11 
 "a
 
 UM.VtRSlVf OF 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 SAN DIEGO
 
 Sister Eulalie, her eyes dry now, was still standing 
 near the bed. The Letters.
 
 Selected Stories 
 
 BY 
 
 Guy De Maupassant 
 
 Translated and Edited by 
 
 Dora Knowlton Ranous 
 
 VOLUME I 
 
 Ball-of-Suet, A Family Matter, The 
 Diamond Necklace, The Clock 
 The Wedding Night, Wom- 
 an's Love, Duchoux 
 The False Jewels 
 Checkmate ! 
 Etc. 
 
 The Leslie- Judge Company 
 
 New York
 
 Copyright. 1912, by 
 
 THE NEW WERNER COMPANY 
 
 Akron, Ohio
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGfi 
 
 PREFACE . ... . . . . v 
 
 Ball-of-Suet . . . ..:,... 1 
 
 A Family Matter . . . . . 63 
 
 The Artist's Model . . . . . . 105 
 
 The Letters n . : . . . . . . 115 
 
 Cemetery Sirens . >* ... . ; 121 
 
 The Dying Peasant . . . : w . . . *> 132 
 
 A Madman's Journal ...... , . 143 
 
 Checkmate! . . T . . . . . 151 
 
 The Shepherd's Leap . .... . 162 
 
 A Husband's Confession . . . , . 168 
 
 Madame Parisse . i . . . . . 178 
 
 The Wedding Night . . . .... 189 
 
 Father and Son . . . . . . . 198 
 
 The False Jewels 219 
 
 That Umbrella! . . . .... 229 
 
 The Clock . 242 
 
 The Dowry 256 
 
 The Lancer's Wife . . , . . 265 
 
 Prisoners of War . . . ... . 285 
 
 Woman's Love . 303 
 
 The Devil's Visit . . . . . . 312 
 
 Was it a Dream? 323 
 
 Simon's Papa ... . . . . 331 
 
 The Diamond Necklace . . . . . 345 
 
 Duchoux 358 
 
 Timbuctoo . 370 
 
 Denis . . 381 
 
 111.
 
 PREFACE 
 
 HENRI Rene Albert Guy de Maupassant was born in 
 France, August 5, 1850, at the Chateau de Miromesnil, 
 Department of the Lower Seine. He was educated 
 chiefly at the Rouen Lycee, and later was employed about 
 fifteen years in the Admiralty Office in Paris. He became 
 a friend and disciple of Gustave Flaubert, with whom he 
 was connected by marriage. That great stylist encouraged 
 his brilliant pupil to write, and the youth was a frequent 
 visitor and keen observer at the -famous gatherings held 
 in Flaubert's little house at Croisset, meeting such master 
 spirits as Daudet, Zola, Heredia, the Freres De Goncourt, 
 and George Sand. De Maupassant called Flaubert his 
 literary godfather, and when his first real success came, 
 rvith the publication of that vivid little sketch "Boule de 
 Suif" ("Ball-of-Suet"), his severe but kindly mentor wrote 
 to him: "You have produced a masterpiece, young man. 
 Decidedly, if you keep on in this way, you will become a 
 great writer." 
 
 The young romancer took an active part in the Franco- 
 Prussian War, and his experiences during that period sug- 
 gested to him some of the most powerful of his stones. 
 
 In his brief but brilliant career, De Maupassant suc- 
 ceeded in making himself known as the master of short- 
 story writing: merciless in his analysis of the life of the 
 higher classes, photographic in his presentation of the
 
 vi PREFACE 
 
 simple-minded country folk and the prosaic bourgeoisie 
 whom he understood so well. Although his novels rank 
 high as pictures of French society life, it is his short 
 stories that make the strongest appeal to all tastes. 
 
 In the flush of his success, and eager to win fresh 
 triumphs, De Maupassant urged his genius too far, and 
 sacrificed his health to his desire for fame. In order to 
 counteract the effects of overwork, he dallied with drugs, 
 which, while stimulating him to the production of some 
 of his finest tales, brought on intense nervousness and 
 finally a lesion of the brain, for which he was treated in 
 a sanatorium for two years before his death, which oc- 
 curred July 6, 1893. 
 
 The writings of De Maupassant are well fitted^ to play 
 an important part in the work of civilization. They do 
 not recommend any virtue, it is true; they do not dwell 
 upon any; they neither assume nor fulfil any high instruc- 
 tive office; but they are clear, exact, precise, satiric pic- 
 tures of realities, and surely exactitude and truth, pointed 
 with wholesome satire, should serve a useful purpose. It 
 is a strange fact that, while a clergyman is praised for 
 drawing in his sermons the liveliest pictures of human 
 error and weakness, the same persons that applaud these 
 efforts hesitate to approve when a romancer paints the 
 same pictures in his own colors. But De Maupassant 
 never feared to hold the mirror up to weakness and folly; 
 vanity, egotism, moral feebleness, lack of idealism, stu- 
 pidity, selfishness all these traits he has presented in a 
 way possibly unflattering to the race in general, but one 
 not unworthy the study of the strictest moralist. The 
 world's great satirists Rabelais, Moliere, Flaubert, De 
 Maupassant are the real salt of society, which certainly 
 not eradicate the taint of worldly corruption, but
 
 PREFACE vii 
 
 '\thout which society would probably be much worse 
 <\an it is. In his wonderful pictures of life, and of human 
 ^perfections, the care De Maupassant took not to over- 
 step the truth was prompted by genuine moral instinct 
 quite as much as by literary tact. The world owes him 
 a debt of gratitude, not only as a prince of entertainers, 
 but as a writer in whose work the admixture of beneficial 
 bitterness acts as a salutary draught to regulate the con- 
 science and the vanity of mankind.
 
 BALL-OF-SUET 
 
 (Boule de Suif) 
 
 DETACHMENTS of a defeated army had been 
 passing through the town for several days. 
 They were only disorganized bands, not dis- 
 ciplined troops. The men wore long, dirty beards 
 and ragged uniforms; they marched listlessly, 
 without flag or leader. All appeared exhausted, in- 
 capable of thought or resolve, marching merely 
 through force of habit, and falling to the ground 
 with fatigue the moment they halted. In particular, 
 one saw many enlisted men, peaceful citizens, men 
 who had lived quietly on their income, stooping un- 
 der the weight of their rifles ; and little active volun- 
 teers, easily frightened but full of enthusiasm, as 
 eager to attack as they were .eady to run away; 
 and among these, a sprinkling of soldiers in red 
 breeches, the pitiful remnant of a division cut 
 down in a great battle; somber artillerymen side 
 by side with nondescript foot-soldiers; and here 
 and there the bright helmet of a heavy-footed dra- 
 goon who had difficulty in keeping up with the 
 quicker pace of the soldiers of the line.
 
 2 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Legions of irregulars with high-sounding names 
 "Avengers of Defeat," "Citizens of the Tomb," 
 "Brethren in Death" passed in their turn, look- 
 ing like banditti. 
 
 Their leaders, former drapers or grain mer- 
 chants, or tallow or soap chandlers soldiers by 
 force of circumstance, officers by reason of their 
 moustaches or their money loaded with weapons, 
 flannel and braid and lace, spoke impressively, 
 discussed plans of campaign, and behaved as if 
 they alone bore the fortunes of dying France on 
 their braggart shoulders; though, in truth, they 
 frequently were afraid of their own men scoun- 
 drels often brave without limit, but dishonest and 
 debauched. 
 
 Rumor said that the Prussians were about to 
 enter Rouen. 
 
 The members of the National Guard, who for 
 two months had been reconnoitering with the ut- 
 most caution in the neighboring woods, occasion- 
 ally shooting their own sentinels, and making 
 ready for fight whenever a rabbit rustled in the 
 undergrowth, had now returned to their homes. 
 Their arms, their uniforms, all the death-dealing 
 paraphernalia with which they had terrified all 
 the milestones along the highroad for eight miles 
 round, had suddenly and marvelously disappeared. 
 
 The last of the French soldiers had just crossed 
 the Seine on their way to Pont-Audemer, through 
 Saint-Sever and Bourg-Archard, and in their rear
 
 BALL-OF-SUET 3 
 
 the vanquished general, powerless to do anything 
 with the forlorn remnants of his army, himself 
 dismayed at the final overthrow of a nation accus- 
 tomed to victory, and disastrously defeated despite 
 its legendary bravery, walked between two orderlies. 
 
 Then a profound calm, a shuddering silent dread, 
 settled on the city. Many a round-bellied citizen, 
 emasculated by years devoted to business, anx- 
 iously awaited the conquerors, trembling lest his 
 roasting-jacks or kitchen knives should be looked 
 upon as weapons. 
 
 Life seemed to have stopped short; the shops 
 were shut, the streets deserted. Now and then an 
 inhabitant, awed by the silence, glided swiftly by in 
 the shadow of the walls. The agony of suspense 
 made men even desire the arrival of the enemy. 
 
 In the afternoon of the day following the de- 
 parture of the French troops, a number of uhlans, 
 coming no one knew whence, passed rapidly 
 through the town. A little later, a black mass de- 
 scended St. Catherine's Hill, while two other in- 
 vading bodies appeared respectively on the Dar- 
 netal and the Bois-guillaume roads. The advance 
 guards of the three corps arrived at precisely the 
 same moment at the Place de 1'Hotel de Ville, and 
 the German army poured through all the adjacent 
 streets, its battalions making the pavement ring 
 with their firm, measured tread. 
 
 Orders shouted in an unknown guttural tongue 
 rose to the windows of the seemingly dead, de-
 
 4 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 serted houses ; while behind the tightly-closed shut- 
 ters eager eyes peered forth at the victors masters 
 now of the city, its fortunes, and its lives, by "right 
 of war." The inhabitants, in their darkened rooms, 
 were possessed by that terror which follows in the 
 wake of cataclysms, of deadly upheavals of the 
 earth, against which all human skill and strength 
 are vain. For the same thing happens whenever 
 the established order of things is disturbed, when 
 security no longer exists, when all those rights 
 usually protected by the laws of man or of Na- 
 ture are at the mercy of unreasoning, savage force. 
 The earthquake crushing a whole people under fall- 
 ing roofs; the floor let loose, and engulfing in its 
 swirling depths the corpses of drowned peasants 
 along with dead oxen and beams torn from shattered 
 houses ; or the army, covered with glory, murdering 
 those who defend themselves, making prisoners of 
 the rest, pillaging in the name of the Sword, and 
 giving thanks to God to the thunder of cannon all 
 these are appalling scourges, which destroy all belief 
 in eternal justice, all that confidence we have been 
 taught to feel in the protection of Heaven and the 
 reason of man. 
 
 Small detachments of soldiers knocked at each 
 door, and then entered the houses; for the van- 
 quished saw they must be civil to their conquerors. 
 
 After a short time, when the first terror had sub- 
 sided, calm was again restored. In many houses 
 the Prussian officer ate at the same table with the
 
 BALL-OF-SUET 5 
 
 family. He was often well-bred, and, out of cour- 
 tesy, expressed sympathy with France and repug- 
 nance at being compelled to take part in the war. 
 This sentiment was received with gratitude ; besides, 
 his protection might be necessary some day. By 
 the exercise of tact the number of men quartered 
 in one's house might be reduced; and why should 
 one provoke the hostility of a person on whom 
 one's whole welfare depended? Such conduct 
 would look less like bravery than like foolhardi- 
 ness. And foolhardiness is no longer a failing of 
 the citizens of Rouen, as it was in the days when 
 their city earned renown by its heroic defenses. 
 Last of all final argument based on the national 
 politeness the citizens of Rouen said to one an- 
 other that it was only right to be civil in one's own 
 house, provided there was no public exhibition of 
 familiarity with the foreigner. Out of doors, there- 
 fore, citizen and soldier did not know each other; 
 but in the house both chatted freely, and every even- 
 ing the German remained a little longer warming 
 himself at the hospitable hearth. 
 
 By degrees even the town itself resumed its ordi- 
 nary aspect. The French seldom walked abroad, 
 but the streets swarmed with Prussian soldiers. 
 Moreover, the officers of the Blue Hussars, who 
 arrogantly dragged their instruments of death along 
 the pavements, seemed to hold the simple towns- 
 men in but little more contempt than did the French 
 cavalry officers who had drunk at the same cafes 
 the year before.
 
 6 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 But there was something in the air, a something 
 strange and subtle, an intolerable foreign atmos- 
 phere like a penetrating odor the odor of inva- 
 sion. It permeated dwellings and places of public 
 resort, changed the taste of food, made one imagine 
 oneself in far-distant lands, amid dangerous bar- 
 baric tribes. 
 
 The conquerors demanded money, a great deal of 
 money. The inhabitants paid what was asked ; they 
 were rich. But the wealthier a Norman tribesman 
 becomes the more he suffers at having to part with 
 anything that belongs to him, or to see any por- 
 tion of his substance pass into the hands of an- 
 other. 
 
 Nevertheless, within six or seven miles of the 
 town, along the course of the river as it flows on- 
 ward to Croisset, Dieppedalle, and Biessart, boat- 
 men and fishermen often hauled to the surface of 
 the water the body of a German, bloated in his uni- 
 form, killed by a blow from knife or club, his head 
 crushed by a stone, or perhaps he had been pushed 
 from some bridge into the stream below. The 
 mud of the river-bed swallowed up these obscure 
 acts of vengeance savage, yet legitimate ; these un- 
 recorded deeds of bravery; these silent attacks 
 fraught with greater danger than battles fought in 
 broad day, and surrounded with no halo of ro- 
 mance. For hatred of the foreigner always arms 
 some intrepid souls, ready to die for an idea. 
 
 At last as the invaders, though subjecting the
 
 BALL-OF-SUET 7 
 
 town to the strictest discipline, had not committed 
 any of the deeds of horror with which they had 
 been credited while on their triumphal march, the 
 people grew bolder, and the necessities of business 
 again animated the breasts of the local merchants. 
 Some of these had important commercial interests 
 at Havre occupied at present by the French army 
 and wished to attempt to reach that port by over- 
 land route to Dieppe, taking the boat from that 
 point. 
 
 Through the influence of the German officers 
 whose acquaintance they had made, they obtained 
 permission to leave town from the general in com- 
 mand. 
 
 A large four-horse coach having, therefore, been 
 engaged for the journey, and ten passengers hav- 
 ing registered their names with the proprietor, they 
 decided to set out on a certain Tuesday morning be- 
 fore daybreak, to avoid attracting a crowd. 
 
 The ground had been frozen hard for some time 
 and about three o'clock on Monday afternoon large 
 black clouds from the north shed their burden of 
 snow uninterruptedly all through that evening and 
 night. 
 
 At half -past four in the morning the travelers 
 met in the courtyard of the Hotel de Normandie, 
 where they were to take their seats in the coach. 
 
 They were still half asleep, and shivering with 
 cold under their wraps. They could see one another 
 only indistinctly in the darkness, and the mountain
 
 8 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 of heavy winter wraps in which each was swathed 
 made them look like a gathering of fat priests in 
 their long cassocks. But two men recognized each 
 other, a third accosted them, and the three began 
 to talk. "I am taking my wife," said one. "So 
 ami." "And I." The first speaker added : "We 
 shall not return to Rouen, and if the Prussians 
 approach Havre we shall go over to England." It 
 turned out that all had made the same plans, being 
 of similar disposition and temperament. 
 
 Still the horses were not harnessed. A small 
 lantern carried by a stable-boy emerged now and 
 then from one dark doorway to disappear immedi- 
 ately in another. The stamping of horses' hoofs, 
 deadened by the dung and straw of the stable, was 
 heard from time to time, and from inside the build- 
 ing issued a man's voice, talking to the animals and 
 cursing them. A faint tinkle of bells showed that 
 the harness was being put on; this tinkle soon de- 
 veloped into a continuous jingling, louder or softer 
 according to the movements of the horse, sometimes 
 stopping altogether, then breaking out in a sudden 
 peal, accompanied by a pawing of the ground by an 
 iron-shod hoof. 
 
 The door suddenly closed. All noise ceased. The 
 half-frozen townsmen were silent; they remained 
 motionless, stiff with cold. 
 
 A thick veil of glistening white flakes fell cease- 
 lessly to the ground ; it obliterated all outlines, en- 
 veloped all objects in an icy mantle of foam.:
 
 BALL-OF-SUET 9 
 
 nothing was to be heard throughout the length and 
 breadth of the silent, winter-bound city save the 
 soft, nameless rustle of falling snow a sensation 
 rather than a sound the gentle mingling of light 
 atoms which seemed to fill all space, to cover the 
 whole "world. 
 
 The man reappeared with his lantern, leading by 
 a rope a melancholy-looking horse, evidently led 
 out against his will. The hostler placed him beside 
 the pole, fastened the traces, and spent some time 
 in walking round him to make sure that the har- 
 ness was all right ; for he could use only one hand, 
 the other holding the lantern. As he was about 
 to bring out the second horse he noticed the mo- 
 tionless group of travelers, already white with snow, 
 and said to them: "Why don't you get inside the 
 coach? You would be under cover, at least." 
 
 This did not seem to have occurred to them, and 
 they at once took his advice. The three men seated 
 their wives at the far end of the coach, then got in 
 themselves; lastly the other vague, snow-shrouded 
 forms mounted to the remaining places without a 
 word. 
 
 The floor was covered with straw, into which the 
 feet sank. The ladies at the far end, having brought 
 with them little copper foot-warmers heated by 
 means of a kind of chemical fuel, proceeded to light 
 these, and spent some time in talking in low tones 
 on their advantages, saying over and over again 
 things they had all known for a long time. 
 
 Vol. 12
 
 10 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 At last, six horses instead of four having been 
 harnessed to the diligence, because of the heavy 
 roads, a voice outside asked: "Is everyone there?" 
 To which a voice from the interior replied: "Yes," 
 and they set out. 
 
 The vehicle moved slowly, slowly, at snail's pace ; 
 the wheels sank into the snow ; the entire body of 
 the coach creaked and groaned ; the horses slipped, 
 panted, steamed, and the coachman's long whip 
 cracked incessantly, flying here and there, coiling 
 up, then flinging out its length like a slender ser- 
 pent, as it lashed some rounded flank, which in- 
 stantly grew tense as it strained in further effort. 
 
 Light came on. Those light flakes which one 
 traveler, a native of Rouen, had compared to a 
 rain of cotton, fell no longer. A 'dull light filtered 
 through dark, heavy clouds, which made the coun- 
 try more dazzlingly white by contrast, a whiteness 
 broken sometimes by a row of tall trees spangled 
 with hoarfrost, or by a cottage roof hooded in 
 snow. 
 
 Within the coach the passengers eyed one an- 
 other curiously in the dim light of dawn. 
 
 At the back, in the best seats, Monsieur and 
 Madame Loiseau, wholesale wine merchants of the 
 Rue Grand-Font, slept opposite each other. For- 
 merly clerk to a merchant who had failed in busi- 
 ness, Loiseau had bought his master's interest, and 
 made a fortune for himself. He sold very bad 
 wine at a very low price to the retail dealers in
 
 BALL-OF-SUET 11 
 
 the country, and had the reputation, among his 
 friends and acquaintances, of being a cunning 
 rogue, a true Norman, full of tricks and wiles. So 
 well established was his character as a cheat that, 
 in the mouths of the citizens of Rouen, the very 
 name of Loiseau became a byword for trickery. 
 
 Besides this, Loiseau was noted for his practi- 
 cal jokes of every description, good or ill-natured ; 
 and no one could mention his name without add- 
 ing at once: "He's an extraordinary man 
 Loiseau." He was undersized and pot-bellied, and 
 had a florid face with a grayish beard. 
 
 His wife tall, strong, determined, with a loud 
 voice and decided manner represented the spirit of 
 order and arithmetic in the business house which 
 Loiseau enlivened by his jovial activity. 
 
 Beside them, dignified in bearing, belonging to 
 a superior caste, sat Monsieur Carre-Lamadon, a 
 man of considerable importance, a king in the cot- 
 ton trade, proprietor of three spinning-mills, officer 
 of the Legion of Honor, and member of the Gen- 
 eral Council. During the whole time the Empire 
 was in the ascendency he remained the chief of the 
 well-disposed Opposition, merely in order to com- 
 mand a higher value for his devotion when he 
 should rally to the cause which he meanwhile op- 
 posed with "courteous weapons," to use his own 
 expression. 
 
 Madame Carre-Lamadon, much younger than her 
 husband, was the consolation of all the officers of
 
 12 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 good family quartered at Rouen. Pretty, slender, 
 graceful, she sat opposite her husband, nestling in 
 her furs, and gazing mournfully at the forlorn in- 
 terior of the coach. 
 
 Her neighbors, the Comte and Comtesse Hubert 
 de Breville, bore one of the noblest and most an- 
 cient names in Normandy. The Count, a nobleman 
 advanced in years and of aristocratic bearing, strove 
 to enhance, by every artifice of the toilet, his nat- 
 ural resemblance to King Henry IV, who, according 
 to a legend of which the family were inordinately 
 proud, had been the favored lover of a De Bre- 
 ville lady, and father of her child the frail one's 
 husband, in recognition of this fact, having been 
 made a count and governor of a province. 
 
 A colleague of Monsieur Carre-Lamadon in the 
 General Council, Count Hubert represented the 
 Orleanist party in his department. The story of 
 his marriage with the daughter of a small ship- 
 owner at Nantes had always remained something 
 of a mystery. But as the Countess had an air of 
 unmistakable good breeding, entertained faultlessly. 
 and was even supposed to have been loved by a son 
 of Louis-Philippe, the nobility vied with one an- 
 other in doing her honor, and her drawing-room re- 
 mained the choicest in the whole countryside the 
 only one that retained the old spirit of gallantry, 
 and to which access was not easy. 
 
 It was said the fortune of the Brevilles, all in 
 real estate, amounted to five hundred thousand 
 francs a year.
 
 BALL-OF-SUET 13 
 
 These six persons occupied the farther end of the 
 coach, and represented Society with an income 
 the strong, established society of good people with 
 religion and principle, with whom life passed hap- 
 pily and easily. 
 
 It happened by chance that all the women were 
 seated on the same side; and the Countess had 
 also for neighbors two nuns, who spent the time 
 in fingering their long rosaries and murmuring 
 paternosters and aves. One of them was old, and 
 so deeply pitted with smallpox that she looked as 
 if she had received a charge of bird-shot full in 
 the face. The other, of sickly appearance, had a 
 pretty but wasted countenance, and a narrow, con- 
 sumptive chest; she was sapped by that devouring 
 faith which is the making of martyrs and vision- 
 aries. 
 
 Sitting opposite the two nuns were a man and a 
 woman, who attracted all eyes. The man a well- 
 known character was Cornudet, the democrat, the 
 terror of all respectable persons. For twenty 
 years his big red beard had been on terms of in- 
 timate acquaintance with the tankards of all the 
 republican cafes. With the help of his comrades 
 and brethren he had dissipated a respectable for- 
 tune left him by his father, a long-established con- 
 fectioner, and he now impatiently awaited the Re- 
 public, that he might at last be rewarded with the 
 office he had earned by his revolutionary orgies. 
 On the fourth of September possibly as the re-
 
 14 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 suit of a practical joke he was led to believe that 
 he had been appointed prefect; but when he at- 
 tempted to take up the duties of the office the clerks 
 in charge refused to recognize his authority, and 
 he was compelled in consequence to retire. A good 
 sort of fellow in other respects, inoffensive and 
 obliging, he had thrown himself zealously into the 
 work of making an organized defense of the town. 
 He had had pits dug in the level country, young 
 forest trees felled, and traps set on all the roads; 
 then at the approach of the enemy, thoroughly sat- 
 isfied with his preparations, he had hastily returned 
 to the town. He thought he might now do more 
 good at Havre, where new intrenchments would 
 soon be necessary. 
 
 The woman, who belonged to the courtesan class, 
 was celebrated for stoutness of figure unusual for 
 her age, which had obtained for her the nickname 
 of "Boule de Suif" (Ball-of-Suet). Short and 
 round, fat as a pig, with puffy fingers constricted at 
 the joints, looking like rows of short sausages; with 
 a shining, tight-stretched skin and an enormous bust 
 filling out her bodice, she was nevertheless attrac- 
 tive and was much sought after, owing to her 
 fresh and pleasing appearance. Her face was like 
 a crimson apple, a peony-bud just bursting into 
 bloom ; she had magnificent dark eyes, fringed with 
 thick, heavy lashes, which cast a shadow into their 
 depths; her mouth was small, ripe, kissable, and 
 was furnished with the tiniest of white teeth.
 
 BALL-OF-SUET 15 
 
 As soon as she was recognized the respectable 
 matrons of the party began to whisper among them- 
 selves, and the words "hussy" and "public scan- 
 dal" were spoken so loudly that Boule de Suif 
 raised her head. She cast such a challenging, bold 
 look at her neighbors that sudden silence fell on the 
 company, and all lowered their eyes, with the ex- 
 ception of Loiseau, who watched her with evident 
 interest. 
 
 Conversation was soon resumed among the three 
 ladies, whom the presence of this girl had sud- 
 denly drawn together in the bonds of friendship 
 one might almost say in those of intimacy. They 
 decided that they ought to combine, as it were, in 
 their dignity as wives in face of this shameless 
 hussy ; for legitimized love always despises its easy- 
 going brother. 
 
 The three men, also, brought together by a cer- 
 tain conservative instinct awakened by the pres- 
 ence of Cornudet, spoke of money matters in a tone 
 expressive of contempt for the poor. Count Hubert 
 related the losses he had sustained at the hands of 
 the Prussians, spoke of the cattle that had been 
 stolen from him, of crops that had been ruined, 
 with the easy manner of a nobleman who was also 
 a tenfold millionaire, and whom such reverses 
 would hardly inconvenience for a single year. 
 Monsieur Carre-Lamadon, a man of wide experi- 
 ence in the cotton industry, had taken care to send 
 six hundred thousand francs to England as pro-
 
 16 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 vision against the rainy day he was always antici- 
 pating. As for Loiseau, he had managed to sell to 
 the French commissariat department all the wines 
 he had in stock, so that the State now owed him 
 a considerable sum, which he hoped to receive at 
 Havre. 
 
 The three men eyed one another in friendly, well- 
 disposed fashion. Although of varying social status, 
 they were united in the brotherhood of money in 
 that vast freemasonry made up of those who pos- 
 sess, who can jingle gold whenever they choose to 
 put their hands into their breeches' pockets. 
 
 The coach went so slowly that at ten o'clock 
 in the morning it had not covered twelve miles. 
 Three times the men of the party got out and 
 climbed the hills on foot. The passengers were 
 becoming uneasy, for they had counted on lunching 
 at Totes, and it appeared now as if they would 
 hardly arrive there before nightfall. Every one was 
 eagerly looking out for an inn by the roadside, 
 when suddenly the coach stuck fast in a snowdrift, 
 and it took two hours to extricate it. 
 
 As appetites increased, their spirits fell; no inn, 
 no wine-shop could be discovered, the approach of 
 the Prussians and the transit of the starving French 
 troops having frightened away all business for some 
 time. 
 
 The men asked for food in the farmhouses beside 
 the road, but could not find so much as a crust of 
 bread ; for the suspicious peasant invariably hid his
 
 BALL-OF-SUET 17 
 
 stores for fear of being robbed by the soldiers, 
 who, being entirely without food, would take vio- 
 lent possession of everything they found. 
 
 About one o'clock Loiseau announced that he 
 positively had a great hollow in his stomach. They 
 had all been suffering in the same way for some 
 time, and the increasing pangs of hunger had put 
 an end to all conversation. 
 
 Now and then some one yawned, another fol- 
 lowed his example, and each in turn, according to 
 his character, breeding, and social station, yawned 
 either quietly or noisily, placing his hand before the 
 gaping void whence issued breath condensed into 
 vapor. 
 
 Several times Boule de Suif bent over, as if 
 searching for something under her skirts. She 
 would hesitate a moment, look at her neighbors, and 
 then quietly sit upright again. All faces were pale 
 and drawn. Loiseau declared he would give a 
 thousand francs for a knuckle of ham. His wife 
 made an involuntary and quickly checked gesture of 
 protest. It always hurt her to hear of money being 
 squandered, and she could not even understand 
 jokes on such a subject. 
 
 "Really, I don't feel at all well," said the Count. 
 "Why did I not think of bringing some food?" 
 Each one reproached himself in similar terms. 
 
 Cornudet, however, had a bottle of rum, which he 
 offered to his neighbors. They all coldly refused 
 except Loiseau, who took a sip, and returned the
 
 18 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 bottle with thanks, saying: "That's good; it warms 
 one up, and cheats the appetite." The alcohol put 
 him in good humor, and he proposed they should 
 do as the sailors did in the song: eat the fattest 
 of the passengers. This indirect allusion to Boule 
 de Suif shocked the respectable members of the 
 party. No one replied ; only Cornudet smiled. The 
 two good sisters had ceased to mumble their rosary, 
 and, with hands enfolded in their wide sleeves, sat 
 motionless, their eyes steadfastly cast down, doubt- 
 less offering up as a sacrifice to Heaven the suffer- 
 ing it had sent them. 
 
 At last, at three o'clock, as they were in the 
 midst of an apparently boundless plain, with not a 
 single village in sight, Boule de Suif stooped quickly, 
 and drew from under the seat a large basket cov- 
 ered with a white napkin. 
 
 From this she extracted first a small earthen- 
 ware plate and a silver drinking-cup, then an enor- 
 mous dish containing two whole chickens cut into 
 joints and imbedded in jelly. The basket contained 
 other good things : pies, fruit, dainties of all sorts 
 provisions, in short, for a three days' journey, 
 rendering their owner independent of wayside inns. 
 The necks of four bottles protruded from the 
 midst of the food. She took a chicken wing, and 
 began to eat it daintily, with one of those rolls 
 called in Normandy "regence." 
 
 All eyes were directed toward her. An odor 
 of food filled the air, causing nostrils to dilate,
 
 BALL-OF-SUET 19 
 
 mouths to water, and jaws to contract painfully. 
 The scorn of the ladies for this disreputable female 
 grew positively ferocious ; they would have liked to 
 kill her, or throw her and her drinking-cup, her 
 basket, and her provisions, out of the coach into 
 the snowy road. 
 
 But Loiseau's gaze was fixed greedily on the 
 chickens. 
 
 "Well, well, this lady had more forethought than 
 the rest of us," he said. "Some people think of 
 everything." 
 
 Boule de Suif looked up at him. 
 
 "Would you like some, Monsieur? It is hard to 
 go on fasting all day." 
 
 He bowed. 
 
 "Upon my soul, I can't refuse; I cannot hold out 
 another minute. All is fair in war time, is it not, 
 Madame?" And, casting a glance on those around, 
 he added : "At times like this it is very pleasant to 
 meet with obliging persons." 
 
 He spread a newspaper over his knees to avoid 
 soiling his trousers, and, with a pocket-knife he 
 always carried, helped himself to a chicken-leg, 
 covered with jelly, which he thereupon proceeded to 
 devour. 
 
 Then Boule de Suif, in low, humble tones, invited 
 the nuns to partake of her repast. Both accepted 
 the offer unhesitatingly, and after a few stam- 
 mered words of thanks began to eat quickly, with- 
 out looking up. Neither did Cornudet refuse his
 
 20 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 neighbor's offer, and, in combination with the nuns, 
 a sort of table was formed by opening out the news- 
 paper over the four pairs of knees. 
 
 Mouths kept opening and shutting, ferociously 
 masticating and devouring the food. Loiseau, in 
 his corner, was very busy, and in low tones urged 
 his wife to follow his example. She held out for a 
 long time, but overstrained nature gave way at last. 
 Her husband, assuming his politest manner, asked 
 their "charming companion" if he might be allowed 
 to offer Madame Loiseau a small helping. 
 
 "Certainly, Monsieur," she replied, with an ami- 
 able smile, holding out the dish. 
 
 When the first bottle of claret was opened some 
 embarrassment was caused by the fact that there 
 was only one drinking-cup, but this was passed 
 from one to another, after being wiped. Cornudet 
 alone, doubtless in a spirit of gallantry, raised to 
 his own lips that part of the rim which was still 
 moist from those of his fair neighbor. 
 
 Then, surrounded by people who were eating, and 
 almost suffocated by the odor of food, the Comte 
 and Comtesse de Breville and Monsieur and 
 Madame Carre-Lamadon endured that hateful form 
 of torture which has perpetuated the name of Tan- 
 talus. All at once the manufacturer's young wife 
 heaved a sigh which made every one turn and look 
 at her; she was as white as the snow without; her 
 eyes closed, her head fell forward ; she had fainted. 
 Her husband, beside himself, implored the help of
 
 BALL-OF-SUET 21 
 
 his neighbors. No one seemed to know what to do 
 until the elder of the two nuns, raising the patient's 
 head, held Boule de Suif's drinking-cup to her 
 lips, and made her swallow a few drops of wine, 
 The pretty invalid moved, opened her eyes, smiled, 
 and declared in a feeble voice that she was herself 
 again. But, to prevent a recurrence of the catas- 
 trophe, the nun made her drink a cupful of claret, 
 adding: "It's only hunger that's what is wrong 
 with you." 
 
 Then Boule de Suif, blushing and embarrassed, 
 stammered, looking at the four passengers who were 
 still fasting: 
 
 "Mon Dieu, if I might offer these ladies and gen- 
 tlemen " 
 
 She stopped short, fearing a snub. But Loiseau 
 continued : 
 
 "Hang it all, in such a case as this we are all 
 brothers and sisters and ought to assist each other. 
 Come, come, ladies, don't stand on ceremony, for 
 goodness' sake! Do we even know whether we 
 shall find a house in which to pass the night? At 
 our present rate we shan't be at Totes till midday 
 to-morrow." 
 
 They hesitated, no one daring to be the first to 
 accept. But the Count settled the question. He 
 turned toward the abashed girl, and in his most dis- 
 tinguished manner said: 
 
 "We accept gratefully, Madame." 
 
 As usual, it was only the first step that cost. The
 
 22 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Rubicon once crossed, they set to work with a will. 
 The basket was emptied. It still contained a pate 
 de foie gras, a lark pie, a piece of smoked tongue, 
 Crassane pears, Pont-Leveque gingerbread, fancy 
 cakes, and a cup full of pickled gherkins and onions 
 Boul de Suif, like all women, being very fond 
 of indigestible things. 
 
 Of course, they could not eat this girl's food 
 without speaking to her. So they began to talk, 
 stiffly at first; then, as she seemed by no means 
 forward, with greater freedom. Mesdames de 
 Breville and Carre-Lamadon, who were accom- 
 plished women of the world, were gracious and tact- 
 ful. The Countess especially displayed that ami- 
 able condescension characteristic of great ladies 
 whom no contact with baser mortals can sully, and 
 was absolutely charming. But the sturdy Madame 
 Loiseau, who had the soul of a gendarme, con- 
 tinued morose, speaking little and eating much. 
 
 Conversation naturally turned on the war. Ter- 
 rible stories were told about the Prussians, deeds of 
 bravery were recounted of the French; and all 
 these people who were fleeing themselves were ready 
 to pay homage to the courage of their compatriots. 
 Personal experiences soon followed, and Boule de 
 Suif related with genuine emotion, and with that 
 warmth of language not uncommon in women of 
 her class and temperament, how it happened that 
 she had left Rouen. 
 
 "I thought at first that I should be able to stay,"
 
 BALL-OF-STJET 23 
 
 she said. "My house was well stocked with pro- 
 visions, and it seemed better to put up with feeding 
 a few soldiers than to banish myself heaven knows 
 where. But when I saw these Prussians it was too 
 much for me ! My blood boiled with rage ; I wept 
 the whole day for very shame. Oh, if only I had 
 been a man ! I looked at them from my window 
 the fat pigs, with their pointed helmets! and my 
 maid held my hands to keep me from throwing my 
 furniture down on them. Then some of them were 
 quartered in my house; I flew at the throat of the 
 first one who entered. They are as easy to strangle 
 as other men! I should have been the death of 
 that one if I hadn't been dragged away from him by 
 my hair. I had to hide after that. As soon as I 
 could find an opportunity I left the place, and here 
 I am." 
 
 They warmly congratulated her. She rose in the 
 estimation of her companions, who had not been 
 so brave; and Corudet listened to her with the 
 approving and benevolent smile of an apostle, the 
 smile a priest might wear in listening to a disciple 
 praising God; for long-bearded democrats of his 
 type have a monopoly of patriotism, as priests have 
 a monopoly of religion. He held forth in turn, 
 with dogmatic self-assurance, in the style of the 
 proclamations daily pasted on the walls of the town, 
 winding up with a specimen of stump oratory in 
 which he reviled "that besotted fool of a Louis 
 Napoleon."
 
 24 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 But Boule de Suif was indignant, for she was an 
 ardent Bonapartist. She turned as red as a cherry, 
 and stammered in her anger : "I'd like to have seen 
 you in his place you and your kind. There would 
 have been some sense in that. It was you who be- 
 trayed that man. It would be impossible to live in 
 France if we were governed by such rascals as 
 you !" 
 
 Cornudet, unmoved by this tirade, still smiled a 
 superior, contemptuous smile; and one felt that 
 high words were impending, when the Count inter- 
 posed, and, not without difficulty, succeeded in 
 calming the exasperated woman, saying that all 
 sincere opinions should be respected. But the 
 Countess and the manufacturer's wife, imbued with 
 the unreasoning hatred of the upper classes for 
 the Republic, and instinct, moreover, with the af- 
 fection felt by all women for the pomp and cir- 
 cumstance of despotic government, were drawn, in 
 spite of themselves towards this dignified young 
 woman, whose opinions coincided so closely with 
 their own. 
 
 The basket was empty. The ten persons had fin- 
 ished its contents without difficulty amid general 
 regret that it did not hold more. Conversation 
 went on a little longer, though it flagged somewhat 
 after the passengers had finished eating. 
 
 Night fell, the darkness grew more intense, and 
 the cold made Boule de Suif shiver, in spite of 
 her plumpness. So Madame de Breville offered
 
 BALL-OF-SUET 25 
 
 her her foot-warmer, the fuel of which had been 
 several times renewed since the morning, and she 
 accepted the offer at once, for her feet were icy 
 cold. Mesdames Carre-Lamadon and Loiseau gave 
 theirs to the nuns. 
 
 The driver lighted his lanterns. They cast a 
 bright gleam on a cloud of vapor which hovered 
 over the sweating flanks of the horses and on the 
 roadside snow, which seemed to unroll as they went 
 along in the changing light of the lamps. 
 
 All was now indistinguishable in the coach; but 
 suddenly a movement occurred in the corner occu- 
 pied by Boule de Suif and Cornudet; and Loiseau, 
 peering into the gloom, fancied he saw the big, 
 bearded democrat move hastily to one side, as if 
 he had received a well-directed, though noiseless, 
 blow in the darkness. 
 
 Tiny lights glimmered ahead. It was Totes. The 
 coach had been on the road eleven hours, which, 
 with the three hours allotted the horses in four 
 periods for feeding and breathing, made fourteen. 
 It entered the town, and stopped before the Hotel 
 du Commerce. 
 
 The coach door opened ; a well-known noise made 
 all the travelers start; it was the clanging of a 
 scabbard on the pavement; then a voice called out 
 something in German. 
 
 Although the coach had come to a standstill, no 
 one got out; it looked as if they were afraid of 
 being murdered the moment they left their seats. 
 
 Vol. 13
 
 26 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Thereupon the driver appeared, holding in his hand 
 one of his lanterns, which cast a sudden glow on 
 the interior of the coach, lighting up the double 
 row of startled faces, mouths wide open. 
 
 Beside the driver stood in the full light a German 
 officer, a tall young man, fair and slender, tightly 
 encased in his uniform like a woman in her corset, 
 his flat cap, tilted to one side of his head, making 
 him look like an English hotel runner. His ex- 
 aggerated moustache, long and straight and taper- 
 ing to a point at both ends in a single blond hair that 
 could hardly be seen, seemed to weigh down the 
 corners of his mouth and give a droop to his lips. 
 
 In Alsatian French he requested the travelers to 
 alight, saying stiffly: 
 
 "Please get out, ladies and gentlemen." 
 
 The two nuns were the first to obey, manifesting 
 the docility of holy women accustomed to submis- 
 sion on every occasion. Next appeared the Count 
 and Countess, followed by the manufacturer and 
 his wife, after whom came Loiseau, pushing his 
 larger and better half before him. 
 
 "Good-evening, Monsieur," he said to the officer 
 as he put his foot to the ground, acting on an im- 
 pulse born of prudence rather than of politeness. 
 The other, insolent like all in authority, only stared 
 without replying. 
 
