to the hugs of the landlord and his wife and their 
 five children, for they had heard the melancholy news; 
 after that, he had to tell them all the particulars about 
 the accident, which caused him to shed tears, to repel 
 all the proffered attentions which they sought to thrust 
 upon him merely because he was wealthy, and to decline 
 even the breakfast they wanted him to partake of, thus 
 wounding their sensibilities.
 
 HAUTOT SENIOR AND JUNIOR 277 
 
 Then, having wiped the dust oft his hat, brushed his 
 coat and removed the mud stains from his boots, he set 
 forth in search of the Rue de I'Eperlan, without ventur- 
 ing to make inquiries from anyone, for fear of being 
 recognized and arousing suspicions. 
 
 At length, being unable to find the place, he saw a 
 priest passing by, and, trusting to the professional dis- 
 cretion which churchmen possess, he questioned the ec- 
 clesiastic. 
 
 He had only a hundred steps farther to go; It was 
 exactly the second street to the right. 
 
 Then he hesitated. Up to that moment, he had 
 obeyed, like a mere animal, the expressed wish of the 
 deceased. Now he felt quite agitated, confused, humil- 
 iated, at the idea of finding himself — the son — in 
 the presence of this woman who had been his father's 
 mistress. All the morality which lies buried in our 
 breasts, heaped up at the bottom of our sensuous emo- 
 tions by centuries of hereditary instruction, all that he 
 had been taught since he had learned his catechism about 
 creatures of evil life, to instinctive contempt which 
 ev^ery man entertains towards them, even though he may 
 marry one of them, all the narrow honesty of the 
 peasant in his character, was stirred up within him, and 
 held him back, making him grow red with shame. 
 
 But he said to himself: 
 
 " I promised the father, I must not break my 
 promise." 
 
 Then he gave a push to the door of the house bearing 
 the number 18, which stood ajar, discovered a gloomy- 
 looking staircase, ascended three flights, perceived a 
 door, then a second door, came upon the string of a bell, 
 and pulled it. The ringing, which resounded in the
 
 278 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 apartment before which he stood, sent a shiver through 
 his frame. The door was opened, and he found him- 
 self facing a young lady very well dressed, a brunette 
 with a fresh complexion who gazed at him with eyes of 
 astonishment. 
 
 He did not know what to say to her, and she who 
 suspected nothing, and who was waiting for the 
 other, did not invite him to come in. They stood 
 looking thus at one another for nearly half-a-minute, at 
 the end of which she said in a questioning tone: 
 
 " You have something to tell me Monsieur? " He 
 falteringly replied : 
 
 " I am M. Hautot's son." 
 
 She gave a start, turned pale, and stammered out as 
 If she had known him for a long time: 
 
 " Monsieur Cesar? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "And what next? " 
 
 " I have come to speak to you on the part of my 
 father." 
 
 She articulated : 
 
 "Oh my God!" 
 
 She then drew back so that he might enter. He 
 shut the door and followed her into the interior. Then 
 he saw a little boy of four or five years playing with a 
 cat, seated on a floor in front of a stove, from which 
 rose the steam of dishes which were being kept hot. 
 
 " Take a seat," she said. 
 
 He sat down. 
 
 She asked: 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 He no longer ventured to speak, keeping his eyes 
 fixed on the table which stood in the center of the room,
 
 HAUTOT SENIOR AND JUNIOR 279 
 
 with three covers laid on it, one of which was for a child. 
 He glanced at the chair which had its back turned to the 
 lire. They had been expecting him. That was his 
 bread which he saw, and which he recognized near the 
 fork, for the crust had been removed on account of 
 Hautot's bad teeth. Then, raising his eyes, he noticed 
 on the wall his father's portrait, the large photograph 
 taken at Paris the year of the exhibition, the same as 
 that which hung above the bed In the sleeping apart- 
 ment at Ainville. 
 
 The young woman again asked : 
 
 "Well, Monsieur Cesar?" 
 
 He kept staring at her. Her face was livid with 
 anguish; and she waited, her hands trembling with fear. 
 
 Then he took courage. 
 
 " Well, Mam'zelle, papa died on Sunday last just af- 
 ter he had opened the shooting." 
 
 She was so much overwhelmed that she did not move. 
 After a silence of a few seconds, she faltered in an al- 
 most inaudible tone : 
 
 " Oh ! it is not possible ! " 
 
 Then, on a sudden, tears showed themselves in her 
 eyes, and covering her face with her hands, she burst out 
 sobbing. 
 
 At that point the little boy turned round, and, seeing 
 his mother weeping, began to howl. Then, realizing 
 that this sudden trouble was brought about by the 
 stranger, he rushed at Cesar, caught hold of his breeches 
 with one hand, and with the other hit him with all his 
 strength on the thigh. And Cesar remained agitated, 
 deeply affected, with this woman mourning for his 
 father at one side of him, and the little boy defending 
 his mother at the other. He felt their emotion taking
 
 28o GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 possession of himself, and his eyes were beginning to 
 brim over with the same sorrow ; so, to recover her self- 
 command, he began to talk: 
 
 " Yes," he said, " the accident occurred on Sunday, 
 at eight o'clock — ." 
 
 And he told, as if she were listening to him, all the 
 facts without forgetting a single detail, mentioning the 
 most trivial matters with the minuteness of a country- 
 man. And the child still kept assailing him, making 
 kicks at his ankles. 
 
 When he came to the time at which his father had 
 spoken about her, her attention was caught by hearing 
 her own name, and, uncovering her face she said : 
 
 " Pardon me! I was not following you; I would like 
 to know — If you did not mind beginning over again." 
 
 He related everything at great length, with stoppages, 
 breaks and reflections of his own from time to time. 
 She listened to him eagerly now perceiving with a 
 woman's keen sensibility all the sudden changes of for- 
 tune which his narrative Indicated, and trembling with 
 horror, every now and then, exclaiming : 
 
 "Oh, my God!" 
 
 The little fellow, believing that she had calmed down, 
 ceased beating Cesar, in order to catch his mother's 
 hand, and he listened, too, as if he understood. 
 
 When the narrative was finished, young Hautot con- 
 tinued : 
 
 " Now we will settle matters together in accordance 
 with his wishes." 
 
 "Listen: I am well off he has left me plenty of 
 means. I don't want you to have anything to complain 
 about — " 
 
 But she quickly interrupted him.
 
 HAUTOT SENIOR AND JUNIOR 281 
 
 " Oh, Monsieur Cesar, Monsieur Cesar, not to-day. 
 I am cut to the heart — another time — another day. 
 No, not to-day. If I accept, listen ! 'Tis not for my- 
 self — no, no, no, I swear to you. 'Tis for the child. 
 Besides this provision will be put to his account." 
 
 Thereupon, Cesar scared, divined the truth, and 
 stammering : 
 
 " So then —'tis his — the child ? " 
 " Why, yes," she said. 
 
 And Hautot, Junior, gazed at his brother with a con- 
 fused emotion, intense and painful. 
 
 After a lengthened silence, for she had begun to weep 
 afresh, Cesar, quite embarrassed, went on: 
 
 " Well, then, Mam'zelle Donet I am going. When 
 would you wish to talk this over with me? " 
 She exclaimed: 
 
 " Oh! no, don't go! don't go. Don't leave me all 
 alone with Emile. I would die of grief. I have no 
 longer anyone, anyone but my child. Oh ! what wretch- 
 edness, what wretchedness. Mousieur Cesar ! Stop I 
 Sit down again. You will say something more to me. 
 You will tell me what he was doing over there all the 
 week." 
 
 And Cesar resumed his seat, accustomed to obey. 
 She drew over another chair for herself in front of 
 the stove, where the dishes had all this time been sim- 
 mering, took Emile upon her knees, and asked Cesar a 
 thousand questions about his father with reference to ' 
 matters of an intimate nature, which made him feel 
 without reasoning on the subject, that she had loved 
 Hautot with all the strength of her frail woman's heart. 
 And, by the natural concatenation of his ideas — 
 which were rather limited in number — he recurred once
 
 282 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 more to the accident, and set about telling the story over 
 again with all the same details. 
 
 When he said : 
 
 " He had a hole in his stomach — you could put your 
 two fists into It." 
 
 She gave vent to a sort of shriek, and the tears gushed 
 forth again from her eyes. 
 
 Then seized by the contagion of her grief, Cesar be- 
 gan to weep, too, and as tears always soften the fibers 
 of the heart, he bent over Emile whose forehead was 
 close to his own mouth, and kissed him. 
 
 The mother, recovering her breath, murmured: 
 
 " Poor lad, he is an orphan now ! " 
 
 " And so am I," said Cesar. 
 
 And they ceased to talk. 
 
 But suddenly the practical instinct of the housewife, 
 accustomed to be thoughtful about many things, re- 
 vived in the young woman's breast. 
 
 " You have perhaps taken nothing all the morning, 
 Monsieur Cesar." 
 
 " No, Mam'zelle." 
 
 " Oh! you must be hungry. You will eat a morsel." 
 
 " Thanks," he said, " I am not hungry; I have had 
 too much trouble." 
 
 She replied: 
 
 " In spite of sorrow, we must live. You will not re- 
 fuse to let me get something for you ! And then you 
 will remain a little longer. When you are gone, I don't 
 know what will become of me." 
 
 He yielded after some further resistance, and, sitting 
 down with his back to the fire, facing her, he ate a plate- 
 ful of tripe, which had been bubbling in the stove, and 
 drank a glass of red wine. But he would not allow
 
 HAUTOT SENIOR AND JUNIOR 283 
 
 her to uncork the bottle of white wine. He several 
 times wiped the mouth of the little boy, who had 
 smeared all his chin with sauce. 
 
 As he was rising up to go, he asked : 
 " When would you like me to come back to speak 
 about this business to you, Mam'zelle Donet? " 
 
 " If it is all the same to you, say next Thursday, 
 Monsieur Cesar. In that way, I would lose none of 
 my time, as I always have my Thursdays free." 
 "That will suit me — next Thursday." 
 " You will come to lunch. Won't you ? 
 " Oh! On that point I can't give you a promise." 
 " The reason I suggested is that people can chat bet- 
 ter when they are eating. One has more time too." 
 " Well, be it so. About twelve o'clock, then." 
 And he took his departure, after he had again kissed 
 little Emile, and pressed Mademoiselle Donet's hand. 
 
 PART III 
 
 The week appeared long to Cesar Hautot. He haJi 
 never before found himself alone, and the isolation 
 seemed to him insupportable. Till now, he had lived 
 at his father's side, just like his shadow, followed him 
 into the fields, superintended the execution of his or- 
 ders, and, when they had been a short time separated, 
 again met him at dinner. They had spent the evenings 
 smoking their pipes, face to face with one another, 
 chatting about horses, cows or sheep, and the grip of 
 their hands when they rose up In the morning might 
 have been regarded as a manifestation of deep family 
 affection 011 both sides. 
 
 Now Cesar was alone, he went vacantly through th^
 
 2 84 GUY DE iMAU PASSANT 
 
 process of dressing the soil of autumn, every moment 
 expecting to see the tall gesticulating silhouette of his 
 father rising up at the end of a plain. To kill time, 
 he entered the houses of his neighbors, told about the 
 accident to all who had not heard of it, and sometimes 
 repeated it to the others. Then, after he had finished 
 his occupations and his reflections, he would sit down at 
 the side of a road, asking himself whether this kind of 
 life was going to last for ever. 
 
 He frequently thought of jMademoiselle Donet. 
 He liked her. He considered her thoroughly respect- 
 able, a gentle and honest young woman, as his father 
 had said. Yes, undoubtedly she was an honest girl. 
 He resolved to act handsomely towards her, and to 
 give her two thousand francs a year, settling the capital 
 on the child. He even experienced a certain pleasure 
 in thinking that he was going to see her on the following 
 Thursday and arrange this matter with her. And then 
 the notion of this brother, this little chap of five, who 
 was his father's son, plagued him, annoyed him a little, 
 and, at the same time, exhibited him. He had, as it 
 Avere, a family in this brat, sprung from a clandestine al- 
 liance, who would never bear the name of Hautot, a 
 family which he might take or leave, just as he pleased, 
 but which would recall his father. 
 
 And so, when he saw himself on the road to Rouen on 
 Thursday morning, carried along by Graindorge 
 trotting with clattering foot-beats, he felt his heart 
 lighter, more at peace than he had hitherto felt it since 
 his bereavement. 
 
 On entering Mademoiselle Donet's apartment, he 
 saw the table laid as on the previous Thursday with the 
 sole difference that the crust had not been removed from
 
 HAUTOT SENIOR AND JUNIOR 285 
 
 the bread. He pressed the young woman's hand, kissed 
 Emlle on the cheeks, and sat down, more at ease than If 
 he were in his own house, his heart swelling in the same 
 way. Mademoiselle Donet seemed to him a little 
 thinner and paler. She must have grieved sorely. She 
 wore now an air of constraint in his presence, as if she 
 understood what she had not felt the week before under 
 the first blow of her misfortune, and she exhibited an 
 excessive deference towards him, a mournful humility, 
 and made touching efforts to please him, as if to pay 
 him back by her attentions for the kindness he had mani- 
 fested towards her. They were a long time at lunch 
 talking over the business, which had brought him there. 
 She did not want so much money. It was too much. 
 She earned enough to live on herself, but she only 
 wished that Emile might find a few sous awaiting him 
 when he grew big. Cesar held out, however, and even 
 added a gift of a thousand francs for herself for the 
 expense of mourning. 
 
 When he had taken his coffee, she asked: 
 
 " Do you smoke? " 
 
 " Yes — I have my pipe." 
 
 He felt in his pocket. Good God! He had forgot- 
 ten it ! He was becoming quite woebegone about it 
 when she offered him a pipe of his father that had been 
 shut up in a cupboard. He accepted it, took it up in 
 his hand, recognized it, smelled it, spoke of its quality 
 in a tone of emotion, filled it with tobacco, and lighted 
 it. Then, he set Emiie astride on his knee, and made 
 him play the cavalier, while she removed the table- 
 cloth, and put the soiled plates at one end of the 
 sideboard in order to wash them as soon as he was 
 gone.
 
 2 86 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 About three o'clock, he rose up with regret, quite an- 
 noyed at the thought of having to go. 
 
 " Well ! Mademoiselle Donet," he said, " I wish you 
 good evening, and am delighted to have found you 
 like this." 
 
 She remained standing before him, blushing, much 
 affected, and gazed at him while she thought of the 
 other. 
 
 " Shall we not see one another again? " she said. 
 
 He replied simply: 
 
 " Why, yes, mam'zelle, if it gives you pleasure." 
 
 " Certainly, Monsieur Cesar. Will next Thursday 
 suit you then? " 
 
 " Yes, Mademoiselle Donet." 
 
 " You will come to lunch, of course? " 
 
 " Well — if you are so kind as to invite me, I can't 
 refuse." 
 
 "It is understood, then. Monsieur Cesar — next 
 Thursday at twelve, tke same as to-day." • 
 
 "Thursday at twelve, Mam'zelle Donet!"
 
 LITTLE LOUISE ROQUE 
 
 MEDERIC Rompel, the postman, who was 
 familiarly called by the country people 
 Mederi, started at the usual hour from 
 the posthouse at Rouy-le-Tors. Having passed through 
 the little town with his big strides of an old trooper, he 
 first cut across the meadows of Villaumes in order to 
 reach the bank of the Brindelle, which led him along 
 the water's edge to the village of Carvelin, where his 
 distribution commenced. He went quickly, following 
 the course of the narrow river, which frothed, mur- 
 mured, and boiled along its bed of grass, under an arch 
 of willow-trees. The big stones, impeding the flow, 
 had around them a cushion of water, a sort of cravat 
 ending in a knot of foam. In some places, there were 
 cascades, a foot wide, often invisible, which made under 
 the leaves, under the tendrils, under a roof of verdure, 
 a big noise at once angry and gentle; then, further on, 
 the banks widened out, and you saw a small, placid lake 
 where trouts were swimming in the midst of all that 
 green vegetation which keeps undulating in the depths of 
 tranquil streams. 
 
 Mederic went on without a halt, seeing nothing, and 
 with only this thought in his mind: " My first letter is 
 for the Poivron family, then I have one for M. 
 Renardet; so I must cross the wood." 
 
 His blue blouse, fastened round his waist by a black 
 leathern belt moved in a quick, regular fashion above 
 the green hedge of the willow-trees ; and his stick of stout 
 
 287
 
 288 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 holly kept time with the steady movement of his legs. 
 
 Then, he crossed the Brindelle over a bridge formed 
 of a single tree thrown lengthwise, with a rope attached 
 to two stakes driven into the river's banks as its only 
 balustrade. 
 
 The wood, which belonged to M. Renardet, the 
 Mayor of Carvelin, and the largest landowner in the 
 district, consisted of a number of huge old trees, straight 
 as pillars, and extending for about half a league along 
 the left-bank of the stream which served as a boundary 
 for this immense arch of foliage. Alongside the water 
 there were large shrubs warmed by the sun; but under 
 the trees you found nothing but moss, thick, soft, plastic 
 moss, which exhaled into the stagnant air a light odor of 
 loam with withered branches. 
 
 Mederic slackened his pace, took off his black cap 
 adorned with red lace, and wiped his forehead, for it 
 was by this time hot in the meadows, though it was not 
 yet eight o'clock in the morning. 
 
 He had just recovered from the effects of the heat, 
 and resumed his accelerated pace when he noticed at 
 the foot of a tree a knife, a child's small knife. When 
 he picked it up, he discovered a thimble and also a 
 needle-case not far away. 
 
 Having taken up these objects, he thought: "I'll 
 intrust them to the Mayor," and he resumed his 
 journey, but now he kept his eyes open expecting to find 
 something else. 
 
 All of a sudden, he drew up stiffly as if he had 
 knocked himself against a wooden bar; for, ten paces in 
 front of him, lay stretched on her back a little girl, quite 
 naked, on the moss. She was about twelve years old. 
 Her arms were hanging down, her legs parted, and her
 
 LITTLE LOUISE ROQUE 289 
 
 face covered with a handkerchief. There were little 
 spots of blood on her thighs. 
 
 Mederic advanced now on tiptoe, as if he were afraid 
 to make a noise, apprehended some danger, and he 
 glanced towards the spot uneasily. 
 
 What was this? No doubt, she was asleep. Then, 
 he reflected that a person does not go to sleep thus 
 naked, at half-past seven in the morning under cool 
 trees. So then she must be dead; and he must be face 
 to face with a crime. At this thought, a cold shiver 
 ran through his frame, although he was an old soldier. 
 And then a murder was such a rare thing in the country, 
 and above all the murcier of a child, that he could not 
 believe his eyes. But she had no wound — nothing 
 save this blood stuck on her leg. How, then, had she 
 been killed? 
 