 Boule de Suif and Cornudet, though near the 
 door, were the last to alight, grave and dignified 
 before the enemy. The stout girl tried to control
 
 BALL-OF-SUET 27 
 
 herself and appear calm; the democrat stroked his 
 long sandy beard with a somewhat shaky hand. 
 Both tried to maintain their dignity, knowing well 
 that at such a time each individual is always looked 
 upon as more or less typical of his nation ; and, also, 
 resenting the complaisant attitude of their com- 
 panions, Boule de Suif tried to wear a bolder front 
 than her neighbors, the virtuous women, while he, 
 feeling that it was incumbent on him to set a good 
 example, kept up the attitude of resistance which 
 he had first assumed when he undertook to mine 
 the highroads round Rouen. 
 
 They entered the spacious kitchen of the inn, and 
 the German, having demanded the passports signed 
 by the general in command, in which were men- 
 tioned the name, description, and profession of each 
 traveler, inspected them all minutely, comparing 
 their appearance with the written particulars. 
 
 Then he said brusquely: "Very well," and turned 
 away. 
 
 They breathed freely. They were still hungry ; so 
 supper was ordered. Half an hour was required 
 for its preparation, and while two servants were 
 apparently engaged in getting it ready the travelers 
 went to look at their rooms. These opened off a 
 long corridor, at the end of which was a glazed 
 door with a number on it. 
 
 They were about to take their seats at table when 
 the innkeeper appeared in person. He was a 
 former horse-dealer, a large, asthmatic person, al-
 
 28 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 ways wheezing, coughing, and clearing his throat. 
 Follenvie was his name. 
 
 "Mademoiselle Elizabeth Rousset?" he said. 
 
 Boul de Suif started, and turned around. 
 
 "That is my name." 
 
 "Mademoiselle, the Prussian officer wishes to 
 speak to you immediately." 
 
 "To me?" 
 
 "Yes; if you are Mademoiselle Rousset." 
 
 She hesitated, reflected a moment, and then de- 
 clared roundly: 
 
 "That may be; but I'm not going." 
 
 Her companions moved restlessly around her; 
 everyone wondered and speculated as to the cause 
 of this order. The Count approached: 
 
 "You are wrong, Madame, for your refusal may 
 bring trouble not only on yourself, but also on all 
 your companions. It is never wise to resist those 
 in authority. Your compliance with this request 
 cannot possibly be fraught with any danger ; it has 
 probably been made because some formality or 
 other was forgotten." 
 
 All added their voices to that of the Count; 
 Boule de Suif was begged, urged, lectured, and at 
 last convinced; everyone was afraid of the compli- 
 cations that might result from headstrong action on 
 her part. She said finally : 
 
 "I am doing it for your sakes, remember that!" 
 
 The Countess took her hand. "And we are grate- 
 ful to you."
 
 BALL-OF-SUET 29 
 
 She left the room. All waited for her return be- 
 fore beginning to eat. Each was distressed that 
 he or she had not been sent for rather than this 
 impulsive, quick-tempered girl, and dach mentally 
 rehearsed platitudes in case of being summoned 
 also. 
 
 But at the end of ten minutes she reappeared, 
 breathing hard, crimson with indignation. 
 
 "Oh! the scoundrel! the scoundrel!" she stam- 
 mered. 
 
 All were anxious to know what had happened; 
 but she declined to enlighten them, and when the 
 Count pressed the point she silenced him with much 
 dignity, saying: 
 
 "No; the matter has nothing to do with you, and 
 I cannot speak of it." 
 
 Then they took their places round a high soup 
 tureen, from which issued an odor of cabbage. In 
 spite of this strange incident, the supper was cheer- 
 ful. The cider was good ; the Loiseaus and the nuns 
 drank it from motives of economy. The others 
 ordered wine; Cornudet demanded beer. He had 
 his own fashion of uncorking the bottle and making 
 the beer foam, gazing at it as he inclined his glass 
 and then raised it to a position between the lamp 
 and his eye that he might judge of its color. When 
 he drank, his great beard, which matched the color 
 of his favorite beverage, seemed to tremble with 
 affection ; his eyes positively squinted in the en- 
 <teavor not to lose sight of the beloved glass, and
 
 30 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 he looked for all the world as if he were fulfilling 
 the only function for which he was born. He 
 seemed to have established in his mind an affinity 
 between the two great passions of his life pale ale 
 and revolution and assuredly he could not taste 
 the one without dreaming of the other. 
 
 Monsieur and Madame Follenvie dined at the 
 end of the table. The man, wheezing like a broken- 
 down locomotive, was too short-winded to talk when 
 he was eating. But his wife was not silent a mo- 
 ment; she told how the Prussians had impressed 
 her on their arrival, what they did, what they said ; 
 execrating them in the first place because they cost 
 her money, and in the second because she had 
 two sons in the army. She addressed herself prin- 
 cipally to the Countess, flattered at the opportunity 
 of talking to a lady of quality. 
 
 Then she lowered her voice, and began to broach 
 delicate subjects. Her husband interrupted her. 
 
 "You would do well to hold your tongue, Ma- 
 dame Follenvie." 
 
 But she took no notice of him, and went on : 
 
 "Yes, Madame, these Germans do nothing but 
 eat potatoes and pork, and then pork and potatoes. 
 And don't imagine for a moment that they are 
 clean! No, indeed! And if only you saw them 
 drilling for hours, indeed for days, together; they 
 all collect in a field, then they do nothing but march 
 backward and forward, and wheel this way and 
 that. If only they would cultivate the land, or
 
 BALL-OF-SUET 31 
 
 stay at home and work on their roads! Really, 
 Madame, these soldiers are of no earthly use! 
 Poor people have to feed and keep them, only in 
 order that they may learn how to kill ! True, I am 
 only an old woman with no education, but when 
 I see them wearing themselves out marching about 
 from morning till night I say to myself: When 
 there are people who make discoveries that are of' 
 use to people, why should others take so much 
 trouble to do harm ? Really, now, isn't it a terrible 
 thing to kill people, whether they are Prussians, or 
 English, or Poles, or French? If we revenge our- 
 selves on any one who injures us we do wrong, and 
 are punished for it; but when our sons are shot 
 down like partridges that is all right, and decora- 
 tions are given to the man who kills the most. No, 
 indeed, I never shall be able to understand it." 
 
 Cormidet raised his voice: 
 
 "War is a barbarous proceeding when we attack 
 a peaceful neighbor, but it is a sacred duty when 
 undertaken in defense of one's country." 
 
 The old woman looked down. 
 
 "Yes; it's another matter when one acts in self- 
 defense; but would it not be better to kill all the 
 kings, seeing that they make war only to amuse 
 themselves?" 
 
 Cornudet's eyes kindled. 
 
 "Bravo, citizens!" he said. 
 
 Monsieur Carre-Lamadon was reflecting pro- 
 foundly. Although an ardent admirer of great gen-
 
 32 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 erals the peasant woman's sturdy common-sense 
 made him reflect on the wealth that might accrue 
 to a country by the employment of so many idle 
 hands now maintained at a great expense, of so 
 much unproductive force, if they were employed in 
 those great industrial enterprises which it will take 
 centuries to complete. 
 
 But Loiseau, leaving his seat, went over to the 
 innkeeper and began chatting in a low voice. The 
 big man chuckled, coughed, sputtered ; his enormous 
 body shook with merriment at the jokes of the 
 other; and he ended by buying six casks of claret 
 from Loiseau to be delivered in spring, after the 
 departure of the Prussians. 
 
 The moment supper was over every one went to 
 bed, exhausted. 
 
 But Loiseau, who had been making quiet observa- 
 tions, sent his wife to bed, and amused himself 
 by placing first his ear, then his eye, to the bed- 
 room keyhole, in order to discover what he called 
 "the mysteries of the corridor." 
 
 At the end of about an hour he heard a rustling, 
 peeped out quickly, and caught sight of Boule de 
 Suif, looking rounder and fatter than ever in a 
 dressing-gown of blue cashmere trimmed with white 
 lace. She held a candle in her hand and directed 
 her steps to the numbered door at the end of the 
 corridor. But one of the side doors was partly 
 open, and when, after a few minutes, she returned, 
 Cornudet, in his shirt sleeves, followed her. They
 
 BALL-OF-SUET 33 
 
 spoke in low tones, then stopped short. Boule de 
 Suif seemed to be firmly denying him admission to 
 her room. Unfortunately, Loiseau could not at 
 first hear what they said ; but toward the end of the 
 conversation they raised their voices, and he caught 
 a few words. Cornudet was loudly insistent. 
 
 "How silly you are! What does it matter to 
 you?" he said. 
 
 She seemed indignant, and replied: 
 
 "No, my good man, there are times when one 
 does not do that sort of thing ; besides, in this place 
 it would be shameful." 
 
 Apparently he did not understand, and asked the 
 reason. Then she lost her temper and her caution, 
 and, speaking still louder, said: 
 
 "Why? Can't you understand why? When 
 there are Prussians in the house ! Perhaps even in 
 the very next room!" 
 
 He was silent. The patriotic shame of this wan- 
 ton, who would not allow herself to be caressed in 
 the neighborhood of the enemy, must have roused 
 his dormant dignity, for after bestowing on her a 
 simple kiss he crept quietly back to his room. Loi- 
 seau, much edified, capered around the bedroom be- 
 fore taking his place beside his sleeping spouse. 
 
 Then silence reigned throughout the house. But 
 presently from some remote part it might easily 
 have been either cellar or attic arose a stertorous, 
 monotonous, regular snoring, a dull, prolonged rum- 
 bling, varied by tremors like those of a boiler under
 
 34 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 pressure of steam. Monsieur Follenvie had gone to 
 sleep, and was announcing that fact in his usual 
 manner. 
 
 As they had decided on setting out at eight o'clock 
 the next morning, everyone was in the kitchen at 
 that hour; but the coach, its roof covered with 
 snow, stood by itself in the middle of the yard, with- 
 out either horses or driver. They sought the latter 
 in the stables, coach-houses, and barns but in vain. 
 So the men of the party resolved to search every- 
 where for him, and sallied forth. They found them- 
 selves in the square, with the church at the farther 
 side, and to right and left low-roofed houses where 
 there were some Prussian soldiers. The first sol- 
 dier they saw was peeling potatoes. The second 
 was washing out a barber's shop. Another, bearded 
 to the eyes, was fondling a crying baby, and dand- 
 ling it on his knees to quiet it ; and the stout peasant 
 women, whose men- folk were for the most part 
 at the war, were, by means of signs, telling their 
 obedient conquerors what work they were to do: 
 chop wood, prepare soup, grind coffee ; one of them 
 was doing the washing for his hostess, an infirm 
 old grandmother. 
 
 The Count, astonished at what he saw, questioned 
 the beadle, who was coming out of the presbytery. 
 The old man answered : 
 
 "Oh, those men are not at all a bad sort; they 
 are not Prussians, I am told ; they come from some- 
 where farther off, I don't exactly know where.
 
 BALL-OF-SUET 35 
 
 And they have all left wives and children be- 
 hind them; they are not fond of war either, you 
 may be sure! I am sure they are mourning for 
 the men where they came from, just as we do here; 
 and the war causes them as much unhappiness as it 
 causes us. As a matter of fact, things are not so 
 very bad here just now, because the soldiers do no 
 harm, and work as if they were in their own 
 houses. You see, sir, poor folk always help one 
 another; it is the great ones of this world who 
 make war." 
 
 Cornudet, indignant at the friendly understand- 
 ing established between conquerors and conquered, 
 withdrew, preferring to shut himself up in the inn. 
 
 "They are repeopling the country," jested Loi- 
 seau. 
 
 "They are undoing the harm they have done," 
 said Monsieur Carre-Lamadon gravely. 
 
 But they could not find the coach-driver. At 
 last he was discovered in the village cafe, fraterniz- 
 ing cordially with the officer's orderly. 
 
 "Were you not told to harness the horses at 
 eight o'clock ?" demanded the Count. 
 
 "Oh, yes; but I've had different orders since." 
 
 "What orders?" 
 
 "Not to harness at all." 
 
 "Who gave you such orders?" 
 
 "Why, the Prussian officer." 
 
 "But why?" 
 
 "I don't know. Go and ask him. I am forbidden
 
 36 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 to harness the horses, so I don't harness them 
 that's all." 
 
 "Did he tell you so himself?" 
 
 "No, sir; the innkeeper gave me the order from 
 him." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 "Last night, just as I was going to bed." 
 
 The three men returned in a very uneasy frame 
 of mind. 
 
 They asked for Monsieur Follenvie, but the serv- 
 ant replied that on account of his asthma he never 
 got up before ten o'clock. They were strictly for- 
 bidden to rouse him earlier, except in case of fire. 
 
 They wished to see the officer, but that also was 
 impossible, although he slept in the inn. Mon- 
 sieur Follenvie alone was authorized to interview 
 him on civil matters. So they waited. The women 
 returned to their rooms, and occupied themselves 
 with trivial matters. 
 
 Cornudet settled down beside the tall kitchen 
 fireplace, before a blazing fire. He had a small table 
 and a jug of beer placed beside him, and he smoked 
 his pipe a pipe which enjoyed among democrats a 
 consideration almost equal to his own, as though it 
 had served its country in serving Cornudet. It was 
 a fine meerschaum, admirably colored to a black 
 the shade of its owner's teeth, but sweet-smelling, 
 gracefully curved, at home in its master's hand and 
 completing his physiognomy. And Cornudet sat mo- 
 tionless, his eyes fixed now on the dancing flames,
 
 BALL-OF-SUET 37 
 
 now on the froth that crowned his beer; and after 
 each draught he passed his long, thin fingers with 
 an air of satisfaction through his long, greasy hair, 
 as he sucked the foam from his moustache. 
 
 Loiseau, under pretense of stretching his legs, 
 went out to see whether he could sell wine to the 
 country dealers. The Count and the manufacturer 
 began to talk politics. They forecast the future of 
 France. One believed in the Orleans dynasty, the 
 other in an unknown savior a hero who should 
 rise up in the last extremity: a Du Guesclin, per- 
 haps a Joan of Arc? or another Napoleon the First? 
 Ah! if only the Prince Imperial were not so young! 
 Cornudet, listening to them, smiled like a man who 
 holds the keys of destiny in his hands. His pipe 
 perfumed the whole kitchen. 
 
 As the clock struck ten, Monsieur Follenvie ap- 
 peared. He was immediately surrounded and ques- 
 tioned, but could only repeat, three or four times in 
 succession, and without variation, the words: 
 
 "The officer said to me, like this: 'Monsieur 
 Follenvie, you will forbid them to harness the 
 horses for those travelers tomorrow. They are not 
 to go without an order from me. You hear? That 
 is sufficient.' " 
 
 Then they asked to see the officer. The Count 
 sent him his card, on which Monsieur Carre-Lama- 
 don also inscribed his name and titles. The Prus- 
 sian sent word that the two men would be admitted 
 to see him after his luncheon about one o'clock.
 
 38 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 The ladies reappeared, and they all ate a little, 
 in spite of their anxiety. Boule de Suif appeared 
 ill and very much worried. 
 
 They were finishing their coffee when the orderly 
 came to fetch the gentlemen. 
 
 Loiseau joined the other two; but when they 
 tried to get Cornudet to accompany them, by way 
 of adding greater solemnity to the occasion, he de- 
 clared proudly that he never would have anything 
 to do with the Germans, and, resuming his seat in 
 the chimney corner, he called for another jug of 
 beer. 
 
 The three men went upstairs, and were ushered 
 into the best room in the inn, where the officer re- 
 ceived them lolling at his ease in an armchair, his 
 feet on the mantelpiece, smoking a long porcelain 
 pipe, and enveloped in a gorgeous dressing-gown, 
 probably stolen from the deserted dwelling of some 
 citizen destitute of taste in dress. He neither rose, 
 greeted them, nor even glanced in their direction. 
 He gave a fine example of that insolence of bear- 
 ing which seems natural to the victorious soldier. 
 
 After the lapse of a few moments he said in his 
 halting French : 
 
 "What do you want?" 
 
 "We wish to start on our journey," said the 
 Count. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "May I ask the reason of your refusal?" 
 
 "Because I don't choose."
 
 BALL-OF-SUET 39 
 
 "I would respectfully call your attention, Mon- 
 sieur, to the fact that your general in command 
 gave us a permit to proceed to Dieppe; and I do 
 not think we have done anything to deserve this 
 harshness at your hands." 
 
 "I don't choose that's all. You may go." 
 
 They bowed, and retired. 
 
 The afternoon was wretched. They could not 
 understand the caprice of this German, and the 
 strangest ideas came into their heads. They all con- 
 gregated in the kitchen, and talked over the subject, 
 imagining all kinds of unlikely things. Perhaps 
 they were to be kept as hostages but for what 
 reason? or to be extradited as prisoners of war? or 
 possibly they were to be held for ransom? They 
 were panic-stricken at this last supposition. The 
 richest among them were the most alarmed, seeing 
 themselves forced to empty bags of gold into the 
 insolent soldier's hands in order to purchase their 
 lives. They racked their brains for plausible lies 
 whereby they might conceal the fact that they were 
 rich, and pass themselves off as poor very poor. 
 Loiseau took off his watch-chain, and put it in his 
 pocket. The approach of night increased their ap- 
 prehensions. The lamp was lighted, and as it 
 lacked yet two hours before dinner Madame Loi- 
 seau proposed a game of trente-et-un. It would 
 distract their thoughts. The rest agreed, and Cornu- 
 det himself joined the party, first putting out his 
 pipe.
 
 40 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 The Count shuffled the cards dealt and Boule 
 de Suif had thirty-one to begin with ; soon the inter- 
 est of the game assuaged the anxiety of the players. 
 But Cornudet noticed that Loiseau and his wife 
 were in league to cheat. 
 
 They were about to sit down to dinner when 
 Monsieur Follenvie appeared, and in his grating 
 voice announced : 
 
 "The Prussian officer sends to ask Mademoiselle 
 Elizabeth Rousset whether she has changed her 
 mind yet." 
 
 Boule de Suif stood still, pale as death. Then, 
 suddenly turning scarlet with anger, she gasped : 
 
 "Please tell that scoundrel, that cur, that car- 
 rion of a Prussian, that I never will consent you 
 understand? never, never, never!" 
 
 The fat innkeeper left the room. Then Boule de 
 Suif was surrounded, questioned, entreated on all 
 sides to reveal the mystery of her visit to the officer. 
 She refused at first; but her wrath soon got the 
 better of her. 
 
 "What does he want? He wants to make me his 
 mistress !" she cried. 
 
 No one was shocked at the word, so great was 
 the general indignation. Cornudet broke his jug as 
 he banged it down on the table. A loud outcry arose 
 against this base soldier. All were furious. They 
 drew together in common resistance against the foe, 
 as if some part of the sacrifice exacted of Boule de 
 Suif had been demanded of each. The Count de-
 
 BALL-OF-SUET 41 
 
 clared, with supreme disgust, that these people be- 
 haved like ancient barbarians. The women, above 
 all, manifested a lively and tender sympathy for 
 Boule de Suif. The nuns, who appeared only at 
 meals, cast down their eyes, and said nothing. 
 
 They dined, however, as soon as the first indig- 
 nant outburst had subsided; but they spoke little, 
 and thought much. 
 
 The ladies went to bed early ; and the men, hav- 
 ing lighted their pipes, proposed a game of ecarte, 
 in which Monsieur Follenvie was invited to join, the 
 travelers hoping to question him skilfully as to the 
 best means of vanquishing the officer's obduracy. 
 But he thought of nothing but his cards, would lis- 
 ten to nothing, reply to nothing, and repeated, time 
 after time: "Attend to the game, gentlemen! at- 
 tend to the game !" So absorbed was his attention 
 that he even forgot to expectorate. The conse- 
 quence was that his chest gave forth rumbling 
 sounds like those of an organ. His wheezing lungs 
 struck every note of the asthmatic scale, from deep, 
 hollow tones to a shrill, hoarse piping resembling 
 that of a young cock trying to crow. 
 
 He refused to go to bed when his wife, over- 
 come with sleep, came to fetch him. So she went 
 off alone, for she was an early bird, always up with 
 the sun ; while he was addicted to late hours, ever 
 ready to spend the night with friends. He merely 
 said: "Put my eggnogg by the fire," and went on 
 with the game. When the other men saw tha* 
 
 Vol. 14
 
 42 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 nothing was to be got out of him they declared it 
 was time to retire, and each sought his bed. 
 
 They rose early the next morning, with a vague 
 hope of being allowed to start, a greater desire 
 than ever to do so, and a terror at having to spend 
 another day in this wretched little inn. 
 
 Alas ! the horses remained in the stable, the driver 
 was invisible. They spent their time, for want of 
 something better to do, in wandering round the 
 coach. 
 
 Luncheon was a gloomy affair; and there was a 
 general coolness toward Boule de Suif, for night, 
 which brings counsel, had somewhat modified the 
 judgment of her companions. In the cold light of 
 the morning they almost bore a grudge against the 
 girl for not having secretly sought out the Prus- 
 sian, that the rest of the party might receive a joy- 
 ful surprise when they awoke. What could be more 
 simple ? Besides, who would have been the wiser ? 
 She might have saved appearances by telling the 
 officer that she had taken pity on their distress. 
 Such a step would be of little consequence to her. 
 
 But no one as yet confessed to such thoughts. 
 
 In the afternoon, seeing that they were all bored 
 to death, the Count proposed a walk in the neigh- 
 borhood of the village. Each one wrapped himself 
 up well, and the little party set out, leaving behind 
 only Cornudet, who preferred to sit over the fire, 
 and the two nuns, who were in the habit of spending 
 their day in the church or at the presbytery.
 
 BALL-OF-SUET 43 
 
 The cold, which grew more intense each day, al- 
 most froze the noses and ears of the pedestrians, 
 their feet began to ache so that each step was a 
 penance, and when they reached the open country 
 it looked so mournful and depressing in its limitless 
 mantle of white that they all hastily retraced their 
 steps, with bodies benumbed and heavy hearts. 
 
 The four women walked in front, and the three 
 men followed a little in the rear. 
 
 Loiseau, who saw perfectly well how matters 
 stood, asked suddenly whether that trollop were 
 going to keep them waiting much longer in this 
 God- forsaken spot. The Count, always courteous, 
 replied that they could not exact so painful a 
 sacrifice from any woman, and that the first move 
 must come from herself. Monsieur Carre-Lama- 
 don remarked that if the French, as they talked of 
 doing, made a counter attack by way of Dieppe, 
 their encounter with the enemy must inevitably 
 take place at Totes. This reflection made the other 
 two anxious. 
 
 " Supposing we escape on foot ?" said Loiseau. 
 
 The Count shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "How can you think of such a thing, in this 
 snow? And with our wives? Besides, we should 
 be pursued at once, overtaken in ten minutes, and 
 brought back as prisoners at the mercy of the sol- 
 diery." 
 
 This was true enough ; they were silent. 
 
 The ladies talked of dress, but a certain constraint
 
 44 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 seemed to prevail among them, embarrassing every- 
 body. 
 
 Suddenly, at the end of the street, the officer ap- 
 peared. His tall, wasplike, uniformed figure was 
 outlined against the snow which bounded the hori- 
 zon, and he walked, knees apart, with that motion 
 peculiar to soldiers, who are always careful not to 
 soil their polished boots. 
 
 He bowed as he passed the ladies, then glanced 
 scornfully at the men, who had sufficient dignity 
 not to raise their hats, though Loiseau made a 
 movement to do so. 
 
 Boule de Suif flushed crimson to the ears, and 
 the three married women felt unutterably humili- 
 ated at being met thus by the soldier in company 
 with the girl whom he had treated with such scant 
 ceremony. 
 
 Then they began to talk about him, his figure, and 
 his face. Madame Carre-Lamadon, who had known 
 many officers and judged them as a connoisseur, 
 thought him not at all bad-looking; she even re- 
 gretted that he was not a Frenchman, because in 
 that case he would have made a very handsome hus- 
 sar, with whom all the women would assuredly have 
 fallen in love. 
 
 When they were once more within doors they 
 did not know what to do with themselves. Sharp 
 words were exchanged apropos of the merest trifles. 
 The silent dinner was soon over, and each one went 
 to bed early in the hope of sleeping, and thus killing 
 time.
 
 BALL-OF-SUET 45 
 
 They came down next morning with tired faces 
 and irritable tempers; the women barely spoke to 
 Boule de Suif. 
 
 A church bell summoned the faithful to a bap- 
 tism. Boule de Suif had a child being brought up 
 by peasants at Yvetot. She did not see him once a 
 year, and never thought of him ; but the idea of the 
 child who was about to be baptized brought a sud- 
 den wave of tenderness for her own, and she in- 
 sisted on being present at the ceremony. 
 
 As soon as she had gone out, the rest of the com- 
 pany looked at one another and then drew their 
 chairs together; for they realized that they must 
 decide on some course of action. Loiseau had an 
 inspiration; he proposed that they should ask the 
 officer to detain Boule de Suif only, and to let the 
 rest go on their way. 
 
 Monsieur Follenvie was intrusted with this com- 
 mission, but he returned to them almost immedi- 
 ately. The German, who knew human nature, had 
 shown him the door. He intended to keep all the 
 travelers until his condition had been complied 
 with. 
 
 Whereupon Madame Loiseau's vulgar tempera- 
 ment broke bounds. 
 
 "We're not going to die of old age here!" she 
 cried. "Since it's that trollop's trade to behave so 
 with men I don't see that she has any right to re- 
 fuse one more than another. I may as well tell you 
 she took any lovers she could get at Rouen even 
 coachmen! Yes, indeed, Madame the coachman
 
 46 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 at the prefecture ! I know it for a fact, for he buys 
 his wine of us. And now that it is a question of 
 getting us out of a difficulty she puts on virtuous 
 airs, the hussy ! For my part, I think this officer has 
 behaved very well. Why, there were three others 
 of us, any one of whom he would undoubtedly have 
 preferred. But no, he contents himself with the 
 girl who is common property. He respects married 
 women. Only think. He is master here. He had 
 only to say: 'I wish it!' and he might have taken 
 us by force, with the help of his soldiers." 
 
 The two other women shuddered; the eyes of 
 pretty Madame Carre-Lamadon glistened, and she 
 grew pale, as if the officer were indeed in the act of 
 laying violent hands on her. 
 
 The men, who had been discussing the subject 
 among themselves, drew near. Loiseau, in a state 
 of furious resentment, was for delivering up "that 
 miserable woman," bound hand and foot, into the 
 enemy's power. But the Count, descended from 
 three generations of ambassadors, and endowed, 
 moreover, with the lineaments of a diplomat, was 
 in favor of more tactful measures. 
 
 "We must persuade her,' he said. 
 
 TrTen they laid their plans. 
 
 The women drew together; they lowered their 
 voices, and the discussion became general, each giv- 
 ing his or her opinion. But the conversation was 
 not in the least coarse. The ladies, in particular, 
 were adepts at delicate phrases and charming sub-
 
 BALL-OF-SUET 47 
 
 tleties of expression to describe the most improper 
 things. A stranger would have understood none of 
 their allusions, so guarded was the language they 
 employed. But, seeing that the thin veneer of mod- 
 esty with which every woman of the world is fur- 
 nished goes but a very little way below the surface, 
 they began rather to enjoy this scandalous episode, 
 and really were hugely delighted feeling them- 
 selves in their element, furthering the schemes of 
 lawless love with the gusto of a gourmand cook 
 who prepares supper for another. 
 
 Their gayety returned of itself, so amusing at last 
 did the whole affair seem to them. The Count 
 uttered several rather risky witticisms, but so tact- 
 fully were they said that his audience could not help 
 smiling. Loiseau in turn made some considerably 
 broader jokes; but no one took offense; and the 
 thought expressed with such brutal directness by 
 his wife was uppermost in the minds of all : "Since 
 it's the girl's trade why should she refuse this man 
 more than another?" Dainty Madame Carre- 
 Lamadon even seemed to think that in Boule de 
 Suif's place she would be less inclined to refuse him 
 than another. 
 
 The blockade was as carefully arranged as if they 
 were investing a fortress. Each agreed on the role 
 which he or she was to play, the arguments to be 
 used, the maneuvers to be executed. They decided 
 on the plan of campaign, the stratagems they were 
 to employ, and the surprise attacks which were to
 
 48 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 reduce this human citadel and force it to receive the 
 enemy within its walls. 
 
 But Cornudet remained apart from the rest, tak- 
 ing no share in the riot. 
 
 So absorbed was the attention of all that Boule de 
 Suif's entrance was almost unnoticed. But the 
 Count whispered a gentle "Hush!" which made 
 the others look up. She was there. They suddenly 
 stopped talking, and a vague embarrassment pre- 
 vented them for a few moments from addressing 
 her. But the Countess, more practised than the 
 others in the wiles of the drawing-room, asked her : 
 
 "Was the baptism interesting?" 
 
 The girl, still under the stress of emotion, told 
 what she had seen and heard, described the faces, 
 the attitudes of those present, and even the appear- 
 ance of the church. She concluded with the words : 
 "It does one good to pray sometimes." 
 
 Until luncheon the ladies contented themselves 
 with being pleasant to her, so as to increase her 
 confidence and make her yield to their advice. 
 
 As soon as they took their seats at table the at- 
 tack began. First they opened a vague conversa- 
 tion on the subject of self-sacrifice. Ancient exam- 
 ples were quoted: Judith and Holof ernes; then, ir- 
 rationally enough, Lucrece and Sextus; Cleopatra 
 and the hostile generals whom she reduced to abject 
 slavery by a surrender of her charms. Next was 
 recounted an extraordinary story, born of the im- 
 agination of these ignorant millionaires, which told
 
 BALL-OF-SUET 49 
 
 how the matrons of Rome seduced Hannibal, his 
 lieutenants, and all his mercenaries at Capua. They 
 held up to admiration all those women who from 
 time to time have arrested the victorious progress 
 of conquerors, made of their bodies a field of bat- 
 tle, a means of ruling, a weapon; who have van- 
 quished by their heroic caresses hideous or detested 
 beings, and sacrificed their chastity to vengeance 
 and devotion. 
 
 All was said with due restraint and regard for 
 propriety, the effect heightened now and then by an 
 outburst of forced enthusiasm calculated to excite 
 emulation. 
 
 A listener would have thought at last that the 
 grandest role of woman on earth was a perpetual 
 sacrifice of her person, a continual abandonment of 
 herself to the caprices of a hostile soldiery. 
 
 The two nuns seemed to hear nothing, and to be 
 lost in thought. Boule de Suif also was silent. 
 
 During the whole afternoon she was left to her 
 reflections. But instead of calling her "Madame" 
 as they had done hitherto, her companions ad- 
 dressed her simply as "Mademoiselle," without ex- 
 actly knowing why, but as if desirous of making her 
 descend a step in the esteem she had won, and 
 forcing her to realize her degraded position. 
 
 Just as soup was served, Monsieur Follenvie re- 
 appeared, repeating his phrase of the evening be- 
 fore: 
 
 "The Prussian officer sends to ask whether Made-
 
 50 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 moiselle Elizabeth Rousset has changed her mind." 
 
 Boule de Suif answered briefly: 
 
 "No, Monsieur." 
 
 But at dinner the coalition weakened. Loiseau 
 made three unfortunate remarks. Each was rack- 
 ing his brains for further examples of self-sacri- 
 fice, and could find none, when the Countess, pos- 
 sibly without ulterior motive, and moved simply by 
 a vague desire to do homage to religion, began to 
 question the elder of the two nuns on the most strik- 
 ing facts in -the lives of the saints. Now, it fell out 
 that many of these had committed acts which would 
 be crimes in our eyes, but the Church readily par- 
 dons such deeds when they are accomplished for the 
 glory of God or the good of mankind. This was a 
 powerful argument, and the Countess made the 
 most of it. Then, whether by reason of a tacit un- 
 derstanding, a thinly veiled act of complaisance such 
 as those who wear the ecclesiastical habit excel in, 
 or whether merely as the result of sheer stupidity 
 a stupidity admirably adapted to further their de- 
 signs the old nun rendered formidable aid to the 
 conspirators. They had thought her timid; she 
 proved herself bold, talkative, bigoted. She was 
 not troubled by the niceties of casuistry; her doc- 
 trines were as iron bars ; her faith knew no doubt ; 
 her conscience no scruples. She looked on Abra- 
 ham's sacrifice as natural enough, for she herself 
 would not have hesitated to kill both father and 
 mother if she had received a divine order to that ef-
 
 BALL-OF-SUET 51 
 
 feet; and nothing, in her opinion, could displease 
 our Lord, provided the motive were praiseworthy. 
 The Countess, putting to good use the consecrated 
 authority of her unexpected ally, led her on to 
 make a lengthy and edifying paraphrase of that 
 axiom enunciated by a certain school of moralists: 
 "The end justifies the means." 
 
 "Then, sister," she asked, "you think God ac- 
 cepts all methods, and pardons the act when the 
 motive is pure ?" 
 
 "Undoubtedly, Madame. An action reprehen- 
 sible in itself often derives merit from the thought 
 which inspires it." 
 
 And in this wise they talked on, fathoming the 
 wishes of God, predicting His Judgments, describ- 
 ing Him as interested in matters which certainly 
 must concern Him but little. 
 
 All was said with the utmost care and discretion, 
 but every word uttered by the holy woman in her 
 nun's garb weakened the indignant resistance of the 
 courtesan. Then the conversation drifted some- 
 what, and the nun began to talk of the convents of 
 her order, of her Superior, of herself, and of her 
 fragile little neighbor, Sister St. Nicephore. They 
 had been sent for from Havre to nurse the hundreds 
 of soldiers who were in hospitals, stricken with 
 smallpox. She described these wretched invalids 
 and their malady. And, while they themselves were 
 detained on their way by the caprices of the Prus- 
 sian officer, scores of Frenchmen might by dying,
 
 52 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 whom they would otherwise have saved! For the 
 nursing of soldiers was the old nun's specialty ; she 
 had been in the Crimea, in Italy, in Austria; and 
 as she told the story of her campaigns she revealed 
 herself as one of those holy sisters of the fife and 
 drum who seem designed by nature to follow camps, 
 to snatch the wounded from amid the strife of bat- 
 tle, and to quell with a word, more effectually than 
 any general, the rough and insubordinate troopers 
 a masterful woman, her seamed and pitted face 
 itself an image of the devastations of war. 
 
 No one spoke when she had finished for fear of 
 spoiling the excellent effect of her words. 
 
 As soon as the meal was over the travelers re- 
 tired to their rooms, whence they emerged the fol- 
 lowing day at a late hour of the morning. 
 
 Luncheon passed off quietly. The seed sown the 
 preceding evening was being given time to germi- 
 nate and bring forth fruit. 
 
 In the afternoon the Countess proposed a walk; 
 then the Count, as had been arranged beforehand, 
 took Boule de Suif's arm, and walked with her at 
 some distance behind the rest. 
 
 He began talking to her in that familiar, pater- 
 nal, slightly contemptuous tone which men of his 
 class adopt in speaking to women like her, calling 
 her "my dear child," and talking down to her from 
 the height of his exalted social position and stain- 
 less reputation. He came straight to the point: ; 
 
 "So you prefer to leave us here, exposed like
 
 BALL-OF-SUET 53 
 
 yourself to all the violence which would follow on a 
 repulse of the Prussian troops, rather than consent 
 to surrender yourself, as you have done so many 
 times in your life?" 
 
 The girl made no answer. 
 
 He tried kindness, argument, sentiment. He still 
 bore himself as Count, even while adopting, when 
 desirable, an attitude of gallantry, and making 
 pretty nay, even tender speeches. He exalted the 
 service she would render them, spoke of their grati- 
 tude; then, suddenly, using the familiar "thou": 
 
 "And you know, my dear, he could boast then 
 of having made a conquest of a pretty girl such as 
 he will not often find in his own country." 
 
 Boule de Suif did not answer, and joined the rest 
 of the party. 
 
 As soon as they returned she went to her room, 
 and was seen no more. The general anxiety was at 
 its height. What would she do? If she still re- 
 sisted, how awkward for them all! 
 
 The dinner hour struck; they waited for her in 
 vain. At last Monsieur Follenvie entered, announ- 
 cing that Mademoiselle Rousset was not well, and 
 that they might sit down to table. They all pricked 
 up their ears. The Count drew near the innkeeper, 
 and whispered: 
 
 "Is it all right?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Out of regard for propriety he said nothing to 
 his companions, but merely nodded slightly toward
 
 54 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 them. A great sigh of relief went up from all 
 breasts; every face was lighted up with joy. 
 
 "Good!" shouted Loiseau, "I'll stand champagne 
 all round if there's any to be found in this place." 
 And great was Madame Loiseau's dismay when the 
 proprietor came back with four bottles in his hands. 
 They had all suddenly become talkative and merry ; 
 a lively joy filled all hearts. The Count seemed to 
 perceive for the first time that Madame Carre- 
 Lamadon was charming; the manufacturer paid 
 compliments to the Countess. The conversation was 
 animated, sprightly, witty, and, although many of 
 the jokes were in the worst possible taste, all the 
 company were amused by them, and none offended 
 indignation being dependent, like other emotions, 
 on surroundings. And the mental atmosphere had 
 gradually become filled with gross imaginings and 
 unclean thoughts. 
 
 At dessert even the women indulged in discreetly 
 worded allusions. Their glances were full of mean- 
 ing; they had drunk much. The Count, who even 
 in his moments of relaxation preserved a dignified 
 demeanor, hit on a much-appreciated comparison 
 of the condition of things with the termination of 
 a winter spent in the icy solitude of the North Pole 
 and the joy of shipwrecked mariners who at last 
 perceive a southward track opening out before 
 their eyes. 
 
 Loiseau, fairly in his element, rose to his feet, 
 holding a glass of champagne.
 
 BALL-OF-SUET 55 
 
 "I drink to our deliverance!" he shouted. 
 
 All rose, and greeted the toast with applause. 
 Even the two good sisters yielded to the solicitations 
 of the ladies, and consented to moisten their lips 
 with the foaming wine, which they had never before 
 tasted. They declared it was like effervescent lem- 
 onade, but with a pleasanter flavor. 
 
 "It is a pity," said Loiseau, "that we have no 
 piano; we might have had a quadrille." 
 
 Cornudet had not spoken a word or made a 
 movement; he seemed plunged in serious thought, 
 and now and then tugged furiously at his great 
 beard, as if trying to add to its length. At last, 
 toward midnight, when they were about to separate, 
 Loiseau, whose gait was far from steady, suddenly 
 slapped him on the back, saying thickly : 
 
 "You're not jolly to-night; why are you so silent, 
 old man?" 
 
 Cornudet threw back his head, cast one swift 
 and scornful glance over the assemblage, and an- 
 swered : 
 
 "I tell you all, you have done an infamous thing!" 
 
 He rose, reached the door, and repeating: "In- 
 famous!" disappeared. 
 
 A chill fell on the company. Loiseau himself 
 looked foolish and disconcerted for a moment, but 
 soon recovered his coolness, and, writhing with 
 laughter, exclaimed: 
 
 "Really, you're all too green for anything!" 
 
 Pressed for an explanation, he related the "mys-
 
 56 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 teries of the corridor," whereat his listeners were 
 highly amused. The ladies could hardly contain 
 their delight. The Count and Monsieur Carre- 
 Lamadon laughed till they cried. They could 
 hardly believe their ears. 
 
 "What! you are sure? He wanted " 
 
 "I tell you I saw it with my own eyes." 
 
 "And she refused?" 
 
 "Because the Prussian was in the next room!" 
 
 "Surely you are mistaken?" 
 
 "I swear I'm telling you the truth." 
 
 The Count was choking with laughter. The man- 
 ufacturer held his sides. Loiseau continued : 
 
 "So you may well imagine he doesn't think this 
 evening's business at all amusing." 
 
 And all three began to laugh again, choking, 
 coughing, almost ill with merriment. 
 
 Then they separated. But Madame Loiseau, who 
 was nothing if not spiteful, remarked to her hus- 
 band as they were on the way to bed that "that 
 stuck-up little minx of a Carre-Lamadon had 
 laughed on the wrong side of her mouth all the 
 evening." 
 
 "You know," she said, "when women run after 
 uniforms it's all the same to them whether the men 
 who wear them are French or Prussian. It's per- 
 fectly disgusting!" 
 
 The next morning the snow showed dazzling 
 white under a clear winter sun. The coach, ready 
 at last, waited before the door; while a flock of
 
 BALL-OF-SUET 57 
 
 white pigeons, with pink eyes spotted in the centers 
 with black, puffed out their white feathers and 
 walked sedately between the legs of the six horses, 
 picking at the steaming manure. 
 
 The driver, muffled in his sheepskin coat, was 
 smoking a pipe on the box, and all the passengers, 
 radiant with joy at their approaching departure, 
 were putting up food for the remainder of the 
 journey. 
 
 They were waiting only for Boule de Suif. At 
 last she appeared. 
 
 She seemed rather shamefaced and embarrassed, 
 and advanced with timid step toward her compan- 
 ions, who with one accord turned aside as if they 
 had not seen her. The Count, with much dignity, 
 took his wife by the arm, and removed her from the 
 unclean contact. 
 
 The girl stood still, stupefied with astonishment; 
 then, plucking up courage, accosted the manufac- 
 turer's wife with a humble "Good morning, Ma- 
 dame," to which the other replied merely with a 
 slight and insolent nod accompanied by a look of 
 outraged virtue. Everyone suddenly appeared ex- 
 tremely busy, and kept as far from Boule de Suif 
 as if her skirts had been infected with some deadly 
 disease. Then they hurried to the coach, followed 
 by the despised courtesan, who, arriving last of all, 
 silently took the place she had occupied during the 
 first part of the journey. 
 
 The rest seemed neither to see nor to know her 
 
 Vol. 15
 
 58 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 all save Madame Loiseau, who, glancing contemptu- 
 ously in her direction, remarked, half aloud, to her 
 husband : 
 
 "I am glad I am not sitting beside that creature !" 
 
 The lumbering vehicle started on its way. 
 
 At first no one spoke. Boule de Suif dared not 
 even raise her eyes. She felt at once indignant with 
 her neighbors and humiliated at having yielded to 
 the Prussian into whose arms they had so hypo- 
 critically cast her. 
 
 But the Countess, turning toward Madame Carre- 
 Lamadon, soon broke the embarrassing silence : 
 
 "I think you know Madame d'Etrelles?" 
 
 "Yes ; she is a friend of mine." 
 
 "Such a charming woman !" 
 
 "Delightful! Exceptionally talented, and an art- 
 ist to the finger-tips. She sings marvelously and 
 draws to perfection." 
 
 The manufacturer was chatting with the Count, 
 and amid the clatter of the window-panes a word of 
 their conversation was now and then distinguish- 
 able : "Shares maturity premium time-limit." 
 
 Loiseau, who had abstracted from the inn the 
 timeworn pack of cards, thick with the grease of 
 five years' contact with half-cleaned tables, began 
 a game of bezique with his wife. 
 
 The good sisters, taking up simultaneously the 
 long rosaries hanging from their waists, made the 
 sign of the cross, and began to mutter in unison in- 
 terminable prayers, their lips moving ever more and
 
 BALL-OF-SUET 59 
 
 more swiftly, as if they sought which should out- 
 distance the other in the race of orisons; from 
 time to time they kissed a medal, and crossed them- 
 serves anew, then resumed their rapid and unin- 
 telligible murmur. 
 
 Cornudet sat still, deep in thought. 
 
 At the end of three hours Loiseau gathered up 
 the cards, and remarked that he was hungry. 
 
 His wife thereupon produced a parcel tied with 
 string, from which she took out a piece of cold 
 veal. This she cut into neat thin slices, and both 
 began to eat. 
 
 "We may as well lunch, too," said the Count- 
 ess. The rest agreed, and she unpacked the food 
 that had been prepared for herself, the Count and 
 the Carre-Lamadons. In one of those oval dishes, 
 the lids of which are decorated with an earthen- 
 ware hare, by way of showing that a game pie lies 
 within, was a succulent delicacy consisting of the 
 brown flesh of the game, larded with streaks of 
 bacon and flavored with other meats chopped fine, 
 A solid wedge of Gruyere cheese, which had been 
 wrapped in a newspaper, bore the imprint: "Items 
 of News," on its rich, oily surface. 
 
 The two good sisters brought to light a piece of 
 sausage smelling strongly of garlic; and Cornudet, 
 plunging both hands at once into the capacious 
 pockets of his loose topcoat, produced from one 
 four hard-boiled eggs and from the other a crust of 
 bread. He removed the shells, threw them into
 
 60 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 the straw beneath his feet, and began to devour the 
 eggs, letting morsels of the bright yellow yolk fall 
 on his mighty beard, where they looked like stars. 
 
 Boule de Suif, in the haste and confusion of her 
 departure, had not thought of anything, and, chok- 
 ing with rage, she watched all these people placidly 
 eating. At first, ill-suppressed wrath shook her 
 whole person, and she opened her lips to shriek the 
 truth at them, to overwhelm them with a volley of 
 insults; but she could not utter a word, so choked 
 was she with indignation. 
 
 No one looked at her, no one thought of her. She 
 felt herself swallowed up in the scorn of these virtu- 
 ous creatures, who had first sacrificed, then rejected 
 her as a thing useless and unclean. Then she re- 
 membered her big basket full of the good things 
 they had so greedily devoured: the two chickens 
 coated in jelly, the pies, the pears, the four bottles 
 of claret; and her emotion broke forth like a cord 
 that is overstrained, and she was on the verge of 
 tears. She made terrible efforts at self-control, 
 drew herself up, swallowed the sobs which choked 
 her; but the tears rose nevertheless, shone at the 
 edges of her eyelids, and soon two heavy drops 
 flowed slowly down her cheeks. Others followed 
 more quickly, like water filtering from a rock, and 
 fell, one after another, on her rounded bosom. She 
 sat upright, with a fixed expression, her face pale 
 and rigid, hoping desperately that no one saw her 
 give way.
 
 BALL-OF-SUET 61 
 
 But the Countess noticed that she was weeping, 
 and with a sign drew her husband's attention to 
 the fact He shrugged his shoulders, as if to 
 say: 
 
 "Well, what of it? It's not my fault." Madame 
 Loiseau chuckled triumphantly, and murmured: 
 "She's crying for shame." 
 
 The two nuns had betaken themselves once more 
 to their prayers, first wrapping the remainder of 
 their sausage in paper. 
 
 Then Cornudet, who was digesting his eggs, 
 stretched his long legs under the opposite seat, 
 threw himself back, folded his arms, smiled like a 
 man who has just thought of a good joke, and be- 
 gan to whistle the Marseillaise. 
 
 The faces of his neighbors clouded; the popular 
 air evidently did not find favor with them; they 
 grew nervous and irritable, and seemed ready to 
 howl as a dog does at the sound of a street-organ. 
 Cornudet saw the discomfort he was creating, and 
 whistled louder; sometimes he even hummed the 
 words : 
 
 Amour sacri de la patrie, 
 Conduis, soutiens, nos bras vengeurs, 
 Liberte, liberte, cherie, 
 Combats avec tes defenseurs! 
 
 The coach went more swiftly, the snow being 
 harder now ; and all the way to Dieppe, during the 
 long, dreary hours of the journey, first in the gath-
 
 62 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 ering twilight, then in the thick darkness, raising 
 his voice above the rumbling of the vehicle, Cornu- 
 det continued with fierce obstinacy his vengeance 
 and his monotonous whistling, forcing his weary 
 and exasperated hearers to follow the song from 
 end to end, to recall every word of every line, as 
 each was repeated over and over again with un- 
 tiring persistence. 
 
 And Boule de Suif still wept, and sometimes a 
 sob she could not restrain was heard in the darkness 
 between two stanzas of the song,
 
 A FAMILY AFFAIR 
 
 AS the small engine attached to the Neuilly train 
 passed the Porte Maillot it whistled to warn 
 all obstacles to clear the way and puffed like 
 a man out of breath as it emitted its steam, its pis- 
 tons moving rapidly with a noise like iron legs run- 
 ning. The train was going through the broad ave- 
 nue that ends at the Seine. The oppressive heat of 
 a July day lay over the whole city, and from the 
 road, although not a breath of wind was stirring, 
 a white, chalky, suffocating, warm dust arose, which 
 clung to the moist skin, filled the eyes, and got into 
 the lungs. People stood in their doorways trying to 
 get a breath of air. 
 
 The windows of the train were open and the 
 curtains fluttered in the wind. Very few passengers 
 were inside, because on warm days people preferred 
 the outside or the platforms. They consisted of 
 stout women in odd costumes, of shopkeepers' wives 
 from the suburbs, who tried to make up for the 
 distinguished looks they did not possess by ill-as- 
 sumed dignity ; of men tired from office-work, with 
 
 63
 
 64 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 sallow faces, bent shoulders, often having one 
 shoulder higher than the other, in consequence of 
 long hours of writing at a desk. Their uneasy and 
 melancholy faces spoke of domestic troubles, also 
 of continual want of money and disappointed hopes ; 
 for they all belonged to the army of poor, thread- 
 bare devils who vegetate economically in cheap, 
 plastered houses, with a tiny piece of neglected gar- 
 den, in the outskirts of Paris, near those fields 
 where nightsoil is deposited. 
 
 A short, corpulent man, with bloated face, dressed 
 in black and wearing a decoration in his button- 
 hole, was talking to a tall, thin man, dressed in a 
 soiled white linen suit, with his coat all unbuttoned 
 and a white Panama hat on his head. The former 
 spoke so slowly and hesitatingly that it occasionally 
 almost seemed as if he stammered; he was Mon- 
 sieur Caravan, chief clerk in the Admiralty. The 
 other, who had formerly been surgeon on board a 
 merchant ship, had set up in practice in Courbevoie, 
 where he applied to the wretched population of that 
 district the vague remnants of medical knowledge 
 which he had retained after an adventurous life. 
 His name was Chenet, and gossip was current as 
 to his morality. 
 
 Monsieur Caravan had always led the normal life 
 of a man in a government office. For thirty years 
 he had invariably gone the same way to his office 
 every morning, and had met the same men going to 
 business at the same time and almost on the same
 
 A FAMILY AFFAIR 65 
 
 spot; and he returned home every evening by the 
 same road, and again met the same faces which he 
 had seen grow old. Every morning, after buying 
 his penny newspaper at the corner of the Faubourg 
 St. Honore, he bought two rolls, and then he went 
 into his office, like a culprit who is giving himself 
 up to justice, and went to his desk as quickly as 
 possible, feeling uneasy, as if he were expecting a 
 rebuke for some possible neglect of duty. 
 
 Nothing ever had occurred to change the monoto- 
 nous order of his existence, for no event affected 
 him except the work of his office, perquisites, gratu- 
 ities, and promotion. He never spoke of anything 
 but of his duties, either at the Admiralty or at 
 home, for he had married the portionless daughter 
 of one of his colleagues. His mind, which was 
 in a state of atrophy from his depressing daily 
 work, had no other thoughts, hopes, or dreams than 
 such as related to the office, and there was a con- 
 stant source of bitterness which spoiled eveiy pleas- 
 ure he might have had, and that was the employ- 
 ment of so many naval officials "tinsmiths," as 
 they were called because of their silver-lace as first- 
 grade clerks; and every evening at dinner he dis- 
 cussed the matter hotly with his wife, who shared 
 his angry feelings, and proved to their own satis- 
 faction that it was in every way unjust to give 
 places in Paris to men who should properly have 
 been employed in the navy. 
 
 Caravan was old now, and had hardly noticed
 
 66 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 how his life was passing, for school had merely been 
 exchanged for the office without any intermediate 
 transition, and the ushers, at whom he had for- 
 merly trembled, were replaced by his chiefs, of 
 whom he was terribly afraid. When he had to go 
 into the rooms of these official despots, he trembled 
 from head to foot, and that continual fear had 
 given him a very awkward manner in their pres- 
 ence, a humble demeanor, and a kind of nervous 
 stammering. 
 
 He knew no more about Paris than a blind man 
 might know who was led to the same spot by his 
 dog every day; and if he read the account of any 
 uncommon events, or scandals, in his penny journal, 
 they appeared to him like fantastic tales, which 
 some reporter had made up out of his own head, 
 in order to amuse the inferior employes. He did 
 not read political news, which his paper frequently 
 altered, as the cause which subsidized it might re- 
 quire, for he was not fond of innovations, and 
 when he went through the Avenue of the Champs- 
 Elysees every evening, he looked at the surging 
 crowd of pedestrians, and at the stream of car- 
 riages, as a traveler might who has lost his way 
 in a strange country. 
 
 As he had completed his thirty years of obliga- 
 tory service that year, on the first of January, he 
 had had the cross of the Legion of Honor bestowed 
 upon him, which, in the semi-military public offices, 
 is a recompense for the miserable slavery the offi-
 
 A FAMILY AFFAIR 67 
 
 cial phrase is "loyal services" of the unfortunate 
 convicts who are riveted to their desk. That unex- 
 pected dignity gave him a high and new idea of his 
 own capacities, and altogether changed him. He 
 immediately left off wearing light trousers and 
 fancy waistcoats, and wore black trousers and long 
 coats, on which his ribbon, which was very broad, 
 showed off better. He shaved every morning, mani- 
 cured his nails more carefully, changed his linen 
 every two days, from a legitimate sense of what 
 was proper, and out of respect to the national 
 Order, of which he formed a part; and from that 
 day he was another Caravan, scrupulously clean, 
 majestic, and condescending. 
 
 At home, he said, "my cross," continually, and 
 he had become so proud of it that he could not bear 
 to see men wearing any other ribbon in their but- 
 tonholes. He was especially angry on seeing strange 
 orders "which nobody should be allowed to wear 
 in France ;" and he bore Chenet a particular grudge, 
 as he met him on a train every evening, wearing a 
 decoration of one kind or another, white, blue, 
 orange, or green. 
 
 The conversation of the two men, from the Arc 
 de Triomphe to Neuilly, was always the same, and 
 on that day they discussed, first of all, various local 
 abuses, which disgusted them both, and the Mayor 
 of Neuilly received his full share of their censure. 
 Then, as invariably happens in the company of a 
 medical man, Caravan began to enlarge on the sub-
 
 68 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 ject of illness, as, in that way, he hoped to obtain 
 a little gratuitous advice, if he was careful not to 
 show his hand. His mother had been causing him 
 no little anxiety for some time; she had frequent 
 and prolonged fainting fits, and, although she was 
 ninety, she would not take care of herself. 
 
 Caravan became quite affected when he men- 
 tioned her great age, and more than once asked 
 Dr. Chenet, emphasizing the word doctor although 
 he was not fully qualified, being only an officier de 
 sante whether he had often met anyone as old as 
 that. And he rubbed his hands with pleasure; not, 
 perhaps, that he cared very much about seeing the 
 good woman last forever here on earth, but because 
 the length of his mother's life was, as it were, an 
 earnest of old age for himself, and he continued : 
 
 "In my family we live long, and I am sure that, 
 unless I meet with an accident, I shall not die until 
 I am very old." 
 
 The doctor looked at him with pity, and glanced 
 for a moment at his neighbor's red face, his short, 
 thick neck, his "corporation," as Chenet called it 
 to himself, his two fat, flabby legs, and the apoplec- 
 tic rotundity of the old official; and, raising the 
 white Panama hat from his head, he said with a 
 chuckle : 
 
 "I am not so sure of that, old fellow. Your 
 mother is as tough as nails, but I should say that 
 your life is not a very good one." 
 
 This rather disturbed Caravan, who did not speak
 
 A FAMILY AFFAIR 69 
 
 again until they arrived at their destination, where 
 the two friends got out. Chenet asked his friend to 
 have a glass of vermouth at the Cafe du Globe, op- 
 posite, which both were in the habit of frequenting. 
 The proprietor, who was a friend of theirs, held 
 out to them two fingers which they shook across the 
 bottles on the counter; and then they joined three 
 of their friends, who were playing dominoes, and 
 who had been there since mid-day. They exchanged 
 cordial greetings, with the usual question: "Any- 
 thing new?" And then the three players continued 
 their game, and held out their hands without looking 
 up, when the others said "Good-night;" after 
 which both went home to dinner. 
 
 Caravan lived in a small two-story house in Cour- 
 bevoie, near where the roads meet; the first floor 
 was occupied by a hairdresser. Two bedrooms, a 
 dining-room, and a kitchen formed the whole of 
 their apartments, and Madame Caravan spent 
 nearly all her time in cleaning them, while her 
 daughter, Marie-Louise, who was twelve, and her 
 son, Philippe-Auguste, were running about with all 
 the dirty little mischievous children of the neighbor- 
 hood, and playing in the gutter. 
 
 Caravan had installed his mother, whose avarice 
 was notorious in the neighborhood, and who was 
 terribly thin, in the room above them. She was 
 always cross, and she never passed a day without 
 quarreling and flying into furious rages. She would 
 apostrophize the neighbors who were standing at
 
 70 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 their own doors, the costermongers, the street- 
 sweepers, and the street-boys, in the most violent 
 language ; and the latter, for revenge, would follow 
 her at a distance when she went out, and call out 
 rude things after her. 
 
 A little servant from Normandy, who was incred- 
 ibly silly and thoughtless, performed the house- 
 hold work, and slept on the second floor in the same 
 room with the old woman, for fear of anything 
 happening to her in the night. 
 
 When Caravan entered, his wife, who suffered 
 from a chronic passion for cleaning, was polishing 
 with a piece of flannel, the mahogany chairs that 
 stood about the room. She always wore cotton 
 gloves, and adorned her head with a cap ornamented 
 with many colored ribbons, which was always tilted 
 over one ear ; and whenever anyone caught her pol- 
 ishing, sweeping, or washing, she would say: 
 
 " I am not rich ; everything is very simple in my 
 house, but cleanliness is my luxury, and that is 
 worth quite as much as any other." 
 
 As she was gifted with good, obstinate, prac- 
 tical common-sense, she led her husband in every- 
 thing. Every evening during dinner, and after- 
 ward, when they were in their room, they talked 
 over the business of the office for a long time, and 
 although she was twenty years younger than he, 
 Caravan confided everything to her as if she took 
 the lead, and followed her advice in every matter. 
 
 She never had been pretty, and now she had
 
 A FAMILY AFFAIR 71 
 
 grown ugly; in addition to that, she was short and 
 thin, while her careless and tasteless way of dress- 
 ing herself concealed her few small feminine attrac- 
 tions, which might have been brought out if she 
 had possessed any taste in dress. Her skirts were 
 always awry, and she frequently scratched herself, 
 no matter on what part of her person, totally indif- 
 ferent as to who might see her, and so persistently 
 that anyone who saw her might think that she was 
 suffering from something like the itch. The only 
 adornments that she allowed herself were silk rib- 
 bons, which she wore in great profusion, and of 
 various colors mixed together, in the pretentious 
 caps which she wore at home. 
 
 As soon as she saw her husband she rose and 
 said, as she kissed his whiskers : 
 
 "Did you remember Potin, my dear?" 
 
 He fell into a chair, in consternation, for that 
 was the fourth time on which he had forgotten a 
 commission that he had promised to do for her. 
 
 "It is a fatality," he said; "it is of no use for 
 me to think of it all day long, for I am sure to for- 
 get it in the evening." 
 
 But as he seemed so very sorry she merely said : 
 
 "You will think of it to-morrow, I am sure. Any- 
 thing new at the office?" 
 
 "Yes, a great piece of news; another tinsmith 
 has been appointed second chief clerk." She be- 
 came very serious, and said : 
 
 " So he succeeds Ramon ; that was the very place
 
 72 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 that I wanted you to have. And what about 
 Ramon ?" 
 
 "He retires on his pension." 
 
 She became furious, her cap slid down on her 
 shoulder, and she continued : 
 
 "There is nothing more to be done in that shop 
 now. And what is the name of the new commis- 
 sioner?" 
 
 "Bonassot." 
 
 She took up the Naval Year Book, which she 
 always kept close at hand, and looked for his record. 
 
 " 'Bonassot Toulon. Born in 1851. Student- 
 Commissioner in 1871. Sub-Commissioner in 1875.' 
 Has he been to sea?" she continued. At that ques- 
 tion Caravan's looks brightened, and he laughed 
 until his sides shook. 
 
 "As much as Balin as much as Balin, his chief." 
 And he added an old office joke, and laughed more 
 than ever : 
 
 "It would not even do to send them by water to 
 inspect the Point-du-Jour, for they would be sick 
 on the penny steamboats on the Seine." 
 
 But she remained as serious as if she had not 
 heard him, and then she said in a low voice, as she 
 scratched her chin : 
 
 "If we only had a deputy to fall back upon. 
 When the Chamber hears everything that is going 
 on at the Admiralty, the Minister will be turned 
 out. ..." 
 
 She was interrupted by a terrible noise on the
 
 A FAMILY AFFAIR 73 
 
 stairs. Marie-Louise and Philippe- Auguste, who 
 had just come in from the gutter, were slapping 
 each other all the way upstairs. Their mother 
 rushed at them furiously, and taking each of them 
 by an arm, she dragged them into the room, shak- 
 ing them vigorously; but as soon as they saw their 
 father, they rushed up to him, and he kissed them 
 affectionately, and taking one on each knee, began 
 to talk to them. 
 
 Philippe-Auguste was an ugly, ill-kempt little 
 imp, dirty from head to foot, with the face of an 
 idiot, and Marie-Louise was already like her 
 mother spoke like her, repeated her words, and 
 even imitated her movements. She also asked him 
 whether there was anything fresh at the office, and 
 he replied merrily : 
 
 " Your friend, Ramon, who comes and dines here 
 every Sunday, is about to leave us, little one. There 
 is a new second head clerk." 
 
 She looked at her father, and with a precocious 
 child's pity, she said : 
 
 "Another man has been put over your head 
 again !" 
 
 He stopped laughing, and did not reply, and in 
 order to create a diversion, he said, addressing his 
 wife, who was cleaning the windows : 
 
 "How is mamma, upstairs?" 
 
 Madame Caravan left off polishing, turned, pulled 
 her cap up, and said, with trembling lips: 
 
 "Ah! yes; let us talk about your mother, for she 
 
 Vol. 1-6
 
 74 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 has made a pretty scene. Just imagine; a short 
 time ago Madame Lebaudin, the hairdresser's wife, 
 came upstairs to borrow a packet of starch of me, 
 and, as I was not at home, your mother chased her 
 out as if she were a beggar; but I gave it to 
 the old woman. She pretended not to hear, as she 
 always does when one tells her unpleasant truths, 
 but she is no more deaf than I am, as you know. 
 It is all a sham, and the proof of it is that she 
 went up to her own room immediately, without 
 saying a word." 
 
 Caravan, embarrassed, did not utter a word, and 
 at that moment the little servant came in to an- 
 nounce dinner. In order to let his mother know, 
 he took a broom-handle, which always stood in a 
 corner, and rapped loudly on the ceiling three times, 
 and then they went into the dining-room. Madame 
 Caravan, junior, served the soup, and waited for 
 the old woman, but she did not come, and as the 
 soup was getting cold, they began to eat slowly, and 
 when their plates were empty, they waited again, 
 and Madame Caravan, who was furious, attacked 
 her husband: 
 
 "She does it on purpose, you know that as well 
 as I do. But you always defend her." 
 
 Not knowing which side to take, he sent Marie- 
 Louise to fetch her grandmother, and he sat motion- 
 less, with his eyes cast down, while his wife tapped 
 her glass angrily with her knife. In about a min- 
 ute, the door flew open suddenly, and the child came
 
 A FAMILY AFFAIR 75 
 
 in again, out of breath and very pale, and said: 
 "Grandmamma has fallen on the floor." 
 Caravan jumped up, threw his napkin down, and 
 rushed upstairs, while his wife, who thought it was 
 some trick of her mother-in-law's, followed more 
 slowly, shrugging her shoulders, as if to express her 
 doubt. When they got upstairs, however, they 
 found the old woman lying at full length in the 
 middle of the room, and when they turned her 
 over, they saw that she was insensible and motion- 
 less, while her skin looked more wrinkled and yel- 
 low than usual, her eyes were closed, her teeth 
 clenched, and her thin body was stiff. 
 
 Caravan knelt down by her, and began to moan : 
 "Poor mother! my poor mother!" he said. But 
 the other Madame Caravan said: 
 
 "Bah! She has only fainted again, that is all, 
 and she has done it to prevent us from dining com- 
 fortably, you may be sure of that." 
 
 They put her on the bed, undressed her com- 
 pletely, and Caravan, his wife, and the servant be- 
 gan to rub her; but, in spite of their efforts, she 
 did not recover consciousness, so they sent Rosalie, 
 the servant, to fetch Dr. Chenet. He lived a long 
 way off, on the quay leading toward Suresnes, and 
 so it was some time before he arrived. He came 
 at last, and, after looking at the old woman, he felt 
 her pulse, listened for a heart-beat, and said: "It 
 is all over." 
 
 Caravan threw himself on the body, sobbing vio-
 
 76 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 lently; he kissed his mother's rigid face, and wept 
 so that great tears fell on the dead woman's face, 
 like drops of water, and, naturally, Madame Cara- 
 van, junior, showed a decorous amount of grief, and 
 uttered feeble moans as she stood behind her hus- 
 band, while she rubbed her eyes vigorously. 
 
 But, suddenly, Caravan raised himself, his thin 
 hair in disorder, and, looking very ugly in his grief, 
 said: 
 
 " But . . . are you sure, doctor ? . . . Are you 
 sure? ..." 
 
 The doctor stooped over the body, and, handling 
 it with professional dexterity, as a shopkeeper 
 might when showing off his goods, he said : 
 
 "See, my dear friend, look at her eye." 
 
 He raised the eyelid, and the old woman's eye 
 appeared altogether unaltered, unless, perhaps, the 
 pupil was rather larger, and Caravan felt a severe 
 shock at the sight. Then Dr. Chenet took her thin 
 arm, forced the fingers open, and said, angrily, as 
 if he had been contradicted : 
 
 "Just look at her hand ; I never make a mistake, 
 you may be quite sure of that." 
 
 Caravan fell on the bed, and almost bellowed, 
 while his wife, still whimpering, did what was 
 necessary. 
 
 She brought the night-table, on which she spread 
 a towel and placed four wax candles on it, which 
 she lighted ; then she took a sprig of box, which was 
 hanging over the chimney-glass, and put it between
 
 A FAMILY AFFAIR 77 
 
 the four candles, in a plate, which she filled with 
 clean water, as she had no holy water. But, after a 
 moment's rapid reflection, she threw a pinch of salt 
 into the water, no doubt, thinking she was perform- 
 ing some sort of act of consecration by doing that. 
 When she had finished she remained standing mo- 
 tionless, and the doctor, who had been helping her, 
 whispered to her: 
 
 "We must take Caravan away." 
 
 She nodded assent, and, going up to her husband, 
 who was still on his knees, sobbing, she raised him 
 by one arm, while Chenet took him by the other. 
 
 They put him into a chair, and his wife kissed his 
 forehead, and then began to lecture him. Chenet 
 enforced her words, and preached firmness, cour- 
 age, and resignation the very things that are al- 
 ways wanting in such overwhelming misfortunes 
 and then both took him by the arms again and led 
 him out. 
 
 He was crying like a great child, with convulsive 
 sobs; his arms hanging down, and his legs weak, 
 and he went downstairs without knowing what he 
 was doing, moving his feet mechanically. They 
 put him into the chair he always occupied at dinner, 
 in front of his empty soup plate. And there he sat, 
 without moving, his eyes fixed on his glass, and 
 so stupefied with grief that he could not even think. 
 
 In a corner, Madame Caravan was talking with 
 the doctor and asking what the necessary formali- 
 ties were, as she wanted to obtain practical in forma-
 
 78 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Jion. At last Dr. Chenet, who appeared to be 
 waiting for something, took up his hat and prepared 
 to go, saying that he had not dined yet; where- 
 upon she exclaimed: 
 
 "What! you have not dined? Why, stay here, 
 doctor; don't go. You shall have whatever we 
 have, for, of course, you understand that we do not 
 live sumptuously." He made excuses and refused, 
 but she persisted, and said: 
 
 "You really must stay; at times like this people 
 like to have friends near them, and, besides that, 
 perhaps you will be able to persuade my husband 
 to take some nourishment; he must keep up his 
 strength." 
 
 The doctor bowed, and, putting down his hat, he 
 said: 
 
 "In that case, I will accept your invitation, 
 Madame." 
 
 She gave some orders to Rosalie, who seemed to 
 have lost her head, and then sat down, "to pretend 
 to eat," as she said, "to keep the doctor company." 
 
 The soup was brought in again, and Dr. Chenet 
 took two helpings. Then came a dish of tripe, 
 which exhaled a smell of onions, and which 
 Madame Caravan made up her mind to taste. 
 
 "It is excellent," the doctor said, at which she 
 smiled, and, turning to her husband, she said : 
 
 "Do take a little, my poor Alfred, only just to 
 put something into your stomach. Remember that 
 you have to pass all the night watching beside heri"
 
 A FAMILY AFFAIR 79 
 
 He held out his plate, docilely, just as he would 
 have gone to bed, if he had been told to, obeying 
 her in everything, without resistance and without 
 reflection, and he ate; the doctor helped himself 
 three times, while Madame Caravan, from time to 
 time, fished out a large piece at the end of her fork, 
 and swallowed it with a sort of studied indifference. 
 
 When a salad bowl full of macaroni was brought 
 in, the doctor said: 
 
 "Good! That is something I am very fond of." 
 And this time Madame Caravan helped everybody. 
 She even filled the saucers that were being scraped 
 by the children, who, left to themselves, had been 
 drinking wine without any water, and were now 
 kicking each other under the table. 
 
 Chenet remembered that Rossini, the composer, 
 had been very fond of that Italian dish, and sud- 
 denly exclaimed : 
 
 "Why! that rhymes, and one could begin some 
 lines likes this: 
 
 "'The Maestro Rossini 
 Was fond of macaroni.' " 
 
 Nobody listened to him, however. Madame Cara- 
 van, who had suddenly grown thoughtful, was 
 thinking of all the probable consequences of the 
 death, while her husband made bread pellets, which 
 he laid on the tablecloth and looked at with a fixed, 
 idiotic, stare. As he was devoured by thirst, he was 
 continually raising his glass full of wine to his lips, 
 and the consequence was that his mind, which had
 
 80 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 been upset by the shock and grief, seemed to be- 
 come vague, and his ideas danced about as diges- 
 tion began. 
 
 The doctor, who, meanwhile, had been drinking 
 steadily, was getting visibly intoxicated, and Ma- 
 dame Caravan herself felt the reaction that follows 
 all nervous shocks, and was agitated and excited, 
 and although she had drunk nothing but water she 
 felt her head rather confused. 
 
 Presently, Chenet began to relate stories of 
 deaths that appeared amusing to him. For in that 
 suburb of Paris, that is full of people from the 
 provinces, one finds that indifference toward death 
 which all peasants show, were it even their own 
 father or mother ; that want of respect, that uncon- 
 scious brutality which is so common in the country, 
 and so rare in Paris, and he said : 
 
 "Why, I was sent for last week to the Rue du 
 Puteaux, and when I went, I found the patient 
 dead, and the whole family calmly sitting beside the 
 bed finishing a bottle of aniseed cordial, which had 
 been bought the night before to satisfy the dying 
 man's fancy." 
 
 But Madame Caravan was not listening ; she was 
 continually thinking of the inheritance, and Cara- 
 van was incapable of understanding anything fur- 
 ther. 
 
 Coffee was presently served, and it had been 
 made very strong to give them courage. As every 
 cup was well flavored with cognac, it made all their
 
 A FAMILY AFFAIR 81 
 
 faces red, and confused their ideas still more. To 
 make matters still worse, Chenet suddenly seized 
 the brandy bottle and poured out "a drop for each 
 of them just to rinse their mouths with," as he 
 termed it, and then, without speaking any more, 
 overcome in spite of themselves, by that feeling, of 
 animal comfort which alcohol affords after dinner, 
 they slowly sipped the sweet cognac, which formed 
 a yellowish sirup at the bottom of their cups. 
 
 The children had fallen asleep, and Rosalie car- 
 ried them off to bed. Caravan, mechanically obey- 
 ing that wish to forget oneself which possesses all 
 unhappy persons, helped himself to brandy again 
 several times, and his dull eyes grew bright. At 
 last the doctor rose to go, and seizing his friend's 
 arm, he said : 
 
 "Come with me; a little fresh air will do you 
 good. When one is in trouble, one must not remain 
 in one spot." 
 
 The other obeyed mechanically, put on his hat, 
 took his stick, and went out, and both of them 
 walked arm-in-arm toward the Seine, in the star- 
 light night. 
 
 The air was warm and sweet, for all the gardens 
 in the neighborhood were full of flowers at that 
 season of the year, and their fragrance, which is 
 hardly perceptible during the day, seemed to awaken 
 at the approach of night, and mingled with the light 
 breezes which blew upon them in the darkness. 
 
 The broad avenue, with its two rows of gas
 
 82 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 lamps, that extended as far as the Arc de Triomphe, 
 was deserted and silent, but there was the distant 
 roar of Paris, which seemed to have a reddish 
 mist hanging over it. It was a kind of continual 
 rumbling, which was at times answered by the 
 whistle of a train at full speed, in the distance, trav- 
 eling through the provinces to the ocean. 
 
 The fresh air on the faces of the two men rather 
 overcame them at first, made the doctor lose his 
 equilibrium a little, and increased Caravan's dizzi- 
 ness, from which he had suffered since dinner. He 
 walked as if in a dream; his thoughts were para- 
 lyzed, although he felt no great grief, for he was 
 in a state of mental torpor that prevented him 
 from suffering, and he even felt a sense of relief 
 which was increased by the mildness of the night. 
 
 When they reached the bridge, they turned to the 
 right, and got the fresh breeze from the river, which 
 rolled along, calm and melancholy, bordered by tall 
 poplar trees, while the stars looked as if they were 
 floating on the water and were moving with the 
 current. A light, white mist that floated over the 
 opposite banks filled their lungs with a sensation 
 of cold, and Caravan stopped suddenly, for he was 
 struck by that smell from the water, which brought 
 back old memories to his mind. For, in his mind, 
 he suddenly saw his mother again, in Picardy, as 
 he had seen* her years before, kneeling in front of 
 their door, and washing the heaps of linen at her 
 side, in the stream that ran through their garden.
 
 A FAMILY AFFAIR 83 
 
 He almost fancied that he could hear the sound of 
 the wooden paddle with which she beat the linen in 
 the calm silence of the country, and her voice, as 
 she called out to him: "Alfred, bring me some 
 soap." And he smelled that odor of running water, 
 of the mist rising from the wet ground, that 
 marshy smell which he should never forget, and 
 which came back to him on this very evening on 
 which his mother died. 
 
 He stopped, seized with a feeling of despair. A 
 sudden flash seemed to reveal to him the extent of 
 his calamity, and that breath from the river plunged 
 him into an abyss of hopeless grief. His life 
 seemed cut in half, his youth disappeared, swal- 
 lowed up by that death. All the former days were 
 over and done with, all the recollections of his youth 
 had been swept away; for the future, there would 
 be nobody to talk to him of what had happened in 
 days gone by, of the people he had known of old, 
 of his own part of the country, and of his past life ; 
 that was a part of his existence which existed no 
 longer, and the rest might as well end now. 
 
 Then he saw "the mother" as she was when 
 young, wearing well-worn dresses, which he remem- 
 bered for such a long time that they seemed in- 
 separable from her; he recollected her movements, 
 the different tones of her voice, her habits, her 
 predilections, her fits of anger, the wrinkles on 
 her face, the movements of her thin fingers and all 
 her well-known attitudes, which she would never
 
 84 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 take again, and clutching hold of the doctor, he 
 began to moan and weep. His thin legs began to 
 tremble, his whole stout body was shaken by his 
 sobs, all he could say was : 
 
 "My mother, my poor mother, my poor 
 mother 1" 
 
 But his companion, who was still drunk, and who 
 intended to finish the evening in certain places of 
 bad repute that he frequented secretly, made him 
 sit down on the grass by the riverside, and left him 
 almost immediately, under the pretext that he had 
 to see a patient. 
 
 Caravan went on crying for some time, and when 
 he had got to the end of his tears, when his grief 
 had, so to say, run out, he again felt relief, re- 
 pose, and sudden tranquillity. 
 
 The moon had risen, and bathed the horizon in 
 its soft light. 
 
 The tall poplar trees showed a silvery sheen, and 
 the mist on the plain looked like drifting snow ; the 
 river, in which the stars were reflected, and which 
 had a sheen as of mother-of-pearl, was gently 
 rippled by the wind. The air was soft and sweet, and 
 Caravan inhaled it almost greedily, and thought 
 that he could perceive a feeling of freshness, of 
 calm and of superhuman consolation pervading 
 him. 
 
 He actually resisted that feeling of comfort and 
 relief, and kept on saying to himself: "My mother, 
 my poor mother!" . . . and tried to make him-
 
 A FAMILY AFFAIR 85 
 
 self cry, from a kind of conscientious feeling; but 
 he could not succeed in doing so any longer and 
 those sad thoughts, which had made him sob so 
 bitterly a short time before, had almost passed 
 away. In a few moments, he rose to go home, and 
 returned slowly, under the influence of that serene 
 night, and with a heart soothed in spite of himself. 
 
 When he reached the bridge, he saw that the 
 last car was ready to start, and behind it were the 
 brightly lighted windows of the Cafe du Globe. 
 He felt a longing to tell somebody of his loss, to 
 excite pity, to make himself interesting. He put 
 on a sad face, pushed open the door, and went 
 up to the counter, where the landlord still was. He 
 had counted on creating a sensation, and had hoped 
 that everybody would get up and come to him with 
 outstretched hands, and say: "Why, what is the 
 matter with you?" But nobody noticed his dis- 
 consolate face, so he rested his two elbows on the 
 counter, and burying his face in his hands, he mur- 
 mured: "Good heavens! Good heavens!" 
 
 The landlord looked at him and said: "Are you 
 ill, Monsieur Caravan?" 
 
 "No, my friend," he replied, "but my mother has 
 just died." 
 
 "Ah!" the other exclaimed, and as a customer 
 at the other end of the establishment asked for a 
 glass of Bavarian beer, he went to attend to him, 
 leaving Caravan almost stupefied at his lack of 
 sympathy.
 
 86 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 The three domino players were sitting at the 
 same table which they had occupied before dinner, 
 totally absorbed in their game, and Caravan went 
 up to them in search of pity, but as none of them 
 appeared to notice him, he made up his mind to 
 speak. 
 
 "A great misfortune has happened to me since 
 I was here," he said. 
 
 All three slightly raised their heads at the same 
 instant, but kept their eyes fixed on the pieces 
 which they held in their hands. 
 
 "What do you say?" 
 
 "My mother has just died;" whereupon one of 
 them said: 
 
 "Oh! the devil!" with that false air of sorrow 
 which indifferent people assume. Another, who 
 could not find anything to say, emitted a sort of 
 sympathetic whistle, shaking his head at the same 
 time, and the third turned to the game again, as if 
 he were saying to himself: "Is that all?" 
 
 Caravan had expected some of those expressions 
 that are said to "come from the heart," and when 
 he saw how his news was received, he left the table, 
 indignant at their calmness at their friend's sorrow, 
 although this sorrow had stupefied him so that he 
 scarcely felt it any longer. When he got home his 
 wife was waiting for him in her nightgown, and sit- 
 ting in a low chair by the open window, still think- 
 ing of the inheritance. 
 
 "Undress yourself," she said; "we can talk."
 
 A FAMILY AFFAIR 87 
 
 He raised his head, and looking at the ceiling, 
 said: 
 
 "But . . . there is nobody upstairs." 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Rosalie is with her, and you 
 can go and take her place at three o'clock in the 
 morning, after you have had some sleep." 
 
 He only partially undressed, however, so as to be 
 ready for anything that might happen, and after 
 tying a silk handkerchief around his head lay 
 down to rest, and for some time neither spoke. 
 Madame Caravan was thinking. 
 
 Her nightcap was adorned with a red bow, and 
 was pushed rather over one ear, as was the way 
 with all the caps she wore, and presently she turned 
 towards him and said : 
 
 "Do you know whether your mother made a 
 will?" 
 
 He hesitated for a moment, and then replied : 
 
 " I . . . I do not think so. ... No, I am sure 
 that she did not." 
 
 His wife looked at him, and she said, in a low, 
 angry tone : 
 
 "I call that infamous; here we have been wear- 
 ing ourselves out for ten years in looking after her, 
 and have boarded and lodged her! Your sister 
 would not have done so much for her, nor I either, 
 if I had known how I was to be rewarded ! Yes, it 
 is a disgrace to her memory! I daresay you will 
 tell me that she paid us, but one cannot pay one's 
 children in ready money for what they do; that
 
 88 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 obligation is recognized after death; at any rate, 
 that is how honorable people act. So I have had 
 all my worry and trouble for nothing! Oh, that is 
 fine ! that is very fine !" 
 