 He stopped quite near her; and he stared at her, while 
 he leaned on his stick. Certainly, he knew her, as he 
 knew all the inhabitants of the district; but, not being 
 able to get a look at her face, he could not guess her 
 name. He stooped forward in order to take off the 
 handkerchief which covered her face, then paused with 
 outstretched hand, restrained by an idea that occurred 
 to him. J 
 
 Had he the right to disarrange anything In the con- 
 dition of the corpse before the magisterial investiga- 
 tion? He pictured justice to himself as a kind of gen- 
 eral whom nothing escapes, and who attaches as much 
 importance to a lost button as to a stab of a knife in the 
 stomach. Perhaps under this handkerchief evidence to 
 support a capital charge could be found; in fact If there 
 were sufficient proof there to secure a conviction, It 
 might lost its value, If touched by an awkward hand. 
 
 V— 19
 
 290 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 '- Then, he raised himself with the intention of hasten- 
 ing towards the Mayor's residence, but again another 
 thought held him back. If the little girl was still alive, 
 by any chance, he could not leave her lying there in 
 this way. He sank on his knees very gently, a little bit 
 away from her through precaution, and extended his 
 hand towards her feet. It was icy cold, with the terri- 
 ble coldness which makes the dead flesh frightful, and 
 which leaves us no longer in doubt. The letter-carrier, 
 as he touched her, felt his heart in his mouth, as he said 
 to himself afterwards and his lips were parched with dry 
 spittle. Rising up abruptly he rushed off under the 
 trees towards M. Renardet's house. 
 
 \i He walked on in double-quick time, with his stick 
 under his arm, his hands clenched, and his head thrust 
 forward, and his leathern bag, filled with letters and 
 newspapers, kept regularly flapping at his side. 
 
 The Mayor's residence was at the end of the wood 
 which he used as a park, and one side of it was washed 
 by a little pool formed at this spot by the Brindelle. 
 
 It was a big, square house of gray stone, very old, 
 which had stood many a siege in former days, and at 
 the end of it was a huge tower, twenty meters high, built 
 in the water. 
 
 From the top of this fortress the entire country 
 around it could be seen In olden times. It was called 
 the Fox's tower, without anyone knowing exactly why; 
 and from this appellation, no doubt, had come the name 
 Renardet, borne by the owners of this fief, which had re- 
 mained in the same family, it was said, for more than 
 two hundred years. For the Renardets formed part 
 ■of the upper middle class all but noble to be met with 
 so often in the provinces before the Revolution.
 
 LITTLE LOUISE ROQUE 291 
 
 The postman dashed Into the kitchen where the 
 servants were taking breakfast, and exclaimed : 
 
 "Is the Mayor up? I want to speak to him at 
 once." 
 
 Mederic was recognized as a man of weight and 
 authority, and it was soon understood that something 
 serious had happened. 
 
 As soon as word was brought to M. Renardet, he 
 ordered the postman to be sent up to him. Pale and 
 out of breath, with his cap In his hand, Mederic found 
 the Mayor seated in front of a long table covered with 
 scattered papers. 
 
 He was a big, tall man, heavy and red-faced, strong 
 as an ox and was greatly liked In the district, though of 
 an excessively violent disposition. Very nearly forty 
 years old, and a widower for the past six months, he 
 lived on his estate like a country gentleman. His 
 choleric temperament had often brought him into trou- 
 ble, from which the magistrates of Rouy-le-Tors, like 
 indulgent and prudent friends, had extricated him. 
 Had he not one day thrown the conductor of the 
 diligence from the top of his seat because he was near 
 crushing his retriever, MIcmac? Had he not broken 
 the ribs of a gamekeeper, who abused him for having, 
 with a gun in his hand, passed through a neighbor's 
 property? Had he not even caught by the collar the 
 sub-prefect, who stopped In the village In the course of 
 an administrative round described by M. Renardet as 
 an electioneering round; for he was against the govern- 
 ment, according to his family tradition. 
 
 The Mayor asked : 
 
 *" What's the matter now, Mederic? " 
 " I found a little girl dead In your wood."
 
 292 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Renardet rose up, with his face the color of brick. 
 
 " Do you say — a little girl? " 
 
 " Yes, m'sieur, a little girl, quite naked, on her back, 
 with blood on her, dead — quite dead! " 
 
 The Mayor gave vent to an oath : 
 
 " My God, I'd make a bet 'tis little Louise Roque! 
 I have just learned that she did not go home to her 
 mother last night. Where did you find her ? " 
 
 The postman pointed out where the place was, gave 
 full details, and offered to conduct the Mayor to the 
 spot. 
 
 But Renardet became brusque: 
 
 " No, I don't need you. Send the steward, the 
 Mayor's secretary, and the doctor immediately to me, 
 and resume your rounds. Quick, quick, go and tell 
 them to meet me in the woods." 
 
 The letter-carrier, a man used to discipline, obeyed 
 and withdrew, angry and grieved at not being able to be 
 present at the investigation. 
 
 The Mayor, in his turn, prepared to go out, took his 
 hat, a big soft hat, and paused for a few seconds on the 
 threshold of his abode. In front of him stretched a 
 wide sward, in which three large patches were con- 
 spicuous — three large beds of flowers in full bloom, 
 one facing the house and the others at either side of it. 
 Further on, rose skyward the principal trees in the wood, 
 while at the left, above the Brindelle widened into a 
 pool, could be seen long meadows, an entirely green flat 
 sweep of the country, cut by dikes and willow edges like 
 monsters, twisted dwarf-trees, always cut short, and 
 having on their thick squat trunks a quivering tuft x)f 
 thick branches. 
 
 At the right, behind the stables, the outhouses, all
 
 LITTLE LOUISE ROQUE 293 
 
 the buildings connected with the property, might be seen 
 the village, which was wealthy, being mainly inhabited 
 by rearers of oxen. 
 
 Renardet slowly descended the steps in front of his 
 house, and turning to the left, gained the water's edge, 
 which he followed at a slow pace, his hand behind his 
 back. He went on with bent head, and from time to 
 time he glanced round in search of the persons for whom 
 he had sent. 
 
 When he stood beneath the trees, he stopped, took 
 off his hat, and wiped his forehead as Mederic had done; 
 for the burning sun was falling in fiery v-a'm upon the 
 ground. Then the Mayor resumed his journey, 
 stopped once more, and retraced his steps. Suddenly, 
 stooping down, he steeped his handkerchief in the 
 stream that glided at his feet, and stretched it round his 
 head, under his hat. Drops of water flowed along his 
 temples over his ears always purple over his strong 
 red neck, and made their way, one after the other, 
 under his white shirt-collar. 
 
 As nobody yet appeared he began tapping with his 
 foot, then he called out — 
 "Hallo! Hallo!" 
 A voice at his right, answered : 
 "Hallo! Hallo!" 
 
 And the doctor appeared under the trees. He v/as 
 a thin little man, an ex-military surgeon, who passed in 
 the neighborhood for a very skillful practitioner. He 
 limped, having been wounded while in the service, and 
 had to use a stick to assist him in walking. 
 
 Next came the steward and the Mayor's secretary, 
 who, having been sent for at the same time, arrived 
 together. They looked scared, and hurried forward
 
 294 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 out of breath, walking and trotting in turn In order to 
 hasten their progress, and moving their arms up and 
 down so vigorously that they seemed to do more work 
 with them than with their legs. 
 
 Renardet said to the doctor: 
 
 " You know what the trouble is about? " 
 
 " Yes, a child found dead in the wood by Mederic." 
 
 " That's quite correct. Come on." 
 
 They walked on side by side, followed by the two 
 men. 
 
 Their steps made no noise on the moss, their eyes 
 were gazing downward right in front of them. 
 
 The doctor hastened his steps, interested by the dis- 
 covery. As soon as they were near the corpse, he 
 bent down to examine it without touching it. He had 
 put on a pair of glasses, as when one is looking at some 
 curious object, and turned round very quietly. 
 
 He said without rising up: 
 
 *' Violated and assassinated, as we are going to prove 
 presently. This little girl moreover, is almost a 
 woman — look at her throat." 
 
 Her two breasts, already nearly full-developed, fell 
 over her chest, relaxed by death. 
 
 The doctor lightly drew away the handkerchief 
 which covered her face. It looked black, frightful, the 
 tongue protruding, the eyes bloodshot. He went on : 
 
 " Faith, she was strangled the moment the deed was 
 done." 
 
 He felt her neck: 
 
 " Strangled with the hands without leaving any 
 special trace, neither the mark of the nails nor the Im- 
 print of the fingers. Quite right. It is little Louise 
 Roque, sure enough! "
 
 LITTLE LOUISE ROQUE 295 
 
 He delicately replaced the handkerchief: 
 
 " There's nothing for me to do — She's been dead 
 for the last hour at least. We must give notice of the 
 matter to the authorities." 
 
 Renardet, standing up, with his hands behind his back, 
 kept staring with a stony look at the little body ex- 
 posed to view on the grass. He murmured : 
 
 " What a wretch! We must find the clothes." 
 
 The doctor felt the hands, the arms, the legs. He 
 said: 
 
 " She must have been bathing, no doubt. They 
 ought to be at the water's edge." 
 
 The Mayor thereupon gave directions: 
 
 "Do you, Princepe " (this was his secretary), go 
 and look for those clothes for me along the river. Do 
 you, Maxime " (this was the steward), " hurry on to- 
 wards Roug-le-Tors, and bring on here to me the 
 examining magistrate with the gendarmes. They 
 must be here within an hour. You understand." 
 
 The two men quickly departed, and Renardet said 
 tc the doctor: 
 
 " What miscreant has been able to do such a deed in 
 this part of the country." 
 
 The doctor murmured : 
 
 "Who knows? Everyone is capable of that? 
 Everyone in particular and nobody in general. No 
 matter, it must be some prowler, some workman out of 
 employment. As we live under a Republic, we must 
 expect to meet only this kind of person along the 
 roads." 
 
 Both of them were Bonapartists. 
 
 The Mayor went on :
 
 296 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 " Yes, it can only be a stranger, a passer-by, a vaga- 
 bond without heart or home." 
 
 The doctor added with the shadow of a smile on his 
 face : 
 
 " And without a wife. Having neither a good sup- 
 per nor a good bed, he procured the rest for himself. 
 You can't tell how many men there may be in the world 
 capable of a crime at a given moment. Did you know 
 that this little girl had disappeared? " 
 
 And with the end of his stick he touched one after 
 the other the stiffened fingers of the corpse, resting on 
 them as on the keys of a piano. 
 
 " Yes, the mother came last night to look for me 
 about nine o'clock, the child not having come home 
 from supper up to seven. We went to try and find her 
 along the roads up to midnight, but we did not think 
 of the wood. However, we needed daylight to carry 
 out a search with a practical result." 
 
 " Will you have a cigar? " said the doctor. 
 
 " Thanks, I don't care to smoke. It gives me a turn 
 to look at this." 
 
 They both remained standing in front of this corpse 
 of a young girl, so pale, on the dark moss. A big fly 
 with a blue belly that was walking along one of the 
 thighs, stopped at the bloodstains, went on again, al- 
 ways rising higher, ran along the side with his lively, 
 jerky movements, climbed up one of the breasts, then 
 came back again to explore the other, looking out for 
 something to drink on this dead girl. The two men 
 kept watching this wandering black speck. 
 
 The doctor said: 
 
 " How pretty it is, a fly on the skin ! The ladies of
 
 LITTLE LOUISE ROQUE 297 
 
 the last century had good reason to paste them on their 
 faces. Why has this fashion gone out? " 
 
 The Mayor seemed not to hear, plunged as he was 
 in deep thought. 
 
 But, all of a sudden, he turned round, for he was 
 surprised by a shrill noise. A woman in a cap and a 
 blue apron rushed up under the trees. It was the 
 mother, La Roque. As soon as she saw Renardet she 
 began to shriek: 
 
 " My little girl, where's my little girl?" in such a 
 distracted manner that she did not glance down at the 
 ground. Suddenly, she saw the corpse, stopped short, 
 clasped her hands, and raised both her arms while she 
 uttered a sharp, heartrending cry — the cry of a muti- 
 lated animal. Then she rushed towards the body, fell 
 on her knees, and took off, as if she would have snatched 
 it away, the handkerchief that covered the face. When 
 she saw that frightful countenance, black and convulsed, 
 she rose up with a shudder, then pressed her face 
 against the ground, giving vent to terrible and con- 
 tinuous screams with her mouth close to the thick moss. 
 
 Her tall, thin frame, to which her clothes were cling- 
 ing tightly, was palpitating, shaken with convulsions. 
 They could see her bony ankles and her dried up calves 
 covered with thick blue stockings, shivering horribly; 
 and she went digging the soil with her crooked lingers 
 as if in order to make a hole there to hide herself in it. 
 
 The doctor moved, said in a low tone : 
 
 " Poor old woman ! " 
 
 Renardet felt a strange rumbling in his stomach; then 
 he gave vent to a sort of loud sneeze that issued at the 
 same time through his nose and through his mouth; and,
 
 298 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 drawing his handlcerchief from his pocket, he began to 
 weep internally, coughing, sobbing, and wiping his face 
 noisily. 
 
 He stammered — 
 
 " Damn — damn — damned pig to do this ! I 
 would like to see him guillotined." 
 
 But Princepe reappeared, with his hands empty. 
 He murmured — 
 
 " I have found nothing, M'sieu le Maire, nothing at 
 all anywhere." 
 
 The doctor, scared, replied in a thick voice, drowned 
 in tears : 
 
 " What is that you could not find? " 
 
 " The httle girl's clothes." 
 
 "Well — well — look again, and find them — or 
 you'll have to answer to me." 
 
 The man, knowing that the Mayor would not brook 
 opposition, set forth again with hesitating steps, cast- 
 ing on the corpse indirect and timid glances. 
 
 Distant voices arose under the trees, a confused 
 sound, the noise of an approaching crowd; for Mederic 
 had, in the course of his rounds carried the news from 
 door to door. The people of the neighborhood, stupe- 
 fied at first, had gone chatting from their own firesides 
 into the street, from one threshold to another. Then 
 they gathered together. They talked over, discussed, 
 and commented on the event for some minutes, and they 
 had now come to see it for themselves. 
 
 They arrived in groups a little faltering and uneasy 
 through fear of the first impression of such a scene on 
 their minds. When they saw the body they stopped, 
 not daring to advance, and speaking low. They grew 
 bold, went on a few steps, stopped again, advanced once
 
 LITTLE LOUISE ROQUE 299 
 
 more, and soon they formed around the dead girl, her 
 mother, the doctor, and Renardet, a thick circle, agitated 
 and noisy, which crushed forward under the sudden 
 pushes of the last comers. iVnd now they touched the 
 corpse. Some of them even bent down to feel it with 
 their fingers. The doctor kept them back. But the 
 mayor, waking abruptly out of his torpor, broke into 
 a rage, and, seizing Dr. Labarbe's stick, flung himself on 
 his townspeople, stammering: 
 
 "Clear out — clear out — you pack of brutes — 
 clear out! " 
 
 And in a second, the crowd of sightseers had fallen 
 back two hundred meters. 
 
 La Roque was lifted up, turned round, and placed In 
 a sitting posture, and she now remained weeping with 
 her hands clasped over her face. 
 
 The occurrence was discussed among the crowd; 
 and young lads' eager eyes curiously scrutinized this 
 naked body of a girl. Renardet perceived this, and 
 abruptly taking off his vest, he flung It over the little 
 girl, who was entirely lost to view under the wide gar- 
 ment. 
 
 The spectators drew near quietly. The wood was 
 filled with people, and a continuous hum of voices rose 
 up under the tangled foliage of the tall trees. 
 
 The Mayor, In his shirt sleeves, remained standing, 
 with his stick In his hands, in a fighting attitude. He 
 seemed exasperated by this curiosity on the part of the 
 people, and kept repeating: 
 
 " If one of you come nearer, I'll break his head just 
 as I would a dog's." 
 
 The peasants were greatly afraid of him. They 
 held back. Dr. Labarbe, who was smoking, sat down
 
 300 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 beside La Roque, and spoke to her in order to distract 
 her attention. The old woman soon removed her hands 
 from her face, and she replied with a flood of tearful 
 words, emptying her grief in copious talk. She told 
 the whole story of her life, her marriage, the death of 
 her man, a bullsticker, who had been gored to death, 
 the infancy of her daughter, her wretched existence as 
 a widow without resources and with a child to support. 
 She had only this one, her little Louise, and the child 
 had been killed — killed in this wood. All of a sud- 
 den, she felt anxious to see It again, and dragging her- 
 self on her knees towards the corpse, she raised up one 
 corner of the garment that covered her; then she let it 
 fall again, and began wailing once more. The crowd 
 remained silent, eagerly watching all the mother's ges- 
 tures. 
 
 But all of a sudden, a great swaying movement took 
 place, and there was a cry of " the gendarmes ! the 
 gendarmes ! " 
 
 The gendarmes appeared in the distance, coming on 
 at a rapid trot, escorting their captain and a little gen- 
 tleman with red whiskers, who was bobbing up and down 
 like a monkey on a big white mare. 
 
 The steward had just found M. Putoin, the examining 
 magistrate, at the moment when he was mounting his 
 horse to take his daily ride, for he posed as a good 
 horseman to the great amusement of the officers. 
 
 He alighted along with the captain, and passed the 
 hands of the Mayor and the Doctor, casting a ferret- 
 like glance on the linen vest which swelled above the 
 body lying underneath. 
 
 When he was thoroughly acquainted with the facts, 
 he first gave orders to get rid of the public, whom the
 
 LITTLE LOUISE ROQUE 301 
 
 gendarmes drove out of the wood, but who soon reap- 
 peared in the meadow, and formed a hedge, a big 
 hedge of excited and moving heads all along the Brin- 
 delle, on the other side of the stream. 
 
 The doctor in his turn, gave explanations, of which 
 Renardet took a note in his memorandum book. All 
 the e\ndence was given, taken down, and commented on 
 without leading to any discovery. Maxime, too, came 
 back without having found any trace of the clothes. 
 
 This disappearance surprised everybody; no one 
 could explain It on the theory of theft, and as these 
 rags were not worth twenty sous, even this theory was 
 inadmissible. 
 
 The examining magistrate, the mayor, the captain, 
 and the doctor, set to work by searching in pairs, 
 putting aside the smallest branches along the water. 
 
 Renardet said to the judge: 
 
 " How does it happen that this wretch has concealed 
 or carried away the clothes, and has thus left the body 
 exposed in the open air and visible to everyone? " 
 
 The other, sly and knowing, answered: 
 
 " Ha! Ha! Perhaps a dodge? This crime has been 
 committed either by a brute or by a crafty blackguard. 
 In any case we'll easily succeed in finding him." 
 