 Poor Caravan, who was almost distracted, kept 
 on repeating: 
 
 "My dear, my dear, please be quiet." 
 
 She grew calmer by degrees, and, resuming her 
 usual voice and manner, she continued : 
 
 "We must let your sister know to-morrow." 
 
 He started, and said: 
 
 "Of course, we must; I had forgotten all about 
 it ; I will send her a telegram the first thing in the 
 morning." 
 
 "No," she replied, like a woman who had fore- 
 seen everything; "no, do not send it before ten or 
 eleven o'clock, so that we may have time to do 
 things before she comes. It does not take more 
 than two hours to get here from Charenton, and we 
 can say that you lost your wits from grief. If we 
 let her know in the course of the day, that will be 
 soon enough, and will give us time to look around." 
 
 Caravan put his hand to his forehead, and, in the 
 same timid voice in which he always spoke of his 
 chief, the very thought of whom made him tremble, 
 he said: 
 
 "I must let them know at the office." 
 
 "Why?" she replied. "On occasions like this, 
 it is always excusable to forget. Take my advice, 
 and don't let him know ; your chief will not be able
 
 A FAMILY AFFAIR 89 
 
 to say anything to you, and you will put him in a 
 nice fix." 
 
 "Oh! yes, that I shall, and he will be in a terrible 
 rage, too, when he notices my absence. Yes, you 
 are right; it is a capital idea, and when I tell him 
 that my mother is dead he will be obliged to hold 
 his tongue." 
 
 And he rubbed his hands in delight at the joke, 
 when he thought of his chief's face ; while upstairs 
 lay the body of the dead woman, with the servant 
 asleep beside it. 
 
 But Madame Caravan grew thoughtful, as if she 
 were preoccupied by something she did not care 
 to mention, and at last she said : 
 
 "Your mother had given you her clock, had she 
 not ; the girl playing at cup and ball ?" 
 
 He thought for a moment, and then replied: 
 
 "Yes, yes; she said to me, but it was a long 
 time ago, when she first came here: 'I shall 
 leave the clock to you, if you look after me well.' ' : 
 
 Madame Caravan was reassured, and regained 
 her serenity and said: 
 
 "Well, then, you must go and fetch it out of her 
 room, for if we get your sister here she will pre- 
 vent us from taking it." 
 
 He hesitated. 
 
 "Do you think so? . . ." 
 
 That made her angry. 
 
 "I certainly think so; once it is in our posses- 
 sion, she will know nothing at all about where it 
 
 Vol. 17
 
 90 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 came from; it belongs to us. It is just the same 
 with the chest of drawers with the marble top that 
 is in her room ; she gave it to me one day when she 
 was in a good temper. We will bring it down at 
 the same time." 
 
 Caravan, however, seemed incredulous, and said : 
 
 "But, my dear, this is a great responsibility to 
 assume !" 
 
 She turned on him furiously. 
 
 "Oh! Indeed! Will you never change? You 
 would let your children die of hunger rather than 
 make a move. Does not that chest of drawers be- 
 long to us, since she gave it to me? And if your 
 sister is not satisfied, let her tell me so, me! I 
 don't care a straw for your sister. Come, get up, 
 and we will bring down what your mother gave us 
 immediately." 
 
 Trembling and vanquished, he got out of bed, and 
 began to put on his trousers, but she stopped him : 
 
 "It is not worth while to dress yourself; your 
 underclothes are quite enough; I mean to go as I 
 am." 
 
 They both left the room in their night clothes, 
 went upstairs quite noiselessly, opened the door and 
 went into the room, where the four lighted candles 
 and 'the plate with the sprig of box alone seemed 
 to be watching the old woman in her rigid repose ; 
 for Rosalie, who was lying back in the easy-chair 
 with her legs stretched out, her hands folded in her 
 lap, and her head on one side, was also quite mo-
 
 A FAMILY AFFAIR 91 
 
 tionless, and was snoring with her mouth wide open. 
 
 Caravan took the clock, which was one of those 
 grotesque objects that were produced so plentifully 
 under the Empire. A girl in gilt bronze was hold- 
 ing a cup and ball, and the ball formed the pen- 
 dulum. 
 
 "Give that to me," his wife said, "and take the 
 marble slab off the chest of drawers." 
 
 He put the marble slab on his shoulder with con- 
 siderable effort, and they left the room. Caravan 
 had to stoop in the doorway, and trembled as he 
 went downstairs, while his wife walked backward, 
 so as to light him, and held the candlestick in 
 one hand, carrying the clock under the other arm. 
 
 When they were in their own room, she heaved a 
 sigh. 
 
 "We have got over the worst part of the job," 
 she said; "so now let us go and fetch the other 
 things." 
 
 But the bureau drawers were full of the old 
 woman's clothes, which they must manage to hide 
 somewhere, and Madame Caravan soon thought 
 of a plan. 
 
 "Go and get that wooden packing-case in the 
 vestibule ; it is worth hardly anything, and we may 
 just as well put it here." 
 
 And when he had brought it upstairs, they began 
 to fill it. One by one, they took out all the collars, 
 cuffs, chemises, caps, all the well-worn things that 
 had belonged to the poor woman lying there behind 
 them, and arranged them methodically in the
 
 92 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 wooden box, in such a manner as to deceive Ma- 
 dame Braux, the deceased woman's other child, who 
 would arrive the next day. 
 
 When they had finished, they first of all carried 
 the bureau drawers downstairs, and the remaining 
 portion afterward, each of them holding an end, 
 and it was some time before they could make up 
 their minds where it would stand best; but at last 
 they decided upon their own room, opposite the bed, 
 between the two windows, and as soon as it was 
 in its place, Madame Caravan filled it with her own 
 belongings. The clock was placed on the chimney- 
 piece in the dining-room; they looked to see what 
 the effect was, and were delighted with it, agreeing 
 that nothing could be better. Then they retired, she 
 blew out the candle, and soon everybody in the 
 house was asleep. 
 
 It was broad daylight when Caravan opened his 
 eyes again. His mind was rather confused when 
 he woke up, and he did not clearly remember what 
 had happened, for a few moments ; when he did, he 
 felt a weight at his heart, and jumped out of bed, 
 almost ready to cry again. 
 
 He hastened to the room overhead, where Rosalie 
 was still sleeping in the same position as the night 
 before, not having awakened once. He sent her to 
 her work, put fresh tapers in the place of those 
 that had burned out, and then he looked at his 
 mother, revolving in his brain those apparently pro- 
 found thoughts, those religious and philosophical
 
 A FAMILY AFFAIR 93 
 
 commonplaces, which trouble people of mediocre 
 intelligence in the presence of death. 
 
 But as his wife was calling him, he went down- 
 stairs. She had written out a list of what had to be 
 done during the morning, and he was horrified 
 when he saw the memorandum : 
 
 1. Report the death at the Mayor's office. 
 
 2. See the doctor who had attended her. 
 
 3. Order the coffin. 
 
 4. Give notice at the church. 
 
 5. Go to the undertaker. 
 
 6. Order the notices of her death at the printer's. 
 
 7. Go to the lawyer. 
 
 8. Telegraph the news to all the family. 
 Besides all this, there were a number of small 
 
 commissions ; so he took his hat and went out. As 
 the news had spread abroad, Madame Caravan's 
 female friends and neighbors soon began to come 
 in, and begged to be allowed to see the body. There 
 had been a scene between husband and wife at the 
 hairdresser's on the ground floor, about the mat- 
 ter, while a customer was being shaved. The wife, 
 who was knitting steadily, said: "Well, there's 
 one less, and as great a miser as one ever meets 
 with. I certainly did not care for her, but never- 
 theless, I must go and have a look at her." 
 
 The husband, while lathering his customer's chin, 
 said: "That is another queer fancy! Nobody but 
 a woman would think of such a thing. It is not 
 enough for them to worry you during life, but they
 
 94 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 cannot even leave you in peace when you are dead." 
 But his wife, without being in the least discon- 
 certed, replied: "The feeling is stronger than I 
 am, and I must go. It has been on me since the 
 morning. If I were not to see her I should think 
 about it all my life; but when I have had a good 
 look at her I shall be satisfied." 
 
 The knight of the razor shrugged his shoulders, 
 and remarked in a low voice to the gentleman 
 whose cheek he was scraping: "I just ask you, 
 what sort of ideas do you think these confounded 
 women have ? I should not amuse myself by going 
 to see a corpse !" His wife had heard him, and re- 
 plied very quietly: "But it is so, it is so." And 
 then, putting her knitting on the counter, she 
 went upstairs, to the first floor, where she met two 
 other neighbors, who had just come, and who were 
 discussing the event with Madame Caravan, who 
 was giving them the details; and they all went to- 
 gether to the death chamber. The four women 
 went in softly, and, one after the other, sprinkled 
 the bedclothes with holy water, knelt, and made the 
 sign of the cross while they mumbled a prayer. 
 Then they rose from their knees, and looked for 
 some time at the corpse, with round, wide-open eyes 
 and mouths partly open, while the daughter-in-law 
 of the dead woman, with her handkerchief to her 
 face, pretended to be sobbing piteously. 
 
 When she turned about to walk away, whom 
 should she perceive standing close to the door but
 
 A FAMILY AFFAIR 95 
 
 Marie-Louise and Philippe-Auguste, who were curi- 
 ously taking note of all that was going on. Then 
 forgetting her pretended grief, she threw herself 
 upon them with uplifted hands, crying out in a furi- 
 ous voice, "Will you get out of this, you dirty 
 brats?" 
 
 Ten minutes later, going upstairs again with an- 
 other contingent of neighbors, she prayed, wept 
 profusely, performed all her duties, and found once 
 more her two children, who had followed her up- 
 stairs. She again boxed their ears soundly ; but the 
 next time she paid no heed to them, and at each 
 fresh arrival of visitors the two children always 
 followed in the wake, kneeling down in a corner, 
 and imitating slavishly everything they saw their 
 mother do. 
 
 When the afternoon came, the crowds of inquisi- 
 tive ones began to diminish, and soon there were 
 no more visitors. Madame Caravan, returning to 
 her own apartments, began to make the necessary 
 preparations for the funeral, and the dead woman 
 was left alone. 
 
 The window of the room was open. A torrid 
 heat entered along with clouds of dust; the flames 
 of the four candles were flickering beside the im- 
 mobile corpse; and upon the cloth which covered 
 the face, the closed eyes, the two stretched-out 
 hands, small flies alighted, came, went, and careered 
 up and down incessantly, being the only companions 
 of the old woman for the time being.
 
 96 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Marie-Louise and Philippe-Auguste, however, had 
 now left the house, and were running up and down 
 the street. They were soon surrounded by their 
 playmates, by little girls, especially, who were older 
 and who were much more interested in all the mys- 
 teries of life, asking grown-up questions. 
 "Then your grandmother is dead?" 
 "Yes, she died yesterday evening." 
 "What does a dead person look like?" 
 Then Marie began to explain, telling all about 
 the candles, the sprig of box, and the face of the 
 corpse. It was not long before great curiosity was 
 aroused in the minds of all the children, and they 
 asked to be allowed to go upstairs to look at the 
 departed. 
 
 Marie-Louise at once organized a first expedi- 
 tion, consisting of five girls and two boys the big- 
 gest and the most courageous. She made them take 
 off their shoes so that they might not be discov- 
 ered. The troop filed into the house and went up 
 the stairs as stealthily as an army of mice. 
 
 Once in the chamber, the little girl, imitating her 
 mother, regulated the ceremony. She solemnly 
 walked in advance of her comrades, went down on 
 her knees, made the sign of the cross, moved her 
 lips as in prayer, rose, sprinkled the holy water, and 
 while the children, all crowded together, were ap- 
 proaching frightened and curious, and eager to 
 look at the face and hands of the deceased she 
 began suddenly to simulate sobbing, and to bury her
 
 A FAMILY AFFAIR 97 
 
 eyes in her little handkerchief. Then, becoming 
 instantly consoled, on thinking of the other children 
 who were downstairs waiting at the door, she ran 
 downstairs followed by the rest, returning in a min- 
 ute with another group, then a third; for all the 
 little ragamuffins of the countryside, even to the 
 little beggars in rags, had congregated in order to 
 participate in this new pleasure; and each time she 
 repeated her mother's grimaces with absolute per- 
 fection. 
 
 At length, however she became tired. Some 
 game or other drew the children away from the 
 house, and the old grandmother was left alone, for- 
 gotten suddenly by everybody. 
 
 The room was growing dark, and upon the dry 
 and rigid features of the corpse the fitful flames of 
 the candles cast patches of light. 
 
 Toward eight o'clock, Caravan went to the cham- 
 ber of death, closed the windows, and renewed the 
 candles. He was now quite composed on entering 
 the room, accustomed already to regard the corpse 
 as if it had been there for months. He even went 
 the length of declaring that, as yet, there were no 
 signs of decomposition, making this remark just at 
 the moment when he and his wife were about to 
 sit down at table. "Pshaw!" she responded, "she 
 is now in wood ; she will keep for a year." 
 
 The soup was eaten in silence. The children, 
 who had been left to themselves all day, now worn 
 out by fatigue, were sleeping soundly on their
 
 98 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 chairs, and nobody ventured to break the silence. 
 
 Suddenly the flame of the lamp went down. 
 Madame Caravan immediately turned up the wick, 
 a hollow sound ensued, and the light went out. 
 They had forgotten to buy oil. To send for it now 
 to the grocer's would keep back the dinner, and they 
 began to look for candles ; but none were to be 
 found except the tapers which had been placed upon 
 the table upstairs, in the death chamber. 
 
 Madame Caravan, always prompt in her deci- 
 sions, quickly despatched Marie-Louise to fetch two, 
 and her return was awaited in total darkness. 
 
 The footsteps of the girl who had ascended the 
 stairs were distinctly heard. There was silence for 
 a few seconds, and then the child descended pre- 
 cipitately. She threw open the door, and in a chok- 
 ing voice murmured: "Oh! papa, grandmother is 
 dressing herself!" 
 
 Caravan bounded to his feet with such precipi- 
 tance that hischair fell over against the wall. He 
 stammered out: "You say? . . . What are 
 you saying?" 
 
 But Marie-Louise, gasping with emotion, re- 
 peated: "Grand . . . grand . . . grand- 
 mother is putting on her clothes; she is coming 
 downstairs." 
 
 Caravan rushed boldly up the staircase, followed 
 by his wife, dumf ounded ; but he came to a stand- 
 still before the door of the second floor, overcome 
 with terror, not daring to enter. What was he
 
 A FAMILY AFFAIR 99 
 
 about to see? Madame Caravan, more courageous, 
 turned the handle of the door and stepped forward 
 into the room. 
 
 The room seemed to have become darker, and in 
 the middle of it a tall emaciated figure moved 
 about. The old woman was standing up, and in 
 awakening from her lethargic sleep, before even re- 
 gaining full consciousness, in turning upon her side, 
 and raising herself on her elbow, she had extin- 
 guished three of the candles which burned near the 
 bed. Then, gaining strength, she got off the bed 
 and began to look for her clothes. The absence of 
 her chest of drawers had at first worried her, but, 
 after a little, she had succeeded in finding her gar- 
 ments at the bottom of the wooden box, and was 
 now quietly dressing. She emptied the plateful of 
 water, replaced the sprig of box behind the looking- 
 glass, and arranged the chairs in their places, and 
 was ready to go downstairs when her son and 
 daughter-in-law appeared before her. 
 
 Caravan rushed forward, seized her by the hands, 
 embraced her with tears in his eyes, while his wife, 
 who was behind him, repeated in a hypocritical tone 
 of voice: "Oh, what a blessing! What a blessing!" 
 
 But the old woman, without being at all moved, 
 without even appearing to understand, rigid as a 
 statue, and with glazed eyes, simply asked: "Will 
 dinner soon be ready ?" 
 
 He stammered out, not knowing what he said : 
 
 "Oh, yes, mother, we have been waiting for you."
 
 100 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 And, with an alacrity unusual in him, he took her 
 arm, while Madame Caravan, the younger, seized 
 the candle and lighted them downstairs, walking 
 backward in front of them, step by step, just as she 
 had done the previous night for her husband, who 
 was carrying the marble. 
 
 On reaching the first floor, she almost ran against 
 people who were ascending the stairs. It was the 
 Charenton family, Madame Braux, followed by her 
 husband. 
 
 The wife, tall and stout, with a prominent stom- 
 ach, opened wide her terrified eyes, and was ready 
 to make her escape. The husband, a socialist shoe- 
 maker, a little hairy man, the perfect image of a 
 monkey, murmured, quite unconcerned: "Well, 
 what next? Is she resurrected ? J> 
 
 As soon as Madame Caravan recognized them, 
 she made despairing signs to them, then, speaking 
 aloud, she said: "Why, here you are! What a 
 pleasant surprise !" 
 
 But Madame Braux, dumbfounded, understood 
 nothing; she responded in a low voice: "It was 
 your telegram that brought us ; we thought that all 
 was over." 
 
 Her husband, who was behind her, pinched her 
 to make her keep silent. He added with a sly 
 laugh, which his thick beard concealed: "It was 
 very kind of you to invite us here. We set out 
 post haste;" which remark showed the hostility 
 which had for a long time reigned between the
 
 A FAMILY AFFAIR 101 
 
 households. Then, just as the old woman reached 
 the last steps, he pushed forward quickly and 
 rubbed his hairy face against her cheeks, shouting in 
 her ear, because of her deafness: "How well you 
 look, mother ; strong as usual, eh ?" 
 
 Madame Braux, in her stupefaction at seeing 
 alive the old woman whom they all believed to be 
 dead, dared not even embrace her; and her enor- 
 mous bulk blocked up the passage and hindered the 
 others from advancing. The old woman, uneasy 
 and suspicious, but without speaking, looked at 
 everyone around her ; and her little gray eyes, pierc- 
 ing and hard, fixed themselves now on one and now 
 on the other, and they were so full of meaning that 
 the children became frightened. 
 
 Caravan, to explain matters said : " She has been 
 somewhat ill, but she is better now ; quite well, in- 
 deed, are you not, mother?" 
 
 Then the good woman, continuing to walk, re- 
 plied in a husky voice, as if it came from a dis- 
 tance: "It was syncope. I heard you all the 
 while." 
 
 An embarrassing silence followed. They entered 
 the dining-room, and in a few minutes all sat down 
 to an improvised dinner. 
 
 Only M. Braux retained his self-possession; his 
 gorilla features grinned wickedly, while he let fall 
 some words of double meaning which painfully dis- 
 concerted every one. 
 
 But the doorbell kept ringing every second; and
 
 102 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Rosalie, distracted, came to call Caravan, who 
 rushed out, throwing down his napkin. His broth- 
 er-in-law even asked him whether it was not one of 
 his reception days, to which he stammered out, in 
 answer: "No, only a few packages ; nothing more." 
 
 A parcel was brought in, which he began to open 
 carelessly, and the mourning announcements witl 
 black borders appeared unexpectedly. Reddening 
 up to the very eyes, he closed the package hurriedly, 
 and pushed it under his waistcoat. 
 
 His mother had not seen it! She was looking 
 intently at her clock which stood on the mantel- 
 piece, and the embarrassment increased in midst of 
 a dead silence. Turning her wrinkled face toward 
 her daughter, the old woman, in whose eyes 
 gleamed malice, said: "On Monday you must take 
 me away from here, so that I can see your little 
 girl. I want so much to see her." Madame Braux, 
 her features illuminated, exclaimed: "Yes, mother, 
 that I will," while Madame Caravan, the younger, 
 who had turned pale, endured the most excruciat- 
 ing agony. The two men, however, gradually 
 drifted into conversation, and soon became em- 
 broiled in a political discussion. Braux maintained 
 the most revolutionary and communistic doctrines, 
 his eyes glowing, and gesticulating and throwing 
 about his arms. "Property, sir," he said, "is a 
 robbery perpetrated on the working classes; the 
 land is the common property of every man ; heredi- 
 tary rights are an infamy and a disgrace." But
 
 A FAMILY AFFAIR 103 
 
 here he suddenly stopped, looking as if he had 
 just said something foolish; then added, in softer 
 tones: "But this is not the proper moment to dis- 
 cuss such things." 
 
 The door opened, and Dr. Chenet appeared. For 
 a moment he seemed bewildered, but, regaining his 
 usual smirking expression of countenance, he jaun- 
 tily approached the old woman, and said: "Aha! 
 mamma, you are better today. Oh! I never had 
 any doubt but you would come round again ; in fact, 
 I said to myself as I was mounting the staircase, 
 'I have an idea that I shall find the old lady on 
 her feet once more';" and as he patted her gently 
 on the back: "Ah! she is as solid as the Pont- 
 Neuf ; she will bury us all ; see if she does not." 
 
 He sat down, accepted the coffee that was offered 
 him, and soon began to join in the conversation of 
 the two men, backing up Braux, for he himself 
 had been mixed up in the Commune. 
 
 The old woman, now feeling herself fatigued, 
 wished to retire. Caravan rushed forward. She 
 looked him steadily in the eye and said: "You, 
 you must carry my clock and chest of drawers up- 
 stairs again without a moment's delay." "Yes, 
 mamma," he replied, gasping; "yes, I will do so." 
 The old woman then took the arm of her daughter 
 and withdrew from the room. The two Caravans 
 remained astounded, silent, plunged in the deepest 
 despair, while Braux rubbed his hands and sipped 
 his coffee, gleefully.
 
 104 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Suddenly Madame Caravan, consumed with rage, 
 rushed at him, exclaiming: "You are a thief, a 
 footpad, a cur. I would spit in your face, if ... 
 I would . . .1 . .would . . ." She 
 
 could find nothing further to say, suffocating as she 
 was, with rage, while he went on sipping his coffee, 
 with a smile. 
 
 His wife returning just then, Madame Caravan 
 attacked her sister-in-law, and the two women the 
 one with her enormous bulk, the other epileptic and 
 spare, with changed voices and trembling hands 
 flew at each other with words of abuse. 
 
 Chenet and Braux interposed, and the latter tak- 
 ing his wife by the shoulders pushed her out of 
 the door before him, shouting: "Go on, you fool! 
 you talk too much;" and the two were heard in 
 the street quarreling until they disappeared. 
 
 Dr. Chenet also took his departure, leaving the 
 Caravans alone, face to face. The husband fell back 
 on his chair, and with the cold sweat standing out 
 in beads on his temples, murmured: "What shall 
 I say to my chief to-morrow?"
 
 THE ARTIST'S MODEL 
 
 THE sun was shining on a beautiful July day 
 on the little crescent-shaped town of Etretat, 
 with its white cliffs, shining pebbles and blue 
 sea. At the ends of the crescent were two points of 
 land; the smaller one to the right, the larger to 
 the left, stretching out into the quiet water. 
 
 On the beach a crowd was watching the bathers. 
 On the porch of the Casino another crowd, some 
 resting, some walking, was displaying under the 
 bright sky a wonderful garden of beautiful gowns 
 set off by red and blue parasols, on which were em- 
 broidered large silk flowers. 
 
 Along the promenade, at the end of the porch, 
 other persons of quiet taste, were walking slowly, 
 far from the elegant throng. 
 
 A famous young painter, Jean Summer, was 
 strolling sadly beside an invalid's chair, in which a 
 young woman was resting, his wife. A servant was 
 slowly pushing this rolling armchair and the cripple 
 was sadly contemplating the bright sky, the beauti- 
 ful day, and the joy of others. 
 
 Vol. 18 105
 
 106 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 They neither spoke to nor looked at each other. 
 
 "Let us stop a minute," said the woman. 
 
 They stopped, and the artist sat on a little camp- 
 chair, offered him by the servant. 
 
 Those passing near the silent and motionless 
 couple looked at them pityingly. There was a 
 romantic story concerning his devotion, to the effect 
 that, moved by her love, he had married her not- 
 withstanding her infirmity. 
 
 Not far away two young men, seated on a cap- 
 stan with their gaze lost in the distance, were talk- 
 ing. 
 
 "No, that is not true; I tell you I know Jean 
 Summer very well." 
 
 "But then why did he marry her? She was 
 already crippled at the time of the marriage, wasn't 
 she?" 
 
 "Certainly. He married her . . .well . . . 
 foolishly, of course !" 
 
 "Well? ..." 
 
 "There is no 'well,' my friend, there is no 
 'well.' A man is a fool because he is a fool. And 
 then, you know very well that artists have a fancy 
 for contracting ridiculous marriages; almost all 
 of them marry models, former sweethearts, wrecks 
 of every description. Why? Who knows? One 
 would think that constant intercourse with the 
 genus model would disgust them forever with this 
 class of females. Not at all. After having them 
 pose for them they marry them. Just read that
 
 THE ARTIST'S MODEL 107 
 
 little book by Alphonse Daudet: Artists' Wives. 
 
 "As to the couple you see there, the accident 
 occurred in a peculiar and terrible manner. The 
 little woman played a comedy, or rather a frightful 
 tragedy. She risked all for everything. Was she 
 sincere? Wid she love Jean? How can one tell? 
 Who can ever tell exactly how much ruse and how 
 much sincerity there is in the actions of a woman? 
 They are always sincere in an eternal mobility of 
 impressions. They are hot-tempered, criminal, de- 
 voted, admirable, and base, in obedience to incom- 
 prehensible emotions. They lie continually, with- 
 out wishing to, without knowing it, without un- 
 derstanding it and, notwithstanding all that, they 
 have an absolute frankness of sensations and of 
 sentiments which they express by violent, unex- 
 pected, incomprehensible resolutions which set at 
 naught our habits of thought and all our selfish 
 combinations. The unexpectedness and rapidity 
 of their decisions are the reason why they remain 
 for us hopeless puzzles. We always ask ourselves : 
 'Are they sincere? Are they false?' 
 
 "But, my friend, they are simultaneously sin- 
 cere and false, because it is in their nature to 
 be both in extremes, and neither one nor the other. 
 
 "Observe the methods which the best of them 
 use in order to obtain something which they de- 
 sire. They are at once complex and simple ; so com- 
 plicated that we never can guess them beforehand, 
 so simple that after being made victims, we can-
 
 108 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 not help being surprised and saying to ourselves: 
 'What! Was I as gullible as that?' 
 
 "And they always succeed, especially when mar- 
 riage is the object. 
 
 "But here is the story of Jean Summer: 
 
 "The little woman was, naturally, a model. She 
 used to pose for him. She was pretty, extremely 
 elegant, and blessed, so they say, with a divine fig- 
 ure. He fell in love with her, as one falls in love 
 with any seductive woman whom one sees very 
 often. He imagined that he loved her with all 
 his heart. That is a singular phenomenon. As 
 soon as you desire a woman you sincerely believe 
 that you could not go through life without her. 
 You know perfectly well that the same thing has 
 happened to you before; that disgust has always 
 followed possession; that in order to live out one's 
 life beside another being, not a quickly extinguished, 
 brutal, physical appetite is needed, but a harmony 
 of temperament, of soul, and of character. You 
 must know how to distinguish in this seduction 
 which one feels, whether it is caused by physical 
 attraction, by a certain sensuous intoxication, or 
 by a sweet charm of the mind. 
 
 "He thought that he loved her; he made her 
 many promises of faithfulness, and he lived en- 
 tirely with her. 
 
 "She was really charming, gifted with the ele- 
 gant simplicity which the Parisian woman so eas- 
 ily acquires. She chatted, she gossiped, she said
 
 THE ARTIST'S MODEL 109 
 
 foolish little things that seemed witty because of 
 her quaint little ways. Her gestures were always 
 graceful, well made and pleasing to the eye of an 
 artist. Whether she was lifting her arms or lean- 
 ing over, whether she was getting into a carriage 
 or holding out her hand to you, her movements 
 were always exactly right. 
 
 "For three months Jean did not notice that she 
 was like all other models. They hired, for the 
 summer, a little house at Andressy. 
 
 "I was there one evening when the first doubts 
 dawned upon my friend. 
 
 "As the night was glorious we wished to take 
 a walk beside the river. The moon cast a shimmer- 
 ing light across the water which was reflected back 
 in silver beams by the eddies of the swirling cur- 
 rent. 
 
 "We were walking along the banks, slightly in- 
 toxicated by this vague exaltation which is cast 
 over us on these dream-evenings. We felt like 
 accomplishing superhuman things, like loving un- 
 known, beautifully poetic beings. We felt within 
 us strange raptures, desires, and aspirations. We 
 were silent, carried away by the freshness of the 
 beautiful night, and by this mystic moonlight which 
 seems to shine through the body, to penetrate it, 
 to bathe and perfume our minds and to fill them 
 with joy. 
 
 "Suddenly Josephine (her name is Josephine) 
 exclaimed :
 
 110 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 " 'Oh! did you see the big fish jump over 
 there?' 
 
 "He answered without looking, without even 
 knowing : 
 
 " 'Yes, dearie.' 
 
 "She grew angry. 
 
 " 'No, you didn't see it, your back was turned." 
 
 "He smiled: 
 
 " 'I know it. It's such a beautiful evening that 
 I wasn't thinking of anything.' 
 
 "She was silent for a minute, and then asked: 
 
 " 'Are you going to Paris to-morrow?' 
 
 "He answered: 
 
 " 'I don't know.' 
 
 "And once more she grew angry. 
 
 " 'If you think it's amusing to walk without 
 saying anything, you're mistaken. Anybody but a 
 fool would say something!' 
 
 "He did not answer. Then, with her perverse 
 woman's instinct, realizing that she would exasper- 
 ate him, she began to hum a tune which she knew 
 he detested. 
 
 "He murmured: 
 
 " 'Please stop !' 
 
 "Furious, she cried: 
 
 " 'Why do you wish me to stop?' 
 
 "He answered: 
 
 " 'You are spoiling the scenery !' 
 
 "Then came the odious, foolish scene, with its 
 unexpected reproaches, its tempestuous recrimina-
 
 THE ARTIST'S MODEL 111 
 
 tions, and then tears. She went through the whole 
 programme. They went home. He had let her run 
 on without answering, deadened by this divine 
 evening and thunderstruck by this storm of abuse. 
 
 "Three months later they were hopelessly strug- 
 gling with these invincible and invisible bonds with 
 which custom surrounds our life. She held him, 
 oppressed and tortured him. They quarreled from 
 morning till night, insulting and wounding each 
 other. 
 
 "Finally he decided to break off at any price. 
 He sold all his canvases, borrowed money from 
 his friends, scraped together twenty thousand 
 francs (he was not yet famous), and one morn- 
 ing he left them on the mantelpiece with a fare- 
 well letter. 
 
 "He sought shelter with me. 
 
 "At about three o'clock in the afternoon the 
 doorbell rang. I opened the door. A woman 
 jumped at me, pushed me aside and rushed into 
 my studio; it was she! 
 
 "He rose on seeing her enter. 
 
 "She threw the envelope containing the money 
 at his feet with a gesture that was really noble and 
 said dryly: 
 
 " 'Here is your money ! I don't want it.' 
 
 "She was very pale, trembling, and undoubt- 
 edly prepared to do anything. As for him, I saw 
 him also grow pale, pale from anger and exas- 
 peration, and ready to commit any act of violence.
 
 112 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 " 'What do you wish ?' he asked. 
 
 " 'I do not wish to be treated like any common 
 woman,' she answered. 'You sought me out; you 
 took me. I asked nothing of you. Keep me!' 
 
 " He stamped his foot : 
 
 " 'No, this is too much ! If you think that 
 you . . .' 
 
 "I had taken him by the arm. 
 
 " 'Quiet, Jean. Let me handle this.' 
 
 "I went to her, and quietly, little by little, 1 
 talked reason to her. I used all the arguments com- 
 monly employed on these occasions. She listened 
 to me, motionless, obstinate and dumb. 
 
 "At last, no longer knowing what to do, and 
 seeing that the affair might end badly, I resorted 
 to a last stratagem. I said : 
 
 " 'He still loves you, little one, but his family 
 wish him to marry, and you understand ! . . . ' 
 
 "She jumped up: 
 
 " 'Ah ... Ah ! ... I understand. . . . 
 
 "Turning toward him: 
 
 " 'You . . . you . . . are going to be mar- 
 ried?' 
 
 "He answered firmly: 
 
 " 'Yes.' 
 
 "She stepped forward: 
 
 " 'If you marry, I will kill myself ... do you 
 understand ?' 
 
 "Shrugging his shoulders he answered: 
 
 " 'Well ... go ahead . . . kill yourself !'
 
 THE ARTIST'S MODEL 113 
 
 "She gasped two or three times, her throat con- 
 tracted by terrible agony : 
 
 "'What? . . . What? . . . What? ... say 
 that again !' 
 
 "He repeated: 
 
 " 'Go ahead, and kill yourself if it will give you 
 any pleasure !' 
 
 "She continued, still terribly pale: 
 
 " 'You had better not dare me. I will throw 
 myself out of the window.' 
 
 " He began to laugh, went to the window, opened 
 it, and bowing, like a person who does not wish to 
 pass first, he said: 
 
 " 'Here is the way. After you!' 
 
 "She looked at him for a minute with a terrible 
 wild look; then, gathering speed as if to jump a 
 fence in the field, she rushed past me, past him, 
 over the railing and out of sight. . . . 
 
 "I never shall forget the effect this open win- 
 *ow produced on me, after seeing it traversed by 
 the body that was falling; for a second it seemed 
 to me to be as large as the sky and as empty as 
 space. Instinctively I fell back, not daring to look, 
 as if I were about to fall myself. 
 
 "Jean, dazed, stood motionless. 
 "The poor girl was brought back with both legs 
 broken. She never will walk again. 
 
 "Her lover, crazed by remorse, and perhaps also 
 moved by gratitude, took her back and married 
 her.
 
 114 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "There is the story." 
 
 Night was approaching. The young woman, feel- 
 ing cool, wished to go; and the servant began to 
 roll the cripple's chair toward the village. The 
 artist walked beside his wife. Neither of them had 
 spoken a word for an hour.
 
 THE LETTERS 
 
 THE woman had died painlessly, quietly, as a 
 woman should whose life has been blame- 
 less. Now she was resting in her bed, lying 
 on her back, her eyes closed, her features calm, 
 her long white hair carefully arranged as if she 
 had arranged it ten minutes before dying; the whole 
 pale countenance of the dead woman was so col- 
 lected, so calm, so resigned, that one could feel 
 what a sweet soul had lived in that body, what 
 a quiet existence this old soul had led, how easy 
 and pure the death of this ancestor had been. 
 
 Kneeling beside the bed, her son, a magistrate 
 with inflexible principles, and her daughter, Mar- 
 guerite, known as Sister Eulalie, were weeping as 
 if their hearts would break. From their childhood 
 the mother had armed them with a strict moral 
 code, teaching them religion without weakness and 
 duty without compromise. He, the man, had be- 
 come a judge, and handled the law as a weapon 
 with which he smote the weak ones without pity. 
 She, the girl, influenced by the virtue which had 
 115
 
 116 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 bathed her in this austere family, had become the 
 bride of Heaven through her loathing for man. 
 
 They had hardly known their father, knowing 
 only that he had made their mother unhappy, with- 
 out being told any of the details. 
 
 The nun was wildly kissing the dead woman's 
 hand, an ivory hand as white as the large figure of 
 Christ lying across the bed. On the other side of the 
 long body, the other hand seemed still to be clutch- 
 ing the sheet in the death grasp ; and the sheet had 
 preserved the little creases as a memory of those 
 last movements that precede eternal immobility. 
 
 A few light taps on the door caused the two 
 mourners to look up, and the priest, who had just 
 come from dinner, returned. He was red and out 
 of breath from his interrupted digestion, for he had 
 made himself a strong mixture of coffee and brandy 
 in order to combat the fatigue of the last few nights 
 and of the wake. 
 
 He looked sad, with that assumed sadness of the 
 priest for whom death is a bread-winner. He 
 crossed himself, and approaching with his profes- 
 sional gesture: "Well, my poor children! I have 
 come to help you pass these last sad hours." But 
 Sister Eulalie rose suddenly. "Thank you, father, 
 but my brother and I prefer to remain alone with 
 her. This is our last chance to see her, and we wish 
 to be together, all three of us, as we we used to 
 be when we were small and our poor mo mother 
 " Grief stopped her; she could not continue.
 
 THE LETTERS 117 
 
 Once more serene, the priest bowed, thinking of 
 his bed. "As you wish, my children." He kneeled, 
 crossed himself, prayed, arose, and went out quietly, 
 murmuring: "She was a saint!" 
 
 They remained alone, the dead woman and her 
 children. The ticking of the clock, hidden in the 
 shadow, could be heard distinctly, and through the 
 open window drifted in with the soft moonlight 
 the sweet smell of hay and of woods. No other 
 noise could be heard except the occasional croak- 
 ing of a frog or the chirping of some belated insect. 
 An infinite peace, a divine melancholy, a silent 
 serenity surrounded this dead woman, seeming to 
 emanate from her and to appease nature itself. 
 
 Then the judge, still kneeling, his head buried 
 in the bedclothes, cried in a voice altered by 
 grief and stifled by the sheets and blankets: 
 :i Mamma, mamma, mamma!" And his sister, 
 frantically striking her forehead against the wood- 
 work, convulsed, twitching and trembling as in an 
 epileptic fit, moaned: "Jesus, Jesus, mamma, 
 Jesus!" And both, shaken by a storm of grief, 
 sobbed and choked. 
 
 The crisis slowly calmed down and they wept 
 quietly, as when a calm spell follows a squall on 
 the sea. 
 
 Some time passed, and they arose and looked at 
 their dear dead. And memories, those distant mem- 
 ories, yesterday so dear, today so torturing, came to 
 their minds with all the little forgotten details, those
 
 118 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 little intimate familiar details that bring back to 
 life the one who has gone. They recalled to each 
 other circumstances, words, smiles, intonations of 
 the mother who was no longer to speak to them. 
 They saw her again happy and calm ; they remem- 
 bered things she had said, and a little motion of her 
 hand, as if, beating time, which she often used when 
 emphasizing her words. 
 
 They loved her as they never had loved her 
 before. They measured the depth of their grief, 
 and thus discovered how lonely they would find 
 themselves. 
 
 It was their prop, their guide, their whole youth, 
 all the best part of their lives that was disappear- 
 ing ; it was their bond with life, their mother, their 
 mamma, the connecting link with their forefathers, 
 which they would thenceforth miss. They now be- 
 came solitary, lonely beings; they could no longer 
 look back. 
 
 The nun said to her brother: "You remember 
 how mamma used often to read over her old letters ; 
 they are all in that drawer. Let us, in turn, read 
 them, let us live her whole life tonight beside her! 
 It would be like a road to the cross, like making 
 the acquaintance of her mother, of our grandpar- 
 ents, whom we never knew, but whose letters are 
 there and of whom she so often spoke, do you 
 remember ?" 
 
 From the drawer they took about ten little pack- 
 ages of yellow paper, tied with care and arranged
 
 THE LETTERS 119 
 
 one beside another. They laid these relics on the 
 bed and chose one of them on which the word 
 "Father" was written; they opened and read it. 
 
 It was one of those old-fashioned letters that 
 one finds in old family desks, those epistles that 
 smell of another century. The first began: "My 
 dear," another one: "My beautiful little girl," 
 others: "My dear child," or: "My dear daugh- 
 ter." And suddenly the nun began to read aloud, 
 to read over to the dead woman her whole history, 
 all her tender memories. The judge, resting his 
 elbow on the bed, listened with his eyes fixed on 
 his mother. The motionless body seemed happy. 
 
 Sister Eulalie, interrupting herself, said sud- 
 denly: "These should be put in the grave with 
 her; they ought to be used as a shroud and she 
 should be buried in it." She took another pack- 
 age, on which no revealing name was written. She 
 began to read in a firm voice: "My adored one, I 
 love you wildly. Since yesterday I have been suf- 
 fering the tortures of the damned, haunted by your 
 memory. I feel your lips against mine, your eyes 
 in mine, your breast against mine. I love you, I 
 love you! You have driven me mad. My arms 
 open, I gasp, moved by a wild desire to have you 
 again. My soul and body cry out for you, want 
 you. I have kept on my lips the taste of your 
 kisses. ..." 
 
 The judge straightened himself ; the nun stopped 
 reading; he snatched the letter from her hand and
 
 120 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 looked for the signature. There was none, but only 
 under the words : "The man who adores you," the 
 name "Henri." Their father's name was Rene! 
 Therefore this was not from him. The son then 
 quickly rummaged through the package of letters, 
 took one out and read : " I can no longer live with- 
 out your caresses . . . . " Standing, severe as when 
 sitting on the bench, he looked unmoved at the dead 
 woman. The nun, straight as a statue, with tears 
 in the corners of her eyes, watched her brother, 
 waiting. He crossed the room slowly, went to the 
 window and with his looks lost in the darkness 
 without, he stood still. 
 