 The rolling of a vehicle made them turn their heads 
 round. It w^as the deputy magistrate, the doctor and 
 the registrar of the court who had arrived in their turn. 
 They resumed their searches, all chatting in an animated 
 fashion. 
 
 Renardet said suddenly: 
 
 *' Do you know that I am keeping you to lunch with 
 me?" 
 
 Everyone smilingly accepted the invitation, and the
 
 302 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 examining magistrate, finding that the case of little 
 Louise Roque was quite enough to bother about for one 
 day, turned towards the Mayor: 
 
 " I can have the body brought to your house, can I 
 not ? You have a room in which you can keep it for me 
 till this evening." 
 
 The other got confused, and stammered: 
 
 " Yes — no — no. To tell the truth, I prefer 
 that it should not come into my house on account of — 
 on account of my servants who are already talking about 
 ghosts in — in my tower, in the Fox's tower. You 
 know — I could no longer keep a single one. No — I 
 prefer not to have it in my house." 
 
 The magistrate began to smile : 
 
 " Good! I am going to get it carried off at once to 
 Roug, for the legal examination." 
 
 Turning towards the door: 
 
 " I can make use of your trap can I not? " 
 
 " Yes, certainly." 
 
 Everybody came back to the place where the corpse 
 lay. La Roque now, seated beside her daughter, had 
 caught hold of her head, and was staring right before 
 her, with a wandering listless eye. 
 
 The two doctors endeavored to lead her away, so that 
 she might not witness the dead girl's removal; but she 
 understood at once what they wanted to do, and, fling- 
 ing herself on the body, she seized it in both arms. 
 Lying on top of the corpse, she exclaimed : 
 
 " You shall not have it — 'tis mine — 'tis mine now. 
 They have killed her on me, and I want to keep her — 
 you shall not have her — ! " 
 
 All the men, affected and not knowing how to act,
 
 LITTLE LOUISE ROQU£ 303 
 
 remained standing around her. Renardet fell on his 
 knees, and said to her: 
 
 " Listen, La Roque, it is necessary in order to find 
 out who killed her. Without this, it could not be found 
 out. We must make a search for him in order to 
 punish him. When we have found him, we'll giv^e her 
 up to you. I promise you this." 
 
 This explanation shook the woman's mind, and a feel- 
 ing of hatred manifested itself in her distracted glance. 
 
 " So then they'll take him? " 
 
 *' Yes, I promise you that." 
 
 She rose up, deciding to let them do as they liked; 
 but, when the captain remarked: 
 
 " 'Tis surprising that her clothes were not found." 
 
 A new idea, which she had not previously thought 
 of, abruptly found an entrance into her brain, and she 
 asked : 
 
 " Where are her clothes. They're mine. I want 
 them. Where have they been put? " 
 
 They explained to her that they had not been found. 
 Then she called out for them with desperate obstinacy 
 and with repeated moans. 
 
 "They're mine — I want them. Where are they? 
 I want them! " 
 
 The more they tried to calm her the more she 
 sobbed, and persisted in her demands. She no longer 
 wanted the body, she insisted on having the clothes, as 
 much perhaps through the unconscious cupidity of a 
 wretched being to whom a piece of silver represents a 
 fortune, as through maternal tenderness. 
 
 And when the Httle body rolled up in blankets which 
 had been brought out from Renardet's house, had disap- 
 peared in the vehicle, the old woman standing under
 
 304 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 the trees, held up by the Mayor and the Captain, ex- 
 claimed: 
 
 " I have nothing, nothing, nothing in the world, not 
 even her little cap — her little cap." 
 
 The cure had just arrived, a young priest already 
 growing stout. He took it on himself to carry off La 
 Roque, and they went away together towards the 
 village. The mother's grief was modified under the 
 sugary words of the clergyman, who promised her a 
 thousand compensations. But she incessantly kept re- 
 peating: 
 
 " If I had only her little cap." 
 
 Sticking to this idea which now dominated every 
 other. 
 
 Renardet exclaimed some distance away: 
 •" You lunch with us. Monsieur I'Abbe — in an hour's 
 time." 
 
 The priest turned his head round, and replied: 
 
 " With pleasure, Monsieur le Maire. Til be with 
 you at twelve." 
 
 And they all directed their steps towards the house 
 whose gray front and large tower built on the edge of 
 the Brindelle, could be seen through the branches. 
 
 The meal lasted a long time. They talked about the 
 crime. Everybody was of the same opinion. It had 
 been committed by some tramp passing there by mere' 
 chance while the little girl was bathing. 
 
 Then the magistrates returned to Roug, announcing 
 that they would return next day at an early hour. The 
 doctor and the cure went to their respective homes, while 
 Renardet, after a long walk through the meadows, re- 
 turned to the wood where he remained walking till 
 nightfall with slow steps, his hands behind his back.
 
 LITTLE LOUISE ROQUE 305 
 
 He went to bed early, and was still asleep next morn- 
 ing when the examining magistrate entered his room. 
 He rubbed his hands together with a self-satished air. 
 He said: 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! You're still sleeping. Well, my dear fel- 
 low, we have news this morning." 
 
 The Mayor sat up on his bed. 
 
 "What, pray?" 
 
 "Oh! Something strange. You remember well 
 how the mother yesterday clamored for some memento 
 of her daughter, especially her little cap? Well, on 
 opening her door this morning, she found on the 
 threshold, her child's two little wooden shoes. This 
 proves that the crime was perpetrated by some one from 
 the district, som.e one who felt pity for her. Besides, 
 the postman, Mederic comes and brings the thimble, the 
 knife and the needle case of the dead girl. So then 
 the man in carrying off the clothes in order to hide them, 
 must have let fall the articles which were in the pocket. 
 As for me, I attach special importance about the wooden 
 shoes, as they indicate a certain moral culture and a 
 faculty for tenderness on the part of the assassin. We 
 will therefore, if I have no objection, pass in review 
 together the principal inhabitants of your district." 
 
 The Mayor got up. He rang for hot water to shave 
 with, and said: 
 
 " With pleasure, but it will take rather a long time, 
 and we may begin at once." 
 
 M. Putoin had sat astride on a chair, thus pursuing 
 even in a room, his mania for horsemanship. 
 
 Renardet now covered his chin with a white lather 
 while he looked at himself in the glass; then he sharp- 
 ened his razor on the strop and went on : 
 V— 20
 
 3o6 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 " The principal inhabitant of Carvelin bears the name 
 of Joseph Renardet, Mayor, a rich landowner, a rough 
 man who beats guards and coachmen — " 
 
 The examining magistrate burst out laughing: 
 
 " That's enough; let us pass on to the next." 
 
 " The second in importance is ill. Pelledent, his 
 deputy, a rearer of oxen, an equally rich landowner, a 
 crafty peasant, very sly, very close-fisted on every ques- 
 tion of money, but incapable in my opinion, of having 
 perpetrated such a crime." 
 
 M. Putoin said: 
 
 " Let us pass on." 
 
 Then, while continuing to shave and wash himself, 
 Renardet went on with the moral inspection of all the 
 inhabitants of Carvelin. After two hours' discussion, 
 their suspicions were fixed on three individuals who had 
 hitherto borne a shady reputation — a poacher named 
 Cavalle, a fisher for trails and crayfish named Paquet, 
 and a bullsticker named Clovls. 
 
 PART II 
 
 The search for the perpetrator of the crime lasted 
 all the summer, but he was not discovered. Those who 
 were suspected and those who were arrested easily 
 proved their innocence, and the authorities were com- 
 pelled to abandon the attempt to capture the criminal. 
 
 But this murder seemed to have moved the entire 
 country in a singular fashion. There redisquietude, a 
 vague fear, a sensation of mysterious terror, springing 
 not merely from the impossibility of discovering any 
 trace of the assassin, but also and above all from that 
 strange finding of the wooden shoes in front of La
 
 LITTLE LOUISE ROQUE 307 
 
 Roque's door on the day after the crime. The cer- 
 tainty that the murderer had assisted at the investiga- 
 tion, that he was still living in the village without doubt, 
 left a gloomy impression on people's minds, and ap- 
 peared to brood over the neighborhood like an incessant 
 menace. 
 
 The wood besides, had become a dreaded spot, 
 a place to be avoided, and supposed to be haunted. 
 
 Formerly, the inhabitants used to come and sit down 
 on the moss at the feet of the huge tall trees, or walk 
 along the water's edge watching the trouts gliding under 
 the green undergrowth. The boys used to play bowls, 
 hide-and-seek and other games in certain places where 
 they had upturned, smoothed out, and leveled the soil, 
 and the girls, in rows of four or five, used to trip along 
 holding one another by the arms, and screaming out 
 with their shrill voices ballads which grated on the 
 ear, and whose false notes disturbed the tranquil air and 
 set the teeth on edge like drops of vinegar. Now no- 
 body went any longer under the wide lofty vault, as if 
 people were afraid of always finding there some corpse 
 lying on the ground. 
 
 Autumn arrived, the leaves began to fall. They fell 
 down day and night, descended from the tall trees, 
 round and round whirling to the ground; and the sky 
 could be seen through the bare branches. Sometimes 
 when a gust of wind swept over the tree-tops, the slow, 
 continuous rain suddenly grew heavier, and became a 
 storm with a hoarse roar, which covered the moss with 
 a thick carpet of yellow water that made rather a 
 squashing sound under the feet. And the almost im- 
 perceptible murmur, the floating, ceaseless murmur gen- 
 tle and sad, of this rainfall seemed like a low wail, and
 
 3o8 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 those leaves continually falling, seemed like tears, big 
 tears shed by the tall mournful trees which were weep- 
 ing, as it were, day and night over the close of the year, 
 ov^er the ending of warm dawns and soft twilights, over 
 the ending of hot breezes and bright suns, and also 
 perhaps over the crime which they had seen committed 
 under the shade of their branches, over the girl violated 
 and killed at their feet. They wept In the silence of 
 the desolate empty wood, the abandoned, dreaded wood, 
 where the soul, the childish soul of the dead little girl 
 must be wandering all alone. 
 
 The Brindelle, swollen by the storms, rushed on more 
 quickly, yellow and angry, between its dry banks, be- 
 tween two thin, bare willow-hedges. 
 
 And here was Renardet suddenly resumiing his walks 
 under the trees. Every day, at sunset, he came out of 
 his house decended the front steps slowly, and entered 
 the wood, in a dreamy fashion with his hands In his 
 pockets. For a long time he paced over the damp soft 
 moss, while a legion of rooks, rushing to the spot from 
 all the neighboring haunts In order to rest In the tall 
 summits, unrolled themselves through space, like an Im- 
 mense mourning veil floating In the wind, uttering 
 violent and sinister screams. Sometimes, they rested, 
 dotting with black spots the tangled branches against the 
 red sky, the sky crimsoned with autumn twilights. 
 Then, all of a sudden, they set again, croaking fright- 
 fully and trailing once more above the wood the long 
 dark festoon of their flight. 
 
 They swooped down at last, on the highest treetops, 
 and gradually their cawings died away while the advanc- 
 ing night mingled their black plumes with the blackness 
 of space.
 
 LITTLE LOUISE ROQUE 309 
 
 Renardet was still strolling slowly under the trees; 
 then, when the thick darkness prevented him from 
 walking any longer, he went back to the house, sank all 
 of a heap into his armchair in front of the glowing 
 hearth, stretching towards the fire his damp feet from 
 which for some time under the flames vapor emanated. 
 
 Now, one morning, an important bit of news was cir- 
 culated around the district; the Mayor was getting his 
 wood cut down. 
 
 Twenty woodcutters were already at M'ork. They 
 had commenced at the corner nearest to the house, and 
 they worked rapidly in the master's presence. 
 
 At first, the loppers climbed up the trunk. Tied to 
 it by a rope collar, they cling round in the beginning with 
 both arms, then, lifting one leg, they strike it hard with 
 a blow of the edge of a steel instrument attached to each 
 foot. The edge penetrates the wood, and remains 
 stuck in it; and the man rises up as if on a step in order 
 to strike with the steel attached to the other foot, and 
 once more supports himself till he lifts his first foot 
 again. 
 
 And with every upward movement he raises higher 
 the rope collar which fastens him to the tree. Over his 
 loins, hangs and glitters the steel hatchet. He keeps 
 continually clinging on in an easy fashion like a 
 parasitic creature attacking a giant; he mounts slowly 
 up the immense trunk, embracing It and spurring It In 
 order to decapitate It. 
 
 As soon as he reaches the first branches, he stops, 
 detaches from his side the sharp ax, and strikes. 
 He strikes slowly, methodically, cutting the limb close 
 to the trunk, and, all of a sudden, the branch cracks, 
 gives away, bends, tears Itself oft, and falls down graz-
 
 3IO GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 ing the neighboring trees in its fall. Then, it crashes 
 down on the ground with a great sound of broken wood, 
 and Its slighter branches keep quivering for a long 
 time. 
 
 The soil was covered with fragments which other 
 men cut in their turn, bound in bundles, and piled in 
 heaps, while the trees which were still left standing 
 seemed like enormous posts, gigantic forms amputated 
 and shorn by the keen steel of the cutting instruments. 
 
 And when the lopper had finished his task, he left at 
 the top of the straight slender shaft of the tree the rope 
 collar which he had brought up with him, and after- 
 wards descends again with spurlike prods along the dis- 
 crowned trunk, which the woodcutters thereupon at- 
 tacked at the base, striking it with great blows which 
 resounded through all the rest of the wood. 
 
 When the foot seemed pierced deeply enough, 
 some men commenced dragging to the accompaniment 
 of a cry in which they joined harmoniously, at the rope 
 attached to the top; and, all of a sudden, the immense 
 mast cracked and tumbled to the earth with the dull 
 sound and shock of a distant cannon-shot. 
 
 And each day the wood grew thinner, losing its trees 
 which fell down one by one, as an army loses its 
 soldiers. 
 
 Renardet no longer walked up and down. He re- 
 mained from morning till night, contemplating, motion- 
 less, and with his hands behind his back the slow death 
 of his wood. When a tree fell, he placed his- foot on 
 it as if it were a corpse. Then he raised his eyes to the 
 next with a kind of secret, calm impatience, as if he had 
 expected, hoped for, something at the end of this 
 massacre.
 
 LITTLE LOUISE ROQUE 311 
 
 Meanwhile, they v\'ere approaching the place where 
 little Louise Roque had been found. At length, they 
 came to it one evening, at the hour of twilight. 
 
 As it was dark, the sky being overcast, the wood- 
 cutters wanted to stop their work, putting off till next 
 day the fall of an enormous beech-tree, but the master 
 objected to this, and insisted that even at this hour they 
 should lop and cut down this giant, which had over- 
 shadowed the crime. 
 
 When the lopper had laid it bare, had finished its 
 toilets for the guillotine, when the woodcutters were 
 about to sap its base, five men commenced hauling at the 
 rope attached to the top. 
 
 The tree resisted; its powerful trunk, although 
 notched up to the middle was as rigid as iron. The 
 workmen, altogether, with a sort of regular jump, 
 strained at the rope, stooping down to the ground, and 
 they gave vent to a cry with throats out of breath, so 
 as to indicate and direct their efforts. 
 
 Two woodcutters standing close to the giant, re- 
 mained with axes in their grip, like two executioners 
 ready to strike once more, and Renardet, motionless, 
 with his hand on the bark, awaited the fall with an un- 
 easy, nervous feeling. 
 
 One of the men said to him : 
 
 " You're too near, Monsieur le Maire. When it 
 falls, it may hurt you." 
 
 He did not reply and did not recoil. He seemed 
 ready himself to catch the beech-tree in his open arms 
 in order to cast it on the ground like a wrestler. 
 
 All at once, at the foot of the tall column of wood 
 there was a rent which seemed to run to the top, like 
 a painful shake; and it bent slightly, ready to fall, but
 
 312 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 still resisting. The men, in a state of excitement, stiff- 
 ened their arms, renewed their efforts with greater vigor, 
 and, just as the tree, breaking, came crashing down, 
 Renardet suddenly made forward step, then stopped, 
 his shoulders raised to receive the irresistible shock, the 
 mortal shock which would crush him on the earth. 
 
 But the beech-tree, having deviated a little, only 
 rubbed against his loins, throwing him on his face five 
 meters away. 
 
 The workmen dashed forward to lift him up. He 
 had already risen to his knees, stupefied, with wander- 
 ing eyes, and passing his hand across his forehead, as 
 if he were awaking out of an attack of madness. 
 
 When he had got to his feet once more, the men, 
 astonished, questioned him, not being able to understand 
 what he had done. He replied, in faltering tones, that 
 he had had for a moment a fit of abstraction, or rather 
 a return to the days of his childhood, that he imagined 
 he had to pass his time under a tree, just as street-boys 
 rush in front of vehicles driving rapidly past, that he 
 had played at danger, that, for the past eight days, he 
 felt this desire growing stronger within him, asking 
 himself whether, every time one was cracking, so as to 
 be on the point of falling, he could pass beneath it with- 
 out being touched. It was a piece of stupidity he con- 
 fessed; but everyone has these moments of insanity, and 
 these temptations towards boyish folly. 
 
 He made this explanation in a slow tone, searching 
 for his words, and speaking in a stupefied fashion. 
 
 Then, he went off, saying: 
 
 " Till to-morrow, my friends — till to-morrow." 
 
 As soon as he had got back to his room, he sat down
 
 LITTLE LOUISE ROQUE 313 
 
 before his table, which his lamp, covered with a shade, 
 lighted up brightly, and, clasping his hands over his 
 forehead, be began to cry. 
 
 He remained crying for a long time, then wiped his 
 eyes, raised his head, and looked at the clock. It was 
 not yet six o'clock. 
 
 He thought: 
 
 " I have time before dinner." 
 
 And he went to the door and locked it. He then 
 came back, and sat down before his table. He pulled 
 out a drawer in the middle of it, and taking from it a 
 revolver, laid it down over his papers, under the glare 
 of the sun. The barrel of the fire-arm glittered and 
 cast reflections which resembled flames. 
 
 Renardet gazed at it for some time with the uneasy 
 glance of a drunken man; then he rose by, and began 
 to pace up and down the room. 
 
 He walked from one end of the apartment to the 
 other, and stopped from time to time and started to 
 pace up and down again a moment afterwards. Sud- 
 denly, he opened the door of his dressing room, 
 steeped a napkin in a water-jug and moistened his fore- 
 head, as he had done on the morning of the crime. 
 
 Then he went walking up and down once more. 
 Each time he passed the table the gleaming revolver 
 attracted his glance, tempted his hand; but he kept 
 vratching the clock, and reflected: 
 
 " I have still time." 
 