 When he turned around, Sister Eulalie, her eyes 
 dry now, was still standing near the bed, her head 
 hanging. 
 
 He stepped forward, gathered up the letters 
 quickly, and threw them pell-mell back into the 
 drawer; then he closed the curtains of the bed. 
 
 When daylight made the candles on the table 
 turn pale, the son left his armchair, and without 
 looking again at the mother upon whom he had 
 passed sentence, severing the tie that united her 
 to son and daughter, he said slowly: "Let us now 
 retire, sister."
 
 CEMETERY SIRENS 
 
 FIVE friends, middle-aged men of the world, 
 had finished dinner; all were rich, three of 
 them were married, the other two bachelors. 
 They met thus every month, in memory of their 
 youth, and, after dinner, they chatted away until 
 early morning. Friends since early youth, they 
 enjoyed being together, and perhaps these were 
 the pleasantest evenings of their lives. 
 
 One of the gayest was Joseph de Bardon, a 
 bachelor who lived and enjoyed Parisian life to 
 its fullest. He was neither a reveler nor a degen- 
 erate, but he was curious and still enjoyed the 
 vigor of youth, for he had not yet reached two- 
 score years. A man of the world in the broadest 
 and best sense of the word, endowed with great wit 
 without much depth, possessing a varied knowledge 
 without serious insight, he drew from his observa- 
 tions, from his adventures, from everything he 
 saw, met, and found, comic and philosophic anec- 
 dotes and witty remarks which gave him through- 
 out the town a reputation for unusual intelligence. 
 He was the orator of the evening. At every 
 meeting he had his story, on which the others 
 
 Vol. 19 121
 
 122 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 counted. He began to tell it without even being 
 asked. 
 
 Smoking, his elbows resting on the table, half 
 a glass of brandy setting before his plate, in the 
 smoky atmosphere filled with the aroma of coffee, 
 he seemed completely at ease, as some beings seem 
 absolutely at home in certain places and at certain 
 times, as, for instance, a nun in a chapel, or a gold- 
 fish in a bowl of water. 
 
 Slowly exhaling the fragrant smoke of his after- 
 dinner cigar, he said : 
 
 "A rather peculiar adventure happened to me 
 a short time ago." 
 
 In one voice, they all exclaimed: "Tell us 
 about it." 
 
 "With pleasure. You know that I have a habit 
 of walking around Paris, like book collectors in 
 search of rare editions. I take notice of what oc- 
 curs, of the people, of all who pass, and of every- 
 thing that happens. 
 
 "Well, one afternoon, toward the middle of 
 September, when the weather was at its best, I left 
 home, without caring in which direction I went. 
 We often feel a vague desire to call on some 
 pretty woman. We run over our mental index of 
 acquaintances, weigh the interest and charm with 
 which they inspire us, and decide according to the 
 favorite of the day. But when the sun is beauti- 
 ful and the air is warm, we often lose all desire 
 for visits.
 
 CEMETERY SIRENS 123 
 
 "The sun was bright and the air was warm; 
 I lighted a cigar and strolled aimlessly in the direc- 
 tion of the Outer Boulevard. As I walked along, the 
 idea came to me to go to the Montmartre Cemetery. 
 
 "I like cemeteries; they rest me and make me 
 sad. And then, there are so many good friends 
 there, whom we shall never see again; I go there 
 from time to time. 
 
 "It happens that in this Montmartre Cemetery 
 I have a sweetheart, a charming little woman whom 
 I really loved and the memory of whom makes 
 me sad and gives me regrets regrets of every 
 kind. I go and dream over her last resting-place 
 all is over for her. 
 
 "Again, I like cemeteries because they are enor- 
 mous cities with a great population. Only think 
 of the number of bodies that lie in this little en- 
 closure, of the generations of Parisians who will 
 stay there forever, closed up in their little vaults, 
 or buried under the earth with a stone placed at 
 their heads to identify their last home, while the 
 living ones take up so much room and make so 
 much noise. 
 
 "In the cemeteries, too, there are monuments 
 almost as interesting as those to be found in muse- 
 ums. Although it cannot be compared to it, the 
 tomb of Cavaignac reminded me, I must admit, 
 of that masterpiece of Jean Goujon: the body of 
 Louis de Breze, in the underground chapel of the 
 Cathedral of Rouen ; all so called modern and real-
 
 124 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 istic art has come from there, gentlemen. The dead 
 Louis de Breze is more real, more terrible, more 
 convulsed by agony than all the statuary put on 
 modern tombs. 
 
 "But in the cemetery of Montmartre one can 
 still admire the monument of Baudin, which has a 
 certain amount of grandeur, that of Gautier, that 
 of Miirger, where, the other day, I saw one soli- 
 tary wreath, put there by whom? By his last 
 sweetheart, now old and perhaps a janitress in 
 the neighborhood? It is a pretty little statue by 
 Millet, but neglect and dirt are spoiling it. Sing 
 of Youth, oh, Miirger ! 
 
 "I entered the cemetery of Montmartre, and was 
 overcome by a grief which was not very disagree- 
 able, the kind which, when you feel well, makes 
 you think : 'This place is none too gay, but, thank 
 heaven, my time has not yet come!' 
 
 "The impression of autumn, of that moist 
 warmth, which smells of dead leaves, and the 
 weak, tired, lifeless sun enhanced the poetry of the 
 sensation of solitude which hangs over this last 
 resting-place of man. 
 
 "I sauntered slowly through these streets of 
 tombs, where neighbors do not gossip, do not quar- 
 rel, and do not read the papers. I began to read 
 the epitaphs. Really, that's the most amusing thing 
 in the world. Never could Labiche or Meilhac 
 make me laugh as does the comical prose on the 
 tombstones. For random reading, those marble
 
 CEMETERY SIRENS 125 
 
 slabs and those crosses, where relatives of the dead 
 have poured out their grief, their wishes for the 
 future happiness of the deceased and their hopes 
 to join them, are superior to anything by De Kock. 
 
 "But the spot I love in this cemetery is the aban- 
 doned section, solitary, full of large yew and cypress 
 trees, the old quarter of ancient dead which will 
 soon become a new quarter, whose great green trees, 
 nourished by human bodies, will be cut down in 
 order to lay out new corpses under little marble 
 slabs. 
 
 "After I had wandered around there for a while, 
 I felt that it was dull and that I would have to 
 bring to the last resting-place of my little friend 
 my sincere tribute to her memory. On arriving 
 near her, I felt quite sad. Poor darling, she was 
 so gentle, so loving, so white and fresh and now 
 if that place were to be opened 
 
 "Bending over the iron railing, I whispered my 
 regrets to her, which she doubtless did not hear, 
 and I was about to leave when I saw a woman 
 dressed in deep mourning, kneeling at the neighbor- 
 ing plot. Her crape veil had been lifted and showed 
 a pretty blond head, whose golden tresses under the 
 dark headgear seemed tinged with the first light of 
 dawn. I stood there. 
 
 "Suddenly she seemed to be suffering from a 
 deep grief. She had buried her face in her hands, 
 and, as rigid as a statue, lost in her regrets, telling 
 over her rosary, she seemed herself a dead woman
 
 126 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 thinking of the deceased. Then I guessed that she 
 was about to weep I guessed it by a little move- 
 ment of her back like a shiver. At first she wept 
 silently, then stronger and stronger, with a quick 
 twitching of neck and shoulders. Suddenly she 
 uncovered her eyes. They were full of tears and 
 charming, wild eyes which looked around as if 
 awakening from a nightmare. She saw me looking 
 at her, seemed ashamed, and once more hid hei 
 face in her hands. Then her sobs became convul- 
 sive, and her head slowly drooped toward the mar- 
 ble. She leaned her forehead against it, and the 
 folds of her veil, spreading around her, covered 
 the white angles of the beloved monument like a 
 new wreath of mourning. I heard her moan, then 
 she sank down, her cheek against the slab, and re- 
 mained motionless, unconscious. 
 
 "Instinctively I started toward her, I slapped 
 the palms of her hands, blew on her eyes, and, at 
 the same time, read this simple epitaph : 'Here lies 
 Louis Theodore Carrel, captain of marines, killed 
 by the ensmy in Tonkin. Pray for him.' 
 
 "This death was only a few months old. I was 
 moved to tears, and I redoubled my attentions. 
 They were successful; she regained consciousness. 
 I seemed very sad. I understood from her first look 
 that she would be polite and grateful. She was; 
 and with more tears, her story c ime out ;>y frag- 
 ments: the death of the officer in Tonkin at the 
 end of a year of married life, after a love match,
 
 CEMETERY Si T RENS 127 
 
 for, having neither father nor mother, she had 
 only the regulation dowry. 
 
 "I consoled and comforted her, \nd raised her to 
 her feet. Then I said : 
 
 " 'Do not stay here. Come.' 
 
 "She murmured: 
 
 " 'I feel unable to walk.' 
 
 " 'I will support you.' 
 
 " 'Thank you, sir, you are very kind. Were you 
 also mourning for a deceased one?' 
 
 " 'Yes, Madame/ 
 
 " 'A woman?' 
 
 " 'Yes, Madame.' 
 
 " 'Your wife?' 
 
 " 'A friend.' 
 
 " 'One can love a friend as much as a wife. .Vas- 
 sion knows no law.' 
 
 " 'Yes, Madame.' 
 
 "She took my arm, and we set off together. I 
 almost carried her through the paths of the ceme- 
 tery. When we were outside, she murmured in a 
 weak voice: 
 
 " 'I am feeling very faint.' 
 
 " 'Would you like to go somewhere and take 
 something?' 
 
 " 'Yes, Monsieur.' 
 
 "I noticed a restaurant, one of those places 
 where the friends of the dead go to recuperate 
 from their exertions. We entered. I ordered for 
 her a cup of hot tea, which seemed to revive her. 
 A vague smile appeared on her lips. She spoke to
 
 128 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 me of herself. It was so sad, so lonely being all 
 alone at home, day and night, having no one to 
 love or confide in, no intimacy with anyone. 
 
 "She looked sincere. The words sounded so 
 sweet from her lips. I grew tender. She was very 
 young, perhaps twenty. I paid her some compli- 
 ments, which she accepted very well. Then, as time 
 was passing, I offered to take her home in a car- 
 riage. She accepted ; and in the carriage we sat so 
 close to each other, shoulder to shoulder, that the 
 warmth of our bodies mingled through our clothes, 
 which is one of the most distracting things in the 
 world. 
 
 "When the carriage had stopped at her house, 
 she murmured: 'I really feel unable to go up- 
 stairs alone, for I live on the fourth floor. You 
 have already been so kind, would you mind giving 
 me your arm up to my apartment?' 
 
 "I hastened to comply. She went up slowly, 
 breathing with difficulty. Then, at her door, she 
 added : 
 
 " 'Wouldn't you like to step inside for a minute, 
 in order that I may thank you?' 
 
 "Of course I accepted this invitation. 
 
 "The apartment was very modest, even a little 
 poor, but simply and tastefully arranged. 
 
 "We sat down side by side on a little sofa, and 
 once more she spoke to me of her loneliness. 
 
 "She rang for the servant, in order to offer me 
 something to drink. The girl did not come. I was
 
 CEMETERY SIRENS 129 
 
 delighted, hoping that this maid might be one of 
 those women who only come in the morning to 
 clear up and then depart. 
 
 "She had taken off her hat. She was really 
 charming with her bright eyes fastened on me, so 
 charming that I had a terrible temptation, and I 
 yielded to it. I seized her in my arms, and on her 
 eyes, which suddenly closed, I rained kisses 
 kisses kisses. 
 
 " She resisted, pushing me away, repeating : 
 
 " 'Stop stop end it !' 
 
 "What could she mean by this word? In such 
 c^ses 'end' may have at least two meanings. In 
 crder to quiet her, I passed from her eyes to her 
 lips, and I imparted to the word 'end' the meaning 
 i preferred. She did not resist too much, and 
 when we once more looked at each other, after this 
 outrage to the memory of the captain killed in 
 Tonkin, she had a languishing, tender, resigned look 
 which dispelled all my fears. 
 
 "Then I was gallant, eager, and grateful. After 
 another conversation, which lasted about an hour, 
 I asked: 
 
 " 'Where do you dine?' 
 
 " 'In a little restaurant in the neighborhood.' 
 
 "'All alone?' 
 
 " 'Yes, of course.' 
 
 " 'Will you dine with me?' 
 
 " 'Where?' 
 
 " 'In a good restaurant on the Boulevard.'
 
 130 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "She resisted a little. I insisted. She gave in, 
 calming herself with the following argument: ; I 
 am so terribly, terribly lonely;' then she added: 
 'But I must put on a less gloomy dress.' 
 
 "She went into her bedroom. 
 
 "When she came out again, she was wearing a 
 delightful gray, a second-mourning costume, neat 
 and simple. She evidently had cemetery gowns and 
 street gowns. 
 
 "The dinner was very pleasant. She drank 
 champagne, grew bright and lively, and I went home 
 with her. 
 
 "This friendship begun on the graves, lasted 
 about three weeks. But one tires of everything and 
 especially of women. I left her on the pretext of 
 an indispensable journey. I was very generous at 
 my departure, and she thanked me warmly. She 
 made me promise, swear, to come back after my 
 return, for she seemed really to care for me. 
 
 "I went in search of new love, and about a 
 month went by without my feeling any desire to 
 visit this little cemetery sweetheart. However, I 
 did not forget her. Her memory haunted me like 
 a mystery, like a psychological problem, like one 
 of those inexplicable questions the solution of which 
 worries us. 
 
 "I don't know why, but one day I imagined that 
 I might see her in the Montmartre Cemetery, and 
 I went there. 
 
 "For a long time I walked around without meet-
 
 CEMETERY SIRENS 131 
 
 ing any others than the ordinary visitors, those 
 who have not yet severed all bonds with their dead. 
 
 "But as I wandered away in another section of 
 this great city of the dead, I noticed suddenly, 
 at the end of a narrow walk, a couple in deep 
 mourning approaching in my direction. Oh, aston- 
 ishment ! When they had come up to me, I recog- 
 nized the woman. It was she ! 
 
 "She saw me, blushed, and, as I passed beside 
 her, she gave me an imperceptible wink which 
 seemed to mean : 'Do not recognize me/ but which 
 also meant: 'Come back to see me, darling.' 
 
 "The man was distinguished-looking, an officer 
 of the Legion of Honor, about fifty years of age. 
 
 "He was supporting her as I myself had done, 
 under similar conditions. 
 
 "I left, bewildered, wondering at what I had 
 seen. To what race might this sepulchral huntress 
 belong? Was she an ordinary common girl who 
 went to pluck from the graves sad men, haunted by 
 the memories of their wives or sweethearts, and 
 still agitated by the remembrance of vanished 
 caresses ? Was she alone ? Are there many like her ? 
 Is it a profession? Do they walk the cemetery 
 the same as they do the streets ? Cemetery sirens ! 
 Or had she alone had this admirable idea, from a 
 deep philosophy, of taking advantage of the regrets 
 of love which these funereal places inspire? 
 
 "I would have given much to know whose widow 
 she was that day !"
 
 THE DYING PEASANT 
 
 THE glowing sun of autumn was pouring h.9 
 rays down on the farmyard. Under the grass, 
 which had been cropped close by the cows, 
 the earth, soaked by recent rain, was soft, and sank 
 under the feet with a soggy sound, and the trees, 
 laden with fruit, were dropping pale green apples 
 in the dark green grass. 
 
 Four young heifers, tethered in a row, were graz- 
 ing, and at times looking toward the house and 
 lowing. The fowls made a spot of color on the 
 dung-heap before the stable, scratching, moving 
 around, and cackling, while two cocks crowed con- 
 tinually, digging worms for their hens, which they 
 called with a loud clucking. 
 
 The wooden gate opened and a man entered. He 
 might have been forty years old, but he looked at 
 least sixty, wrinkled, bent, walking slowly, im- 
 peded by the weight of heavy wooden shoes, full 
 of straw. His long arms hung limply from his 
 body. When he was near the farm, a little yellow 
 pug dog, tied to the foot of an enormous pear-tree, 
 
 132
 
 THE DYING PEASANT 133 
 
 beside a barrel which served as his kennel, began 
 to wag his tail and bark for joy. The man cried: 
 
 "Down, Finot!" 
 
 The dog was quiet. 
 
 A i :asant woman came out of the house. Her 
 large, flat, bony body was outlined under a long 
 jacket whicl was tied in at the waist. A gray 
 skirt, too short, fell to the middle of her calves, 
 which were covered with blue stockings. She, too, 
 wore wooden shoes, full of straw. The white cap, 
 turned yellow, covered a few hairs plastered to the 
 scalp, and her brown, thin, ugly, toothless face 
 had that brutal and savage expression often found 
 on the faces of peasants. 
 
 "How is he getting along?" inquired the man. 
 
 "The priest said it's the end that he will not 
 live through the night." 
 
 Both entered the house. 
 
 After passing through the kitchen, they went 
 into a low, dark room, barely lighted by one win- 
 dow, in front of which a rag was hanging. The 
 heavy beams, turned brown with time and smoke, 
 crossed the room from one side to the other, sup- 
 porting the thin floor of the garret where an army 
 of rats raced about day and night. 
 
 The damp, lumpy, earth floor looked greasy, and, 
 at the back of the room, the bed made an indistinct 
 white spot. A harsh, regular noise, a difficult, 
 hoarse, wheezing breathing, like the gurgling of 
 water from a broken pump, came from the dark-
 
 134 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 ened bed where an old man, the father of the 
 woman, lay dying. 
 
 The man and the woman approached the dying 
 man and looked at him with calm, resigned eyes. 
 
 The son-in-law said : 
 
 "I think it's all over with him this time; he will 
 not live through the night." 
 
 The woman answered : 
 
 "He's been breathing like that ever since mid- 
 day." 
 
 They kept silent. The father's eyes were closed, 
 his face was the color of the earth, and so dry that 
 it looked like wood. Through his open mouth 
 came his harsh, rattling breath ; and the gray canvas 
 sheet rose and fell with each respiration. 
 
 The son-in-law, after a long silence, said : 
 
 "There's nothing more to do; I can't help him. 
 It's a bother, too, because the weather is good and 
 we have much work to do." 
 
 His wife seemed annoyed at this. She thought 
 for a short time, and then declared : 
 
 "He won't be buried till Saturday, and that will 
 give you all day to-morrow." 
 
 The peasant thought the matter over and an- 
 swered : 
 
 "Yes, but to-morrow I must invite the people to 
 the funeral. That means five or six hours to go 
 to Tourville and Manetot, and to see everybody." 
 
 After meditating, the woman declared : 
 
 "It isn't three o'clock yet; you could go out
 
 THE DYING PEASANT 135 
 
 toward Tourville and begin. You can just as well 
 say that he's dead, seeing as he is almost gone 
 now." 
 
 The man stood perplexed for a while, weighing 
 the pros and cons of the idea. At last he declared : 
 
 "I will do that." 
 
 "He set off, but came back after a minute's hesi- 
 tation : 
 
 "As you haven't anything to do, you might cut 
 up some apples, and make four dozen dumplings 
 to entertain those who come to the funeral. You 
 can light the fire with the wood that's under the 
 shed. It's dry." 
 
 He left the room, returned to the kitchen, opened 
 the cupboard, took out a six-pound loaf of bread, 
 cut off a slice, and carefully gathered the crumbs 
 in the palm of his hand and threw them into his 
 mouth, so as not to lose anything. Then, with the 
 end of his knife, he scraped out a little salt butter 
 from the bottom of an earthen jar, spread it on his 
 bread and began to eat slowly, as he did everything. 
 
 He recrossed the farmyard, quieted the dog, 
 which had begun to bark again, went out on the 
 road bordered by a ditch, and disappeared in the 
 direction of Tourville. 
 
 As soon as she was alone, the woman began to 
 work. She got the meal-trough, and prepared the 
 dough for the dumplings. She kneaded it for a 
 long time, turning it over and over again, punch- 
 ing, pressing, crushing it. Finally she made a big,
 
 136 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 round, yellow-white ball, which she placed on the 
 corner of the table. 
 
 Then she went to get her apples, and, in order 
 not to injure the tree with a pole, she climbed up 
 by means of a ladder. She chose the fruit care- 
 fully, taking only the ripe apples, and gathering 
 them in her apron. 
 
 A voice called from the road : 
 
 "Hey! Madame Chicot!" 
 
 She turned around. It was a neighbor, Osime 
 Faver, the mayor, who was on his way to fertilize 
 his fields, seated on the dung-wagon, with his feet 
 hanging over the side. She turned around and 
 answered : 
 
 "What can I do for you, Maitre Osime?" 
 
 "How is the father?" 
 
 "He is as good as dead," she cried. "The funeral 
 is Saturday at seven, because there is so much work 
 to be done." 
 
 "So! Good luck, to you! Take care of your- 
 self," the neighbor answered. 
 
 To his kind remarks she answered: "Thanks; 
 the same to you." 
 
 And she continued picking her apples. 
 
 When she returned to the house, she went to 
 look at her father, expecting to find him dead. But 
 as soon as she reached the door she heard the mono- 
 tonous, noisy rattle, and, thinking it needless to go 
 to him, not to lose any time she began to prepare her 
 dumplings. She wrapped up the apples, one by
 
 THE DYING PEASANT 137 
 
 one, in a thin layer of paste, then she laid them in 
 a row on the edge of the table. When she had 
 made forty-eight balls, arranged by dozens, one in 
 front of another, she began to think of preparing 
 supper, and she hung her kettle over the fire to cook 
 potatoes; for she judged it useless to heat the oven 
 that day; as she had all the next day in which to 
 finish her preparations. 
 
 Her husband returned about five o'clock. As soon 
 as he had crossed the threshold, he asked : 
 
 "Is it over?" 
 
 "Not yet; he's still gurgling," she answered. 
 
 They went to look at him. The old man was in 
 exactly the same condition. His harsh breathing, 
 as regular as the ticking of the clock ; was neither 
 quicker nor slower. It returned every second, the 
 key varying a little, as the air entered or left his 
 lungs. 
 
 His son-in-law looked at him and said: 
 
 "He'll pass away without our noticing it, like a 
 candle going out." 
 
 They returned to the kitchen and began to eat, 
 without saying a word. When they had swallowed 
 their soup, they ate more bread and butter; then, 
 as soon as the dishes were washed, they returned 
 to the dying man. 
 
 The woman carrying a little lamp with a smoky 
 wick, held it in front of her father's face. If he 
 had not been breathing, one woul<' certainly have 
 thought him dead. 
 
 Vol. 110
 
 138 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 The bed of the married pair was hidden in a little 
 recess at the other end of the room. Silent, they 
 went to bed, put out the light, closed their eyes; 
 and soon two unequal snores, one deep and the 
 other shriller, accompanied the uninterrupted rattle 
 of the dying man. 
 
 The rats ran wildly about the garret. 
 
 The husband awoke at the first streaks of dawn. 
 His father-in-law was still alive. He shook his 
 wife, worried by the tenacity of the old man. 
 
 "Phemie, he doesn't mean to die. What would 
 you do?" 
 
 He knew that she gave good advice. 
 
 "You needn't be afraid," she answered; "he 
 can't live through the day. And the mayor won't 
 stop our burying him tomorrow, because he allowed 
 it for Maitre Remard's father, who died just during 
 the plowing season." 
 
 He was convinced by this argument, and departed 
 for the fields. 
 
 His wife baked the dumplings, and then attended 
 to her housework. 
 
 At noon the old man was not yet dead. The 
 people hired for the day's work came by groups to 
 look at him. Each one had his say, then they left 
 again for the fields. 
 
 At six o'clock, when work was over, the father 
 was still breathing. At last his son-in-law was 
 frightened. 
 
 "What would you do now, Phemie?"
 
 THE DYING PEASANT 139 
 
 She no longer knew how to solve the problem. 
 They went to the mayor. He promised that he 
 would close his eyes, and authorize the funeral for 
 the following day. They also went to the health 
 officer, who likewise promised, in order to oblige 
 Maitre Chicot, to antedate the death certificate. The 
 man and the woman returned, feeling more at ease. 
 
 They went to bed and to sleep, as they did the 
 night before, their healthy breathing mingling with 
 the feeble breath of the old man. 
 
 When they awoke, he was not yet dead. 
 
 Then they were really alarmed. They stood by 
 their father, watching him with distrust, as if he 
 wished to play them a mean trick, to deceive them,, 
 to annoy them on purpose, and they were vexed 
 at him for the time which he was making them lose. 
 
 "What am I going to do?" the son-in-law asked. 
 
 She did not know, so she answered: "It certainly 
 is vexing!" 
 
 The guests who were expected could not be 
 warned away. They decided to wait, and explain 
 the case to them. 
 
 Toward a quarter before seven, the first persons 
 arrived. The women in black, their heads covered 
 with large veils, looked very sad. The men, ill at 
 ease in their homespun coats, came forward more 
 slowly, in couples, talking business. 
 
 Maitie Chicot and his wife, bewildered, received 
 them in despair; and suddenly, both began to cry 
 as they approached the first group. They explained
 
 140 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 the matter, related their difficulty, offered chairs, 
 bustled around, tried to make excuses, attempting 
 to prove that everybody would have done as they 
 had, talking continually and giving nobody a chance 
 to answer. 
 
 They went from one person to another saying: "I 
 never would have thought it ; it's incredible how he 
 can last this long!" 
 
 The guests, taken aback, a little disappointed, as 
 if they had missed an expected entertainment, did 
 not know what to do, some remaining seated, others 
 standing. Several wished to leave. Maitre Chicot 
 held them back : 
 
 "You must eat something, anyhow! We made 
 some dumplings and we might as well make use of 
 them." 
 
 The faces brightened at this idea. The yard was 
 filling little by little; the early arrivals were telling 
 the news to those who had arrived later. Every- 
 body was whispering. The idea of the dumplings 
 seemed to cheer everyone. 
 
 The women went in to take a look at the dying 
 man. They crossed themselves near the bed, mut- 
 tered a prayer and came out again. The men, less 
 anxious for this spectacle, cast a look through the 
 window, which had been left open. 
 
 Madame Chicot explained her distress : 
 
 "That's how he's been for two days, neither bet- 
 ter nor worse. Doesn't he sound like a pump with- 
 out any water?"
 
 THE DYING PEASANT 141 
 
 When everybody had had a look at the dying 
 man, they thought of the refreshments ; but as there 
 were too many people for the kitchen to hold, the 
 table was moved out in front of the door. The 
 four dozen golden dumplings, tempting and appetiz- 
 ing, arranged in two large dishes, attracted all eyes. 
 Each person reached out to take one, fearing there 
 would not be enough. But four were left. 
 
 Maitre Chicot, with full mouth, said : 
 
 "Father would feel sad if he were to see these. 
 He loved dumplings so much when he was alive." 
 
 A big, jovial peasant declared : 
 
 "He won't eat any more now. Each one in his 
 turn." 
 
 This remark, instead of making the guests sad, 
 seemed to enliven them. It was their turn at pres- 
 ent to eat dumplings. 
 
 Madame Chicot, distressed at the expense, kept 
 running down to the cellar, all the time, after cider. 
 The pitchers followed one another in quick suc- 
 cession. The company was laughing and talking 
 loud now ; they were beginning to shout as they do 
 during meals. 
 
 Suddenly an old peasant woman who had stayed 
 near the dying man, held there by a morbid fear of 
 that which would soon happen to her, appeared at 
 the window and cried in a shrill voice: 
 
 "He's dead! he's dead!" 
 
 Everybody was silent. The women arose quickly 
 to see.
 
 142 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 He was indeed dead. The rattle had ceased. 
 The men looked at each other, ill at ease. They 
 hadn't finished eating the dumplings. Certainly the 
 rascal had not chosen a propitious moment. 
 
 The Chicots were no longer weeping. It was 
 over ; they were relieved. They kept repeating : 
 
 "I knew it couldn't last. If he could only have 
 done it last night, it would have saved us all this 
 trouble." 
 
 But it was all over. They would bury him on 
 Monday, that was all, and they would eat some 
 more dumplings for the occasion. 
 
 The guests went away, talking the matter over, 
 pleased at having had the chance to see everything 
 and getting something to eat. 
 
 And when the man and the woman were atone, 
 face to face, she said, her face contracted with 
 anguish : 
 
 "We'll have to bake four dozen more dump- 
 lings! Why couldn't he have made up his mind 
 last night?" 
 
 The husband, more resigned, answered: 
 
 "Well, we shall not have to do this every day."
 
 A MADMAN'S JOURNAL 
 
 HE was dead the head of a high tribunal, the 
 upright magistrate, whose irreproachable life 
 was a proverb in all the courts of France. 
 Advocates, young counsellors, judges had saluted at 
 sight of his large, thin, pale face and sparkling 
 deep-set eyes, bowing low in token of respect. 
 
 He had passed his life in pursuing crime and in 
 protecting the weak. Swindlers and murderers had 
 no more redoubtable enemy, for he seemed to read 
 their most secret thoughts. 
 
 He was dead, now, at the age of eighty-two, hon- 
 ored by the homage and followed by the regrets 
 of a whole people. Soldiers in red trousers had 
 escorted him to the tomb, and men in white cravats 
 had spoken words and shed tears that were appar- 
 ently sincere beside his grave. 
 
 But here is the strange paper found by this dis- 
 mayed notary in the desk where he had kept the 
 records of ereat criminals! It was entitled: 
 
 1-43
 
 144 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 June 20, 1851. I have just left court. I have 
 condemned Blondel to death! Why did this man 
 kill his five children? Frequently one meets with 
 people to whom destruction of life is a pleasure. 
 Yes, it should be a pleasure, the greatest of all, 
 perhaps, for is not killing the next thing to creat- 
 ing? To make and to destroy! These words con- 
 tain the history of the universe, all the history of 
 worlds, all that is, all! Why is it not intoxicating 
 to kill? 
 
 June 25. To think that a being is there who lives, 
 who walks, who runs. A being? What is a being? 
 The animated thing that bears in itself the princi- 
 ple of motion, and a will ruling that motion. It is 
 attached to nothing, this thing. Its feet do not 
 belong to the ground. It is a grain of life that 
 moves on the earth, and this grain of life, coming 
 I know not whence, one can destroy at will. Then 
 nothing more. It perishes, it is finished. 
 
 June 26. Why, then, is it a crime to kill? Yes, 
 why ? On the contrary, it is the law of nature. The 
 mission of every being is to kill; he kills to live, 
 and he lives to kill. The beast kills without ceas- 
 ing, all day, every instant of his existence. Man 
 kills without Ceasing, to nourish himself; but since 
 he needs also to kill for pleasure, he has invented 
 hunting. The child kills the insects he finds, the 
 little birds, all the little animals that come in his 
 way. But this does not suffice for our irresistible 
 need to massacre. It is not enough to kill beasts;
 
 A MADMAN'S JOURNAL 145 
 
 we must kill man, too. Long ago this need was 
 satisfied by human sacrifices. Now the necessity 
 of social life has made murder a crime. We con- 
 demn and punish the assassin. But, as we cannot 
 live without yielding to this natural and imperious 
 instinct, we relieve ourselves, from time to time, 
 by wars. Then a whole nation slaughters another 
 nation. It is a feast of blood, a feast that maddens 
 armies, and intoxicates civilians, women and chil 
 dren, who read by lamplight, the feverish stor5 
 of massacre. 
 
 One might suppose that those destined to accom- 
 plish these butcheries of men would be despised! 
 No, they are loaded with honors. They are clad in 
 gold and in resplendent garments ; they wear plumes 
 on their heads and ornaments on their breasts ; and 
 to them are given crosses, rewards, titles of every 
 kind. They are proud, respected, loved by women, 
 cheered by the crowd, solely because their mission 
 is to shed human blood! They drag through the 
 streets their instruments of death, and the passer-by 
 clad in black, looks on with envy. For to kill is 
 the great law set by nature in the heart of existence ! 
 There is nothing more beautiful and honorable 
 than killing. 
 
 June jo. To kill is the law, because nature 
 loves eternal youth. She seems to cry in all her 
 unconscious acts: "Quick! quick! quick!" The 
 more she destroys, the more she renews herself. 
 
 July 2. A human being what is a human be-
 
 146 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 ing? Through thought it is a reflection of all that 
 is; through memory and science it is an abridged 
 edition of the universe, whose history it represents ; 
 each human being becomes a microcosm in the 
 macrocosm. 
 
 July j. It must be a pleasure, unique and full 
 of zest, to kill ; to have there before one the living, 
 thinking being; to make therein a little hope, noth- 
 ing but a little hole, to see that red thing flow which 
 is the blood, which makes life; and to have before 
 one only a heap of limp flesh, cold, inert, void of 
 thought. 
 
 Aug. 5. I, who have passed my life in judg- 
 ing, condemning, killing by the spoken word, killing 
 by the guillotine those who had killed by the knife, 
 I, if I should do as all the assassins have done, 
 whom I have smitten, I who would know it? 
 
 Aug. 10. Who would ever know? Who would 
 ever suspect me, me, me, especially if I should 
 choose a being I had no interest in doing away 
 with? 
 
 Aug. 15. The temptation has come. It pervades 
 my whole being; my hands tremble with a desire 
 to kill. 
 
 Aug. 22. I could resist no longer. I killed a 
 little creature as an experiment, for a beginning. 
 Jean, my servant, had a goldfinch in a cage hung 
 in the office window. I sent him on an errand, and 
 I took the little bird in my hand. I felt its heart 
 beat. It was warm. I went up to my room. From
 
 A MADMAN'S JOURNAL 147 
 
 time to time I squeezed it tighter; its heart beat 
 faster; this was atrocious and delicious. I was 
 near choking it. But I could not see the blood. 
 
 Then I took scissors, short nail-scissors, and I 
 cut its throat with three slits, quite gently. It opened 
 its bill, it struggled to escape me, but I held it, 
 oh! I held it I could have held a mad dog and 
 I saw the blood trickle. 
 
 And then I did as assassins do real ones. I 
 washed the scissors, I washed my hands, I sprinkled 
 water, and took the body, the corpse, to the garden 
 to hide it. I buried it under a strawberry-plant. 
 It never will be found. Every day I shall eat a 
 strawberry from that plant. How one can enjoy 
 life, when one knows how ! 
 
 My servant cried; he thought his bird had flown. 
 How could he suspect me? 
 
 Aug. 25. I must kill a man ! I must ! 
 
 Aug. jo. It is done. But what a little thing! 
 I had gone for a walk in the forest of Vernes. I 
 was thinking of nothing, literally nothing. A child 
 was in the road, a little child eating a slice of bread 
 and butter. 
 
 He stops to see me pass and says, "Good-day, 
 Monsieur President." 
 
 And the thought enters my head: "Shall I kill 
 him?" 
 
 I answer: "You are alone, my boy?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "All alone in the wood?"
 
 148 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 The wish to kill him intoxicated me like wine. I 
 approached him quite softly, persuaded that he was 
 going to run away. And, suddenly, I seized him 
 by the throat. He looked at me with terror in his 
 eyes such eyes! He held my wrists in his little 
 hands, and his body writhed like a feather over the 
 fire. Then he moved no more. I threw the body in 
 the ditch, and some weeds on top of it. I returned 
 home, and dined well. What a little thing it was ! 
 In the evening I was very gay, light, rejuvenated; 
 I passed the evening at the Prefect's. They found 
 me witty. But I have not seen blood ! I am tran- 
 quil. 
 
 Aug. 31. The body has been discovered. They 
 are hunting for the assassin. 
 
 Sept. i. Two tramps have been arrested. Proofs 
 are lacking. 
 
 Sept. 2. The parents have been to see me. They 
 wept! Ah! ah! 
 
 Oct. 6. Nothing has been discovered. Some 
 strolling vagabond must have done the deed. Ah! 
 ah ! If I had seen the blood flow, it seems to me I 
 should be tranquil now ! The desire to kill is in my 
 blood ; it is like the passion of youth at twenty. 
 
 Oct. 20. Yet another. I was walking by the 
 river, after breakfast. And I saw under a willow 
 a fisherman asleep. It was noon. A spade was 
 standing in a potato-field near by, as if expressly 
 for me. I took it. I returned; I raised it like a
 
 A MADMAN'S JOURNAL 149 
 
 club, and with one blow of the edge I cleft the 
 fisherman's head. Oh! he bled, this one! Rose- 
 colored blood. It flowed into the water, quite gently. 
 And I went away with a slow step. If I had been 
 seen ! Ah ! ah ! I should have made an excellent 
 assassin. 
 
 Oct. 25. The affair of the fisherman makes a 
 great stir. His nephew, who fished with him is, 
 charged with the murder. 
 
 Oct. 26. The examining magistrate affirms that 
 the nephew is guilty. Everybody in town believes 
 it. Ah! ah! 
 
 Oct. 27. The nephew makes a very poor wit- 
 ness. He had gone to the village to buy bread 
 and cheese, he declared. He swore that his uncle 
 had been killed in his absence. Who would believe 
 him? 
 
 Oct. 28. The nephew has all but confessed, they 
 have badgered him so. Ah! ah! Justice! 
 
 Nov. 75. There are overwhelming proofs against 
 the nephew, who was his uncle's heir. I shall pre- 
 side at the sessions. 
 
 Jan. 25. To death! to death! to death! I have 
 had him condemned to death ! Ah ! ah ! The advo- 
 cate-general spoke like an angel ! Ah ! ah ! Yet an- 
 other ! I shall go to see him executed ! 
 
 Mar. 10. It is done. They guillotined him this 
 morning. He died very well ! very well ! That 
 gave me pleasure! How fine it is to see a man's 
 head cut off!
 
 150' GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Now, I shall wait, I can wait. It would take such 
 a little thing to let myself be caught. 
 
 The manuscript contained other pages, but with- 
 out relating any new crime. 
 
 Alienist physicians to whom the awful story has 
 been submitted declare that there are in the world 
 many undiscovered madmen, as adroit and as much 
 to be feared as this monstrous lunatic.
 
 CHECKMATE! 
 
 I WAS going to Turin by way of Corsica. At 
 Nice I took the boat for Bastia, and as soon 
 as we were started I noticed a rather pretty, 
 modest-looking young woman seated on the deck. 
 She was looking into the distance with a far-away 
 expression. 
 
 I seated myself opposite and looked at her, asking 
 myself the questions which come to one's mind on 
 seeing an unknown woman who interests him : 
 What was her condition, her age, her disposition? 
 Then through what you see you guess what you 
 do not know. You notice the length of the waist 
 when she is seated, you try to discover her ankle, 
 you observe the quality of the hand, which reveals 
 the refinement of all one's affections, and the ear, 
 which indicates origin better than a birth certificate. 
 You try to hear her speak in order to understand 
 the nature of her mind and the tendencies of her 
 heart through her intonations. For the quality of 
 the voice and the choice of words unfold to an 
 experienced observer the whole mysterious texture 
 of the soul. 
 
 151
 
 152 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 I was therefore attentively observing my neigh- 
 bor, looking for signs, analyzing gestures, expecting 
 a revelation every minute. 
 
 She opened a little bag and drew out a news- 
 paper. I rubbed my hands: "Tell me what you 
 read, and I will tell you what you think." 
 
 She began to read with a look of pleasure. The 
 sheet was Echo de Paris. I was perplexed. She 
 was reading an article by Scholl. Was she a 
 Schollist ? She began to smile. Was she one of his 
 opponents? It was difficult to make her out. 
 
 I sat down beside her and began to read, with no 
 less attention, a volume of poetry that I had 
 bought, the "Song of Love," by Felix Frank. 
 
 I noticed that she took in the title with a rapid 
 glance, just as a flying bird snatches up a fly. Sev- 
 eral of the passengers passed by in order to look at 
 her. But she seemed only to be thinking of her 
 article. W 7 hen she had finished it, she laid the paper 
 down between us. 
 
 Bowing, I said to her: 
 
 "Madame, may I glance at this paper?" 
 
 "Certainly, Monsieur." 
 
 "In the meanwhile, allow me to offer you this 
 volume of verses." 
 
 "Thank you, Monsieur; is it amusing?" 
 
 I was a bit disturbed by this question. One does 
 not ask of a volume of verse whether it is amusing. 
 
 "It is better than that, it is charming, delicate 
 and very artistic," I answered.
 
 CHECKMATE! 153 
 
 "Then let me see it." 
 
 She took the volume, opened it and began to 
 glance through it with a little surprised air which 
 showed that she was not in the habit of reading 
 verse. 
 
 At times she seemed moved, at other times she 
 smiled, but with a smile different from the one she 
 had when reading the newspaper. 
 
 Suddenly I asked her: "Does it please you?" 
 