 It struck half-past six. Then he took up the revolv- 
 er, opened his mouth wide w'ith a frightful grimace, 
 and stuck the barrel into it, as if he wanted to swallow 
 it. He remained in this position for some seconds
 
 314 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 without moving, his finger on the lock, then, suddenly, 
 seized with a shudder of horror, he dropped the pistol 
 on the carpet. 
 
 And he fell back on his arm-chair, sobbing : 
 
 "I can't. I dare not! My God! My God! 
 How can I have the courage to kill myself? " 
 
 There was a knock at the door. He rose up in a 
 stupefied condition. A servant said : 
 
 " Monsieur's dinner is ready." 
 
 He replied: 
 
 " All right. I'm going down." 
 
 Then he picked up the revolver, locked it up again in 
 the drawer, then he looked at himself in the glass over 
 the mantelpiece to see whether his face did not look too 
 much convulsed. It was as red as usual, a little redder 
 perhaps. That was all. He went down, and seated 
 himself before the table. 
 
 He ate slowly, like a man who wants to drag on the 
 meal, who does not want to be alone with himself. 
 
 Then he smoked several pipes in the hall while the 
 plates were being removed. After that, he went back 
 to his room. 
 
 As soon as he was shut up in it, he looked under his 
 bed, opened all his cupboards, explored every corner, 
 rummaged through all the furniture. Then he lighted 
 the tapers over the mantelpiece, and, turning round 
 several times, ran his eye all over the apartment with an 
 anguish of terror that made his face lose its color, for 
 he knew well that he was going to see her, as on every 
 night — Little Louise Roque, the little girl he had 
 violated and afterwards strangled. 
 
 Every night the odious vision came back again. 
 First, it sounded in his ears like a kind of snorting suck
 
 LITTLE LOUISE ROQUE 315 
 
 as is made by a threshing machine or the distant pas- 
 sage of a train over a bridge. Then he commenced 
 to pant, to feel suffocated, and he had to unbutton 
 his shirt-collar and his belt. He moved about 
 to make his blood circulate, he tried to read, he at- 
 tempted to sing. It was in vain. His thoughts, in 
 spite of himself, went back to the day of the m.urder, 
 and made him begin it all over again in all its most 
 secret details, with all the violent emotions he had ex- 
 perienced from the first minute to the last. 
 
 He had felt on rising up that morning, the morning 
 of the horrible day, a little stupefaction and dizziness 
 which he attributed to the heat, so that he remained in 
 his room till the time came for breakfast. 
 
 After the meal he had taken a siesta, then, towards 
 the close of the afternoon, he had gone out to breathe 
 the fresh, soothing breeze under the trees in the wood. 
 
 But, as soon as they were outside, the heavy, scorch- 
 ing air of the plain oppressed him more. The sun, still 
 high in the heavens, poured out on the parched soil, 
 dry and thirsty, floods of ardent light. Not a breath 
 of wind stirred the leaves. Every beast and bird, even 
 the grasshoppers, were silent. Renardet reached the 
 tall trees, and began to walk over the moss where the 
 Brindelle sent forth a slight, cool vapor under the im- 
 mense roof of trees. But he felt ill at ease. It 
 seemed to him that an unknown, invisible hand, was 
 squeezing his neck, and he scarcely thought of anything, 
 having usually few ideas in his head. For the last three 
 months, only one thought haunted him, the thought of 
 marrying again. He suffered from living alone, suf- 
 fered from it morally and physically. Accustomed for 
 ten years past to feeling a woman near him, habituated
 
 3i6 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 to her presence every moment, to her embrace each suc- 
 cessive day, he had need, an imperious and perplexing 
 need of incessant contact with her and the regular touch 
 of her lips. Since Madame Renardet's death, he had 
 suffered continually without knowing why, he had suf- 
 fered from not feeling her dress brush against his legs 
 every day, and, above all, from no longer being able to 
 grow calm and languid between her arms. He had 
 been scarcely six months a widower, and he had already 
 been looking out through the district for some young 
 girl or some widow he might marry when his period of 
 marrying was at an end. 
 
 He had a chaste soul, but it was lodged in a power- 
 ful Herculean body, and carnal images began to disturb 
 his sleep and his vigils. He drove them away; they 
 came back again; and he murmured from time to time, 
 smiling at himself: 
 
 " Here I am, like St. Antony." 
 
 Having had this morning several besetting visions, 
 the desire suddenly came Into his breast to bathe in the 
 Brindelle In order to refresh himself and appease the 
 ardor of his heat. 
 
 He knew, a little further on, a large deep spot where 
 the people of the neighborhood came sometimes to take 
 a dip in summer. He went there. 
 
 Thick willow trees hid this clear volume of water 
 where the current rested and went to sleep for a little 
 while before starting Its way again. Renardet, as he 
 appeared, thought he heard a light sound, a faint smell 
 which was not that of the stream on the banks. He 
 softly put aside the leaves and looked. A little girl, 
 quite naked In the transparent water, was beating the 
 waves with both hands, dancing about In them a little
 
 LITTLE LOUISE ROQUE 317 
 
 and dipping herself with pretty movements. She was 
 not a child nor was she yet a woman. She was plump 
 and formed, while preserving an air of youthful pre- 
 cocity, as of one who had grown rapidly, and who was 
 now almost ripe. He no longer moved, overcome with 
 surprise, with a pang of desire, holding his breath with 
 a strange poignant emotion. He remained there, his 
 heart beating as if one of his sensual dreams had just 
 been realized, as if an impure fairy had conjured up be- 
 fore him. this creature so disturbing to his blood, so very 
 young this little rustic Venus, was born in the waves of 
 the sea. 
 
 Suddenly the little girl came out of the water, and 
 without seeing came over to where he stood looking for 
 her clothes in order to dress herself. While she was 
 gradually approaching with little hesitating steps, 
 through fear of the sharp pointed stones, he felt himself 
 pushed towards her by an irresistible force, by a bestial 
 transport of passion, which stirred up all his flesh, 
 stupefied his soul, and made him tremble from head 
 to foot. 
 
 She remained standing some seconds behind the wil- 
 low tree which concealed him from view. Then, losing 
 his reason entirely, he opened the branches, rushed on 
 her, and seized her in his arms. She fell, too scared to 
 offer any resistance, too much terror-stricken to cry out, 
 and he possessed her without understanding what he was 
 doing. 
 
 He woke up from his crime, as one wakes out of a 
 nightmare. The child burst out weeping. 
 
 He said: 
 
 " Hold your tongue ! Hold your tongue ! I'll give 
 you money."
 
 3i8 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 But she did not hear him, she went on sobbing. 
 
 He went on : 
 
 " Come now, hold your tongue ! Do hold your 
 tongue. Keep quiet." 
 
 She still kept shrieking, writhing in the effort to get 
 away from him. He suddenly realized that he was 
 ruined, and he caught her by the neck to stop her mouth 
 from uttering these heartrending, dreadful screams. 
 As she continued to struggle with the desperate strength 
 of a being who is seeking to fly from death, he pressed 
 his enormous hands on the little throat swollen with 
 cries, and in a few seconds he had strangled her so 
 furiously did he grip her, without intending to kill her 
 but only to make her keep silent. 
 
 Then he rose up overwhelmed with horror. 
 
 She lay before him with her face bleeding and black- 
 ened. He was going to rush away when there sprang 
 up in his agitated soul the mysterious and undefined in- 
 stinct that guides all beings in the hour of danger. 
 
 It was necessary to throw the body into the water; but 
 another impulse drove him towards the clothes, of which 
 he made a thin parcel. Then as he had a piece of 
 twine In his pocket, he tied it up and hid it in a deep 
 portion of the stream, under the trunk of a tree, the 
 foot of which was steeped in the Brindelle. 
 
 Then he went off at a rapid pace, reached the 
 meadows, took a wide turn in order to show himself 
 to some peasants who dwelt some distance away at the 
 opposite side of the district, and he came back to dine 
 at the usual hour, and told his servants all that was sup- 
 posed to have happened during his walk. 
 
 He slept, however, that night; he slept with a heavy 
 brutish sleep, such as the sleep of persons condemned to
 
 LITTLE LOUISE ROQUE 3^9 
 
 death must be occasionally. He only opened his eyes 
 at the hrst glimmer of dawn, and he waited, tortured 
 by the fear of having his crime discovered, for his usual 
 waking hour. 
 
 Then he would have to be present at all the stages 
 of the inquiry as to the cause of death. He did so 
 after the fashion of a somnambulist, in a hallucination 
 which showed him things and human beings in a sort of 
 dream, in a cloud of intoxication, in that dubious sense 
 of unreality which perplexes the mind at the time of the 
 greatest catastrophe. 
 
 The only thing that pierced his heart was La Roque's 
 crv of anguish. At that moment he felt inclined to cast 
 himself at the old w^oman's feet, and to exclaim — 
 " 'Tis I." 
 
 But he restrained himself. He went back, however, 
 during the night, to fish up the dead girl's wooden shoes, 
 in order to carry them to her mother's threshold. 
 
 As long as the inquiry lasted, as long as it was neces- 
 sary to guide and aid justice, he was calm, master of 
 himself, sly and smiling. He discussed quietly with the 
 magistrates all the suppositions that passed through 
 their minds, combated their opinions, and demolished 
 their arguments. He even took a keen and mournful 
 pleasure in disturbing their investigations, in embroil- 
 ing their ideas in showing the innocence of those whom 
 they suspected. 
 
 But from the day when the inquiry came to a close he 
 became gradually nervous, more excitable still than ho 
 had been before, although he mastered his irritability. 
 Sudden noises made him jump up with fear; he shud- 
 dered at the slightest thing, trembled sometimes from 
 head to foot when a fly alighted on his forehead. Then
 
 320 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 he was seized with an imperious desire for move- 
 ment, which compelled him to keep continually on foot, 
 and made him remain up whole nights walking to and 
 fro in his own room. 
 
 It was not that he was goaded by remorse. His 
 brutality did not lend itself to any shade of sentiment or 
 of moral terror. A man of energy and even of violence, 
 born to make war, to ravage conquered countries and 
 to massacre the vanquished, full of the savage Instincts 
 of the hunter and the fighter, he scarcely took count of 
 human life. Though he respected the church through 
 policy, he believed neither in God nor in the devil, ex- 
 pecting consequently in another life neither chastisement 
 nor recompense for his acts. As his sole belief, he re- 
 tained a vague philosophy composed of all the ideas of 
 the encyclopedists of the last century; and he regarded 
 religion as a moral sanction of the law, the one and the 
 other having been invented by men to regulate social 
 relations. To kill anyone In a duel, or in war, or in a 
 quarrel, or by accident, or for the sake of revenge, or 
 even through bravado, would have seemed to him an 
 amusing and clever thing, and would not have left more 
 impression on his mind than a shot fired at a hare; but 
 he had experienced a profound emotion at the murder 
 of this child. He had. In the first place, perpetrated 
 it In the distraction of an Irresistible gust of passion, in 
 a sort of spiritual tempest that had overpowered his 
 reason. And he had cherished In his heart, cherished 
 In his flesh, cherished on his lips, cherished even to the 
 very tips of his murderous fingers, a kind of bestial lov^e, 
 as well as a feeling of crushing horror, towards this 
 little girl surprised by him and basely killed. Every 
 moment his thoughts returned to that horrible scene,
 
 LITTLE LOUISE ROQUE 321 
 
 and, though he endeavored to drive away this picture 
 from his mind, though he put it aside with terror, with 
 disgust, he felt it surging through his soul, moving about 
 in him, waiting incessantly for the moment to reappear. 
 
 Then, in the night, he was afraid, afraid of the 
 shadow falling around him. He did not yet icnow why 
 the darkness seemed to seem frightful to him; but he 
 instinctively feared it, he felt that it was peopled with 
 terrors. The bright daylight did not lend itself to 
 fears. Things and beings were seen there, and so 
 there were only to be met there natural things and be- 
 ings which could exhibit themselves in the light of day. 
 But the night, the unpenetrable night, thicker than, 
 walls, and empty, the infinite night, so black, so vast, in 
 which one might brush against frightful things, the 
 night when one feels that mysterious terror is wander- 
 ing, prowling about, appeared to him to conceal an un- 
 known danger, close and menacing. 
 
 What was it? 
 
 He knew it ere long. As he sat in his armchair, 
 rather late one evening when he could not sleep," he 
 thought he saw the curtain of his window move. He 
 waited, in an uneasy state of mind, with beating heart. 
 The drapery did not stir; then, all of a sudden it moved 
 once more. He did not venture to rise up ; he no longer 
 ventured to breathe, and yet he was brave. He had 
 often fought, and he would have liked to catch thieves 
 in his house. 
 
 Was it true that this curtain did move? he asked him- 
 self, fearing that his eyes had deceived him. It was, 
 moreover, such a slight thing, a gentle flutter of lace, a 
 kind of trembling in its folds, less than an undulation 
 
 such as is caused by the wind. 
 V— 21
 
 322 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Renardet sat still, with staring eyes, and outstretched 
 neck; and he sprang to his feet abruptly ashamed of his 
 fear, took four steps, seized the drapery with both 
 hands, and pulled it wide apart. At first, he saw 
 nothing but darkened glass, resembling plates of glitter- 
 ing ink. The night, the vast, impenetrable sketched 
 behind as far as the invisible horizon. He remained 
 standing in front of this illimitable shadow, and sud- 
 denly he perceived a light, a moving light, which 
 seemed some distance away. 
 
 Then he put his face close to the window-pane, 
 thinking that a person looking for crayfish might be 
 poaching in the Brindelle, for it was past midnight, and 
 this light rose up at the edge of the stream, under the 
 trees. As he was not yet able to see clearly, Renardet 
 placed his hands over his eyes; and suddenly this light 
 became an illumination, and he beheld little Louise 
 Roque naked and bleeding on the moss. He recoiled 
 frozen with horror, sank into his chair, and fell back- 
 ward. He remained there some minutes, his soul in 
 distress, then he sat up and began to reflect. He had 
 had a hallucination — that was all; a hallucination due 
 to the fact that a marauder of the night was walking 
 with a lantern in his hand near the water's edge. What 
 was there astonishing, besides, in the circumstance that 
 the recollection of his crime should sometimes bring be- 
 fore him the vision of the dead girl? 
 
 He rose up, swallowed a glass of wine and sat 
 down again. 
 
 He thought. 
 
 " What am I to do If this come back? " 
 
 And it did come back; he felt it; he was sure of it.
 
 LITTLE LOUISE ROQUE 323 
 
 Already his glance was drawn towards the window; it 
 called him ; it attracted him. In order to avoid looking 
 at it, he turned aside his chair. Then he took a book 
 and tried to read; but it seemed to him that he 
 presently heard something stirring behind him, and he 
 swung round his armchair on one foot. 
 
 The curtain still moved — unquestionably, it did 
 move this time; he could no longer have any doubt 
 about it. 
 
 He rushed forward and seized it in his grasp so 
 violently that he knocked it down with its fastener. 
 Then, he eagerly pasted his face against the glass. He 
 saw nothing. All was black without ; and he breathed 
 with the delight of a man whose life has just been saved. 
 
 Then, he went back to his chair, and sat down 
 again ; but almost immediately he felt a longing once 
 more to look out through the window. Since the cur- 
 tain had fallen the space in front of him made a sort ot 
 dark patch fascinating and terrible on the obscure land- 
 scape. In order not to yield to this dangerous tempta- 
 tion, he took oft his clothes, blew out the light, went to 
 bed, and shut his eyes. 
 
 Lying on his back motionless, his skin hot and moist, 
 he awaited sleep. Suddenly a great gleam of light 
 flashed across his eyelids. He opened them, believing 
 that his dwelling was on fire. All was black as before, 
 and he leaned on his elbow in order to try to distinguish 
 his window which had still for him an unconquer- 
 able attraction. By dint of straining his eyes, he could 
 perceive some stars, and he arose, groped his way 
 across the room, discovered the panes with his out- 
 stretched hands, and placed his forehead close to them.
 
 324 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 There below, under the trees, the body of the little girl 
 glittered like phosphorus, lighting up the surrounding 
 darkness. 
 
 Renardet uttered a cry and rushed towards his bed, 
 where he lay till morning, his head hidden under the 
 pillow. 
 
 From that moment, his life became intolerable. Pie 
 passed his days in apprehension of each succeeding 
 night; and each night the vision came back again. As 
 soon as he had locked himself up in his room, he strove 
 to struggle; but In vain. An Irresistible force lifted 
 him up and pushed him against the glass, as If to call 
 the phantom, and ere long he saw It lying at first in 
 the spot where the crime was committed, lying with 
 arms and legs outspread, just In the way the body had 
 been found. 
 
 Then the dead girl rose up and came towards him 
 with little steps just as the child had done when she 
 came out of the river. She advanced quietly, passing 
 straight across the grass, and over the border of 
 withered flowers. Then she rose up Into the air to- 
 wards Renardet's window. She came towards him, as 
 she had come on the day of the crime towards the mur- 
 derer. And the man recoiled before the apparition — 
 he retreated to his bed and sank down upon It, know- 
 ing well that the little one had entered the room, and 
 that she now was standing behind the curtain which 
 presently moved. And until daybreak, he kept staring 
 at this curtain, with a fixed glance, ever waiting to see 
 his victim depart. 
 
 But she did not show herself any more; she remained 
 there behind the curtain which quivered tremulously 
 now and then.
 
 LITTLE LOUISE ROQUE 325 
 
 And Renardet, his fingers clinging to the bedclothes, 
 squeezed them as he had squeezed the throat of little 
 Louise Roque. 
 
 He heard the clock striking the hours; and in the 
 stillness the pendulum kept ticking in time with the loud 
 beatings of his heart. And he suffered, the wretched 
 man, more than any man had ever suffered before. 
 
 Then, as soon as a white streak of light on the ceiling 
 announced the approaching day, he felt himself free, 
 alone, at last, alone in his room; and at last he went to 
 sleep. He slept then some hours — a restless, feverish 
 sleep in which he retraced in dreams the horrible vision 
 of the night just past. 
 
 When, later on, he went down to breakfast, he felt 
 doubled up as if after prodigious fatigues; and he 
 scarcely ate anything, still haunted as he was by the fear 
 of what he had seen the night before. 
 
 He knew well, however, that it was not an appari- 
 tion, that the dead do not come back, and that his sick 
 soul, his soul possessed by one thought alone, by an in- 
 delible remembrance, was the only cause of his punish- 
 ment, the only evoker of the dead girl brought back by 
 it to life, called up by it and raised by it before his eyes 
 in which the ineffaceable image remained imprinted. 
 But he knew, too, that he could not cure it, that he 
 would never escape from the savage persecution of his 
 memory; and he resolved to die, rather than to endure 
 these tortures any longer. 
 