 "Yes, but I like things that are merry, very 
 merry. I am not at all sentimental." 
 
 We began to talk. I learned that she was the 
 wife of a captain of dragoons, stationed at Ajaccio, 
 and that she was going to join her husband there. 
 
 In a few minutes I had found out that she did 
 not love him any too much. She loved him, never- 
 theless, but reservedly, as one loves a man who has 
 not lived up to what was expected before marriage. 
 He had trotted her from garrison to garrison, 
 through many sad little villages. Now he was 
 calling her to this dismal island. No, life was not 
 amusing for everybody. She would even have pre- 
 ferred remaining with her parents in Lyons, for 
 there she knew everybody. But now she had to go 
 to Corsica. Really, the Secretary of War was not 
 at all nice to her husband. 
 
 We spoke of the places in which she would have 
 preferred to live, and I asked : 
 
 "Do you like Paris?" 
 
 She exclaimed: 
 
 Vol. in
 
 154 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "Oh! Monsieur, do I love Paris? Is it possible 
 to ask such a question?" And she began to talk 
 to me of Paris with such ardor, such enthusiasm, 
 such envy, that I thought to myself: "That's the 
 string to play on." 
 
 She adored Paris from a distance with the ex- 
 asperated passion of a woman from the country, 
 with the wild impatience of a captive bird that is 
 watching a forest all day from the window where 
 his cage is hung. 
 
 She began to question me hurriedly; she wished 
 to learn everything in five minutes. She knew the 
 names of all the well-known people, and of many 
 others of whom I never had heard. 
 
 "How is Gounod? and Sardou? Oh! Mon- 
 sieur, I do so love Sardou's plays! They are so 
 gay and witty! Each time I see one of them I 
 dream of it for a week! I also read one of Dau- 
 det's books, which pleased me so much ! Sapho, do 
 you know it? Is Daudet handsome? Have you 
 seen Daudet? And Zola, what kind of man is he? 
 If you knew how Germinal made me cry ! Do you 
 remember where the little child dies in the dark- 
 ness? Isn't it terrible! I was almost sick after 
 reading it ! I also read a book by Monsieur Bour- 
 get, Cruelle Enigme. I have a girl cousin who went 
 so wild about that novel that she wrote to Bourget. 
 I found that book too poetic. I prefer funny things. 
 Do you know Monsieur Grevin? And Monsieur 
 Coquelin ? And Monsieur Damala ? And Monsieur
 
 CHECKMATE! 155 
 
 Rochefort? They say he is so witty! . And Mon- 
 sieur de Cassagnac? I heard that he has a duel 
 every day !" 
 
 After about an hour, this rapid-fire questioning 
 began to slow down ; and having satisfied her curi- 
 osity to the full extent of my fantastical imagina- 
 tion, I was at liberty to pick my own subjects of 
 conversation. 
 
 I told her stories of the gay Parisian life. She 
 took them in with both eyes and ears. She must 
 certainly have conceived a strange idea of the great, 
 well-known ladies of Paris. They were all stories 
 of clandestine appointments, rapid victories and pas- 
 sionate defeats. From time to time she would ask 
 me: 
 
 "Oh! is that the way they live?" 
 
 I answered with a sly smile : 
 
 "Of course, the average middle-class families 
 lead an uneventful, monotonous life, respecting a 
 virtue which no one appreciates." 
 
 I began ironically to philosophize about virtue. I 
 talked carelessly of the poor fools who go through 
 life without ever having known the good, sweet 
 things, without ever having tasted the delicious 
 pleasures of stolen kisses, so passionate and fervid, 
 because they have married some stick of a husband 
 whose marital modesty has allowed them to spend 
 their lives in total ignorance of refined sensuousness 
 and delicate sentiment. 
 
 Then I began to tell her anecdotes, stories of little
 
 156 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 private dinners, of intrigues which I declared were 
 known the world over. The refrain was always the 
 same, it was always discreet, veiled praise of sudden 
 and hidden love, of the sensation stolen like a fruit, 
 while passing by, and forgotten as soon as it is 
 over. 
 
 Night came on, calm and warm. The great ves- 
 sel, trembling under the impulse of its massive ma- 
 chinery, was gliding over the seas, under the star- 
 studded sky. 
 
 The little woman was silent. She was breathing 
 slowly and sometimes sighing. Suddenly she arose : 
 
 "I am going to bed," she said; "good night, 
 Monsieur." 
 
 She shook hands with me. 
 
 I knew that she expected to take, the next even- 
 ing, the coach which goes from Bastia to Ajaccio 
 through the mountains, and which stays over night 
 on the way. 
 
 I answered : 
 
 "Good night, Madame." 
 
 I then went to my cabin. 
 
 The next morning early I reserved all three seats 
 in the coach for myself, alone. 
 
 At nightfall, as I was climbing into the old wagon 
 which was about to leave Bastia, the driver asked 
 me whether I would be willing to give up a little 
 room to a lady. I asked gruffly : 
 
 "To what lady?" 
 
 "To an officer's wife who is going to Ajaccio."
 
 CHECKMATE! 157 
 
 "Tell this person that I will willingly give her 
 a seat." 
 
 She arrived, having spent the day sleeping, as 
 she said. She excused herself, thanked me and 
 climbed in. 
 
 This coach was a kind of hermetically sealed 
 box, getting no light except through its two doors. 
 There we were, face-to-face in the interior. The 
 horses were going at a lively trot ; then we got into 
 the mountains. A fresh and penetrating odor of 
 aromatic herbs drifted in through the open win- 
 dows, that strong smell which Corsica spreads 
 around itself so far that the sailors can recognize it 
 on the sea, so subtle that it is hard to analyze it. I 
 began once more to speak of Paris, and she lis- 
 tened to me again with feverish attention. My 
 stories became bolder and full of those veiled words 
 which stir the blood. 
 
 Night had fallen completely. I could no longer 
 see anything, not even the white spot which, a min- 
 ute ago, the young woman's face made in the dark- 
 ness. The driver's lantern lighted only the four 
 horses, which were slowly climbing. 
 
 From time to time the sound of a mountain tor- 
 rent, rushing through the rocks, came to us mingled 
 with the noise of the bells on the horses, then it 
 was soon lost in the distance behind us. 
 
 Slowly I advanced my foot and met hers, which 
 she did not remove. Then I no longer moved, and 
 suddenly I began to talk of tenderness and of affec-
 
 158 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 tion. I had advanced my hand and met hers. She 
 did not remove that either. I kept on talking, 
 nearer to her ear, very close to her mouth. I already 
 felt her heart beating against my breast. It was 
 beating fast and strong good sign ; then, slowly, I 
 placed my lips on her neck, sure that I held her, so 
 sure that I would have staked my life on it. 
 
 But suddenly she gave a start, as if she had 
 just waked up, such a start that I flew over to the 
 other side of the carriage. Then, before I had had 
 time to understand, to think of anything, I first 
 received five or six terrible slaps in the face, and 
 then a shower of punches, which came to me hard 
 and heavy, hitting me everywhere, without my be- 
 ing able to ward them off in the dense obscurity 
 which surrounded this struggle. 
 
 I stretched out my hands, trying vainly to seize 
 her arms. Then, no longer knowing what to do, I 
 turned around quickly, presenting to her furious 
 attack only my back, and hiding my head in a cor- 
 ner of the cushioned seats. 
 
 She seemed to understand, perhaps by the sound 
 of the blows, this ruse of a desperate man, and she 
 stopped hitting me. 
 
 After a few minutes she went back to her corner, 
 and for at least an hour kept sobbing as if her heart 
 would break. 
 
 I had sat down again, very uneasy and ashamed. 
 I would have liked to talk to her, but what could I 
 say? I could think of nothing! Make excuses?
 
 CHECKMATE! 159 
 
 That would be stupid ! What would you have said? 
 Nothing, you may be sure. 
 
 She was heaving great sighs now, which affected 
 me and distressed me. I would have liked to con- 
 sole her, to kiss her, as one kisses a sorrowing child, 
 to beg her pardon, to throw myself at her feet, but 
 I did not dare. 
 
 Those situations are very annoying. 
 
 At last she became calmer, and we remained in 
 our own corners, motionless and speechless, while 
 the carriage kept on, stopping from time to time 
 for new relays. Then we would both quickly close 
 our eyes, so as not to see each other when the bright 
 rays of a stable lantern penetrated our Stygian 
 darkness. Then the coach would start again, and 
 the sweet perfumed air of the Corsican mountains 
 caressing my cheeks and lips intoxicated me like 
 wine. 
 
 By Jove! what a wonderful trip it would have 
 been if my companion had not been so foolish. 
 
 Slowly daylight began to creep into the carriage, 
 the pale light of early dawn. I looked at my neigh- 
 bor. She was pretending to sleep. Then the sun, 
 having risen behind the mountains, soon covered 
 with light an immense blue gulf, surrounded by 
 enormous granite-capped peaks. 
 
 My neighbor then pretended to awake. She 
 opened her eyes (they were red) ; she opened her 
 mouth as if to yawn, just as if she had slept for 
 a long time. Then she hesitated, and stammered:
 
 160 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "Shall we soon be there?" 
 
 "Yes, Madame, in less than an hour." 
 
 She continued, looking out in the distance: 
 
 "It's very tiresome to spend the night in a car- 
 riage." 
 
 "Yes, it makes one quite lame." 
 
 "Especially after a trip on the water." 
 
 "Oh! yes." 
 
 "Is that Ajaccio ahead of us?" 
 
 "Yes, Madame." 
 
 "I wish we were there." 
 
 "I understand that." 
 
 The sound of her voice was a little troubled, her 
 manner a little embarrassed, her eye a little shifty. 
 However, she seemed to have forgotten everything. 
 
 I admired her. How instinctively artful those 
 little minxes are! What diplomats! 
 
 In about an hour we arrived ; and a big dragoon, 
 built like a Hercules, standing before the office, 
 waved his handkerchief on discovering the carriage. 
 
 My neighbor threw her arms around his neck 
 and kissed him at least twenty times, repeating: 
 
 "How are you, dearest? I was so anxious to see 
 you!" 
 
 My trunk had been taken from the top of the 
 coach, and I was discreetly retreating when she 
 called me back: 
 
 "Oh, Monsieur, are you leaving without saying 
 good-by to me ?" 
 
 I stammered: "Madame, I was leaving you to 
 your joy."
 
 CHECKMATE ! 161 
 
 Then she said to her husband: "Darling, thank 
 Monsieur; he was charming to me throughout the 
 trip. He even offered me a seat in the carriage 
 which he had reserved for himself. It is a pleas- 
 ure to meet such agreeable companions." 
 
 The big dragoon shook my hand, thanking me 
 effusively. 
 
 The young woman smiled as she watched us to- 
 gether. I must have looked like a fool !
 
 THE SHEPHERD'S LEAP 
 
 HIGH perpendicular cliffs line the sea-front be- 
 tween, Dieppe and Havre. In a depression in 
 the cliffs, here and there one sees a little nar- 
 row gulch with steep sides covered with short grass 
 and gorse, which descends from the cultivated table- 
 land toward a shingly beach, where it ends in a de- 
 pression like the bed of a torrent. Nature made 
 those valleys ; the rainstorms created the depressions 
 in which they terminate, wearing away what re- 
 mained of the cliffs, and channeling as far as the 
 sea the bed of the stream. 
 
 Sometimes a village is concealed in these gulches, 
 into which the wind rushes straight from the open 
 sea. 
 
 I spent a summer in one of these valleys with a 
 peasant, from whose house, facing the waves, I 
 could see a huge triangular sweep of blue water 
 framed by the green slopes of the valley, and lighted 
 up in places by white sails passing in the sunlight. 
 
 The road leading toward the sea ran through 
 the farther end of the defile, abruptly passed be- 
 
 162
 
 THE SHEPHERD'S LEAP 163 
 
 tween two chalk-cliffs and became a sort of deep 
 gulley before opening on a beautiful carpet of 
 smooth pebbles, rounded and polished by the im- 
 memorial caress of the waves. 
 
 This steep gorge was called the "Shepherd's 
 Leap." Here is the drama that originated this name. 
 
 The story goes that this village was at one 
 time ruled by an austere and violent young priest. 
 He left tfie seminary filled with hatred toward 
 those who lived according to natural laws and 
 did not follow the laws of his God. Inflexibly 
 severe on himself, he displayed merciless intoler- 
 ance towards others. One thing above all stirred 
 him with rage and disgust love. If he had lived 
 in cities in the midst of the civilized and the re- 
 fined, who conceal the brutal dictates of nature be- 
 hind delicate veils of sentiment and tenderness, if 
 he had heard the confessions of perfumed sinners in 
 some vast cathedral nave, in which their guilt was 
 softened by the grace of their fall and the ideal- 
 ism surrounding material kisses, perhaps he would 
 not have felt those fierce revolts, those inordinate 
 outbursts of anger, that took possession of him 
 when he witnessed the vulgar misconduct of some 
 rustic pair in a ditch or in a barn. 
 
 He likened them to brutes, these people who 
 knew nothing of love and who simply paired like 
 animals; and he hated them for the coarseness of 
 their souls, for the foul way in which they ap- 
 peased their instincts, for the repulsive merriment
 
 164 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 exhibited even by old men when they happened to 
 talk about these unclean pleasures. 
 
 Perhaps, too, he was tortured, in spite of him- 
 self, by the pangs of appetites which he had re- 
 frained from satiating, and secretly troubled by the 
 struggle of his body in its revolt against a spirit 
 despotic and chaste. But everything that had ref- 
 erence to the flesh filled him with indignation, made 
 him furious; and his sermons, full of threats and 
 indignant allusions, caused the girls to titter and 
 the young fellows to cast sly glances at them across 
 the church ; while the farmers in their blue blouses 
 and their wives in their black mantles said to each 
 other on their way home from mass before enter- 
 ing their houses, from the chimney of each of which 
 ascended a thin blue film of smoke: 
 
 "He does not joke about the matter, Mo'sieu' 
 the Cure !" 
 
 On one occasion, and for very slight cause, he 
 flew into such a passion that he lost his reason. 
 He went to see a sick woman. As soon as he 
 reached the farm-yard, he saw a crowd of children, 
 staring curiously at something, standing there mo- 
 tionless, with concentrated silent attention. The 
 priest walked toward them. It was a dog and her 
 litter of puppies. In front of the kennel five little 
 puppies were swarming around their mother, af- 
 fectionately licking them, and at the moment when 
 the cure stretched forward his head above the heads 
 of the children, a sixth tiny pup was born. All the
 
 THE SHEPHERD'S LEAP 165 
 
 brats, seized with joy at the sight of it, began to 
 bawl out, clapping their hands: "Here's another of 
 them ! Here's another of them !" 
 
 To them it was a pleasure, a natural pleasure, 
 into which nothing impure entered; they gazed 
 at the birth of the puppies just as they would have 
 looked at apples falling from trees. But the man 
 with the black robe was quivering with indigna- 
 tion, and, losing his head, he lifted up his big blue 
 umbrella and began to beat the youngsters, who re- 
 treated at full speed. Then, finding himself alone 
 with the animal, he proceeded to beat her also. As 
 in her -rendition she was unable to run away, she 
 moaned while she struggled against his attack, and, 
 jumping on top of her, he crushed her under his 
 feet, and with a few kicks finished her. Then he 
 left the body bleeding in the midst of the new-born 
 making efforts to get at the mother's teats. 
 
 He would take long walks, all alone, with a frown 
 on his face. One evening in May, when he was 
 returning from a place some distance away, and 
 going along by the cliff to get back to the village, 
 a hard shower of rain impeded his progress. He 
 could see no house, only the bare coast on every 
 side riddled by the pelting downpour. 
 
 The rough sea dashed against him in masses of 
 foam ; and thick black clouds gathering at the hori- 
 zon redoubled the rain. The wind whistled, blew 
 great guns, battered down the growing crops, and 
 assailed the dripping Abbe, filling his ears with
 
 166 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 noises and exciting his heart with its tumultuous din. 
 
 He took off his hat, exposing his forehead to the 
 storm, and by degrees approached the descent 
 toward the lowland. But he had such a rattling in 
 his throat that he could not advance farther, and, 
 all of a sudden, he espied near a sheep pasture a 
 shepherd's hut, a kind of movable box on wheels, 
 which the shepherds can drag in summer from 
 pasture to pasture. 
 
 Above a wooden stool, a low door was open, af- 
 fording a view of the straw inside. 
 
 The priest was on the point of entering to take 
 shelter when he saw a loving couple embracing 
 each other in the shadow. Thereupon he abruptly 
 closed the door and fastened it; then, getting into 
 the shafts, he bent his lean back and dragged the 
 hut after him, like a horse. And thus he ran along 
 in his drenched cassock toward the steep incline, 
 the fatal incline, with the young couple he had 
 caught together, who were banging their fists 
 against the door of the hut, believing probably that 
 the whole thing was only the practical joke of a 
 passer-by. 
 
 When he got to the top of the descent, he let go 
 of the frail struct' ire, which began to roll over 
 the sloping side of ;hf cliff. It then rolled down pre- 
 cipitately, carried along blindly, ever increasing in 
 the speed of its course, leaping, stumbling like an 
 animal, striking the ground with its shafts. 
 
 An old beggar, cuddled up in a gap near the cliff,
 
 THE SHEPHERD'S LEAP 167 
 
 saw it passing with a rush above his head, and he 
 heard dreadful cries coming from the interior of 
 the wooden box. 
 
 Suddenly a wheel fell off, from a collision with 
 a stone; and then the hut, falling on one side, 
 began to topple downward like a ball, like a house 
 torn from its foundation, and tumbling down from 
 the top of a mountain; and then, having reached 
 the edge of the last depression, it turned over, de- 
 scribing a curve in its fall, and at the bottom of the 
 cliff was broken like an egg. 
 
 The pair of lovers were picked up, bruised, bat- 
 tered, with all their limbs fractured, still clasped 
 in each other's arms, but now through terror. 
 
 The cure refused to admit their corpses into the 
 church or to pronounce a benediction over their 
 coffins. And on the following Sunday in his ser- 
 mon he spoke vehemently about the Seventh Com- 
 mandment, threatening the lovers with an avenging 
 and mysterious arm, and citing the terrible example 
 of the two wretches killed in the midst of their sin. 
 
 As he was leaving the church, two gendarmes ar- 
 rested him. A coast-guard who was in a sentry-box 
 had seen him. The priest was sentenced to a term 
 of penal servitude. And the peasant who told me 
 the story added gravely: 
 
 "I knew him, Monsieur. He was a rough man, 
 that's a fact, but he did not like fooling."
 
 A HUSBAND'S CONFESSION 
 
 WHEN Capcain Hector-Marie de Fontenne 
 married Mademoiselle Laurine d'Estelle, 
 their relatives and friends thought it would 
 be an unhappy marriage. 
 
 Mademoiselle Laurine, pretty, slender, fair, and 
 bold, at twelve years of age had as much self-assur- 
 ance as a woman of thirty. She was one of those 
 little precocious Parisiennes who seem to be born 
 with all the worldly wisdom, all the little feminine 
 tricks, all the emancipation of ideas, with that as- 
 tuteness and suppleness of mind that seems to pre- 
 destinate certain individuals in whatever they do to 
 trick and deceive others. All their actions seem 
 premeditated, all their proceedings a matter of cal- 
 culation, all their words carefully weighed; their 
 existence is only their part in a drama. 
 
 She was also charming; laughed readily, so read- 
 ily that she could not restrain herself when anything 
 seemed amusing and humorous. She would laugh 
 right in a person's face in the most impudent man- 
 ner, but she did it so gracefully that no one ever 
 grew angry. 
 
 168
 
 A HUSBAND'S CONFESSION 169 
 
 She was rich, very rich. A priest served as go- 
 between in arranging her marriage with Captain de 
 Fontenne. This officer, brought up in a monastery 
 in the most austere manner, had taken with him into 
 his regiment his monastic manners, rigid principles, 
 and absolute intolerance. He was one of those men 
 who invariably become either saints or nihilists; 
 men who are absolutely dominated by an ideal, 
 whose beliefs are inflexible. 
 
 He was a big, dark-haired young fellow, serious, 
 severe, with an ingenuous mind, decided and obsti- 
 nate, one of those men who pass through life with- 
 out ever understanding its hidden meaning, its 
 shadings and subtleties, who guess at nothing, sus- 
 pect nothing, and will not allow any one to think 
 differently, form a different opinion, believe or act 
 differently from themselves. 
 
 Mademoiselle Laurine saw him, read his charac- 
 ter at once, and accepted him as her husband. 
 
 They got along well together. She was yielding, 
 clever, and sensible, knowing how to act her part, 
 and always ready to assist in good works, and on 
 the occasion of festivals a constant attendant at 
 church and at the theater, worldly and strict, with a 
 little ironical look, a twinkle in her eye when she 
 chatted gravely with her husband. She told him 
 about her charitable undertakings in association 
 with all the priests of the parish and the environs, 
 and she took advantage of this pious occupation 
 to remain out of doors all day. 
 
 Vol. 112
 
 170 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 But sometimes, in the midst of telling him about 
 an act of charity, she would suddenly go off into 
 an idiotic laugh, a nervous laugh that she could not 
 restrain. The Captain was surprised, perplexed, a 
 little shocked at seeing his wife suffocating with 
 laughter. When she quieted down a little he asked : 
 "What is the matter with you, Laurine?" She re- 
 plied: "Nothing! I just happened to remember 
 something funny that occurred." 
 
 In the summer of 1883, Captain Hector de Fon- 
 tenne took part in the grand maneuvers of the 
 Thirty-Second Army Corps. 
 
 One evening, when they were encamped on the 
 outskirts of a town, after ten days of tenting in the 
 field, ten days of fatigue and privations, the Cap- 
 tain's comrades determined to have a good dinner. 
 
 Monsieur de Fontenne refused at first to form 
 one of the party; but, as they seemed surprised at 
 his refusal, he consented. 
 
 His neighbor at table, Commandant de Favre, 
 while chatting about military operations, the onl) 
 thing that interested the Captain, kept filling up his 
 glass with wine. It had been a very warm day, a 
 heavy, dry heat that made one thirsty, and the cap- 
 tain drank without noticing that gradually he was 
 becoming filled with fresh vivacity, with a certain 
 ardent joy, a happiness full of awakened desires, 
 of unknown appetites, of vague hopes. 
 
 At dessert he was intoxicated. He talked, 
 laughed, became restless, noisily drunk, with the
 
 A HUSBAND'S CONFESSION 171 
 
 mad drunkenness of a man who is habitually quiet 
 and sober. 
 
 It was proposed that they should finish the even- 
 ing at the theater. He accompanied his friends. 
 One of them recognized an actress whom he had 
 been in love with, and they arranged a supper at 
 which were present some of the women of the 
 company. 
 
 The following day the Captain awoke in a strange 
 room, and a little, fair woman said, as she saw him 
 open his eyes : 
 
 " Good morning, mon gros chat !" At first he did 
 not understand. Then, little by little, his memory 
 returned, although it was somewhat indistinct. 
 
 Then he got up without saying a word, dressed, 
 and left the room, after emptying his purse on the 
 mantelpiece. 
 
 He was filled with shame when he stood up in 
 his uniform, with his sword at his side, in this fur- 
 nished room with its rumpled curtains and shabby 
 couch, and he was afraid to leave and go down the 
 stairs, where he might meet the janitor, and, above 
 all, he hated to go into the street where the neigh- 
 bors and passers-by would see him. 
 
 The woman kept repeating: "What has hap- 
 pened to you? Have you lost your tongue? It 
 was hung on wires last night, however! What a 
 face !" 
 
 He bowed stiffly, and, having decided that he 
 would leave the house, he returned home at a rapid
 
 172 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 pace, feeling convinced that every one could tell 
 from his manner, his behavior, his face, where he 
 had been. 
 
 He was filled with remorse, the tormenting re- 
 morse of an upright, scrupulous man. 
 
 He went to confession, and took communion ; but 
 he was ill at ease, haunted by the remembrance of 
 his fall and by the feeling of an indebtedness, a 
 sacred indebtedness contracted against his wife. 
 
 He did not see her for a month, as she had gone 
 to visit with her parents while the maneuvers lasted. 
 
 She came to him with open arms, a smile on her 
 lips. He welcomed her with an embarrassed and 
 guilty air, and avoided almost all conversation until 
 evening. 
 
 As soon as they were alone she said : 
 
 "What is the matter with you, mon ami? I 
 think you have changed very much." 
 
 "Nothing is the matter with me, my dear, abso- 
 lutely nothing." 
 
 "Excuse me, I know you well, and I am sure 
 there is something, some anxiety, some sorrow, 
 some annoyance, I know not what." 
 
 "Well, then, yes. I have some anxiety." 
 
 "Ah! what is it?" 
 
 "I cannot possibly tell you." 
 
 " Not tell me ! Why ? You make me uneasy." 
 
 "I can give you no reason. It is impossible for 
 me to tell you." 
 
 She had sat down on a causeuse, and he was
 
 A HUSBAND'S CONFESSION 173 
 
 walking up and down the room, his hands behind 
 his back, and avoided looking at his wife. She con- 
 tinued : 
 
 "Well, then, I shall have to make you confess; it 
 is my duty, and I shall exact from you the truth ; it 
 is my right. You can no more have a secret from 
 me than I can have one from you." 
 
 He said, as he turned his back to her and stood 
 framed in the long window: 
 
 "My dear, there are certain things it is best 
 not to tell. This thing that worries me is one of 
 them." 
 
 She rose, walked across the room, and, taking 
 him by the arm, made him turn round facing her ; 
 then, putting her two hands on his shoulders and 
 smiling, she looked up in a caressing manner and 
 said : 
 
 "Come, Marie" (she called him Marie in mo- 
 ments of tenderness), "you cannot hide anything 
 from me. I shall imagine that you have done some- 
 thing wrong." 
 
 "I have done something very wrong," he mur- 
 mured. 
 
 "Oh, is it as bad as that?" she said gayly. "As 
 bad as that? I am very much astonished at you!" 
 
 "I will not tell you any more," he replied, with 
 annoyance; "it is useless to insist." 
 
 But she drew him down on the armchair and 
 made him sit down, while she sat on his right knee 
 and gave him a little light kiss, a quick, flying kiss, 
 on the curled tip of his moustache.
 
 174 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "If you will not tell me anything, we shall al- 
 ways be bad friends," she said. 
 
 Distracted with remorse and tortured with re- 
 gret, he murmured: 
 
 "If I should tell you what I have done you never 
 would forgive me." 
 
 "On the contrary, mon ami, I should forgive you 
 at once." 
 
 "No, that is not possible." 
 
 "I swear I will forgive you." 
 
 "No, my dear Laurine, you never could." 
 
 "How simple you are, mon ami, not to say silly! 
 In refusing to tell me what you have done you allow 
 me to believe all sorts of abominable things ; and I 
 shall always be thinking of it, and be as much an- 
 noyed at your silence as at your unknown guilt 
 But if you were to speak to me frankly I should 
 forget all about it by tomorrow." 
 
 "Well, then" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 He reddened up to his ears, and said in a serious 
 tone: 
 
 "I am going to confess to you as if I were con- 
 fessing to a priest, Laurine." 
 
 The fleeting smile with which she sometimes lis- 
 tened to him now came to her lips, and she said, in 
 a slightly mocking tone: 
 
 "I am all ears." 
 
 "You know, my dear," he resumed, "how sober 
 I am. I never drink anything but water colored
 
 A HUSBAND'S CONFESSION 175 
 
 with wine, and never any liquors, as you well 
 know." 
 
 "Yes, I know." 
 
 "Well, then, just imagine that at the end of the 
 grand maneuvers I forgot myself and drank a 
 little one evening, as I was very thirsty, very tired, 
 very exhausted, and " 
 
 "You became intoxicated? Fie, that was very 
 bad !" 
 
 "Yes, I became intoxicated." 
 
 She had assumed a severe look. 
 
 "Come, now, quite drunk, acknowledge it; so 
 drunk you could not walk, tell the truth !" 
 
 " Oh, no ; not as bad as that. I had lost my rea- 
 son, but not my equilibrium. I chattered, I laughed, 
 I was crazy." 
 
 He was silent, and she said : 
 
 "Is that all?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Oh! And then?" 
 
 "And then I did something disgraceful." 
 
 She looked at him, uneasy, a little disturbed and 
 also touched. 
 
 "What was it, mon ami?" 
 
 "We had supper with some actresses and I 
 do not know how it happened, but I was untrue to 
 you, Laurine." 
 
 He said all this in a solemn, serious tone. 
 
 She was slightly amazed, but her eye lighted 
 up with sudden, intense, irresistible mirth. She 
 said: "You you you "
 
 176 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 And a little, dry, nervous, spasmodic laugh es- 
 caped her lips, interrupting her speech. 
 
 She tried to be serious ; but each time she tried to 
 utter a word a laugh began in her throat, was 
 choked back, and came up again like the efferves- 
 cence in a bottle of champagne that is just uncorked. 
 She put her hand to her mouth to calm herself, to 
 keep back this untimely mirth ; but her laughter ran 
 through her fingers, shook her chest, and escaped 
 in spite of herself. She stuttered: 
 
 "You you deceived me! Ha! ha! ha! ha!" 
 
 And she looked at him in a peculiar manner, with 
 such a sneering expression that he was amazed, 
 astonished. 
 
 Then, all at once, no longer restraining herself, 
 she burst out laughing as if she had a nervous at- 
 tack. She uttered little, short screams, which 
 seemed to come from the bottom of her chest ; and, 
 placing her hands over her stomach, she gave way 
 to long spasms of laughter, till she almost choked, 
 just like spasms in whooping-cough. And each time 
 she tried to check them she laughed all the more, 
 each word she tried to utter giving her a fresh 
 spasm. 
 
 "My my my poor friend ha! ha! ha! ha! 
 ha! ha!" 
 
 He rose, leaving her seated in the chair, and 
 suddenly turning very pale, he said: 
 
 "Laurine, your behavior is more than unbecom- 
 ing."
 
 A HUSBAND'S CONFESS. ON 177 
 
 She stuttered in the midst of her laughter: 
 
 " How how can I I I help it ho \v funny you 
 are ha ! ha ! ha ! ha !" 
 
 He became livid with anger, and looked at her 
 now with a steady gaze in which a strange thought 
 seemed to be awakened. All at once he opened 
 his mouth, as if to say something, but said nothing, 
 and, turning on his heel, he went out, shutting the 
 door behind him. 
 
 Laurine, bent double, exhausted and weak, was 
 still laughing, with a faint laugh that revived every 
 few moments like the embers of a hre that nas al- 
 most burned out.
 
 MADAME PARISSE 
 
 I WAS sitting on the pier of the small port of 
 Obernon, near the village of Salis, looking at 
 
 Antibes, bathed in the setting sun. I never had 
 seen anything so surprising and so beautiful. 
 
 The small town, inclosed by its heavy, protective 
 walls, built by Monsieur de Vauban, reached out 
 into the open sea, in the middle of the immense 
 Gulf of Nice. The great waves, coming in from 
 the sea, broke at its feet, surrounding it with a 
 wreath of foam; and beyond the ramparts the 
 houses were climbing the hill, one over another, 
 as far as the two towers which rose up into the sky 
 like the horns of an ancient helmet. These two 
 towers were outlined against the milky whiteness of 
 the Alps, that enormous distant wall of snow which 
 closed in the entire horizon. 
 
 Between the white foam at the foot of the walls 
 and the white snow on the sky-line the little city, 
 resting brilliant against the bluish background of 
 the nearest mountain ranges, presented to the rays 
 of the setting sun a pyramid of red-roofed houses, 
 
 178
 
 MADAME PARISSE 179 
 
 whose facades were also white, but so different one 
 from another that they seemed of all tints. 
 
 And the sky above the Alps was itself of a blue 
 that was almost white, as if the snow had tinted it ; 
 some oilvery clouds were floating over the pale sum- 
 mits, and on the other side of the Gulf of Nic<v 
 down by the water, unrolled like a white thread 
 between the sea and the mountain. Two great sails, 
 driven by a strong breeze, seemed to skim over the 
 waves. 
 
 This view was one of those things so sweet, so 
 rare, so delightful, that they penetrate you, and are 
 unforgettable, like the memories of a joy. One 
 sees, thinks, suffers, is moved, and loves with the 
 eyes. He who can feel with the eye experiences the 
 same keen, exquisite, and deep pleasure in looking 
 upon men and things as the man with the delicate 
 and sensitive ear, when music overwhelms his soul. 
 
 I turned to my companion, Monsieur Martini, a 
 pure-blooded Southerner. 
 
 "This certainly is one of the rarest sights that 
 it has been vouchsafed to me to admire. 
 
 "I have seen the Mont Saint-Michel, that mon- 
 strous granite jewel, rise out of the sand at sun- 
 rise. 
 
 "I have seen, in the Sahara, Lake Raianechergui, 
 fifty kilometers long, shining under a moon as bril- 
 liant as our sun and breathing up to it a white 
 cloud, like a mist of milk. 
 
 "I have seen, in the Ljoari Islands, the fantastic
 
 180 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 sulfhur crater of the Volcanellc, a giant flower 
 which fumes and burns, an over-big yellow flower, 
 opening full on the sea, whose stem is a volcano. 
 
 "But I have seen nothing more surprising than 
 Antibes, standing against the Alps at the setting sun. 
 
 "And I know not how it is that memories of 
 antiquity haunt me ; verses of Homer come into my 
 mind; this is a city of the ancient East, a city out 
 of the Odyssey; this is Troy, though Troy was far 
 from the sea." 
 
 Monsieur Martini drew the guidebook out of his 
 pocket and read: "This city was originally a colony 
 founded by the Phocians of Marseilles, about 340 
 B. C. They gave it the Greek name of Antipolis, 
 meaning counter-city, city opposite another, because 
 it is in fact opposite to Nice, another colony from 
 Marseilles. 
 
 "After the Gauls were conquered, the Romans 
 turned Antibes into a municipal city, its inhabitants 
 receiving the rights of Roman citizenship. 
 
 "We know by an epigram of Martial that at his 
 time" 
 
 I interrupted him : 
 
 "I don't care what she was. I tell you I see 
 down there a city out of the Odyssey. The coast 
 of Asia and the coast of Europe resemble each 
 other in their shores, and no city on the other coast 
 of the Mediterranean awakens in me the memories 
 of the heroic times as this one does." 
 
 A footstep caused me to turn my head; a woman,
 
 MADAME PARISSE 181 
 
 a large, dark woman, was walking along the road 
 that skirts the sea in going to the cape. 
 
 "That is Madame Parisse, you know," muttered 
 Monsieur Martini, dwelling on the final syllable. 
 
 No, I did not know, but that name, pronounced 
 nonchalantly, that name of the Trojan shepherd, 
 confirmed me in my dream. 
 
 Yet I asked: "Who is this Madame Parisse?" 
 
 He seemed astonished that I did not know the 
 story. 
 
 I assured him that I did not know it, and I looked 
 after the woman, who passed by without seeing us, 
 dreaming, walking with steady and slow step, as 
 doubtless the ladies of old walked. 
 
 She was perhaps thirty-five years of age, and still 
 very beautiful, though a trifle stout. 
 
 And Monsieur Martini told me the following 
 story: 
 
 Mademoiselle Combelombe was married, one 
 year before the war of 1870 to Monsieur Parisse, a 
 government official. She was then a handsome 
 young girl, as slender and lively as she has now be- 
 come stout and sad. 
 
 Unwillingly she had accepted Monsieur Parisse, 
 one of those little fat men with short legs who trip 
 along, with trousers always too large. 
 
 After the war Antibes was occupied by a single 
 battalion commanded by Monsieur Jean de Carme- 
 lin, a young officer decorated during the war, who 
 had just received his four stripes.
 
 182 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 As he found life exceedingly tedious in this for- 
 tress, this stuffy mole-hole inclosed by the enor- 
 mous double walls, he often strolled out to the cape, 
 a kind of park or pine wood whipped by all the 
 winds from the sea. 
 
 There he met Madame Parisse, who came out in 
 summer evenings to get the fresh air under the 
 trees. How did they love each other ? Who knows ? 
 They met, they looked at each other, and when 
 out of sight they doubtless thought of each other. 
 The image of the young woman with the brown 
 eyes, the black hair, the pale skin, this fresh, hand- 
 some Southerner, who displayed her teeth in smil- 
 ing, was floating before the eyes of the officer as 
 he continued his promenade, biting his cigar instead 
 of smoking; and the image of the commanding 
 officer, in his close-fitting coat, covered with gold, 
 and his red trousers, with a little blond moustache, 
 would pass in the evening before the eyes of 
 Madame Parisse, when her husband, half-shaven 
 and ill-clad, short-legged and big-bellied, came home 
 to supper. 
 
 Meeting so often, they perhaps smiled at the 
 next meeting; then, seeing each other again and 
 again, they thought they knew each other. He 
 certainly bowed to her. And she, surprised, bowed 
 in return, but very, very slightly, just enough for 
 politeness. But after two weeks she returned his 
 salutation when away off, even before they were 
 side by side.
 
 MADAME PARISSE 183 
 
 He spoke to her. Of what? Doubtless of the 
 setting sun. They admired it together, looking for 
 it in each other's eyes oftener than on the hori- 
 zon. And every evening for two weeks this was 
 the commonplace and persistent pretext for a few 
 minutes' chat. 
 
 Then they hazarded a few steps together, talking 
 of anything that came along, but their eyes were 
 already saying to each other a thousand more in- 
 timate things, those secret, charming things that 
 are reflected in the gentle emotion of the eye, and 
 that cause the heart to beat, for they are a better 
 confession of the soul than the spoken word. 
 
 And then he would take her hand, murmuring 
 those words which the woman divines without 
 seeming to hear them. 
 
 And it was agreed between them that they would 
 love each other without making proof of it by any- 
 thing sensual or brutal. 
 
 She would have remained indefinitely at this 
 stage of intimacy, but he wanted more. And every 
 day he urged her more hotly to give in to his vio- 
 lent desire. 
 
 She resisted, she did not want it, she seemed 
 determined not to give way. 
 
 Yet one evening she said to him, casually: "My 
 husband has just gone to Marseilles. He will be 
 away four days." 
 
 Jean de Carmelin threw himself at her feet, im- 
 ploring her to open her door to ium that very night
 
 184 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 at eleven o'clock. But she would not listen to him, 
 and she went home with angry mien. 
 
 The commander was in bad humor all the eve- 
 ning, and the next morning at dawn he went out 
 on the ramparts in a rage, from one exercise field 
 to the other, dealing out punishments to the of- 
 ficers and men as one might fling stones into a 
 crowd. 
 
 On coming back for his breakfast, he found an 
 envelope under his napkin with these three words: 
 "To-night at ten." And he gave one hundred sous 
 off-hand to the waiter serving him. 
 
 The day seemed endless to him. He passed part 
 of it in curling his hair and perfuming himself. 
 
 As he was sitting down to the dinner-table, an- 
 other envelope was handed to him, and in it he 
 found the following telegram: 
 
 " MY LovE : Business done. I return this evening on 
 the nine o'clock train. PARISSE." 
 
 The commander swore such a big oath that the 
 waiter dropped the soup-tureen on the floor. 
 
 What should he do? He certainly wanted her, 
 that very evening, at whatever cost ; and he would 
 have her. He would resort to any means, even to 
 arresting and imprisoning the husband. Then a 
 mad thought struck him. Calling for paper, he 
 wrote the following note: 
 
 "MADAME: He will not come back this evening, I 
 swear it to you, and I shall be where you know at ten
 
 MADAME PARISSE 185 
 
 o'clock. Fear nothing. I will answer for everything, on 
 my honor as an officer. 
 
 "JEAN DE CARMEUN." 
 
 And, having sent off this letter, he calmly dined. 
 
 Toward eight o'clock he sent for Captain Gn- 
 bois, the second in command, and he said, rolling 
 between his ringers the crumpled telegram of Mon- 
 sieur Parisse: 
 
 "Captain, I have just received a telegram of a 
 very singular nature, which it is impossible for me 
 to communicate to you. You will immediately have 
 all the gates of the city closed and guarded, so that 
 no one, mind me, no one, will either enter or leave 
 before six in the morning. You will also have men 
 patrol the streets, who will compel the inhabitants to 
 retire to their houses at nine o'clock. And one 
 found outside beyond that time will be conducted to 
 his home mann militari. If your men meet me to- 
 night they will quickly go out of my way, appear- 
 ing not to know me. You understand me?" 
 
 "Yes, Commander." 
 
 "Would you like to have a glass of Char- 
 treuse ?" 
 
 "With great pleasure, Commander." 
 