 Then, he thought of how he would kill himself. He 
 wished for something simple and natural, which would 
 preclude the idea of Suicide. For he clung to his repu- 
 tation, to the names bequeathed to him by his ancestors; 
 and if there were any suspicion as the cause of his death.
 
 326 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 people's thoughts might be perhaps directed towards 
 the mysterious crime, towards the murderer who could 
 not be found, and they would not hesitate to accuse him 
 of the crime. 
 
 A strange idea came into his head, that of getting 
 himself crushed by the tree at the foot of which he had 
 assassinated little Louise Roque. So he determined to 
 have his wood cut down, and to simulate an accident. 
 But the beech-tree refused to smash his ribs. 
 
 Returning to his house, a prey to utter despair he had 
 snatched up his revolver, and then he did not dare to 
 fire it. 
 
 The dinner bell summoned him. He could eat noth- 
 ing, and then he went up-stairs again. And he did not 
 know what he was going to do. Now that he had 
 escaped the first time, he felt himself a coward. 
 Presently, he would be ready, fortified, decided, master 
 of his courage and of his resolution; now, he was weak 
 and feared death as much as he did the dead girl. 
 
 He faltered: 
 
 " I will not venture it again — I will not venture it.'* 
 
 Then he glanced with terror, first at the revolver on 
 the table, and next at the curtain which hid his window. 
 It seemed to him, moreover that something horrible 
 would occur as soon as his life was ended. Something? 
 What? A meeting with her perhaps. She was watch- 
 ing for him; she was waiting for him; she was calling 
 him ; and her object was to seize him in her turn, to draw 
 him towards the doom that would avenge her, and to 
 lead him to die so that she might exhibit herself thus 
 every night. 
 
 He began to cry like a child, repeating: 
 
 *' I will not venture it again — I will not venture it. 
 
 ♦»
 
 LITTLE LOUISE ROQUE 327 
 
 Then, he fell on his knees, and murmured: 
 
 "My God! my God!" without believing, never- 
 theless, In God. And he no longer dared, In fact, to 
 look out through his window where he knew the ap- 
 parition was visible nor at his table where his revolver 
 gleamed. 
 
 When he had risen up, he said: 
 
 " This cannot last; there must be an end of it." 
 
 The sound of his voice In the silent room made a 
 shiver of fear pass through his limbs, but, as he could 
 not bring himself to come to a determination as he felt 
 certain that his finger would always refuse to pull the 
 trigger of his revolver, he turned round to hide his head 
 under the bedclothes, and plunged into reflection. 
 
 He would have to find some way in which he could 
 force himself to die, to Invent some device against him- 
 self, which would not permit of any hesitation on his 
 part, any delay, any possible regrets. He envied con- 
 demned criminals who are led to the scaffold surrounded 
 by soldiers. Oh ! if he could only beg of some one to 
 shoot him; if he could, confessing the state of his soul, 
 confessing his crime to a sure friend who would nev^er 
 divulge it, obtain from him death. 
 
 But from whom could he ask this terrible service? 
 FVom whom? He cast about in his thoughts among 
 his friends whom he knew intimately. The doctor? 
 No, he would talk about it afterwards, most certainly. 
 And suddenly a fantastic idea entered his mind. He 
 would write to the examining magistrate, who was on 
 terms of close friendship with him and would denounce 
 himself as the perpetrator of the crime. He would In 
 this letter confess everything, revealing how his soul 
 had been tortured, how he had resolved to die, how he
 
 328 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 had hesitated about carrying out his resolution, and 
 what means he had employed to strengthen his failing 
 courage. And in the name of their old friendship he 
 would implore of the other to destroy the letter as soon 
 as he had ascertained that the culprit had inflicted jus- 
 tice on himself. Renardet might rely on this magis- 
 trate, he knew him to be sure, discreet, incapable of even 
 an idle word. He was one of those men who have an 
 inflexible conscience governed, directed, regulated by 
 their reason alone. 
 
 Scarcely had he formed this project when a strange 
 feeling of joy took possession of his heart. He was calm 
 now. He would write his letter slowly, then at day- 
 break he would deposit it in the box nailed to the wall 
 in his office, then he would ascend his tower to watch 
 for the postman's arrival, and when the man in the blue 
 blouse showed himself, he would cast himself head fore- 
 most on the rocks on which the foundations rested. He 
 would take care to be seen first by the workmen who had 
 cut down his wood. He could then climb to the step 
 some distance up which bore the flag staff displayed on 
 fete days. He would smash this pole with a shake and 
 precipitate it along with him. 
 
 Who would suspect that it was not an accident ? And 
 he would be killed completely, having regard to his 
 weight and the height of the tower. 
 
 Presently he got out of bed, went over to the table, 
 and began to write. He omitted nothing, not a single 
 detail of the crime, not a single detail of the torments 
 of his heart, and he ended by announcing that he had 
 passed sentence on himself, that he was going to execute 
 the criminal, and begging of his friend, his old friend,
 
 LITTLE LOUISE ROQLE 329 
 
 to be careful that there should never be any stain on 
 his memory. 
 
 When he had finished his letter, he saw that the day 
 had dawned. 
 
 He closed and sealed it, wrote the address; then he 
 descended with light steps, hurried towards the little 
 white box fastened to the wall in the corner of the farm- 
 house, and when he had thrown into it the paper which 
 made his hand tremble, he came back quickly, shut the 
 bolts of the great door, and climbed up to his tower to 
 wait for the passing of the postman, who would convey 
 his death sentence. 
 
 He felt self-possessed, now. Liberated! Saved! 
 
 A cold dry wind, an icy wind, passed across his face. 
 He inhaled it eagerly, with open mouth, drinking in its 
 chilling kiss. The sky was red, with a burning red, 
 the red of winter, and all the plain whitened with frost 
 glistened under the first rays of the sun, as if it had 
 been powdered with bruised glass. 
 
 Renardet, standing up, with his head bare, gazed at 
 the vast tract of country before him, the meadow to the 
 left, and to the right the village whose chimneys were 
 beginning to smoke with the preparations for the morn- 
 ing meal. At his feet he saw the Brindelle flowing to- 
 wards the rocks, where he would soon be crushed to 
 death. He felt himself reborn on that beautiful frosty 
 morning, full of strength, full of life. The light 
 bathed him, penetrated him like a new-born hope. A 
 thousand recollections assailed him, recollections of sim- 
 ilar mornings, of rapid walks on the hard earth which 
 rang under his footsteps, of happy chases on the edges of 
 pools where wild ducks sleep. All the good things that
 
 330 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 he loved, the good things of existence rushed into 
 memory, penetrated him with fresh desires, awakened 
 all the vigorous appetites of his active, powerful body. 
 
 And he was about to die? Why? He was going 
 to kill himself stupidly, because he was afraid of a 
 shadow — afraid of nothing? He was still rich and 
 in the prime of life! What folly! But all he wanted 
 was distraction, absence, a voyage in order to forget. 
 
 This night even he had not seen the little girl be- 
 cause his mind was preoccupied, and so had wandered 
 towards some other subject. Perhaps he would not see 
 her any more? And even if she still haunted him in 
 this house, certainly she would not follow him else- 
 where ! The earth was wide, the future was long. 
 
 Why die? 
 
 His glance traveled across the meadows, and he per- 
 ceived a blue spot in the path which wound alongside 
 the Brindelle. It was Mederic coming to bring letters 
 from the town and to carry away those of the village. 
 
 Renardet got a start, a sensation of pain shot through 
 his breast, and he rushed towards the winding staircase 
 to get back his letter, to demand It back from the post- 
 man. Little did it matter to him now whether he was 
 seen. He hurried across the grass moistened by the 
 light frost of the previous night, and he arrived in front 
 of the box In the corner of the farm-house exactly at 
 the same time as the letter carrier. 
 
 The latter had opened the little wooden door, and 
 drew forth the four papers deposited there by the in- 
 habitants of the locality. 
 
 Renardet said to him : 
 
 " Good morrow, Mederic." 
 
 " Good morrow, M'sieu le Malre."
 
 LITTLE LOUISE ROQUE 331 
 
 " I say, Mederic, I threw a letter into the box that 
 I want back again. I came to ask you to give it back 
 to me." 
 
 "That's all right, M'sieur le Maire — you'll get 
 it." 
 
 And the postman raised his eyes. He stood petrified 
 at the sight of Renardet's face. The Mayor's cheeks 
 were purple, his eyes were glaring with black circles 
 round them as if they were sunk in his head, his hair 
 was all tangled, his beard untrimmed, his necktie un- 
 fastened. It was evident that he had not gone to bed. 
 
 The postman asked: 
 
 " Are you ill, M'sieur le Maire? " 
 
 The other, suddenly comprehending that his appear- 
 ance must be unusual, lost countenance, and faltered — 
 
 " Oh! no — oh! no. Only I jumped out of bed to 
 ask you for this letter. I was asleep. You under- 
 stand?" 
 
 He said in reply : 
 
 "What letter?" 
 
 " The one you are going to give back to me." 
 
 Mederic now began to hesitate. The Mayor's at- 
 titude did not strike him as natural. There was per- 
 haps a secret in that letter, a political secret. He knew 
 Renardet was not a Republican, and he knew all the 
 tricks and chicaneries emp'oyed at elections. 
 
 He asked: 
 
 " To whom is it addressed, this letter of yours? " 
 
 "To M. Putoin, the examining magistrate — you 
 know my friend, M. Putoin, well ! " 
 
 The postman searched through the papers, and found 
 the one asked for. Then he began looking at it, turn- 
 ing it round and round between his fingers, much per-
 
 332 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 plexed, much troubled by the fear of committing a grave 
 offense or of making an enemy for himself of the 
 Mayor. 
 
 Seeing his hesitation, Renardet made a movement 
 for the purpose of seizing the letter and snatching it 
 away from him. This abrupt action convinced Me- 
 deric that some important secret was at stake and made 
 him resolve to do his duty, cost what it may. 
 
 So he flung the letter into his bag and fastened it 
 up, with the reply : 
 
 " No, I can't, M'sieur le Maire. From the mo- 
 ment it goes to the magistrate, I can't." 
 
 A dreadful pang wrung Renardet's heart, and he 
 murmured: 
 
 " Why, you know me well. You are even able to 
 recognize my handwriting. I tell you I want that pa- 
 per." 
 
 " I can't." 
 
 " Look here, Mederic, you know that I'm incapable 
 of deceiving you — I tell you I want it." 
 
 " No, I can't." 
 
 A tremor of rage passed through Renardet's soul. 
 
 " Damn It all, take care ! You know that I don't 
 go In for chafling, and that I could get you out of 
 your job, my good fellow, and without much delay 
 either. And then, I am the Mayor of the district, after 
 all; and I now order you to give me back that paper." 
 
 The postman answered firmly: 
 
 " No, I can't, M'sieur le Maire." 
 
 Thereupon, Renardet, losing his head, caught hold 
 of the postman's arms in order to take away his bag; 
 but, freeing himself by a strong effort, and springing
 
 LITTLE LOUISE ROQUE ' 333 
 
 backwards, the letter carrier raised his big holly stick. 
 Without losing his temper, he said emphatically : 
 
 " Don't touch me, M'sieur le Maire, or I'll strike. 
 Take care, I'm only doing my duty! " 
 
 Feeling that he was lost, Renardet suddenly became 
 humble, gentle, appealing to him like a crying child : 
 
 " Look here, look here, my friend, give me back 
 that letter, and I'll recompense you — I'll give you 
 money. Stop ! Stop ! I'll give you a hundred francs, 
 you understand — a hundred francs ! " 
 
 The postman turned on his heel and started on his 
 journey. 
 
 Renardet followed him, out of breath, faltering: 
 " Mederic, Alederic, listen ! I'll give you a thou- 
 sand francs, you understand — a thousand francs." 
 The postman still went on without giving any answer. 
 Renardet went on : 
 
 " I'll make your fortune, you understand — what- 
 ever you wish — fifty thousand francs — fifty thousand 
 francs for that letter! What does it matter to you? 
 You won't? Well, a hundred thousand — I say — a 
 hundred thousand francs. Do you understand? A 
 hundred thousand francs — a hundred thousand 
 francs." 
 
 The postman turned back, his face hard, his eye 
 severe: 
 
 " Enough of this, or else I'll repeat to the magis- 
 trate everything you have just said to me." 
 
 Renardet stopped abruptly. It was all over. He 
 turned back and rushed towards his house, running like 
 a hunted animal. 
 
 Then, in his turn, Mederic stopped, and watched this
 
 334 ■ GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 flight with stupefaction. He saw the Mayor re-enter- 
 ing his own house, and he waited still as if something 
 astonishing was about to happen. 
 
 In fact, presently the tall form of Renardet ap- 
 peared on the summit of the Fox's tower. He ran 
 round the platform, like a madman. Then he seized 
 the flagstaff and shook it furiously W'ithout succeeding 
 in breaking it, then, all of a sudden, like a swimmer 
 taking a plunge, he dashed into the air with his two 
 hands in front of him. 
 
 Mederic nished forward to give succor. As he 
 crossed the park, he saw the woodcutters going to work. 
 He called out to them telling them an accident had 
 occurred, and at the foot of the walls they found a 
 bleeding body the head of which was crushed on a 
 rock. The Brindelle surrounded this rock, and over 
 its clear, calm waters, swollen at this point, could be 
 seen a long red stream of mingled brains and blood.
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER 
 
 rp 
 
 HE Comtesse Samoris." 
 
 " That lady in black over there? " 
 
 -■- " The very one. She's wearing mourn 
 
 ing for her daughter, whom she killed." 
 
 " Come now! You don't mean that seriously? " 
 
 " Oh ! it is a very simple story, without any crime 
 in it, any violence." 
 
 "Then what really happened?" 
 
 " Almost nothing. Many courtesans were born to 
 be virtuous women, they say; and many women called 
 virtuous were born to be courtesans — is that not so ? 
 Now, Madame Samoris, who was born a courtesan, had 
 a daughter born a virtuous woman, that's all." 
 
 " I don't quite understand you." 
 
 " I'll explain what I mean. The Comtesse Samoris 
 is one of those tinsel foreign women hundreds of whom 
 are rained down every year on Paris. A Hungarian 
 or Wallachian countess, or I know not what, she ap- 
 peared one winter in apartments she had taken in the 
 Champs Elysees, that quarter for adventurers and ad- 
 venturesses, and opened her drawing-room to the first 
 comer or to anyone that turned up. 
 
 " I went there. Why? you will say. I really can't 
 tell you. I went there, as everyone goes to such places 
 because the women are facile and the men are dishonest. 
 You know that set composed of filibusters with varied 
 decorations, all noble, all titled, all unknown at the em- 
 bassies, with the exception of those who are spies. All 
 
 335
 
 2,^6 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 talk of their honor without the shghtest occasion for 
 doing so, boast of their ancestors, tell you about their 
 lives, braggarts, hars, sharpers, as dangerous as the 
 false cards they have up their sleeves, as delusive as 
 their name — in short, the aristocracy of the bagnio. 
 
 " I adore these people. They are interesting to 
 study, interesting to know, amusing to understand, often 
 clever, never commonplace like public functionaries. 
 Their wives are always pretty, with a slight flavor 
 of foreign roguery, with the mystery of their existence, 
 half of it perhaps spent in a house of correction. They 
 have, as a rule, magnificent eyes and incredible hair. 
 I adore them also. 
 
 " Madame Samoris is the type of these adventuresses, 
 elegant, mature, and still beautiful. Charming feline 
 creatures, you feel that they are vicious to the marrow 
 of their bones. You finci them very amusing when you 
 visit them; they give card-parties; they have dances and 
 suppers; in short, they offer you all the pleasures of 
 social life. 
 
 " And she had a daughter — a tall, fine-looking girl, 
 always ready for entertainments, always full of laughter 
 and reckless gayety — a true adventuress's daughter — - 
 but, at the same time, an innocent, unsophisticated, art- 
 less girl, who saw nothing, knew nothing, understood 
 nothing of all the things that happened in her father's 
 house." 
 
 " How do you know about him? " 
 
 " How do I know? That's the funniest part of the 
 business ! One morning, there was a ring at my door, 
 and my valet came up to tell me that M. Joseph Bonen- 
 thal wanted to speak to me. I said directly: 'And 
 who is this gentleman? ' My valet replied: ' I don't
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER 337 
 
 know, monsieur; perhaps 'tis someone that wants em- 
 ployment.' And so it was. The man wanted me to 
 take him as a servant. I asked him where he had been 
 last. He answered: 'With the Comtesse Samoris.' 
 ' Ah I ' said I, ' but my house is not a bit like hers.' 
 ' I know that well, monsieur,' he said, ' and that's the 
 \ery reason I want to take service with monsieur. I've 
 had enough of these people: a man may stay a little 
 while with them, but he won't remain long with them.' 
 I required an additional man servant at the time, and 
 so I took him. 
 
 " A month later, Mademoiselle Yveline Samoris died 
 mysteriously, and here are all the details of her death I 
 could gather from Joseph, who got them from his 
 sweetheart, the Comtesse's chambermaid: 
 
 " It was a ball-night, and two newly-arrived guests 
 were chatting behind a door. Mademoiselle Yveline, 
 who had just been dancing, leaned against this door to 
 get a little air. 
 
 " They did not see her approaching; but she heard 
 what they were saying. And this was what they said : 
 
 " ' But who is the father of the girl? ' 
 
 " ' A Russian, it appears. Count Rouvaloft. He 
 never comes near the mother now.' 
 
 And who is the reigning prince to-day? ' 
 That English prince standing near the window; 
 Madame Samoris adores him. But her adoration of 
 anyone never lasts longer than a month or six weeks. 
 Nevertheless, as you see, she has a large circle of ad- 
 mirers. All are called — and nearly all are chosen. 
 That kind of thing costs a good deal, but — hang it, 
 what can you expect? ' 
 
 " ' And where did she get this name of Samoris? ' 
 V— 22 

 
 338 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 " ' From the only man perhaps that she ever loved 
 — a Jewish banker from Berlin who goes by the name 
 of Samuel Morris.' 
 
 " ' Good. Thanks. Now that I know all about 
 her, and see her sort, Tm off ! ' 
 
 " What a start there was in the brain of the young 
 girl endowed with all the instincts of a virtuous woman! 
 What despair overwhelmed that simple soul ! What 
 mental tortures quenched her endless gayety, her de- 
 lightful laughter, her exulting satisfaction with life! 
 What a conflict took place in that youthful heart up to 
 the moment when the last guest had left ! Those were 
 things that Joseph could not tell me. But, the same 
 night, Yveline abruptly entered her mother's room just 
 as the Comtesse was getting into bed, sent out the wait- 
 ing-maid, who was close to the door, and, standing 
 erect and pale, and with great staring eyes, she said: 
 
 " ' Mamma, listen to what I heard a little while 
 ago during the ball.' 
 