 They clinked glasses and drank the brown liquor, 
 and Captain Gribois left the room. 
 
 The train from Marseilles arrived at the station 
 at nine o'clock sharp, left two passengers on the 
 platform, and went on toward Nice. 
 
 One of them, tall and thin, was Monsieur Saribe, 
 
 Vol. 113
 
 186 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 the oil merchant, and the other, short and fat, was 
 Monsieur Parisse. 
 
 Together they set out, with their valises, to reach 
 the city, one kilometer distant. 
 
 But when they arrived at the gate of the port 
 the guards crossed their bayonets, warning them to 
 retire. 
 
 Frightened, surprised, cowed with astonishment, 
 they retired to deliberate ; then, after taking counsel 
 one with the other, they came back cautiously to 
 parley, giving their names. 
 
 But the soldiers evidently had strict orders, for 
 they threatened to shoot; and the two scared trav- 
 elers ran off, throwing away their valises, which 
 impeded their flight. 
 
 Making the tour of the ramparts, they presented 
 themselves at the gate on the route to Cannes. 
 This likewise was closed and guarded by a men- 
 acing sentinel. The Messrs. Saribe and Parisse, like 
 the prudent men they were, desisted from their 
 efforts, and went back to the station for shelter, as 
 it was not safe to be near the fortification after sun- 
 set. 
 
 The station agent, surprised and somnolent, per- 
 mitted them to remain till morning in the waiting- 
 room. 
 
 And they sat there side by side, in the dark, on 
 the green velvet sofa, too frightened to think of 
 sleeping. 
 
 It was a long and weary night for them.
 
 MADAME PARISSE 187 
 
 At half-past six in the morning they were in- 
 formed that the gates were open, and that people 
 could now enter Antibes. 
 
 They set out for the city, but they failed to find 
 their abandoned valises on the road. 
 
 When they passsed through the gates, still some- 
 what anxious, the Commandant de Carmelin, with 
 sly glance and moustache turned up, came himself 
 to look over and examine them. 
 
 Then he bowed to them politely, excusing him- 
 self for having caused them a bad night. But he 
 had to carry out orders. 
 
 The people of Antibes were scared to death. 
 Some spoke of a surprise planned by the Italians; 
 others, of the landing of the Prince Imperial ; and 
 others, again, believed that there was an Orleanistic 
 conspiracy. The truth was suspected only later, 
 when the battalion of the commandant was sent 
 very far away, and Monsieur de Carmelin had been 
 severely punished. 
 
 When Madame Parisse returned, her promenade 
 being terminated, she passed gravely near me, with 
 her eyes fixed on the Alps, whose summits were 
 now rosy in the last rays of the setting sun. 
 
 I felt like saluting her, this poor, sad woman, 
 who would ever be thinking of this night of love, 
 now far distant, and of the bold man who for the 
 sake of a kiss from her had dared to put a city 
 into a state of siege and to compromise his whole 
 future.
 
 188 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 And to-day he had probably forgotten her, if he 
 did not relate this audacious, comical, and tender 
 farce to his comrades over the cups. 
 
 Had she seen him again? Did she still love him? 
 And I thought: Here is an instance of modern 
 love, grotesque and yet heroic. The Homer to sing 
 of this new Helena and the adventure of her Mene- 
 laus must be gifted with the soul of Paul de Kock. 
 And yet the h^ro of this deserted woman was brave, 
 daring, handsome, strong, like Achilles, and more 
 :uiming than Ulysses,
 
 THE WEDDING NIGHT 
 
 JACQUES BOURDILLERE had sworn that he 
 never would marry; but he suddenly changed 
 his mind. It happened suddenly, one summer, 
 at the seashore. 
 
 One morning, as he lay stretched cut on the sand, 
 watching the women coming out of the water, a 
 little foot had struck him by its neatness and dainti- 
 ness. He looked higher and was delighted with 
 the whole person. By the way, he could see nothing 
 but the ankles and the head emerging from a 
 flannel bathrobe carefully held closed. He was 
 supposed to be sensual and a fast liver. It was, 
 therefore, only the graceful form that at first 
 captured him ; then he was held by the charm of 
 the young girl's sweet mind, so simple and good, as 
 fresh as her cheeks and lips. 
 
 He was presented to the family, and he pleased 
 them. He immediately fell madly in love. WheH 
 he saw Berthe Lannis in the distance, on the long 
 yellow stretch of sand, he would tingle to the roots 
 of his hair. When he was near her he would bfc- 
 
 189
 
 190 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 come silent, unable to speak or even to think, with a 
 kind of bubbling in his heart, of buzzing in his ears, 
 and of bewilderment in his mind. Was that love? 
 
 He did not know or understand, but he had fully 
 decided to have this child for his wife. 
 
 Her parents hesitated for a long time, restrained 
 by the young man's bad reputation. It was said 
 that he had an old sweetheart, one of the binding 
 attachments which one always believes to be broken 
 off and yet which always hold. 
 
 Besides, for a shorter or longer period, he loved 
 every woman who came within reach of his lips. 
 
 Then he settled down and refused, even once, to 
 see the one with whom he had lived so long. A 
 friend tcok care of this woman's pension and as- 
 sured her an income. Jacques paid, but he did not 
 even wish to hear of her, pretending even to forget 
 her name. She wrote him letters, which he never 
 opened. Every week he recognized the clumsy writ- 
 ing of the abandoned woman, and every week a 
 greater anger surged within him against her, and he 
 would tear the envelope and the paper, without 
 opening it, without reading one single line, knowing 
 the reproaches and complaints which it contained. 
 
 As but little faith existed in his constancy, the 
 test was prolonged through the winter, and Berthe's 
 hand was not granted him until the spring. The 
 wedding took place in Paris at the beginning of 
 May. 
 
 Th*-. young couple had decided not to take the
 
 THE WEDDING NIGHT 191 
 
 conventional wedding trip; but after a little dance 
 for the younger cousins, which would not be pro- 
 longed after eleven o'clock, in order that this day of 
 long ceremonies might not be too tiresome, the 
 young pair were to spend the first night in the pa- 
 rental home, and then, on the following morning, to 
 leave for the beach so dear to their hearts, where 
 they had known and loved each other. 
 
 Night had come, and the dance was going on in 
 the large parlor. The two had retired to a little 
 Japanese boudoir, hung with bright silks and dimly 
 lighted by the soft rays of a large colored lantern 
 hanging from the ceiling like a gigantic egg. 
 Through the open window the fresh air from out- 
 side passed over their faces like a caress, for the 
 night was warm and calm, with the odor of 
 spring. 
 
 They were saying nothing to each other; they 
 were holding each other's hands, and from time to 
 time squeezing them hard. She sat there with a 
 dreamy look, feeling a little lost by this great change 
 in her life, but smiling, moved, ready to cry, often, 
 also, ready almost to faint from joy, believing the 
 whole world to be changed by what had just hap- 
 pened to her, nervous she knew not why, and feel- 
 ing her whole body and soul filled by an indefinable 
 and delicious lassitude. 
 
 He was looking at her persistently with a fixed 
 smile. He wished to speak, but found nothing to 
 say, and so sat there, putting all his ardor into pres-
 
 192 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 sures of the hand. From time to time he would 
 murmur: "Berthe!" And each time she would 
 raise her eyes to him with a look of tenderness; 
 they would look at each other for a second, and 
 then her look, pierced and fascinated by his, would 
 fall. 
 
 They found no thoughts to exchange. They had 
 been left alone, but occasionally some of the dancers 
 would cast a rapid glance at them, as if they were 
 the discreet and trusting witnesses of a mystery. 
 
 A door opened and a servant entered, with a 
 letter which a messenger had just brought. Jacques, 
 trembling, took this paper, overwhelmed by a vague 
 and sudden fear, the mysterious terror of swift 
 misfortune. 
 
 He looked for a long time at the envelope, the 
 writing on which he did not know, not daring to 
 open it, not wishing to read it, with a wild desire 
 to put it into his pocket and say to himself: "I'll 
 leave that till to-morrow, when I'm far away !" But 
 on one corner two words stared at him, "Very 
 urgent," filling him with terror. Saying: "Please 
 excuse me, my dear," he tore open the envelope. 
 He read the paper, grew frightfully pale, looked 
 over it again, and, slowly, he seemed to spell it out 
 word for word. 
 
 When he raised his head his whole face was up- 
 set. He Ftammered: "My dear, it it's from 
 my best friend, who has had a very great mis- 
 fortune. He has need of me immediately for a
 
 THE WEDDING NIGHT 193 
 
 matter of life or death. Will you excuse me if I 
 leave you for half an hour? I'll be right back." 
 
 Trembling and dazed, she stammered: "Go, 
 my dear ;" not yet having been his wife long enough 
 to dare to question him, to demand to know. He 
 disappeared. She remained alone, listening to the 
 dancing in the neighboring parlor. 
 
 He had seized the first hat and coat he came 
 to, and jumped down the stairs three at a time. As 
 he was emerging into the street he stopped under 
 the gas-jet of the vestibule and re-read the letter. 
 This is what it said: 
 
 " SIR : A girl named Ravet, an old sweetheart of yours, 
 it seems, has just given birth to a child that she declares 
 is yours. The mother is about to die and is begging for 
 you. I take the liberty to write and ask you to grant this 
 last request to a woman who seems to be very unhappy 
 and worthy of pity. Yours truly, 
 
 "DR. BONNARD." 
 
 When he reached the sick-room the woman was 
 already at the point of death. He did not recog- 
 nize her at first. The doctor and two nurses were 
 taking care of her. And everywhere on the floor 
 were pails full of ice and rags covered with blood. 
 Water flooded the carpet; two candles were burn- 
 ing on a bureau ; behind the bed, in a little wicker 
 crib, the child was crying, and each time it moaned, 
 the mother, in torture, would try to move, shivering 
 under her ice bandages.
 
 194 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 She was wounded to death by his birth. Her 
 life was flowing from her ; and, notwithstanding the 
 ice and the care, the merciless hemorrhage contin- 
 ued, hastening her last hour. 
 
 She recognized Jacques, and wished to raise her 
 arms. They were so weak that she could not, but 
 tears coursed down her pallid cheeks. 
 
 He dropped to his knees beside the bed, seized 
 one of her hands, and kissed it frantically; then, 
 little by little, he drew nearer to the thin face, which 
 started at the contact. One of the nurses was light- 
 ing them with a candle, and the doctor was watch- 
 ing them from the back of the room. 
 
 Then she said, in a voice that sounded as if 
 it came from a distance : " I am going to die, dear ; 
 promise to stay to the end. Oh! don't leave me 
 now. Don't leave me at the last minute !" 
 
 He kissed her face and her hair, and. weeping, 
 he murmured: "Never fear, I will stay." 
 
 It was several minutes before she could speak 
 again, she was so weak. She continued: "The little 
 one is yours. I swear it before God and on my 
 soul. 1 swear it as I am dying ! I never have loved 
 another man but you. Promise to take care of the 
 child." 
 
 He was trying to take this poor pain-racked body 
 in his arms. Maddened by remorse and sorrow, he 
 stammered: "I swear to you that I will bring him 
 up and love him. He never shall leave me." 
 
 Then she tried to kiss Jacques. Powerless to lift
 
 THE WEDDING NIGHT 195 
 
 her head, she held out her white lips in an appeal 
 for a kiss. He approached his lips to pluck this 
 poor caress. 
 
 As soon as she f eit a little calmer, she murmured : 
 "Bring him here, and let me see whether you love 
 him." 
 
 He went and got the child, and placed him gently 
 on the bed between them, and the little one 
 stopped crying. She murmured : "Don't move any 
 more!" And he was quiet. And he stayed there, 
 holding in his burning hand this other one shaken 
 by the shivers of death, just as, a while ago, he had 
 been holding a hand trembling with love. From 
 time to time he cast a quick glance at the clock, 
 which marked midnight, then one o'clock, then two. 
 
 The physician had returned ; the two nurses, after 
 moving noiselessly around through the room for a 
 while, were now sleeping on chairs. The child was 
 sleeping, and the mother, with eyes shut, appeared 
 also to be resting. 
 
 Suddenly, just as the pale daylight was creeping 
 in behind the curtains, she stretched out her arms 
 with such a quick and violent motion that she almost 
 threw her baby on the floor. A kind of rattle was 
 heard in her throat, then she lay on her back mo- 
 tionless, dead. 
 
 The nurses sprang forward and declared: "All 
 is over!" 
 
 He looked once more at this woman whom he 
 had so loved, then at the clock, .which pointed to
 
 196 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 four, and he ran away, forgetting his overcoat, in 
 evening dress, with the child in his arms. 
 
 After she had been left alone, the young wife 
 had waited, calmly enough at first, in the little Jap- 
 anese boudoir. Then, as she did not see him re- 
 turn, she went back to the parlor with an indiffer- 
 ent and calm appearance, but terribly anxious. 
 When her mother saw her alone she asked : "Where 
 is your husband?" and was answered: "In his 
 room ; he is coming right back. " 
 
 After an hour, when everybody had questioned 
 her, she told about the letter, Jacques's disturbed 
 appearance, and her fears of an accident. 
 
 Still they waited. The guests left; only the 
 nearest relatives remained. At midnight the bride 
 was put to bed, all shaken by tears. Her mother 
 and two aunts, sitting around the bed, were listen- 
 ing to her cry, silent and in despair. The father 
 had gone to the commissary of police to obtain 
 some news if possible. 
 
 At five o'clock a slight noise was heard in the 
 hall; a door was softly opened and closed; then 
 suddenly a little cry like the mewing of a cat was 
 heard through the silent house. 
 
 All the women started forward, and Berthe 
 sprang ahead of them all, pushing her way past 
 her aunts, wrapped in a bathrobe. 
 
 Jacques stood in the middle of the room, pale and 
 panting, holding an infant in his arms. The four 
 women looked at him, astonished; but Berth*, who
 
 THE WEDDING NIGHT 197 
 
 had suddenly become courageous, rushed forward 
 with anguish in her heart, exclaiming: "What is 
 it? What's the matter?" 
 
 He looked around wildly and answered shortly: 
 "I I have a child, and the mother has just died." 
 And in his clumsy hands he held out the howling 
 infant. 
 
 Without saying a word, Berthe seized the child, 
 kissed it, and hugged it to her ; then she raised her 
 tear-filled eyes to him, asking: "Did you say that 
 the mother was dead?" He answered: "Yes in 
 \ny arms. I had broken with her last summer. 
 I knew nothing. The physician sent ?or me." 
 
 Then Berthe murmured: "Well, we will bring 
 up the little one."
 
 FATHER AND SON 
 
 IN front of the building, half farmhouse, half 
 manor house, one of those rural habitations of 
 a mixed character which were all but seigneurial, 
 and which are now occupied by wealthy farmers, 
 the dogs lashed beside the apple-trees in the orchard 
 near the house kept barking and howling at sight of 
 the shooting-bags carried by the gamekeepers and 
 at the boys. In the spacious dining-room-kitchen, 
 Hautot Senior and Hautot Junior, M. Bermont, the 
 tax-collector, and M. Mondaru, the notary, were 
 eating and drinking before going out shooting, for 
 it was the first day of the season. 
 
 Hautot Senior, proud of all his possessions, 
 talked boastfully of the game his guests were go- 
 ing to find on his lands. He was a big Norman, 
 one of those powerful, ruddy men, with lange bones, 
 who lift wagon-loads of apples on their shoulders. 
 Half peasant, half gentleman, rich, respected, influ- 
 ential, autocratic, he obliged his son Cesar to go 
 through the third form at college so that he might 
 be an educated man, and there he had brought his 
 
 198
 
 FATHER AND SON 199 
 
 studies to an end, for fear of his becoming a fine 
 gentleman and neglecting the land. 
 
 Cesar Hautot, almost as tall as his father, but 
 thinner, was a good son, docile, content with every- 
 thing, full of admiration, respect and deference for 
 the wishes and opinions of Hautot Senior. 
 
 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?" 
 
 Hautot Senior answered : 
 
 "As many as you wish, especially in the Puy- 
 satier lands." 
 
 "How shall we set out?" asked the notary, an 
 epicure of a notary, pale and corpulent, with a 
 brand-new hunting costume belted in, which he had 
 bought at Rouen. 
 
 "That way, through the bottoms. We will drive 
 the partridges into the plain, and we can get them 
 there." 
 
 And Hautot Senior rose. They all followed 
 his example, took their guns out of the corners, ex- 
 amined the locks, and stamped their feet in order to 
 adjust their boots, which were rather hard, not 
 having become flexible from wear. Then they went 
 out; and the dogs, standing on their hind legs at 
 the ends of their leashes, gave tongue while beating 
 the air with their paws. 
 
 They set out toward the bottoms referred to. 
 These consisted of a little valley, or, rather, a long,
 
 200 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 undulating stretch of poor land, which on that ac- 
 count had remained uncultivated, furrowed with 
 ditches and covered with ferns, an excellent pre- 
 serve for game. 
 
 The sportsmen took up their positions at some 
 distance from each other, Hautot Senior at the 
 right, Hautot Junior at the left, and the two guests 
 in the middle. The gamekeeper, and others carry- 
 ing the game-bags, followed. It was the solemn 
 moment when the first shot is awaited, when the 
 heart beats a little, while the nervous finger keeps 
 feeling the trigger. 
 
 Suddenly a shot was heard. Hautot Senior had 
 fired. They all stopped, and saw a partridge sepa- 
 rate from a covey which had risen and fallen down 
 into a deep ditch under a thick growth of brush. 
 The sportsman, becoming excited, rushed forward 
 with rapid strides, thrusting aside the briars that 
 stood in his path, and in his turn disappeared in 
 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 must have started a hare down there." 
 
 They all waited, with their eyes riveted on the 
 mass of brush which their gaze failed to pene- 
 trate. 
 
 The notary, making a speaking trumpet of his 
 hands, shouted: 
 
 "Have you got them?" 
 
 Hautot Senior made no response.
 
 FATHER AND SON 207 
 
 Then Cesar, turning to the gamekeeper, said : 
 
 "Just go and assist him, Joseph. We must keep 
 walking in line. We'll wait." 
 
 And Joseph, an old stump of a man, lean and 
 knotty, all of whose joints formed protuberances, 
 set off at an easy pace down into the ditch, search- 
 ing with the cautiousness of a fox every opening 
 through which a passage could be effected. Then, 
 suddenly, he cried: 
 
 "Oh! come! come! an accident has occurred." 
 
 They all hurried forward, plunging through the 
 briars. 
 
 The elder Hautot had fallen on his side, in a 
 faint, with both hands pressed to his abdomen, from 
 which blood trickled through his shooting- jacket, 
 torn by a bullet. Letting go of his gun, in order to 
 pick up the dead partridge, he had let the firearm 
 fall, and the second barrel, going off with the 
 shock, had torn open his entrails. They drew him 
 out of the trench, removed his clothes, and saw a 
 frightful wound, through which the intestines pro- 
 truded. Then, having ligatured him the best way 
 they could, they brought him to his own house, 
 and awaited the doctor, who had been sent for, as 
 well as the priest. 
 
 When the doctor arrived he gravely shook his 
 head, and, turning toward young Hautot, who was 
 sobbing on a chair, he said: 
 
 "My poor boy, this does not look at all favor- 
 able." 
 
 Vol. 114
 
 202 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 But, when the wound was dressed, the wounded 
 man moved his fingers, opened his mouth, then his 
 eyes, cast around him troubled, haggard glances, 
 then appeared to be trying to recall, to understand, 
 and murmured: 
 
 "Ah! good God! this has finished me!" 
 
 The doctor held his hand. 
 
 "Why, no; some days of rest merely it will 
 be nothing." 
 
 Hautot replied : 
 
 "It has finished me! My abdomen is gashed! I 
 know it well." 
 
 Then, all of a sudden : 
 
 "I wish to talk to my son, if I have time." 
 
 Hautot Junior, in spite of himself, shed tears, 
 and kept repeating like a little boy: 
 
 "Papa, papa, poor papa!" 
 
 But the father, in a firm tone, said : 
 
 "Come! stop crying this is no time for it. I 
 have something to say to you. Sit down there, 
 quite close to me. It will not take long, and I shall 
 be more calm. As for the rest of you, kindly leave 
 us alone for a minute." 
 
 They all went out, leaving the father and son to- 
 gether. 
 
 As soon as they were alone: 
 
 "Listen, son!" he said, "you are twenty- four; 
 one can talk to you. And then there is not such 
 mystery about these matters as we attach to them. 
 You know, do you not, that your mother has been 
 dead seven years, and that I am not more than
 
 FATHER AND SON 203 
 
 forty-five years myself, seeing that I was married 
 at nineteen. Is not that true?" 
 
 "Yes, it is true." 
 
 " So then your mother has been dead seven years, 
 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, very pale, and his 
 face contracted with suffering, continued: 
 
 "God! how I suffer! Well, you understand. 
 Man is not made to live alone, but I was unwilling 
 to take a successor to your mother, since I prom- 
 ised her not to do so. Therefore you under- 
 stand?" 
 
 "Yes, father." 
 
 "Well, I kept a young girl at Rouen, number 
 eighteen, Rue de 1'Eperlan, on the third floor, the 
 second door I am telling you all this, don't forget 
 a young girl, who has been very nice to me, lov- 
 ing, devoted, a true woman, eh? You understand, 
 my lad?" 
 
 "Yes, father." 
 
 "So then, if I am carried off, I owe something 
 to her, something substantial, that will place her 
 beyond the reach of want. You understand ?" 
 
 "Yes, father." 
 
 "I tell you that she is a good girl, and, but for 
 you, and the remembrance of your mother, and also
 
 204 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 because we three lived together in this house, I 
 would have brought her here, and then married her. 
 Listen listen, my boy 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 damaging to the legitimate chil- 
 dren and then it makes confusion it ruins every 
 one ! Look you, lawyers, there's no need of them 
 never consult one. If I am rich, it is because I 
 never have employed one. You understand, my 
 son?" 
 
 "Yes, father." 
 
 "Listen again listen attentively! So then, I 
 have made no will I did not desire to do so and 
 then I knew you; you have a good heart, you are 
 not covetous, not stingy, and 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. And then listen again ! When I am gone, go 
 and see her at once and make such arrangements 
 that she may revere my memory. You have plenty 
 of means. You can spare it 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 girl ! she will 
 weep! I say all this to you, because I know you 
 so well, my son. One does not tell these things in 
 public, either to the notary or to the priest. They
 
 FATHER AND SON 205 
 
 happen every one knows that but they are not 
 talked about, save in case of necessity. Then there 
 must be no outsider in the secret, nobody except 
 the family, because the family consists of one per- 
 son 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 for- 
 get. I insist on this." 
 
 "No, father." 
 
 "You will go yourself. I want you to make sure 
 of everything." 
 
 "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 sworn to do it." 
 
 "Yes, father." 
 
 "That's good, my son. Embrace me. Farewell. 
 I am going to die, I'm sure. Tell them they may 
 come in." 
 
 Young Hautot embraced his father, groaning as 
 he did so; then, always docile, he opened the door, 
 and the priest appeared in a white surplice, carry- 
 ing the holy oils. 
 
 But the dying man had closed his eyes and re- 
 fused to open them again; he refused to answer, 
 and even to show by a sign that he understood.
 
 206 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 He had talked enough, this man ; he could speak 
 no longer. Besides, he now felt his heart at ease 
 and wanted to die in peace. What need had he to 
 make a confession to the deputy of God, since he 
 had just confessed to his son, who constituted his 
 family? 
 
 Without any movement of his face indicating 
 that he still lived, he received the last rites, was 
 purified, and received absolution, surrounded by 
 his friends and his servants on their bended knees. 
 
 He expired about midnight, after four hours of 
 spasms, which showed that he must have suffered 
 dreadfully. 
 
 He was buried on Tuesday, the shooting-season 
 having opened on Sunday. On returning home 
 after the funeral Cesar Hautot spent the rest of the 
 day weeping. He hardly slept that night, and felt 
 so sad on awaking that he asked himself how he 
 could go on living. 
 
 However, he kept thinking that, in order to obey 
 his father's dying wish, he must go to Rouen the 
 following day, and see this girl Caroline Donet, 
 who lived at eighteen Rue de 1'Eperlan, the third 
 story, second door. He had muttered to himself 
 this name and address a countless number of times, 
 just as a child repeats a prayer, so that he might 
 not forget them, and he ended by repeating them 
 continually, without thinking, so impressed were 
 they on his mind. 
 
 Accordingly, on the following day, about eight
 
 FATHER AND SON 207 
 
 o'clock, he ordered Graindorge to be harnessed to 
 the tilbury, and set forth, at the long, swinging pace 
 of the heavy Norman horse, along the highway 
 from Ainville to Rouen. He wore his black frock 
 coat, his tall silk hat, and his trousers strapped un- 
 der his shoes, and, being in mourning, did not put 
 on his blue dust-coat. 
 
 He entered Rouen at ten o'clock, put up, as he 
 had always done, at the Hotel des Bons-Enfants, 
 in the Rue des Trois-Mares, and submitted to the 
 embraces 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 par- 
 ticulars of the accident, which caused him to shed 
 tears; to repel all the attentions they sought to 
 thrust upon him merely because he was wealthy; 
 and to decline even the luncheon they offered him, 
 thus wounding their sensibilities. 
 
 Then, having wiped the dust off his hat, brushed 
 his coat, and removed the mud-stains from his 
 boots, he set forth in search of the Rue de 1'Eperlan, 
 without venturing to make inquiries, for fear of 
 being recognized and of arousing suspicion. 
 
 At last, unable to find the place, he met a priest, 
 and, trusting to the professional discretion of the 
 clergy, he questioned the ecclesiastic. 
 
 He had only a hundred steps farther to go; it 
 was the sacond street to the right. 
 
 Then he hesitated. Up to that moment he had 
 obeyed, like a mere animal, the expressed wish of
 
 208 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 his father. Now he was agitated, confused, hu- 
 miliated, at the idea of finding himself the son 
 in the presence of this woman who had been his 
 father's sweetheart. All the morality we possess, 
 which lies buried at the bottom of our emotions 
 through centuries of hereditary instruction, all that 
 he had been taught since he lyw* learned his cate- 
 chism about creatures of evil life, the instinctive 
 contempt which every man entertains toward them, 
 even though he may marry one of them, all the 
 narrow honesty of the peasant in his character, was 
 stirred within him, and held him back, making him 
 grow red with shame. 
 
 But he said to himself : 
 
 " I promised father. I must not break my prom- 
 ise." 
 
 So he pushed open the partly opened door of 
 number eighteen, saw a gloomy-looking staircase, 
 ascended three flights, perceived a door, then a sec- 
 ond door, saw a bell-rope, and pulled it. The ring- 
 ing, which resounded in the apartment, sent a 
 shiver through his frame. The door was opened, 
 and he found himself face-to-face with a well- 
 dressed young lady, a brunette with rosy cheeks, 
 who gazed at him in astonishment. 
 
 He did not know what to say, and she, who sus- 
 pected nothing, and who was waiting for the father, 
 did not invite him to come in. They stood look- 
 ing thus at each other nearly half a minute, at 
 the end of which she said in a questioning tone :
 
 FATHER AND SON 209 
 
 "Do you want anything, Monsieur?" 
 
 He falteringly replied: 
 
 "I am Monsieur 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 then?" 
 
 "I have come with a message to you from my 
 father." 
 
 She exclaimed: 
 
 "Oh, my God!" and then drew back so that he 
 might enter. He shut the door and followed her 
 into the apartment. Then he perceived a little boy 
 of four or five years playing with a cat, seated on 
 the floor in front of a stove, from which rose an 
 odor of food being kept ho*. 
 
 "Take a seat," she said. 
 
 He sat down. 
 
 "Well?" she questioned. 
 
 He no longer ventured to speak, keeping his eyes 
 fixed on a table that stood in the center of the 
 room, with three covers laid on it, one of which was 
 for a child, and a bottle of claret that had been 
 opened, and one of white wine that had not been 
 uncorked. He glanced at the chair with its back 
 turned to the fire. That was his father's chair! 
 They were expecting him. That was his bread 
 which he saw at his place, for the crust had been 
 removed on account of Hautot's bad teeth. Then,
 
 210 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 raising his eyes, he noticed on the wall his father's 
 portrait, the large photograph taken in Paris the 
 year of the exhibition, the same as that which hung 
 above the bed in the sleeping-apartment at Ainville. 
 
 The young woman again asked : 
 
 "Well, Monsieur Cesar?" 
 
 He kept staring at her. Her face was livid with 
 anxiety, and she waited, her hands trembling with 
 fear. 
 
 Then he took courage. 
 
 "Well, Mam'zelle, papa died on Sunday last, just 
 after he had opened the shooting-season." 
 
 She was so overwhelmed that she did not move. 
 After a silence of a few seconds, she faltered in an 
 almost inaudible tone: 
 
 "Oh, it is not possible!" 
 
 Then, on a sudden, tears came into her eyes, and 
 covering her face with her hands, she burst out sob- 
 bing. 
 
 At that point the little boy turned round, and, 
 seeing his mother weeping, began to roar. Then, 
 .realizing that this sudden trouble was brought 
 about by the stranger, he rushed at Cesar, caught 
 hold of his trousers with one hand and with the 
 other hit him with all his strength on the thigh. 
 And Cesar remained bewildered, deeply affected, 
 with this woman mourning for his father on the one 
 hand, and the little boy defending his mother on 
 the other. He felt their emotion taking possession 
 of him, and his eyes were beginning to fill with
 
 FATHER AND SON 211 
 
 tears ; so, to recover his self-command, he began to 
 talk. 
 
 "Yes," he said, "the accident occurred on Sun- 
 day, at eight o'clock " 
 
 And he told all the facts as if she were listening 
 to him, without forgetting a single detail, mention- 
 ing the most trivial matters with the minuteness of 
 a countryman. And the child was still attacking 
 him, kicking his ankles. 
 
 When he came to what his father had said 
 about her she took her hands from her face and 
 said: 
 
 "Pardon me! I was not following you; I should 
 like to know Would you mind beginning over 
 again ?" 
 
 He repeated everything in the same words with 
 pauses and reflections of his own from time to time. 
 She listened eagerly now, perceiving with a 
 woman's keen sensibility all the sudden changes of 
 fortune which his narrative implied, and trembling 
 with horror, frequently exclaiming: 
 
 "Oh, my God!" 
 
 The little fellow, believing that she had calmed 
 down, ceased beating Cesar, in order to take his 
 mother's hand, and he listened, too, as if he under- 
 stood. 
 
 When the narrative was finished, young Hautot 
 continued : 
 
 "Now, we will settle matters together in accord- 
 ance with his wishes. I am well off, he has left
 
 212 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 me plenty of means. I don't wish you to have any- 
 thing to complain about " 
 
 But she quickly interrupted him. 
 
 "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 it is not 
 for myself no, no, no, I swear to you, it is for 
 the child. Besides, this sum will be placed to his: 
 account." 
 
 Thereupon, Cesar, horrified, guessed the truth, 
 and stammered: 
 
 "So then it is his the child?'' 
 
 "Why, yes," she said. 
 
 And Hautot Junior gazed at his brother with a 
 confused emotion, intense and painful. 
 
 After a long silence, for she was weeping afresh, 
 Cesar, embarrassed, continued: 
 
 "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 should die of grief. I have 
 no longer any one, any one but my child. Oh! 
 what wretchedness, what wretchedness, Monsieur 
 Cesar! Come, sit down again. Tell me something 
 more. Tell me what he did at home all the week." 
 
 And Cesar, accustomed to obey, resumed his seat. 
 
 She drew over another chair for herself in front 
 of the stove, where the dishes had all this time 
 been heating, took Emile upon her knees, and asked
 
 FATHER AND SON 213 
 
 Cesar a thousand questions about his father ques- 
 tions of an intimate nature, which made him feel, 
 without reasoning on the subject, that she had loved 
 Hautot with all the strength of her weak woman's 
 heart. 
 
 And, by the natural sequence of his ideas which 
 were rather limited in number he recurred once 
 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 that you could 
 put your two fists into," she gave a sort of shriek, 
 and her eyes again filled with tears. 
 
 Then, seized by the contagion of her grief, Cesar 
 began to weep, too, and as tears always soften the 
 fibers of the heart, he bent over Emile, whose fore- 
 head was close to his own mouth, and kissed him. 
 
 The mother, recovering her breath, murmured : 
 
 "Poor child, he is an orphan now!" 
 
 "And so am I," said Cesar. 
 
 And they were silent. 
 
 But suddenly the practical instinct of the house- 
 wife, accustomed to think of everything, revived in 
 the young woman's breast. 
 
 "You perhaps have had nothing to eat all the 
 morning, Monsieur Cesar." 
 
 "No, Mam'zelle." 
 
 "You must be hungry. You will eat a morsel." 
 
 "Thank you," he said, "I am not hungry; I 
 have had too much sorrow."
 
 She replied: 
 
 "In spite of sorrow, we must live. You will not 
 refuse 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 plateful of tripe, which had been drying up 
 in the gravy, and drank a glass of red wine. But 
 he would not allow her to uncork the bottle of white 
 wine. He several times wiped the mouth of the 
 little boy, who had smeared his chin with gravy. 
 
 As he rose to take his leave, he asked: 
 
 "When would you like me to come back to talk 
 about this matter, Mam'zelle Donet?" 
 
 "If it is all the same to you, say next Thursday, 
 Monsieur Cesar. In that way I shall not waste my 
 time, as I always have my Thursdays free." 
 
 "That will suit me next Thursday." 
 
 "You will come to luncheon, won't you?" 
 
 "Oh! On that point I can't give you a prun,-- 
 ise." 
 
 "The reason I suggested it is, that people can 
 chat better 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 Do- 
 net's hand. 
 
 The week appeared long to Cesar Hautot. He
 
 FATHER AND SON 215 
 
 aever before had lived alone, and the isolation 
 seemed to him unendurable. Till now he had lived 
 at his father's side, like his shadow, followed him 
 into the fields, superintended the execution of his 
 orders, and, if they were separated for a short 
 time, they again met at dinner. They spent the 
 evenings smoking their pipes together, sitting op- 
 posite each other, chatting about horses, cows, or 
 sheep, and the grip of their hands when they rose 
 in the morning was a manifestation of deep family 
 affection. 
 
 Now Cesar was alone. He went mechanically 
 about his autumn duties on the farm, expecting any 
 moment to see his father's tall, energetic outline 
 rising at the end of a level field. To kill time, 
 he visited his neighbors, told about the accident to 
 all who had not heard of it, and sometimes repeated 
 it to the others. Then, having exhausted his occu- 
 pations and his reflections, he would sit down at the 
 side of the road, asking himself whether this kind 
 of life was going to last forever. 
 
 He frequently thought of Mademoiselle Donet. 
 He liked her. He considered her thoroughly re- 
 spectable, a gentle, good young woman, as his 
 father had said. Yes, undoubtedly she was a good 
 girl. He resolved to act handsomely toward her, 
 and to give her two thousand francs a year, settling 
 the principal 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
 
 216 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 matter. And then the thought of this brothel, 
 this little chap of five, who was his father's son. 
 worried him, annoyed him a little, and, at the 
 same time, pleased him. He had, as it were, a fam- 
 ily in this youngster, sprung from a clandestine alli- 
 ance, who never would bear the name of Hautot a 
 family which he might take or leave, as he pleased, 
 but which reminded him of his father. 
 
 And so, when he saw himself on the road to 
 Rouen Thursday morning, borne along by Grain- 
 dorge with his measured trot, he felt his heart 
 lighter, more at peace than it had been since his be- 
 reavement. 
 
 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 the bread. He pressed the young 
 woman's hand, kissed Emile on the cheeks, and sat 
 down, much as if he were in his own house, al- 
 though his heart was full. Mademoiselle Donet 
 seemed to him a little thinner and paler. She must 
 have grieved sorely. She now appeared con- 
 strained 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 ex- 
 cessive deference toward him, a mournful humility, 
 and made efforts to please him, as if to repay his 
 kindness. They were a long time at luncheon, talk- 
 ing over the business that had brought him there. 
 She did not want so much money. It was too
 
 FATHER AND SON 217 
 
 much. She earned enough to live on herself, and 
 she only wished that Emile might find a few sous 
 awaiting him when he grew up. Cesar was firn\ 
 however, and even added a gift of a thousand 
 francs for the expenses of mourning. 
 
 When he had taken his coffee, she asked : 
 
 "Do you smoke?" 
 
 "Yes I have my pipe." 
 
 He felt in his pocket. Good heavens! He had 
 forgotten it! He was becoming quite distressed 
 about it when she offered him a pipe of his fa- 
 ther's that had been put away in a closet. He took 
 it up, recognized it, smelled it, spoke of its quality 
 in a tone of emotion, filled it with tobacco, and 
 lighted it. Then he set Emile astride his knee, 
 and gave him a ride, while she removed the table- 
 cloth and piled the soiled dishes under the side- 
 board, intending to wash them as soon as he was 
 gone. 
 
 About three o'clock he rose regretfully, annoyed 
 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 father. 
 
 "Shall we not see each other again?" she said. 
 
 He replied simply: 
 
 "Yes, Mademoiselle, if it gives you pleasure." 
 
 Vol. 115
 
 218 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "Certainly, Monsieur Cesar. Will next Thurs- 
 day suit you?" 
 
 "Yes, Mademoiselle Donet" 
 "You will come to luncheon, 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, the same as today." 
 "Thursday at twelve, Mademoiselle Donet!"
 
 THE FALSE JEWELS 
 
 MONSIEUR LANTIN met the young girl 
 at a reception at the house of the second 
 head of his department, and fell violently 
 in love with her. 
 
 She was the daughter of a deceased provincial 
 tax-collector. She and her mother came to live 
 in Paris, where the latter made the acquaintance of 
 families in her neighborhood and hoped to find a 
 husband for her daughter. They were in moderate 
 circumstances, and were honorable, gentle, and 
 quiet. 
 
 The young girl was a perfect type of the virtu- 
 ous woman to whom every sensible young man 
 dreams of one day intrusting his happiness. Her 
 simple beauty, her angelic modesty, and the hardly 
 perceptible smile which hovered about her nps 
 seemed to be the reflection of a lovely soul. Her 
 praises resounded on every side. People never tired 
 of saying: "Happy the man who wins her love! 
 He could not find a better wife." 
 
 Monsieur Lantin, then chief clerk in the Depart- 
 
 219
 
 220 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 ment of the Interior, who enjoyed the comfortable 
 salary of three thousand five hundred francs, pro 
 posed to 'this model young girl, and was accepted, 
 
 He was unspeakably happy with her. She gov- 
 erned his household with economy and they seemed 
 to- live in luxury. She lavished the most delicate 
 attentions on her husband, coaxed and fondled him ; 
 and so great was her charm that six years after 
 their marriage Monsieur Lantin discovered that he 
 loved his wife even more than in their honeymoon. 
 
 He disliked only two of her tastes : her love for 
 the theater and her taste for imitation jewelry. 
 Her friends (the wives of petty officials) fre- 
 quently procured for her a box at the theater, often 
 for a " first night" ; and her husband was obliged to 
 accompany her to these entertainments, which bored 
 him excessively after his day's work at the office. 
 
 After a time, Monsieur Lantin begged his wife 
 to request some lady of her acquaintance to accom- 
 pany her and to bring her home after the theater. 
 She opposed this arrangement, at first; but finally 
 consented, to the great delight of her husband. 
 
 With her love for the theater, came also the 
 desire for ornaments. Her costumes remained as 
 before, simple, in good taste, and always modest; 
 but she soon began to adorn her ears with huge 
 rhinestones, which sparkled like real diamonds. 
 Around her neck she wore strings of false pearls, 
 on her arms bracelets of imitation gold, and in 
 tter hair combs set with glass jewels. Her hus-
 
 THE FALSE JEWELS 221 
 
 band frequently remonstrated with her, saying: 
 "My dear, as you cannot afford to buy real jew- 
 elry, you ought to appear adorned only with your 
 beauty and modesty, the rarest ornaments of your 
 sex." 
 
 But she would smile sweetly, and say: 
 "What can I do? I am fond of jewelry; it is 
 my only weakness. We cannot change our na- 
 tures." 
 
 Then she would roll around her fingers the pearl 
 necklace, make the facets of the crystal gems spar- 
 kle, and say : 
 
 "Look! are they not lovely? One would sweai 
 they were real." 
 
 Monsieur Lantin would then answer, smilingly: 
 "You have Bohemian tastes, my dear." 
 Sometimes, of an evening, when they were en- 
 joying a tete-d-tete by the fireside, she would place 
 on the tea-table the morocco leather box containing 
 the "trash." as her husband called it. She would 
 examine the false gems with a passionate atten- 
 tion, as if they imparted some deep and secret joy, 
 and she often persisted in passing a necklace around 
 his n^ck. and, laughing heartily, exclaimed: "How 
 droll you look!" Then she would throw herself 
 into his arms, and kiss him affectionately. 
 