 " And she repeated word for word the conversation 
 just as I told it to you. 
 
 " The Comtesse was so stupefied that she did not 
 know what to say in reply, at first. When she recov- 
 ered her self-possession, she denied everything, and 
 called God to witness that there was no truth in the 
 story. 
 
 " The young girl went away, distracted but not con- 
 vinced. And she watched her mother. 
 
 " I remember distinctly the strange alteration that 
 then took place in her. She was always grave and 
 melancholy. She used to i\x on us her great earnest 
 eyes as if she wanted to read what was at the bottom of ^
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER 339 
 
 our hearts. We did not know what to think of her, 
 and we used to maintain that she was looking out for a 
 husband. 
 
 " One evening her doubts were dispelled. She 
 caught her mother with a lover. Thereupon she said 
 coldly, like a man of business laying down the terms 
 of an agreement: 
 
 " ' Here is what I have determined to do, mamma : 
 We will both go away to some little town — or rather 
 into the country. We will live there quietly as well as 
 we can. Your jewelry alone may be called a fortune. 
 If you wish to marry some honest man, so much the 
 better; still better will it be if I can find one. If you 
 don't consent to do this, I will kill myself.' 
 
 " This time, the Comtesse ordered her daughter to 
 go to bed, and never to administer again this lecture 
 so unbecoming in the mouth of a child towards her 
 mother. 
 
 " Yveline's answer to this was : ' I give you a month 
 to reflect. If, at the end of that month, we have not 
 changed our way of living, I will kill myself, since there 
 is no other honorable issue left to my life.' 
 
 " Then she took herself off. 
 
 " At the end of a month, the Comtesse Samoris was 
 giving balls and suppers just the same as ever. Yveline 
 then, under the pretext that she had a bad toothache 
 purchased a few drops of chloroform from a neighbor- 
 ing chemist. The next day she purchased more; and, 
 every time she went out, she managed to procure small 
 doses of the narcotic. She filled a bottle with it. 
 
 " One morning she was found in bed, lifeless, and 
 already quite cold, with a cotton mask over her face.
 
 340 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 " Her coffin was covered with flowers, the church 
 was hung in white. There was a large crowd at the 
 funeral ceremony. 
 
 "Ah! well, if I had known — but you never can 
 know — I would have married that girl, for she was 
 infernally pretty." 
 
 " And what became of the mother? " 
 
 " Oh ! she shed a lot of tears over it. She has only 
 begun to receive visits again for the past week." 
 
 " And what explanation is given of the girl's 
 death?" 
 
 " Oh! 'tis pretended that it was an accident caused 
 by a new stove, the mechanism of which got out of or- 
 der. As a good many such accidents have happened, 
 the thing looks probable enough."
 
 A PASSION 
 
 THE sea was brilliant and unruffled, scarcely 
 stirred, and on the pier the entire town of 
 Havre watched the ships as they came on. 
 
 They could be seen at a distance, in great numbers; 
 some of them, the steamers, with plumes of smoke; the 
 others, the sailing vessels, drawn by almost invisible 
 tugs, lifting towards the sky their bare masts, like 
 leafless trees. 
 
 They hurried from every end of the horizon towards 
 the narrow mouth of the jetty which devoured these 
 monsters; and they groaned, they shrieked, they hissed 
 while they spat out pufts of steam like animals panting 
 for breath. 
 
 Two young officers were walking on the landing- 
 stage, where a number of people were waiting, saluting 
 or returning salutes, and sometimes stopping to chat. 
 
 Suddenly, one of them, the taller, Paul d'Henricol, 
 pressed the arm of his comrade, Jean Renoldi, then, 
 in a whisper, said: 
 
 "Hallo, here's Madame Poincot; give a good look 
 at her. I assure you that she's making eyes at you." 
 
 She was moving along on the arm of her husband. 
 She was a woman of about forty, very handsome still, 
 slightly stout, but, owing to her graceful fullness of 
 figure, as fresh as she was at twenty. Among her 
 friends she was known as the Goddess on account of 
 her proud gait, her large black eyes, and the entire air 
 of nobility of her person. She remained irreproach- 
 
 341
 
 342 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 able; never had the least suspicion cast a breath on her 
 life's purity. She was regarded as the very type of 
 a virtuous, uncorrupted woman. So upright that no 
 man had ever dared to think of her. 
 
 And yet for the last month Paul d'Henrlcol had been 
 assuring his friend Renoldi that Madame Poincot was 
 in love with him, and he maintained that there was 
 no doubt of it. 
 
 " Be sure I don't deceive myself. I see it clearly. 
 She loves you — she loves you passionately, like a 
 chaste woman who had never loved. Forty years is a 
 terrible age for virtuous women when they possess 
 senses; they become foolish, and commit utter follies. 
 She is hit, my dear fellow ; she is falling like a wounded 
 bird, and is ready to drop into your arms. I say — • 
 just look at her! " 
 
 The tall woman, preceded by her two daughters, 
 aged twelve and fifteen years, suddenly turned pale, on 
 her approach, as her eyes lighted on the officer's face. 
 She gave him an ardent glance, concentrating her gaze 
 upon him, and no longer seemed to have any eyes for 
 her children, her husband, or any other person around 
 her. She returned the salutation of the two young men 
 without lowering her eyes, glowing with such a flame 
 that a doubt, at last, forced its way into Lieutenant 
 Renoldi's mind. 
 
 His friend said, in the same hushed voice : " I was 
 sure of it. Did you not notice her this time? By 
 Jove, she is a nice tit-bit! " 
 
 • • • ••••« 
 
 But Jean Renoldi had no desire for a society intrigue. 
 Caring little for love, he longed, above all, for a quiet 
 life, and contented himself with occasional amours such
 
 A PASSION 343 
 
 as a young man can always have. All the sentimental- 
 ity, the attentions, and the tenderness which a well-bred 
 woman exacts bored him. The chain, however slight it 
 might be, which is always formed by an adventure of 
 this sort, filled him with fear. He said: " At the end 
 of a month Til have had enough of it, and TU be forced 
 to wait patiently for six months through politeness." 
 
 Then, a rupture exasperated him, with the scenes, the 
 allusions, the clinging attachment, of the abandoned 
 woman. 
 
 He avoided meeting Madame Poincot. 
 
 But, one evening he found himself by her side at a 
 dinner-party, and he felt on his skin, in his eyes, and 
 even in his heart, the burning glance of his fair neigh- 
 bor. Their hands met, and almost involuntarily were 
 pressed together in a warm clasp. Already the in- 
 trigue was almost begun. 
 
 He saw her again, always in spite of himself. He 
 realized that he was loved. He felt himself moved by 
 a kind of pitying vanity when he saw what a violent 
 passion for him swayed this woman's breast. So he 
 allowed himself to be adored, and merely displayed 
 gallantry, hoping that the affair would be only senti- 
 mental. 
 
 But, one day, she made an appointment with him for 
 the ostensible purpose of seeing him and talking freely 
 to him. She fell, swooning, into his arms; and he had 
 no alternative but to be her lover. 
 
 And this lasted six months. She loved him with an 
 unbridled, panting love. Absorbed in this frenzied pas- 
 sion, she no longer bestowed a thought on anything else. 
 She surrendered herself to it utterly — her body, her 
 soul, her reputation, her position, her happiness — ail
 
 344 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 she had cast into that fire of her heart, as one casts, 
 as a sacrifice, every precious object into a funeral pier. 
 
 He had for some time grown tired of her, and deeply 
 regretted his easy conquest as a fascinating officer; but 
 he was bound, held prisoner. At every moment she 
 said to him: "I have given you ev^erything. What 
 more would you have? " He felt a desire to answer: 
 
 " But I have asked nothing from you, and I beg of 
 you to take back what you gave me." 
 
 Without caring about being seen, compromised, 
 ruined, she came to see him every evening, her passion 
 becoming more inflamed each time they met. She flung 
 herself into his arms, strained him in a fierce embrace, 
 fainted under the force of rapturous kisses which to him 
 were now terribly wearisome. 
 
 He said In a languid tone : " Look here ! be reason- 
 able ! " 
 
 She replied: 
 
 " I love you," and sank on her knees gazing at him 
 for a long time in an attitude of admiration. At lengthy 
 exasperated by her persistent gaze, he tried to make 
 her rise. 
 
 "I say! Sit down. Let us talk." 
 
 She murmured : 
 
 "No, leave me;" and remained there, her soul in a 
 state of ecstasy. 
 
 He said to his friend d'Henrlcol: 
 
 " You know, 'twill end by my beating her. I won't 
 have any more of It ! It must end, and that without 
 further delay! " Tlien he went on: 
 
 "What do you advise me to do?" 
 
 The other replied: 
 
 " Break it off."
 
 A PASSION 345 
 
 And Renoldi added, shrugging his shoulders : 
 
 " You speak indifferently about the matter; you be- 
 lieve that it is easy to break with a woman who tortures 
 you with attention, who annoys you with kindnesses, 
 who persecutes you with her affection, whose only care 
 is to please you, and whose only wrong is that she gave 
 herself to you in spite of you." 
 
 But suddenly, one morning the news came that the 
 regiment was about to be removed from the garrison; 
 Renoldi began to dance with joy. He was/ saved ! 
 Saved without scenes, without cries ! Saved ! All he 
 had to do now was to wait patiently for two months 
 more. Saved ! 
 
 In the evening she came to him more excited than 
 she had ever been before. She had heard the dreadful 
 news, and, without taking off her hat she caught his 
 hands and pressed them nervously, with her eyes fixed 
 on his, and her voice vibrating and resolute. 
 
 " You are leaving," she said; " I know it. At first, 
 I felt heart-broken ; then, I understood what I had to 
 do. I don't hesitate about doing it. I have come to 
 give you the greatest proof of love that a woman can 
 offer. I follow you. For you I am abandoning my 
 husband, my children, my family. I am ruining my- 
 self, but I am happy. It seems to me that I am giving 
 myself to you over again. It is the last and the great- 
 est sacrifice. I am yours for ever! " 
 
 He felt a cold sweat down his back, and was seized 
 with a dull and violent rage, the anger of weakness. 
 However, he became calm, and, in a disinterested tone, 
 with a show of kindness, he refused to accept her sac- 
 rifice, tried to appease her, to bring her to reason, to 
 make her see her own folly ! She listened to him, star-
 
 346 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 ing at him with her great black eyes and with a smile 
 of disdain on her hps, and said not a word in reply. 
 He went on talking to her, and when, at length, he 
 stopped, she said merely : 
 
 " Can you really be a coward? Can you be one of 
 those who seduce a woman, and then throw her over, 
 through sheer caprice? " 
 
 He became pale, and renewed his arguments; he 
 pointed out to her the inevitable consequences of such an 
 action to both of them as long as they lived — how 
 their lives would be shattered and how the world would 
 shut its doors against them. She replied obstinately: 
 "What does it matter when we love each other?" 
 Then, all of a sudden, he burst out furiously : 
 
 " Well, then, I will not. No — do you understand? 
 I will not do it, and I forbid you to do it." Then, car- 
 ried away by the rancorous feeling which had seethed 
 within him so long, he relieved his heart: 
 
 " Ah, damn it all, you have now been sticking on to 
 me for a long time In spite of myself, and the best 
 thing for you now Is to take yourself off. I'll be much 
 obliged if you do so, upon my honor! " 
 
 She did not answer him, but her livid countenance 
 began to look shriveled up, as If all her nerves and 
 muscles had been twisted out of shape. And she went 
 away without saying good-bye. 
 
 The same night she poisoned herself. 
 
 For a week she was believed to be In a hopeless condi- 
 tion. And in the city people gossiped about the case, 
 and pitied her, excusing her sin on account of the vio- 
 lence of her passion, for overstrained emotions, becom- 
 ing heroic through their Intensity, always obtain for- 
 giveness for whatever Is blameworthy in them. A
 
 A PASSION 347 
 
 woman who kills herself Is, so to speak, not an adul- 
 teress. x\nd ere long there was a_ feeling of general 
 reprobation against Lieutenant Renoldi for refusing to 
 see her again — a unanimous sentiment of blame. 
 
 It was a matter of common talk that he had deserted 
 her, betrayed her, ill-treated her. The Colonel, over- 
 come by compassion, brought his officer to book in a 
 quiet way. Paul d'Henricol called on his friend: 
 " Deuce take it, Renoldi, it's not good enough to let a 
 woman die; it's not the right thing anyhow." 
 
 The other, enraged, told him to hold his tongue, 
 whereupon d'Henricol made use of the word " in- 
 famy." The result was a duel, Renoldi was wounded, 
 to the satisfaction of everybody, and was for some time 
 confined to his bed. 
 
 She heard about it, and only loved him the more 
 for it, believing that it was on her account he had 
 fought the duel ; but, as she was too ill to move, she 
 was unable to see him again before the departure of 
 the regiment. 
 
 He had been three months in Lille when he received 
 one morning, a visit from the sister of his former mis- 
 tress. 
 
 After long suffering and a feeling of dejection, which 
 she could not conquer, Madame Poincot's life was now 
 despaired of, and she merely asked to see him for a min- 
 ute, only for a minute, before closing her eyes for ever. 
 
 Absence and time had appeased the young man's 
 satiety and anger; he was touched, moved to tears, and 
 he started at once for Havre. 
 
 She seemed to be in the agonies of death. They 
 were left alone together; and by the bedside of this 
 woman vv'hom he now believed to be dying, and whom
 
 348 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 he blamed himself for killing, though it was not by 
 his own hand, he was fairly crushed with grief. He 
 burst out sobbing, embraced her with tender, passionate 
 kisses, more lovingly than he had ever done in the past. 
 He murmured in a broken voice : 
 
 " No, no, you shall not die ! You shall get better ! 
 We shall love each other for ever — for ever! " 
 
 She said in faint tones: 
 
 " Then it is true. You do love me, after all? " 
 
 And he, in his sorrow for her misfortunes, swore, 
 promised to wait till she had recovered, and full of 
 loving pity, kissed again and again the emaciated hands 
 of the poor woman whose heart was panting with fever- 
 ish, irregular pulsations. 
 
 The next day he returned to the garrison. 
 
 Six weeks later she went to meet him, quite old-look- 
 ing, unrecognizable, and more enamored than ever. 
 
 In his condition of mental prostration, he consented 
 to live with her. Then, when they remained together 
 as if they had been legally united, the same colonel who 
 had displayed indignation with him for abandoning 
 her, objected to this irregular connection as being in- 
 compatible with the good example officers ought to 
 give in a regiment. He warned the lieutenant on the 
 subject, and then furiously denounced his conduct, so 
 Renoldi retired from the army. 
 
 He went to live in a village on the shore of the 
 Mediterranean, the classic sea of lovers. 
 
 And three years passed. Renoldi, bent under the 
 yoke, was vanquished, and became accustomed to the 
 woman's persevering devotion. His hair had now 
 turned white.
 
 A PASSION 349 
 
 He looked upon himself as a man done for, gone 
 under. Henceforth, he had no hope, no ambition, no 
 satisfaction in life, and he looked forward to no pleas- 
 ure in existence. 
 
 But one morning a card was placed in his hand, with 
 the name — ''Joseph Poincot, Shipowner, Havre." 
 
 The husband ! The husband, who had said nothing, 
 realizing that there was no use in struggling against 
 the desperate obstinacy of women. What did he want? 
 
 He was waiting in the garden, having refused to 
 come into the house. He bowed politely, but would not 
 sit down, even on a bench in a gravel-path, and he com- 
 menced talking clearly and slowly. 
 
 " Monsieur, I did not come here to address re- 
 proaches to you. I know too well how things hap- 
 pened. I have been the victim of — we have been the 
 victims of — a kind of fatality. I would never have 
 disturbed you in your retreat if the situation had not 
 changed. I have two daughters. Monsieur. One of 
 them, the elder, loves a young man, and is loved by 
 him. But the family of this young man is opposed 
 to the marriage, basing their objection on the situation 
 of — my daughter's mother. I have no feeling of 
 either anger or spite, but I love my children. Monsieur. 
 I have, therefore, come to ask my wife to return home. 
 I hope that to-day she will consent to go back to my 
 house — to her own house. As for me, I will make a 
 show of having forgotten, for — for the sake of my 
 daughters." 
 
 Renoldi felt a w^ld movement in his heart, and he 
 was inundated with a delirium of joy like a condemned 
 man who receives a pardon.
 
 350 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 He stammered : " Why, yes — certainly, Monsieur 
 — I myself — be assured of it — ^no doubt — it is 
 right, it is only quite right." 
 
 This time M. Poincot no longer declined to sit down. 
 
 Renoldi then rushed up the stairs, and pausing at the 
 door of his mistress's room, to collect his senses, en- 
 tered gravely. 
 
 " There is somebody below waiting to see you," he 
 said. " 'TIs to tell you something about your daugh- 
 ters." 
 
 She rose up. " My daughters ? What about them ? 
 They are not dead? " 
 
 He replied : " No ; but a serious situation has arisen, 
 which you alone can settle." 
 
 She did not wait to hear more, but rapidly descended 
 the stairs. 
 
 Then, he sank down on a chair, greatly moved, and 
 waited. 
 
 He waited a long long time. Then he heard angry 
 voices below stairs, and made up his mind to go down. 
 
 Madame Poincot was standing up exasperated, just 
 on the point of going away, while her husband had 
 seized hold of her dress, exclaiming: " But remember 
 that you are destroying our daughters, your daughters, 
 our children ! " 
 
 She answered stubbornly: 
 
 " I will not go back to you ! " 
 
 Renoldi understood everything, came over to them 
 in a state of great agitation, and gasped: 
 
 " What, does she refuse to go? " 
 
 She turned towards him, and, with a kind of shame- 
 facedness, addressed him without any familiarity of 
 tone, In the presence of her legitimate husband, said:
 
 A PASSION 351 
 
 " Do you know what he asks me to do? He wants 
 me to go back, and hve under one roof with him ! " 
 
 And she tittered with a profound disdain for this 
 man, who was appeahng to her almost on his knees. 
 
 Then Renoldi, with the determination of a desperate 
 man playing his last card, began talking to her in his 
 turn, and pleaded the cause of the poor girls, the cause 
 of the husband, his own cause. And when he stopped, 
 trying to find some fresh argument, M. Poincot, at his 
 wits' end, murmured, in the affectionate style in which 
 he used to speak to her in days gone by: 
 
 "Look here, Delphine! Think of your daugh- 
 ters!" 
 
 Then she turned on both of them a glance of sov- 
 ereign contempt, and, after that, flying with a bound 
 towards the staircase, she flung at them these scornful 
 words : 
 
 " You are a pair of wretches ! " 
 
 Left alone, they gazed at each other for a moment, 
 both equally crestfallen, equally crushed. M. Poincot 
 picked up his hat, which had fallen down near where 
 he sat, dusted off his knees the signs of kneeling on the 
 floor, then raising both hands sorrowfully, while Re- 
 noldi was seeing him to the door, remarked with a 
 parting bow: 
 
 " We are very unfortunate, Monsieur." 
 
 Then he walked away from the house with a heav^^ 
 step.
 
 NO QUARTER 
 
 THE broad sunlight threw its burning rays on 
 the fields, and under this shower of Harae life 
 burst forth in glowing vegetation from the 
 earth. As far as the eye could see, the soil was green ; 
 and the sky was blue to the verge of the horizon. The 
 Norman farms scattered through the plain seemed at 
 a distance like little doors enclosed each in a circle of 
 thin beech trees. Coming closer, on opening the worm- 
 eaten stile, one fancied that he saw a giant garden, for 
 all the old apple-trees, as knotted as the peasants, were 
 in blossom. The weather-beaten black trunks, crooked, 
 twisted, ranged along the enclosure, displayed beneath 
 the sky their glittering domes, rosy and white. The 
 sweet perfume of their blossoms mingled with the heavy 
 odors of the open stables and with the fumes of the 
 steaming dunghill, covered with hens and their chickens. 
 It w^as midday. The family sat at dinner in the shadow 
 of the pear-tree planted before the door — the father, 
 the mother, the four children, the two maid-servants, 
 and the three farm laborers. They scarcely uttered a 
 word. Their fare consisted of soup and of a stew 
 composed of potatoes mashed up in lard. 
 
 From time to time one of the maid-servants rose up 
 and went to the cellar to fetch a pitcher of cider. 
 
 The husband, a big fellow of about forty, stared at 
 a vine-tree, quite exposed to view, which stood close 
 to the farm-house tv/mlng like a serpent under the shut- 
 ters the entire length of the wall. 
 
 352
 
 NO QUARTER 353 
 
 He said, after a long silence: 
 
 " The father's vine-tree is blossoming early this 
 year. Perhaps it will bear good fruit." 
 
 The peasant's wife also turned round, and gazed at 
 the tree without speaking. 
 
 This vine-tree was planted exactly in the place where 
 the father of the peasant had been shot. 
 
 It was during the war of 1870. The Prussians were 
 in occupation of the entire country. General Faid- 
 herbe, with the Army of the North, was at their head. 
 
 Now the Prussian staff had taken up its quarters in 
 this farm-house. The old peasant who owned it, Pere 
 Milon Pierre, received them, and gave them the best 
 treatment he could. 
 
 For a whole month the German vanguard remained 
 on the look-out in the village. The French were posted 
 ten leagues away without moving; and yet each night, 
 some of the Uhlans disappeared. 
 
 All the isolated scouts, those who were sent out on 
 patrol, whenever they started in groups of two or 
 three, never came back. 
 
 They were picked up dead in the morning in a field, 
 near a farm-yard, in a ditch. Their horses even were 
 found lying on the roads with their throats cut by a 
 saber-stroke. These murders seemed to have been ac- 
 complished by the same men, who could not be discov- 
 ered. 
 
 The country was terrorized. Peasants were shot on 
 mere information, women were imprisoned, attempts 
 were made to obtain revelations from children by fear. 
 
 But, one morning, Pere Milon was found stretched 
 
 In his stable, with a gash across his face. 
 . V— 23
 
 354 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Two Uhlans ripped open were seen lying three kilo- 
 meters away from the farm-house. One of them still 
 grasped in his hand his blood-stained weapon. He had 
 fought and defended himself, 
 
 A council of war having been immediately consti- 
 tuted, in the open air, in front of the farm-house, the 
 old man was brought before it. 
 
 He was sixty-eight years old. He was small, thin, 
 a little crooked, with long hands resembling the claws 
 of a crab. His faded hair, scanty and slight, like the 
 down on a young duck, allowed his scalp to be plainly 
 seen. The brown, crimpled skin of his neck showed 
 the big veins which sank under his jaws and reappeared 
 at his temples. He was regarded in the district as a 
 miser and a hard man in business transactions. 
 
 He was placed standing between four soldiers in 
 front of the kitchen table, which had been carried out 
 of the house for the purpose. Five officers and the 
 Colonel sat facing him. The Colonel was the first to 
 speak. 
 
 " Pere Milon," he said, in French, " since we came 
 here, we have had nothing to say of you but praise. 
 You have always been obliging, and even considerate 
 towards us. But to-day a terrible accusation rests on 
 you, and the matter must be cleared up. How did you 
 get the wound on your face? " 
 
 The peasant gave no reply. 
 
 The Colonel went on : 
 
 " Your silence condemns you, Pere Milon. But I 
 want you to answer me, do you understand. Do you 
 know who has killed the two Uhlans who were found 
 this morning near the cross-roads?"
 
 NO QUARTER 355 
 
 The old man said in a clear voice: 
 
 " It was I ! " 
 
 The Colonel, surprised, remained silent for a second, 
 looking steadfastly at the prisoner. Pere Milon main- 
 tained his impassive demeanor, his air of rustic stupid- 
 ity, with downcast eyes, as if he were talking to his cure. 
 There was only one thing that could reveal his internal 
 agitation, the way in which he slowly swallowed his 
 saliva with a visible effort, as if he were choking. 
 
 The old peasant's family — his son Jean, his daugh- 
 ter-in-law, and two little children stood ten paces behind 
 scared and dismayed. 
 
 The Colonel continued : 
 
 " Do you know also who killed all the scouts of our 
 Army, whom we have found every morning, for the past 
 month, lying here and there in the fields? " 
 
 The old man answered with the same brutal im- 
 passiveness: 
 
 " It was I ! " 
 
 " It is you, then, that killed them all? " 
 
 " All of them — yes, it was I." 
 
 "You alone?" 
 
 " I alone." 
 
 " Tell me the way you managed to do it? " 
 
 This time the peasant appeared to be affected; the 
 necessity of speaking at some length incommoded him. 
 
 " I know myself. I did it the way I found easiest." 
 
 The Colonel proceeded: 
 
 " I warn you, you must tell me everything. You 
 will do well, therefore, to make up your mind about it 
 at once. How did you begin it? " 
 
 The peasant cast an uneasy glance towards his fam-
 
 356 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 ily, who remained in a listening attitude behind him. 
 He hesitated for another second or so, then all of a sud- 
 den, he came to a resolution on the matter. 
 
 " I came home one night about ten o'clock and the 
 next day you were here. You and your soldiers gave 
 me fifty crowns for forage with a cow and two sheep. 
 Said I to myself: ' As long as I get twenty crowns out 
 of them, I'll sell them the value of it.' But then I had 
 other things in my heart, which I'll tell you about now. 
 I came across one of your cavalrymen smoking his pipe 
 near my dike, just behind my barn. I went and took 
 my scythe off the hook, and I came back with short 
 steps from behind, while he lay there without hearing 
 anything. And I cut off his head with one stroke, like 
 a feather, while he only said ' Oof! ' You have only to 
 look at the bottom of the pond; you'll find him there 
 in a coal-bag, with a big stone tied to it. 
 
 " I got an idea into my head. I took all he had on 
 him from his boots to his cap, and I hid them in the 
 bake-house in the Martin wood behind the farm-yard." 
 
 The old man stopped. The officers, speechless, 
 looked at one another. The examination was resumed, 
 and this is what they were told. 
 
 Once he had accomplished this murder, the peasant 
 lived with only one thought : " To kill the Prussians ! " 
 He hated them with the sly and ferocious hatred of a 
 countryman who was at the same time covetous and 
 patriotic. He had got an idea into his head, as he put 
 it. He waited for a few days. 
 
 He was allowed to go and come freely, to go out and 
 return just as he pleased, as long as he displayed
 
 NO QUARTER 357 
 
 humility, submissiveness, and complaisance towards the 
 conquerors. 
 
 Now, e^'ery evening he saw the cavalrymen bearing 
 dispatches leaving the farmhouse; and he went out one 
 night after discovering the name of the village to which 
 thev v^-ere going, and after picking up by associating 
 with the soldiers the few words of German he needed. 
 
 He made his way through his farm-yard slipped into 
 the wood, reached the bake-house, penetrated to the end 
 of the long passage, and having found the clothes of the 
 soldier which he had hidden there, he put them on. 
 Then, he went prowling about the fields, creeping along, 
 keeping to the slopes so as to avoid observation, listen- 
 ing to the least sounds, restless as a poacher. 
 
 When he believed the time had arrived he took up his 
 position at the roadside, and hid himself in a clump of 
 brushwood. He still waited. At length, near mid- 
 night, he heard the galloping of a horse's hoofs on the 
 hard soil of the road. The old man put his car to the 
 ground to make sure that only one cavalryman was ap- 
 proaching; then he got ready. 
 
 The Uhlan came on at a very quick pace, carrying 
 some dispatches. He rode forward with watchful eyes 
 and strained ears. As soon as he was no more than ten 
 paces away, Pere Milon dragged himself across the 
 road, groaning: "Hilfe! Hilfe!" ("Help! help!") 
 
 The cavalryman drew up, recognized a German sol- 
 dier dismounted, believed that he was wounded, leaped 
 down from his horse, drew near the prostrate man, 
 never suspecting anything, and, as he stooped over the 
 stranger, he received in the middle of the stomach the 
 long curved blade of the saber. He sank down without
 
 358 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 any death throes, merely quivering with a few last shud- 
 ders. 
 
 Then, the Norman radiant with the mute joy of an 
 old peasant, rose up, and merely to please himself, cut 
 the dead soldier's throat. After that, he dragged the 
 corpse to the dike and threw it in. 
 
 The horse was quietly waiting for its rider. Pere 
 Milon got on the saddle, and started across the plain 
 at the gallop. 
 
 At the end of an hour, he perceived two more Uhlans 
 approaching the staff-quarters side by side. He rode 
 straight towards them, crying, " Hllfe ! hllfe!" The 
 Prussians let him come on, recognizing the uniform 
 without any dlstiiist. 
 
 And like a cannon-ball, the old man shot between the 
 two, bringing both of them to the ground with his saber 
 and a revolver. The next thing he did was to cut the 
 throats of the horses — the German horses ! Then, 
 softly he re-entered the bake-house, and hid the horse 
 he had ridden himself In the dark passage. There he 
 took off the uniform, put on once more his own old 
 clothes, and going to his bed, slept till morning. 
 
 For four days he did not stir out, awaiting the close 
 of the open Inquiry as to the cause of the soldiers' 
 deaths; but, on the fifth day, he started out again, and 
 by a similar stratagem killed two more soldiers. 
 
 Thenceforth he never stopped. Each night he wan- 
 dered about, prowled through the country at random, 
 cutting down some Prussians, sometimes here, some- 
 times there, galloping through the deserted fields under 
 the moonlight, a lost Uhlan, a hunter of men. Then 
 when he had finished his task, leaving behind the 
 corpses lying along the roads, the old horseman went
 
 NO QUARTER 359 
 
 to the bake-house, where he concealed both the animal 
 and the uniform. About midday he calmly returned 
 to the spot to give the horse a feed of oats and some 
 water, and he took every care of the animal, exacting 
 therefore the hardest work. 
 
 But; the night before his arrest, one of the soldiers 
 he attacked put himself on his guard, and cut the old 
 peasant's face with a slash of a saber. 
 
 He had, howe\-er, killed both of them. He had 
 even managed to go back and hide his horse and put 
 on his everyday garb, but, when he reached the stable, 
 he was overcome by weakness, and was not able to 
 m -ke his way into the house. 
 
 He had been found lying on the straw, his face 
 covered with blood. 
 
 • • ■ • • • 
 
 When he had finished his story, he suddenly lifted 
 his head, and glanced proudly at the Prussian officers. 
 
 The Colonel, tugging at his moustache, asked: 
 
 " Have you anything more to say? " 
 
 " No, nothing more; we are quits. I killed sixteen, 
 not one more, not one less." 
 
 " You know you have to die? " 
 
 " I ask for no quarter! " 
 
 " Have you been a soldier? " 
 
 " Yes, I served at one time. And 'tis you killed 
 my father, who was a soldier of the first Emperor, not 
 to speak of my youngest son, Francois, whom you 
 killed last month near Exreux. I owed this to you, 
 and I've paid you back. 'Tis tit for tatl " 
 
 The officers stared at one another. 
 
 The old man went on : 
 
 *' Eight for my father, eight for my son — that pays
 
 36o GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 It off ! I sought for no quarrel with you. I don't 
 know you ! I only know where you came from. You 
 came to my house here, and ordered me about as if the 
 house was yours. I have had my revenge, and I'm 
 glad of it!" 
 
 And stiffening up his old frame, he folded his arms 
 in the attitude of a humble hero. 
 
 The Prussians held a long conference. A captain, 
 who had also lost a son the month before, defended 
 the brave old scoundrel. 
 
 Then the Colonel rose up, and, advancing towards 
 Pere Milon, he said, lowering his voice: 
 
 "Listen, old man! There is perhaps one way of 
 saving your life — it is — " 
 
 But the old peasant was not listening to him, and 
 fixing his eyes directly on the German officer, while 
 the wind made the scanty hair move to and fro on his 
 skull, he made a frightful grimace, which shriveled 
 up his pinched countenance scarred by the saber-stroke, 
 and, puffing out his chest, he spat, with all his strength, 
 right into the Prussian's face. 
 
 The Colonel, stupefied, raised his hand, and for the 
 second time the peasant spat in his face. 
 
 All the officers sprang to their feet and yelled out 
 orders at the same time. 
 
 In less than a minute, the old man, still as impassive 
 as ever, was stuck up against the wall, and shot while 
 he cast a smile at Jean, his eldest son, and then at his 
 daughter-in-law and the two children, who were staring 
 with terror at the scene.
 
 THE IMPOLITE SEX 
 
 Madame de X. to Madame de L. 
 
 Etretat, Friday. 
 
 MY dear Aunt, — I am going to pay you a visit 
 without making much fuss about it. I shall 
 be at Les Fresnes on the 2nd of September, 
 the day before the hunting season opens, as I do not 
 want to miss it, so that I may tease these gentlemen. 
 You are very obliging, aunt, and I would hke you to al- 
 low them to dine with you, as you usually do when there 
 are no strange guests, without dressing or shaving for 
 the occasion, on the ground that they are fatigued. 
 
 They are delighted, of course, when I am not 
 present. But I shall be there, and I shall hold a re- 
 view, like a general, at the dinner-hour; and, if I find 
 a single one of them at all careless in dress, no matter 
 how little, I mean to send him down to the kitchen to 
 the servant-maids. 
 
 The men of to-day have so little consideration for 
 others and so little good manners that one must be al- 
 ways severe with them. We live indeed in an age of 
 vulgarity. When they quarrel with one another, they 
 attack one another with insults worthy of street-porters, 
 and, in our presence, they do not conduct themselves 
 even as well as our servants. It is at the seaside that 
 you see this most clearly. They are to be found there 
 in battalions, and you can judge them in the lump. 
 
 Oh! what coarse beings they are! 
 
 Just imagine in a train, one of them, a gentleman 
 
 361
 
 362 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 who looked well, as I thought, at first sight, thanks 
 to his tailor, was dainty enough to take off his boots in 
 order to put on a pair of old shoes! Another, an old 
 man, who was probably some wealthy upstart (these 
 are the most ill-bred), while sitting opposite to me, had 
 the delicacy to place his two feet on the seat quite close 
 to me. This is a positive fact. 
 
 At the water-places, there is an unrestrained out- 
 pouring of unmannerliness. I must here make one 
 admission — that my indignation is perhaps due to the 
 fact that I am not accustomed to associate, as a rule, 
 with the sort of people one comes across here, for I 
 should be less shocked by their manners if I had the op- 
 portunity of observing them oftener. In the inquiry- 
 office of the hotel, I was nearly thrown down by a 
 young man who snatched the key over my head. 
 Another knocked against me so violently without beg- 
 ging my pardon or lifting his hat, coming away from a 
 ball at the Casino, that he gave me a pain in the chest. 
 It Is the same way with all of them. Watch them ad- 
 dressing ladies on the terrace; they scarcely ever bow. 
 They merely raise their hands to their head-gear. But 
 indeed, as they are all more or less bald, it is their best 
 plan. 
 
 But what exasperates and disgusts me specially Is the 
 liberty they take of talking publicly without any pre- 
 caution whatsoever about the most revolting adven- 
 tures. When two men are together, they relate to each 
 other, in the broadest language and with the most 
 abominable comments really horrible stories without 
 caring In the slightest degree whether a woman's ear Is 
 within reach of their voices. Yesterday, on the beach
 
 THE IMPOLITE SEX 363 
 
 I was forced to go away from the place where I sat in 
 order not to be any longer the involuntary confidante of 
 an obscene anecdote, told in such immodest language 
 that I felt just as much humiliated as indignant at hav- 
 ing heard it. Would not the most elementary good- 
 breeding hav^e taught them to speak in a lower tone 
 about such matters when we are near at hand. Etretat 
 is, moreover, the country of gossip and scandal. From 
 five to seven o'clock you can see people wandering 
 about in quest of nasty stories about others which they 
 retail from group to group. As you remarked to me, 
 my dear aunt, tittle-tattle is the mark of petty individ- 
 uals and petty minds. It is also the consolation of 
 women who are no longer loved or sought after. It is 
 enough for me to observe the women who are fondest 
 of gossiping to be persuaded that you are quite right. 
 
 The other day I was present at a musical evening 
 at the Casino, given by a remarkable artist, Madame 
 Masson, who sings in a truly delightful manner. I 
 took the opportunity of applauding the admirable 
 Coquelin, as well as two charming boarders of the 
 Vaudeville, M — and Meillet. I was able, on the oc- 
 casion, to see all the bathers collected together this year 
 on the beach. There were not many persons of dis- 
 tinction among them. 
 
 Next day I went to lunch at Yport. I noticed a tall 
 man with a beard who was coming out of a large house 
 like a castle. It was the painter, Jean Paul Laurens. 
 He is not satisfied apparently with imprisoning the sub- 
 jects of his pictures he insists on imprisoning himself. 
 
 Then, I found myself seated on the shingle close to a 
 man still young, of gentle and refined appearance, who
 
 364 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 was reading some verses. But he read them with 
 such concentration, with such passion, I may say, that 
 he did not even raise his eyes towards me. I was 
 somewhat astonished, and I asked the conductor of the 
 baths without appearing to be much concerned, the 
 name of this gentleman. I laughed inwardly a little at 
 this reader of rhymes: he seemed behind the age, for 
 a man. This person, I thought, must be a simpleton. 
 Well, aunt, I am now infatuated about this stranger. 
 Just fancy, his name is Sully Prudhomme ! I turned 
 round to look at him at my ease, just where I sat. His 
 face possesses the two qualities of calmness and 
 elegance. As somebody came to look for him, I was 
 able to hear his voice, which is sweet and almost timid. 
 He would certainly not tell obscene stories aloud in 
 public, or knock against ladies without apologizing. 
 He is sure to be a man of refinement, but his refine- 
 ment is of an almost morbid, vibrating character. I 
 will try this winter to get an introduction to him. 
 
 I have no more news to tell you, my dear aunt, and 
 I must interrupt this letter in haste, as the post-hour is 
 near. I kiss your hands and your cheeks. — Your 
 devoted niece, 
 
 Berthe De X. 
 
 P. S. — I should add, however, by way of justifica- 
 tion of French politeness, that our fellow-countrymen 
 are, when traveling, models of good manners in com- 
 parison with the abominable English, who seem to 
 have been brought up by stable-boys, so much do they 
 take care not to incommode themselves in any way, 
 while they always incommode their neighbors.
 
 THE IMPOLITE SEX 365 
 
 Madame de L. to Madame de X. 
 
 Les Fresnes, Saturday. 
 
 My Dear Child, — Many of the things you have said 
 to me are very reasonable, but that does not prevent 
 you from being wrong. Like you, I used formerly to 
 feel very indignant at the impoliteness of men, who, 
 as I supposed, constantly treated me with neglect; but, 
 as I grew older and reflected on everything, putting 
 aside coquetry, and observing things without taking 
 any part in them myself, I perceived this much — that 
 if men are not always polite, w^omen are always inde- 
 scribably rude. 
 
 We imagine that we should be permitted to do any- 
 thing, my darling, and at the same time we consider 
 that we have a right to the utmost respect, and in the 
 most flagrant manner we commit actions devoid of that 
 elementary good-breeding ot which you speak with 
 passion. 
 
 I find, on the contrary, that men have, for us, much 
 consideration, as compared with our bearing towards 
 them. Besides, darling, men must needs be, and are, 
 what we make them. In a state of society, where 
 women are all true gentlewomen, all men would be- 
 come gentlemen. 
 
 Mark my words; just observe and reflect. 
 
 Look at two women meeting in the street. What 
 an attitude each assumes towards the other! What 
 disparaging looks ! What contempt they throw into 
 each glance! How they toss their heads while they 
 inspect each other to find something to condemn ! 
 And, if the footpath is narrow, do you think one 
 woman would make room for another, or will beg
 
 366 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 pardon as she sweeps by ? Never ! When two men 
 jostle each other by accident In some narrow lane, each 
 of them bows and at the same time gets out of the 
 other's way, while we women press against each other 
 stomach to stomach, face to face, insolently staring' 
 each other out of countenance. 
 
 Look at two women who are acquaintances meeting 
 on a stair case before the drawing-room door of a 
 friend of theirs to whom one has just paid a visit, and 
 to whom the other is about to pay a visit. They be- 
 gin to talk to each other, and block up the passage. 
 If anyone happens to be coming up behind them, man 
 or woman, do you imagine that they will put themselves 
 half-an-inch out of their way? Never! never! 
 
 I was waiting myself, with my watch in my hands, 
 one day last winter, at a certain drawing-room door. 
 And behind two gentlemen were also waiting without 
 showing any readiness to lose their temper, like me. 
 The reason was that they had long grown accustomed to 
 our unconscionable insolence. 
 
 The other day, before leaving Paris, I went to dine 
 with no less a person than your husband in the Champs 
 Elysees in order to enjoy the open air. Every table 
 was occupied. The waiter asked us not to go, and 
 there would soon be a vacant table. 
 
 At that moment, I noticed an elderly lady of noble 
 figure, who, having paid the amount of her docket, 
 seemed on the point of going away. She saw me, 
 scanned me from head to foot, and did not budge. 
 For more than a full quarter-of-an-hour she sat there, 
 immovable, putting on her gloves, and calmly staring at 
 those who were waiting like myself. Now, two young 
 men who were just finishing their dinner, having seen
 
 THE IMPOLITE SEX 367 
 
 me In their turn, quickly summoned the waiter In order 
 to pay whatever they owed, and at once offered me their 
 seats, even Insisting on standing while waiting for 
 their change. And, bear In mind, my fair niece, 
 that I am no longer pretty, like you, but old and white- 
 haired. 
 
 It Is we (do you see?) who should be taught polite- 
 ness, and the task would be such a difficult one that Her- 
 cules himself would not be equal to it. You speak to 
 me about Etretat, and about the people who Indulged 
 In " tittle-tattle " along the beach of that delightful 
 watering-place. It Is a spot now lost to me, a thing of 
 the past, but I found much amusement there In days 
 gone by. 
 
 There were only a few of us, people in good society, 
 really good society, and a few artists, and we all fra- 
 ternized. We paid little attention to gossip In those 
 days. 
 
 Well, as we had no insipid Casino, where people only 
 gather for show, where they talk in whispers, where 
 they dance stupidly, where they succeed in thoroughly 
 boring one another, we sought some other way of pass- 
 ing our evenings pleasantly. Now, just guess what 
 came into the head of one of our husbandry? Noth- 
 ing less than to go and dance each night in one of the 
 farm-houses in the neighborhood. 
 
 We started out in a group with a street-organ, gen- 
 erally played by Le Polttevin, the painter, with a cotton 
 nightcap on his head. Two men carried lanterns. 
 We followed in procession, laughing and chattering 
 like a pack of fools. 
 
 We woke up the farmer and his servant-maids and 
 laboring men. We got them to make onion-soup
 
 368 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 (horror!), and we danced under the apple-trees, to the 
 sound of the barrel-organ. The cocks waking up be- 
 gan to crow in the darkness of the out-houses; the 
 horses began prancing on the straw of their stables. 
 The cool air of the country caressed our cheeks with the 
 smell of grass and of new-mown hay. 
 
 How long ago it is! How long ago it is. It is 
 thirty years since then ! 
 
 I do not want you, my darling, to come for the 
 opening of the hunting season. Why spoil the pleas- 
 ure of our friends by inflicting on them fashionable 
 toilets on this day of vigorous exercise In the country? 
 This is the way, child, that men are spoiled. I em- 
 brace you, — Your old aunt 
 
 Genevieve De Z,
 
 WOMAN'S WILES 
 
 ccX^ TOMEN?" 
 
 V/V/ " Well, what do you say about women? '* 
 " ^ " Well, there arc no conjurors more sub- 
 
 tle in taking us in at every available opportunity with or 
 without reason, often for the sole pleasure of playing 
 tricks on us. And they play these tricks with incredible 
 simplicity, astonishing audacity, unparalleled ingenuity. 
 They play tricks from morning till night, and they all 
 do it — the most virtuous, the most upright, the most 
 sensible of them. You may add that sometimes they 
 are to some extent driven to do these things. Man 
 has always idiotic fits of obstinacy and tyrannical de- 
 sires. A husband is continually giving ridiculous or- 
 ders in his own house. He is full of caprices; his wife 
 plays on them even while she makes use of them for 
 the purpose of deception. She persuades him that a 
 thing costs so much because he would kick up a row if 
 its price were higher. And she always extricates her- 
 self from the difficulty cunningly by a means so simple 
 and so sly that we gape with amazement when by chance 
 we discover them. We say to ourselves in a stupefied 
 state of mind ' How is it we did not see this till 
 now : 
 
 The man who uttered the words was an ex-Minister 
 of the Empire, the Comte de L , a thorough prof- 
 ligate, it was said, and a very accomplished gentleman. 
 A group of young men were listening to him. 
 V— 24 369
 
 370 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 He went on : 
 
 " I was outwitted by an ordinary uneducated woman 
 in a comic and thorough-going fashion. I will tell 
 you about it for your instruction. 
 
 " I was at the time Minister for Foreign Affairs, and 
 I was in the habit of taking a long walk every morning 
 in the Champs Elysees. It was the month of May; I 
 walked along, sniffing in eagerly that sweet odor of 
 budding leaves. 
 
 " Ere long, I noticed, that I used to meet every day 
 a charming little woman, one of those marvelous, 
 graceful creatures, who bear the trade-mark of Paris. 
 Pretty? Well, yes and no. Well-made? No, bet- 
 ter than that: her waist was too slight, her shoulders 
 too narrow, her breast too full, no doubt; but I prefer 
 those exquisite human dolls to that great statuesque 
 corpse, the Venus of Milo. 
 
 " And then this sort of woman trots along in an in- 
 comparable fashion, and the very rustle of her skirt 
 fills the marrow of your bones with desire. She seemed 
 to give me a side-glance as she passed me. But these 
 women give you all sorts of looks — you never can 
 tell ... 
 
 " One morning, I saw her sitting on a bench with an 
 open book between her hands. I came across, and sat 
 down beside her. Five minutes later, we were friends. 
 Then, each day, after the smiling salutation ' Good 
 day, Madame,' ' Good day. Monsieur,' we began to 
 chat. She told me that she was the wife of a Govern- 
 ment clerk, that her life was a sad one, that in it pleas- 
 ures were few and cares numerous, and a thousand 
 other things. 
 
 " I told her who I was, partly through thoughtless-
 
 WOMAN'S WILES 371 
 
 ness, and partly perhaps through vanity. She pre- 
 tended to be much astonished. 
 
 " Next day, she called at the Ministry to see me; and 
 she came again there so often that the ushers, having 
 their attention drawn to her appearance, used to 
 whisper to one another, as soon as they saw her, the 
 name with which thev had christened her ' Madame 
 Leon' that is my Christian name. 
 
 " For three months I saw her every morning with- 
 out growing tired of her for a second, so well was she 
 able incessantly to give variety and piquancy to her 
 physical attractiveness. But one day I saw that her eyes 
 were bloodshot and glowing with suppressed tears, 
 that she could scarcely speak, so much was she preoc- 
 cupied with secret troubles. 
 
 " I begged of her, I implored of her, to tell me what 
 was the cause of her agitation. 
 
 " She faltered out at length with a shudder: ' I am 
 — I am pregnant ! ' 
 
 " And she burst out sobbing. Oh! I made a dread- 
 ful grimace, and I have no doubt I turned pale, as men 
 generally do at hearing such a piece of news. You 
 cannot conceive what an unpleasant stab you feel in 
 your breast at the announcement of an unexpected 
 paternity of this kind. But you are sure to know it 
 sooner or later. So, in my turn, I gasped: 'But — 
 but — you are married, are you not?' 
 
 "She answered: 'Yes, but my husband has been 
 away in Italy for the last two months, and he will not 
 be back for some time.' 
 
 " I was determined at any cost to get out of my re- 
 sponsibility. 
 
 " I said : ' You must go and join him immediately.'
 
 372 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 " She reddened to her very temples, and with down- 
 cast eyes, murmured : ' Yes — but — ' She either dared 
 not or would not finish the sentence, 
 
 " I understood, and I prudently enclosed her in an 
 envelope the expenses of the journey. 
 
 " Eight days later, she sent me a letter from Genoa. 
 The following week, I received one from Florence. 
 Then letters reached me from Leghorn, Rome, and 
 Naples. 
 
 " She said to me: ' I am in good health, my dear 
 love, but I am looking frightful. I would not care to 
 have you see me till it is all over; you would not love 
 me. My husband suspects nothing. As his business 
 in this country will require him to stay there much 
 longer, I will not return to France till after my con- 
 finement.' 
 
 " And, at the end of about eight months, I received 
 from Venice these few words: ' It is a boy.' 
 
 " Some time after, she suddenly entered my stuciy 
 one morning, fresher and prettier than ever, and flung 
 herself into my arms. 
 
 " And our former connection was renewed. 
 
 " I left the Ministry, and she came to live in my 
 house in the Rue de Grenelle. She often spoke to me 
 about the child, but I scarcely listened to what she said 
 about it; it did not concern me. Now and then I 
 placed a rather large sum of money in her hand, say- 
 ing: ' Put that by for him.' 
 
 "Two more years glided by; and she was more 
 eager to tell me some news about the youngster — 
 ' about Leon.'
 
 WOMAN'S WILES 373 
 
 " Sometimes she would say in the midst of tears : 
 ' You don't care about him; you don't even wish to see 
 him. If you know what grief you cause me! ' 
 
 " At last I was so much harassed by her that I 
 promised, one day, to go, next morning, to the Champs 
 Elysees, when she took the child there for an airing. 
 
 " But at the moment when I was leaving the house, 
 I was stopped by a sudden apprehension. Man is 
 weak and foolish. What if I were to get fond of this 
 tiny being of whom I was the father — my son? 
 
 " I had my hat on my head, my gloves in my hands. 
 I flung down the gloves on my desk, and my hat on a 
 chair: 
 
 "No. Decidedly I will not go; it is wiser not to 
 go.' 
 
 " My door flew open. My brother entered the 
 room. He handed me an anonymous letter he had 
 received that morning: 
 
 " ' Warn the Comte de L , your brother, that 
 
 the little woman of the Rue Casette is impudently 
 laughing at him. Let him make some inquiries about 
 her.' 
 
 I had never told anybody about this intrigue, and 
 I now told my brother the history of it from the be- 
 ginning to the end. I added: 
 
 " For my part, I don't want to trouble myself any 
 further about the matter; but will you, like a good fel- 
 low, go and find out what you can about her? 
 
 "When my brother had left me, I said to myself: 
 'In what wav can she have deceived me? She has 
 other lov'ers? What does it matter to me? She is 
 young, fresh, and pretty; I ask nothing more from her.
 
 374 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 She seems to love me, and as a matter of fact, she does 
 not cost me much. Really, I don'i understand this 
 business.' 
 
 " My brother speedily returned. He had learned 
 from the police all that was to be known about her 
 husband: 'A clerk in the Home Department, of 
 regular habits and good repute, and, moveover, a think- 
 ing man, but married to a very pretty woman, whose 
 expenses seemed somewhat extravagant for her modest 
 position.' That was all. 
 
 " Now, my brother having sought for her at her resi- 
 dence, and finding that she was gone out, succeeded, 
 with the assistance of a little gold, in making the door- 
 keeper chatter : ' Madame D , a very worthy 
 
 woman, and her husband a very worthy man, not proud, 
 not rich, but generous.' 
 
 " My brother asked for the sake of saying something : 
 
 " ' How old is her little boy now? ' 
 
 " ' Why, she has not got any little boy, monsieur.' 
 
 '"What? Little Leon?' 
 
 " ' No, monsieur, you are making a mistake.' 
 
 " ' I mean the child she had while she was in Italy, 
 two years ago? ' 
 
 " ' She has never been in Italy, monsieur; she has not 
 quitted the house she is living in for the last five years.' 
 
 " My brother, in astonishment, questioned the door- 
 keeper anew, and then he pushed his investigation of 
 the matter further. No child, no journey. 
 
 " I was prodigiously astonished, but without clearly 
 understanding the final meaning of this comedy. 
 
 " ' I want,' said I to him, ' to have my mind per- 
 fectly clear about the affair. I will ask her to come 
 here to-morrow. You shall receive her instead of me.
 
 WOMAN'S WILES 375 
 
 If she has deceived me, you will hand her these ten 
 thousand francs, and I will never see her again. In 
 fact, I am beginning to find I have had enough of 
 her.' 
 
 "Would you believe it? I had been grieved the 
 night before because I had a child by this woman; and 
 I was now irritated, ashamed, wounded at having no 
 more of her. I found myself free, released from all 
 responsibility, from all anxiety, and yet I felt myself 
 raging at the position in which I was placed. 
 
 " Next morning my brother awaited her in my study. 
 She came in as quickly as usual, rushing towards him 
 with outstretched arms, but when she saw who It v/as 
 she at once drew back. 
 
 " He bowed, and excused himself. 
 
 " ' I beg your pardon, maciame, for being here In- 
 stead of my brother, hut he has authorized me to ask 
 you for some explanations which he would find it pain- 
 ful to seek from you himself.' 
 
 " Then, fixing on her face a searching glance, he 
 said abruptly : 
 
 " ' We know you have not a child by him.' 
 
 " After the first moment of stupor, she regained 
 her composure, took a seat, and gazed with a smile at 
 this man wlio was sitting In judgment on her. 
 
 " She answered simply: 
 
 '"No; I have no child.' 
 
 " ' W^e know also that you have never been in Italy.' 
 
 " This time she burst out laughing in earnest. 
 
 " ' No, I have never been in Italy.' 
 
 "My brother, quite stunned, went on: 
 
 " ' The Comte has requested me to give you this 
 money, and tell you that It is all broken off.'
 
 376 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 " She became serious again, calmly putting the money 
 into her pocket, and, in an ingenuous tone asked : 
 
 " ' And I am not, then, to see the Comte any more? ' 
 
 " ' No, madame.' 
 
 " She appeared to be annoyed, and In a passionless 
 voice she said : 
 
 " ' So much the worse; I was very fond of him.' 
 
 " Seeing that she had made up her mind on the sub- 
 ject so resolutely, my brother, smiling in his turn, said 
 to her: 
 
 " ' Look here, now, tell me why you Invented all this 
 tricky yarn, complicating It by bringing in the sham 
 journey to Italy and the child? ' 
 
 She gazed at my brother in amazement, as if he had 
 asked her a stupid question, and replied: 
 
 " ' I say! How spiteful you are! Do you believe 
 a poor little woman of the people such as I am — noth- 
 ing at all — could have for three years kept on my 
 hands the Comte de L , Minister, a great per- 
 sonage, a man of fashion, wealthy and seductive, if she 
 had not taken a little trouble about it? Now it is all 
 over. So much the worse. It couldn't last for ever. 
 None the less I succeeded In doing it for three years. 
 You will say many things to him on my behalf.' 
 
 " She rose up. My brother continued questioning 
 her: 
 
 " ' But — the child? Y'ou had one to show him?' 
 
 " ' Certainly — my sister's child. She lent it to me. 
 I'd bet it was she gave you the information.' 
 
 " ' Good! And all those letters from Italy? ' 
 
 " She sat down again so as to laugh at her ease. 
 Oh ! those letters — well, they were a bit of 
 
 (' (
 
 WOMAN'S WILES 377 
 
 poetry. The Comte was not a iSIinlster of Foreign 
 Affairs for nothing.' 
 
 " ' But — another thing? ' 
 
 " Oh I the other thing is my secret. I don't want 
 to compromise anyone.' 
 
 " And bowing to him with a rather moclcing smile, 
 she left the room without any emotion, an actress who 
 had played her part to the end." 
 
 And the Comte de L added by way of moral: 
 
 " So take care about putting your trust in that sort of 
 turtle dove! "
 
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