 Ore evening, in winter, she had been to the opera, 
 and returned home chilled through and through. 
 The next morning she coughed, and eight days 
 later she died of inflammation of the lungs.
 
 222 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Monsieur Lantin's despair was so great that his 
 hair became white in one month. He wept unceas- 
 ingly; his heart was broken as he remembered her 
 smile, her voice, every charm of his dead wife. 
 
 Time did not assuage his grief. Often, in office 
 hours, while his colleagues were discussing the 
 topics of the day, his eyes would suddenly fill 
 with tears, and he would give vent to his grief in 
 heartrending sobs. Everything in his wife's room 
 remained as it was during her lifetime; all her 
 furniture, even her clothing, being left as it was 
 on the day of her death. Here he was wont to 
 seclude himself daily and think of her who had 
 been his treasure, the joy of his existence. 
 
 But life soon became a struggle. His income, 
 which, in the hands of his wife, covered all house- 
 hold expenses, was now no longer sufficient for his 
 own immediate wants; and he wondered how she 
 could have managed to buy such excellent wine and 
 rare delicacies, which he could no longer procure 
 with his modest resources. 
 
 He incurred some debts, and was soon reduced 
 to absolute poverty. One morning, finding himself 
 without a sou in his pocket, he resolved to sel) 
 something, and immediately the thought occurred 
 to him of disposing of his wife's paste jewels, for 
 he cherished in his heart a sort of rancor against 
 these "deceptions," which had always irritated him. 
 The very sight of them spoiled, somewhat, the 
 memory of his lost darling.
 
 THE FALSE JEWELS 223 
 
 To the last days of her life she had continued 
 to make purchases, bringing home new gems almost 
 every evening, and he turned them over some time 
 before deciding to sell the heavy necklace, which 
 she seemed to prefer, and which, he thought, ought 
 to be worth six or seven francs ; for it was of 
 very fine workmanship, though only imitation. 
 
 He put it in his pocket, and set out in search 
 of what seemed a reliable jeweler's shop. At last 
 he found one, and went in, feeling a little ashamed 
 to expose his misery, and also to offer such a worth- 
 less article for sale. 
 
 "Sir," said he to the merchant, "I should like to 
 know what this is worth." 
 
 The man took the necklace, examined it, called 
 his clerk, and made some remarks in an undertone ; 
 he then put the ornament back on the counter, and 
 looked at it from a distance to judge the effect. 
 
 Monsieur Lantin, annoyed at all these cere- 
 monies, was on the point of saying: "Oh! I know 
 well enough it is not worth anything," when the 
 jeweler said: "Sir, that necklace is worth from 
 twelve to fifteen thousand francs; but I could not 
 buy it unless you can tell me exactly where it came 
 from." 
 
 The widower opened his eyes wide and remained 
 gaping, not comprehending the merchant's meaning. 
 Finally he stammered: "You say are you sure?" 
 The other replied, dryly: "You may apply else- 
 where, and see whether any one will offer you
 
 224 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 more. I consider it worth fifteen thousand at the 
 most. Come back here, if you cannot do better." 
 
 Monsieur Lantin, beside himself with astonish- 
 ment, took up the necklace and left the store. He 
 wished time for reflection. 
 
 Once outside, he felt inclined to laugh, and said 
 to himself: "The fool! Oh, the fool ! Had I only 
 taken him at his word! That jeweler cannot dis- 
 tinguish real diamonds from the imitation article." 
 
 A few minutes later, he entered another store, 
 in the Rue de la Paix. As soon as the proprietor 
 glanced at the necklace, he cried out : 
 
 "Ah, parbleu! I know it well; it was bought 
 here." 
 
 Monsieur Lantin, greatly disturbed, asked: 
 
 "How much is it worth?" 
 
 "Well, I sold it for twenty thousand francs. I 
 am willing to take it back for eighteen thousand, 
 when you inform me, according to our legal for- 
 mality, how it came to be in your possession." 
 
 This time, Monsieur Lantin was dumbfounded. 
 He replied: 
 
 "But examine it well. Until this moment 1 
 was under the impression that it was imitation/'* 
 
 The jeweler asked : 
 
 "What is your name, sir?" 
 
 "Lantin. I am in the employ of the Minister or 
 the Interior. I live at number sixteen Rue des Mar- 
 tyrs." 
 
 The merchant looked through his books, found
 
 THE FALSE JEWELS 225 
 
 the entry, and said: "That necklace was sent to 
 Madame Lantin's address, sixteen Rue des Martyrs, 
 July 20, 1876." 
 
 The two men looked into each other's eyes, the 
 widower speechless with astonishment, the jeweler 
 scenting a thief. The latter broke the silence. 
 
 "Will you leave this necklace here for twenty- 
 four ho'jrs?" said he; "I will give you a receipt." 
 
 Monsieur Lantin answered hastily: "Yes, cer- 
 tainly." Then, putting the ticket into his pocket, he 
 left the store. 
 
 He wandered aimlessly through the streets, his 
 mind in a state of dreadful confusion. He tried to 
 reason, to understand. His wife could not afford 
 to purchase such a costly ornament. Certainly not. 
 But, then, it must have been a present ! a present ! 
 a present from whom? Why was it given to her? 
 
 He stopped, and remained standing in the middle 
 of the street. A horrible doubt entered his mind. 
 She? Then, all the other jewels must have been 
 presents, too ! The earth seemed to tremble beneath 
 him; the tree before him to be falling; he threw 
 up his arms, and fell to the ground, unconscious. 
 He recovered his senses in a pharmacy into which 
 the passers-by had borne him. He asked to be 
 taken home, and, when he reached the honse he 
 shut himself up in his room and wept umil night- 
 fall. Finally, overcome with fatigue, he went to 
 hed, and fell into a heavy sleep. 
 
 The sun awoke him next morning, and he began
 
 226 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 to dress slowly to go to the office. It was hard 
 to work after such an experience. He sent a letter 
 to his employer, requesting to be excused. Then he 
 remembered that he had to return to the jeweler's. 
 He did not like the idea; but he could not leave 
 the necklace with that man. He dressed and went 
 out. 
 
 It was a lovely day; a clear blue sky smiled on 
 the busy city. Men of leisure were strolling about 
 with their hands in their pockets. 
 
 Monsieur Lantin, observing them, said to him- 
 self : "The rich, indeed, are happy. With money, 
 it is possible to forget even the deepest sorrow. One 
 can go where one pleases, and in travel find that 
 distraction which is the surest cure for grief. Oh ! 
 if I were only rich!" 
 
 He was hungry, but his pocket was empty. He 
 again remembered the necklace. Eighteen thou- 
 sand francs! What a sum! 
 
 He soon arrived in the Rue de la Paix, opposite 
 the jeweler's. Eighteen thousand francs! Twenty 
 times he resolved to go in, but shame kept him back. 
 He was hungry, however, very hungry, and not a 
 sou in his pocket. He decided quickly, ran across 
 the street, in order not to have time for reflection, 
 and rushed into the store. 
 
 The proprietor immediately came forward, and 
 politely offered him a chair; the clerks glanced at 
 him knowingly. 
 
 "I have made inclines, Monsieur Lantin," said
 
 THE FALSE JEWELS 227 
 
 the jeweler, "and if you are still resolved to dis- 
 pose of the gems, I am ready to pay you the price 
 I offered." 
 
 "Certainly, sir," stammered Monsieur Lantia. 
 
 Whereupon the proprietor took from a drawer 
 eighteen large bills, counted them and handed them 
 to Monsieur Lantin, who signed a receipt, and, with 
 trembling hand, put the money into his pocket. 
 
 As he was about to leave the store, he turned 
 toward the merchant, who still wore the same know- 
 ing smile, and, lowering his eyes, said: 
 
 "I have I have other gems, which came from 
 the same source. Will you buy them, also?" 
 
 The merchant bowed: "Certainly, sir." 
 
 Monsieur Lantin said gravely: "I will bring 
 them to you." An hour later he returned with the 
 gems. 
 
 The large diamond earrings were worth twenty 
 thousand francs ; the bracelets, thirty-five thousand 
 the rings, sixteen thousand; a set of emeralds and 
 sapphires, fourteen thousand ; a gold chain with soh- 
 taire pendant, forty thousand making the sum of 
 one hundred and forty-three thousand francs. 
 
 The jeweler remarked, jestingly: 
 
 "There was a person who invested all her sav- 
 ings in precious stones." 
 
 Monsieur Lantin replied, seriously : 
 
 *Jt is only another way of investing one's 
 money." 
 
 That day he lunched at Voisin's, and drank wine
 
 228 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 worth twenty francs a bottle. Then he hired a car- 
 riage and made a tour of the Bois. He gazed at 
 the various turnouts with a kind of disdain, and 
 could hardly refrain from crying out to the occu- 
 pants : 
 
 " I, too, am rich ! I am worth two hundred thou- 
 sand francs." 
 
 Suddenly he thought of his employer. He drove 
 up to the bureau, and entered gayly, saying: 
 
 "Sir, I have come to resign my place. I have 
 just inherited three hundred thousand francs." 
 
 He shook hands with his former colleagues, and 
 confided to them some of his projects for the fu- 
 ture ; he then went out to dine at the Cafe Anglais. 
 
 He seated himself beside a gentleman of aristo- 
 cratic bearing; and, during the meal, informed the 
 latter confidentially that he had just inherited a for- 
 tune of four hundred thousand francs. 
 
 For the first time in his life, he was not bored at 
 the theater, and he spent the remainder of the night 
 in a gay frolic. 
 
 Six months afterward he married again. His 
 second wife was a very virtuous woman ; but had 1 
 violent temper, and caused him much sorrow.
 
 THAT UMBRELLA! 
 
 MADAME OREILLE was economical; she 
 knew the value of a centime, and had a 
 whole storehouse of strict principles with 
 regard to the multiplication of money, so that her 
 cook found the greatest difficulty in making what 
 the servants call their market-penny, and her hus- 
 band was hardly allowed any pocket-money at ail. 
 They were very comfortably off, and had no chil- 
 dren; but it really pained Madame Oreille to see 
 money spent ; it was like tearing at her heartstrings 
 when she had to take any of those nice crown-pieces 
 out of her pocket; and whenever she had to spend 
 anything, no matter how necessary it might be, she 
 slept badly the next night. 
 
 Oreille was continually saying to his wife: 
 
 "You really might be more liberal, as we have 
 no children, and never spend our income." 
 
 "You don't know what may happen," she used 
 to reply. "It is better to have too much than too 
 little." 
 
 She was small, about forty, very active, rather 
 hasty, wrinkled, very neat and tidy, and had a short 
 temper. 
 
 229
 
 230 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Her husband frequently complained of the priva- 
 tions she made him endure; some of them were 
 particularly painful to him, as they touched his 
 vanity. 
 
 He was one of the head clerks in the War 
 Office, and stayed on there only in obedience to his 
 wife's wish to increase their income, which they 
 did not nearly spend. 
 
 For two years he had always come to the office 
 with the same old patched umbrella, to the great 
 amusement of his fellow clerks. At last he got 
 tired of their jokes, and insisted upon his wife's 
 buying him a new one. She bought one for eight 
 francs and a half, one of those cheap articles which 
 large houses sell as an advertisement. When the 
 men in the office saw the article, which was being 
 sold in Paris by the thousand, they resumed their 
 jokes, and Oreille had a dreadful time of it. They 
 even made a song about it, which he heard from 
 morning till night all over the immense building. 
 
 Oreille was very angry, and peremptorily told his 
 wife to get him a new one, a good silk one, for 
 twenty francs, and to bring him the bill, so that he 
 might see that it was all right. 
 
 She bought him one for eighteen francs, and 
 said, getting red with anger as she gave it to him : 
 
 "This will last you five years at least." 
 
 Oreille felt quite triumphant, and received a 
 small ovation when he appeared at the office with 
 his new acquisition.
 
 THAT UMBRELLA! 231 
 
 When he went home in the evening his wife said 
 to him, looking at the umbrella uneasily: 
 
 "You should not leave it fastened up with the 
 elastic; it will be likely to cut the silk. You must 
 take care of it, for I shall not buy you a new one in 
 a hurry." 
 
 She took it, unfastened it, and then stood dumb- 
 founded with astonishment and rage; in the mid- 
 dle of the silk there was a hole as big as a six- 
 penny-piece; it had been made with the end of a 
 cigar. 
 
 "What is that?" she screamed. 
 
 Her husband replied quietly, without looking at it : 
 
 "What is it? What do you mean?" 
 
 She was choking with rage, and could hardly 
 get out a word. 
 
 "You you have burned your new umbrella! 
 Why you must be mad! Do you wish to ruin 
 us outright?" 
 
 He turned round, and felt that he was growing 
 pale. 
 
 "What are you talking about?" 
 
 "I say that you have burned your umbrella. Just 
 look here!" 
 
 And rushing at him, as if she were going to beat 
 him, she violently thrust the little circular burned 
 hole under his nose. 
 
 He was utterly struck dumb at the sight of it 
 and could only stammer out : 
 
 "What what is it? How should I know? I have
 
 232 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 done nothing, I will swear. I don't know what is 
 the matter with the umbrella." 
 
 "You have been playing tricks with it at the 
 office; you have been playing the fool and opening 
 it, to show it off !" she screamed. 
 
 "I opened it only once, to let them see what a nice 
 one it was ; that is all, I swear." 
 
 But she shook with rage, and got up one of those 
 conjugal scenes which make a peaceable man dread 
 the domestic hearth more than a battlefield where 
 bullets are flying. 
 
 She mended it with a piece of silk cut out of the 
 old umbrella, which was of a different color, and the 
 next day Oreille went off very humbly with the 
 mended article in his hand. He put it into a cup- 
 board, and dismissed it from his thoughts. 
 
 But he had scarcely got home that evening wher 
 his wife took the umbrella from him, opened it, and 
 nearly had a fit when she saw what had befallen it, 
 for the disaster was irreparable. It was covered 
 with small holes which evidently proceeded froir. 
 burns, just as if some erne had emptied the ashes 
 from a lighted pipe on to it. It was ruined ut- 
 terly. 
 
 She looked at it without a word, too enraged to 
 be able to say anything. He also, when he saw the 
 damage, remained dumbfounded, in a state of 
 frightened consternation. 
 
 They looked at each other, then he looked at the 
 floor; and the next moment she threw the useless
 
 THAT UMBRELLA ! 233 
 
 article at his head, screaming out in a transport of 
 the most violent rage, for she had recovered her 
 voice by that time: 
 
 " Oh ! you brute ! you brute ! You did it on pur- 
 pose, but I will pay you out for it; you shall not 
 have another." 
 
 And then the scene began again, and after the 
 storm had raged for an hour, he at last was en- 
 abled to explain himself. He declared that he could 
 not understand it at all, and that it could only pro- 
 ceed from malice or from vengeance. 
 
 A ring at the bell saved him; it was a friend 
 whom they were expecting to dinner. 
 
 Madame Oreille stated the case to him. As for 
 buying a new umbrella, that was out of the ques- 
 tion; her husband should not have another. 
 
 The friend very sensibly said that in that case 
 his clothes would be spoiled, and they were certainly 
 worth more than the umbrella. But the little 
 woman, who was still in a rage, replied : 
 
 "Very well, then, when it rains he may have the 
 kitchen umbrella, for I will not give him a new silk 
 one." 
 
 Oreille utterly rebelled at such an idea. 
 
 "All right," he said ; "then I shall resign my post. 
 I am not going to the office with the kitchen um- 
 brella." 
 
 The friend interposed: 
 
 "Have this one re-covered ; it will not cost much." 
 
 But Madame Oreille, being still in a rage, said: 
 
 Vol. i in
 
 234 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "It will cost at least eight francs to re-cover it 
 Eight and eighteen are twenty-six. Just fancy, 
 twenty-six f ranrs for an umbrella ! It is utter mad- 
 ness !" 
 
 The friend, who was only a poor man of the mid- 
 dle classes, had an inspiration : 
 
 "Make your fire insurance pay for it. The com- 
 panies pay for all i rticles that are burned, as long as 
 the damage has been done in your own house." 
 
 On hearing this advice the little woman calmed 
 down immediately, and then, after a moment's re- 
 flection, she said to her husband : 
 
 "To-morrow, before going to your office, you will 
 go to the Maternelle Insurance Company, show 
 them the state your umbrella is in, and make them 
 pay for the damage. " 
 
 M. Oreille fairly jumped, he was so startled at 
 the proposal. 
 
 "I would not do it for my life! It is eighteen 
 francs lost, that is all. It would not ruin us." 
 
 The next morning he took a walking-stick when 
 he went out, and, luckily, it was a fine day. 
 
 Left at home Madame Oreille could not get over 
 the loss of her eighteen francs by any means. She 
 had put the umbrella on the dining-room table, and 
 she looked at it without being able to come to any 
 determination. 
 
 Every moment she thought of the insurance com- 
 pany, but she did not dare to encounter the quiz- 
 zical looks of the gentlemen who might receive her,
 
 THAT UMBRELLA I 235 
 
 for she was very timid before people, blushed at a 
 mere nothing, and was embarrassed when she had 
 to speak to strangers. 
 
 But the regret at the loss of the eighteen francs 
 still pained her. She tried not to think of it any 
 more, and yet every moment the recollection of the 
 loss struck her painfully. What was she to do? 
 Time went on, and she could not decide; but sud- 
 denly, like all cowards, on making a resolve she 
 became determined. 
 
 "I will go, and we shall see what will happen." 
 
 But first of all she was obliged to prepare the 
 umbrella so that the disaster might be complete, and 
 the reason of it quite evident. She took a matcix 
 from the mantelpiece, and between the ribs she 
 burned a hole as big as the palm of her hand ; then 
 she delicately rolled it up, fastened it with the 
 elastic band, put on her bonnet and shawl, and went 
 quickly toward the Rue de Rivoli, where the insur- 
 ance office was. 
 
 But the nearer she got, che slower she walked. 
 What was she going to say, and what reply would 
 she get? 
 
 She looked at the numbers of the houses; there 
 were still twenty-eight. That was all right, so she 
 had time to consider, and she walked slower and 
 slower. Suddenly she saw a door on which was a 
 large brass plate with "La Maternelle Fire Insur- 
 ance Office" engraved on it. Already ! She waited 
 a moment, for she felt nervou and almost ashamed;
 
 236 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 then she walked past, came back, walked past again, 
 and came back again. 
 
 At last she said to herself : 
 
 "I must go in, however, so I may as well do it 
 sooner as later." 
 
 She could not help noticing, however, how her 
 heart beat as she entered. 
 
 She went into an enormous room with grated 
 wicket openings all round, and a man behind each 
 of them, and as a gentleman carrying a handful 
 of paper passed her, she stopped him and said 
 timidly : 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Monsieur, but can you tell 
 me where I must apply for payment for anything 
 that has been accidentally burned?" 
 
 He replied in a sonorous voice: 
 
 "The first door on the left; that is the depart- 
 ment you want" 
 
 This frightened her still more, and she felt in- 
 clined to run away, to put in no claim, to sacrifice 
 her eighteen francs. But the idea of that sum re- 
 vived her courage, and she went upstairs, out of 
 breath, stopping at almost every other step. 
 
 She knocked at a door which she saw on the first 
 landing, and a clear voice said, in answer : 
 
 "Come in!" 
 
 She obeyed mechanically, and found herself in 
 a large room where three solemn gentlemen, all ivith 
 a decoration in their buttonholes, were talking. 
 
 One of them said : "What do you want, Madame?"
 
 THAT UMBRELLA ! 237 
 
 She could hardly get out her words, but stam- 
 mered: "I have come I have come on account of 
 an accident, something " 
 
 He very politely pointed out a seat to her. 
 
 "If you will kindly sit down I will attend to you 
 in a moment." 
 
 And, returning to the other two, he continued: 
 
 "The company, gentlemen, does not consider that 
 it is under any obligation to you for more than four 
 hundred thousand francs, and we can pay no atten- 
 tion to your claim to the further sum of a hundred 
 thousand, which you wish to make us pay. Besides 
 that, the surveyor's valuation " 
 
 One of the others interrupted him : 
 
 "That is enough, Monsieur, the law courts will 
 decide between us, and we have nothing further to 
 do than to take our leave." And they went out after 
 mutual ceremonious bows. 
 
 Oh ! if she could only have gone away with them, 
 how gladly she would have done it ; she would have 
 run away and given up everything. But it was 
 too late, for the gentleman came back, and said, 
 bowing : 
 
 "What can I do for you, Madame?" 
 
 She could hardly speak, but at last she managed 
 to say: 
 
 "I have come for this." 
 
 The manager looked at the object which she held 
 out to him in mute astonishment. 
 
 With trembling fingers she tried to undo the
 
 238 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 elastic, and succeeding, after several attempts, she 
 hastily opened the damaged remains of the um- 
 brella. 
 
 "It looks to me to be in a very bad state of 
 health," he said compassionately. 
 
 "It cost me twenty francs," she said, with some 
 hesitation. 
 
 He seemed astonished. "Really! As much as 
 that?" 
 
 "Yes, it was a capital article, and I wanted you 
 to see the condition it is in. " 
 
 "Yes, yes, I see; very well. But I really do not 
 understand what it can have to do with me." 
 
 She began to feel uncomfortable; perhaps this 
 company did not pay for such small articles, and 
 she said: 
 
 "But it is burned." 
 
 He could not deny it. 
 
 "I see that very well," he replied. 
 
 She remained open-mouthed, not knowing what 
 to say next ; then, suddenly recollecting that she had 
 left out the main thing, she said hastily: 
 
 "I am Madame Oreille; we are insured in La 
 Maternelle, and I have come to claim the value of 
 this damage. 
 
 "I only want you to have it re-covered," she 
 added quickly, fearing a positive refusal. 
 
 The manager was rather embarrassed, and said: 
 
 "But, really, Madame, we do not sell umbrel- 
 las; we cannot undertake that kind of repairs."
 
 THAT UMBRELLA ! 239 
 
 The little woman felt her courage reviving; she 
 was not going to give up without a struggle; she 
 was not even afraid any more, and said : 
 
 "I only want you to pay me the cost of repair- 
 ing it; I can easily get it done myself." 
 
 The gentleman seemed rather confused. 
 
 "Really, Madame, it is such a very small matter! 
 We are never asked to give compensation for such 
 trivial losses. You must allow that we cannot make 
 good pocket-handkerchiefs, gloves, brooms, slippers, 
 all the small articles which are every day exposed to 
 the chances of being burned." 
 
 She got red in the face, and felt inclined to fly 
 into a rage. 
 
 "But, Monsieur, last December one of our chim- 
 neys caught fire, and caused at least five hundred 
 francs' damage ; my husband made no claim on the 
 company, and so it is only just that it should pay 
 for my umbrella now." 
 
 The manager, guessing that she was telling a lie, 
 said, with a smile : 
 
 "You must acknowledge, Madame, that it is sur- 
 prising that Monsieur Oreille should have asked no 
 compensation for damages amounting to five hun- 
 dred francs, and should now claim five or six francs 
 for mending an umbrella." 
 
 She was not the least put out, and replied : 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Monsieur, the five hundred 
 francs affected Monsieur Oreille's pocket ; this dam- 
 age, amounting to eighteen francs, concerns Ma-
 
 240 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 dame Oreille's pocket, which is a totally different 
 matter." 
 
 As he saw that he had no chance of getting rid 
 of her, and that he would only be wasting his time, 
 he said resignedly: 
 
 "Will you kindly tell me how the damage was 
 done?" 
 
 She felt that she had won the victory, and said: 
 
 "This is how it happened, Monsieur: In our 
 hall there is a bronze stick and umbrella stand, and 
 the other day, when I came in, I put my umbrella 
 into it. I must tell you that just above there is a 
 shelf for the candlesticks and matches. I took three 
 or four matches, and struck one, but it missed fire, 
 so I struck another, which ignited, but went out im- 
 mediately, and a third did the same." 
 
 The manager interrupted her to make a joke. 
 
 "I suppose they were government matches, 
 then?" 
 
 She did not understand him, and continued : 
 
 "Very likely. At any rate, the fourth caught 
 fire, and I lighted my candle, and went to my room 
 to go to bed ; but in a quarter of an hour I fancied 
 that I smelled something burning, and I have always 
 been terribly afraid of fire. If ever we have an ac- 
 cident it will not be my fault, I assure you. I am 
 terribly nervous since our chimney was on fire, as 
 I told you; so I got up, and hunted about every- 
 where, sniffing like a dog after game, and at last I 
 noticed that my umbrella was burning. Most likely
 
 THAT UMBRELLA! 241 
 
 a match had fallen between the folds and burned 
 it. You can see how it has damaged it." 
 
 The manager had taken his cue, and asked her: 
 
 "What do you estimate the damage at?" 
 
 She did not know what to say, as she was not 
 certain what amount to put on it, but she replied : 
 
 "Perhaps you had better get it done yourself. 
 I will leave it to you." 
 
 He, however, naturally refused. 
 
 "No, Madame, I cannot do that. Tell me the 
 amount of your claim, that is all I want to know." 
 
 "Well! I think that Look here, Monsieur, 
 
 I do not want to make any money out of you, so I 
 will tell you what we will do. I will take my um- 
 brella to the maker, who will re-cover it in good, 
 durable silk, and I will bring the bill to you. Will 
 that suit you, Monsieur?" 
 
 "Perfectly, Madame; we will settle it so. Here 
 is a note for the cashier, who will repay you what- 
 ever it costs you." 
 
 He gave a paper to Madame Oreille, who took 
 it, got up and went out, thanking him, for she 
 was in haste to go lest he should change his mind. 
 
 She went briskly through the streets, looking 
 out for a really good umbrella-maker, and when she 
 found a shop which appeared to be a first-class one, 
 she went in, and said, confidently : 
 
 "I want this umbrella re-covered in silk, a good 
 silk. Use the very best and strongest you have; I 
 don't mind what it costs."
 
 THE CLOCK 
 
 MY old friend Dr. Bonnet (one may have 
 friends older than oneself) had often in- 
 vited me to spend some time with him at 
 Riom, and as I did not know Auvergne, I made up 
 my mind to visit him in the summer of 1876. 
 
 I arrived by the morning train, and the first per- 
 son I saw on the platform was the doctor. He was 
 dressed in a gray suit, and wore a soft, black, wide- 
 brimmed, high-crowned felt hat, narrow at the top 
 which hardly any one except an Auvergnat would 
 wear, and which reminded me of a charcoal-burner. 
 Dressed like that, the doctor had the appearance of 
 an old young man, with his spare body under his 
 thin coat, and his large head of white hair. 
 
 He embraced me with that evident pleasure 
 which country people feel on meeting long-ex- 
 pected friends, and, stretching out his arm, he said 
 proudly : 
 
 "This is Auvergne!" I saw nothing before me 
 but a range of mountains, whose summits, which 
 resembled truncated cones, must have been extinct 
 volcanoes. 
 
 242
 
 THE CLOCK 243 
 
 Pointing to the name of the station, he said: 
 
 "Riom, the fatherland of magistrates, the pride 
 of the magistracy, which ought rather to be the 
 fatherland of doctors." 
 
 "Why?" I asked. 
 
 "Why?" he replied with a laugh. "If you trans- 
 pose the letters, you have the Latin word mori, 
 to die. That is the reason I settled here, my 
 young friend." 
 
 Delighted at his own joke, he carried me off, 
 rubbing his hands. 
 
 As soon as I had taken a cup of coffee, he took 
 me to see the town. I admired the druggist's house, 
 and other noted houses, which were all black, hut 
 as pretty as bric-a-brac, with their sculptured stone 
 fagades. I admired the statue of the Virgin, pa- 
 troness of butchers, and he told me an amusing 
 story about this, which I will relate some other 
 time. Then he said: 
 
 " I must beg you to excuse me for a few minutes 
 while I go and see a patient, and then I will take 
 you to Chatel-Guyon, so as to show you the general 
 aspect of the town, and all the mountain chain of 
 the Puy-de-D6me, before luncheon. You can wait 
 for me outside; I shall only go upstairs, and come 
 down immediately." 
 
 He left me outside one of those old, gloomy, si- 
 lent, melancholy houses which we see in the prov- 
 inces, and this one appeared to look unusually 
 sinister. I soon discovered the reason. The large
 
 244 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 windows on the first floor were half boarded up 
 with wooden shutters. The upper part of them 
 alone could be opened, as if one had wished to pre- 
 vent people locked up in that huge stone trunk 
 from looking into the street. 
 
 When the doctor came down again, I told him 
 how it had struck me, and he replied: 
 
 "You are quite right; the poor creature who is 
 Hving there must never see what is going on out- 
 side. She is a madwoman, or rather an idiot, what 
 you Normans would call a Niente. It is a miserable 
 story, but a very singular pathological case at the 
 same time. Shall I tell you?" 
 
 I asked him to do so, and he continued : 
 
 "Twenty years ago the owners of this house, 
 who were my patients, had a daughter who was like 
 all other girls, but I soon discovered that while her 
 body became admirably developed, her intellect re- 
 mained stationary. 
 
 "She began to walk very early, but she could 
 not talk. At first I thought she was deaf, but I 
 soon discovered that, although she heard perfectly, 
 she did not understand anything that was said to 
 her. Violent noises frightened her, without her 
 understanding how they were caused. 
 
 "She grew up into a superb woman, but she was 
 dumb, from absolute want of intellect. I tried 
 all means to introduce a gleam of intelligence into 
 her brain, but without success. I thought I no- 
 ticed that she knew her nurse, though as soon as
 
 THE CLOCK 245 
 
 she was weaned, she failed to recognize her mother. 
 She never could pronounce that word which is the 
 first that children utter and the last that soldiers 
 murmur when they are dying on the field of battle. 
 She sometimes tried to talk, but she produced only 
 incoherent sounds. 
 
 "When the weather was fine, she laughed con- 
 tinually, and emitted low cries which were like the 
 twittering of birds. When it rained she cried and 
 moaned in a mournful, terrifying manner, which 
 sounded like the howling of a dog when a death 
 occurs in a house. 
 
 "She was fond of rolling on the grass, as young 
 animals do, and of running about madly, and she 
 used to clap her hands every morning when the 
 sun shone into her room, and would jump out of 
 bed and insist, by signs, on being dressed as quickly 
 as possible, so that she might get out. 
 
 "She did not appear to distinguish between her 
 mother and her nurse, or between her father and 
 me, or between the coachman and the cook. I 
 particularly liked her parents, who were very un- 
 happy on her account, and I went to see them 
 nearly every day. I dined with them frequently, 
 which enabled me to remark that Bertha (they 
 had named her Bertha) seemed to recognize the 
 various dishes, and to prefer some to others. At 
 that time she was twelve years old, but as fully 
 formed in figure as a girl of eighteen, and taller 
 than I was. Then the idea struck me of develop-
 
 246 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 ing her greediness, and by this means trying to pro- 
 duce some slight powers of distinguishing in her 
 mind, and to force her, by the diversity of flavors, 
 if not to reason, at least to arrive at instinctive 
 distinctions, which of themselves would constitute a 
 kind of process that was necessary to thought. 
 Afterward, by appealing to her passions, and care- 
 fully making use of those which could serve us, we 
 might hope to obtain a reaction on her intellect, 
 and by degrees increase the insensible action of 
 her brain. 
 
 "One day I put two plates before her, one of 
 soup, and the other of very sweet vanilla cream. I 
 made her taste each of them successively, and then 
 I let her choose for herself, and she ate the plate 
 of cream. In a short time I made her very greedy, 
 so greedy that it appeared as if her only idea was 
 the desire for eating. She easily recognized the 
 various dishes, stretched out her hands toward those 
 that she liked, and grasped them eagerly, and she 
 used to cry when they were taken from her. Then 
 I thought I would try to teach her to come to 
 the dining-room when the dinner-bell rang. It 
 took a long time, but I succeeded at last. In her 
 vacant intellect there was a fixed correlation be- 
 tween the sound and her taste, a correspondence 
 between two senses, an appeal from one to the 
 other, and consequently a sort of connection of 
 ideas (if one can call that kind of instinctive hyphen 
 between two organic functions an idea) and so I
 
 THE CLOCK 247 
 
 carried my experiments further, and taught her, 
 with much difficulty, to recognize meal-times by the 
 clock. 
 
 "For a long time it was impossible to attract 
 her attention to the hands, but I succeeded in mak- 
 ing her remark the clockwork and the striking 
 apparatus. The means I employed were very sim- 
 ple; I asked them not to have the bell rung for 
 luncheon, and everybody got up and went into the 
 dining-room when the little brass hammer struck 
 twelve o'clock, but I found great difficulty in teach- 
 ing her to count the strokes. She ran to the door 
 each time she heard the clock strike, but by degrees 
 she learned that the strokes had not all the same 
 value as regarded meals, and she frequently fixed 
 her eyes, guided by her ears, on the dial. 
 
 "When I noticed that I took care every day at 
 twelve and at six o'clock to place my fingers on the 
 figures twelve and six, as soon as the moment she 
 was waiting for had arrived, and I soon noticed that 
 she attentively followed the motion of the small 
 brass hands, which I had often turned in her pres- 
 ence. 
 
 "She had understood! Perhaps I ought rather 
 to say she had grasped the idea. I had succeeded 
 in getting the knowledge, or, rather, the sensa- 
 tion, of time into her, just as is the case with 
 carp, which certainly have no clocks, when they are 
 fed every day exactly at the same time. 
 
 "When I had obtained that result all the clocks
 
 248 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 and watches in the house occupied her attention 
 almost exclusively. She spent her time in looking 
 at them, in listening to them, and in waiting for 
 meal-time, and once something very funny hap- 
 pened. The striking apparatus of a pretty little 
 Louis XVI clock that hung at the head of her bed 
 having got out of order, she noticed it. She sat for 
 twenty minutes with her eyes on the hands, wait- 
 ing for it to strike ten, but when the hand passed 
 the figure she was astonished at not hearing any- 
 thing; so stupefied was she, indeed, that she sat 
 down, no doubt overwhelmed by a feeling of violent 
 emotion such as attacks us in the face of some ter- 
 rible catastrophe. And she had the wonderful pa- 
 tience to wait until eleven o'clock in order to see 
 what would happen, and as she then heard noth- 
 ing, she was suddenly either seized with a wild 
 fit of rage at having been deceived and imposed 
 upon by appearances, or else overcome by that fear 
 which a frightened creature feels at some terri- 
 ble mystery, and by the furious impatience of a 
 passionate individual who meets with an obstacle; 
 she took up the tongs from the fireplace and struck 
 the clock so violently that she broke it to pieces. 
 
 "It was evident, therefore, that her brain did 
 act and calculate, obscurely it is true, and within 
 very restricted limits, for I could never succeed in 
 making her distinguish persons as she distinguished 
 the time; and to stir her intellect it was necessary 
 to appeal to her passions, in the material sense of
 
 THE CLOCK 249 
 
 the word, and we soon had another, and alas! a 
 very terrible, proof of this! 
 
 "She had grown up into a splendid girl, a per- 
 fect type of a race, a sort of lovely and stupid 
 Venus. She was sixteen, and I have rarely seen 
 such perfection of form, such suppleness and such 
 regular features. I said she was a Venus; yes, a 
 fair, stout, vigorous Venus, with large, bright, va- 
 cant eyes which were as blue as the flowers of the 
 flax plant ; she had a large mouth with full lips, the 
 mouth of a glutton, of a sensualist, a mouth made 
 for kisses. One morning her father came into 
 my consulting-room with a strange look on his face, 
 and, sitting down without even replying to my greet- 
 ing, he said : 
 
 " 'I want to speak to you about a very serious 
 matter. Would it be possible would it be possible 
 for Bertha to marry?' 
 
 " 'Bertha to marry ! Why, it is quite impossi- 
 ble!' 
 
 " 'Yes, I know, I know,' he replied very sadly. 
 " 'But reflect, doctor. Don't you think perhaps 
 we hoped if she had children it would be a great 
 shock to her, but a great happiness, and who 
 knows whether maternity might not rouse her in- 
 tellect/ 
 
 "I was in a state of great perplexity. He was 
 right, and it was possible that such a new situa- 
 tion, and that wonderful instinct of maternity which 
 beats in the hearts of the lower animals, as it does 
 
 Vol. 117
 
 250 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 in the heart of a woman, which makes the hen fly 
 at a dog's jaw to defend her chickens, might bring 
 about a revolution, an utter change in her vacant 
 mind, and set the motionless mechanism of her 
 thoughts into movement. And then, moreover, I 
 immediately remembered a personal instance. Some 
 years previously I had possessed a spaniel bitch 
 that was so stupid that I could do nothing with her, 
 but when she had had puppies she became, if not 
 exactly intelligent, yet almost like many other dogs 
 that have not been thoroughly broken. 
 
 "As soon as I foresaw the possibility of this the 
 wish to get Bertha married grew in me, not so 
 much out of friendship for her and her poor par- 
 ents as from scientific curiosity. What would hap- 
 pen? It was a singular problem, and I said to her 
 father : 
 
 " 'Perhaps you are right. You might make the 
 attempt But you will never find a man to con- 
 sent to marry her/ 
 
 " 'I have found somebody/ he said, in a low 
 voice. 
 
 "I was dumbfounded, and said: 'Somebody 
 really suitable? Some one of your own rank and 
 position in society?' 
 
 *' 'Decidedly,' he replied. 
 
 " 'Oh! And may I ask his name?' 
 
 " 'I came on purpose to tell you, and to consult 
 you. It is Monsieur Gaston du Boys de Lucelles.' 
 
 "I felt inclined to exclaim: 'What a wretch! 1
 
 THE CLOCK 251 
 
 but I held my tongue, and after a short silence, I 
 said: 
 
 " 'Oh ! Very good. I see nothing against it.' 
 
 "The poor man shook me heartily by the hand. 
 
 " 'She is to be married next month/ he said. 
 
 "Monsieur Gaston du Boys de Lucelles was a 
 scapegrace of good family, who, after spending 
 all that he had inherited from his father, and in- 
 curring debts by all kinds of doubtful means, had 
 been trying to discover some other way of obtain- 
 ing money, and he had discovered this method. 
 He was a good-looking young fellow, and in capital 
 health, but fast; one of that odious race of pro- 
 vincial fast men, and he appeared to me to be a 
 sufficient sort of husband, who could be got rid 
 of later by making him an allowance. He came to 
 the house to pay his addresses and to strut about be- 
 fore the idiot girl, who seemed to please him. He 
 brought her flowers, kissed her hands, sat at her 
 feet, and looked at her with affectionate eyes; but 
 she took no notice of any of his attentions, and 
 did not make any distinction between him and the 
 other persons who were about her. 
 
 " However, the marriage took place, and you may 
 guess how my curiosity was aroused. I went to 
 see Bertha the next day to discover if possible, from 
 her looks whether any feelings had been awakened 
 in her ; but I found her just the same that she was 
 every day, wholly taken up with the clock and din- 
 ner, while he, on the contrary, appeared really in
 
 252 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 love, and tried to rouse his wife's spirits and affec- 
 tion by little endearments and such caresses as one 
 bestows on a kitten. He could think of nothing 
 better. 
 
 "I called upon the married couple pretty fre- 
 quently, and I soon perceived that the young 
 woman knew her husband, and gave him those 
 eager looks which she had hitherto only bestowed 
 on sweet dishes. 
 
 She followed his movements, knew his step on 
 the stairs or in the neighboring rooms, clapped 
 her hands when he came in, and her face was 
 changed and brightened by the flames of profound 
 happiness and of desire. 
 
 "She loved him with her whole body and with 
 all her soul, to the very depths of her poor, weak 
 spirit, and with all her heart, that poor heart of 
 some grateful animal. It was really a delightful 
 and innocent picture of simple passion, of carnal 
 and yet modest passion, such as nature had im- 
 planted in mankind before man had complicated 
 and disfigured it by all the various shades of senti- 
 ment. But he soon grew tired of this ardent, beau- 
 tiful, dumb creature, and did not spend more than 
 an hour a day with her, thinking it sufficient if he 
 came home at night, and she began to suffer in con- 
 sequence. She used to wait for him from morning 
 till night, with her eyes on the clock; she did not 
 even look at mealtime now, for he took all his 
 meals away from home, Clermont, Chatel-Guyon,
 
 THE CLOCK 253 
 
 no matter where, so long as he was not obliged to 
 come home. 
 
 "She began to grow thin; every other thought, 
 every other wish, every other expectation, and every 
 confused hope disappeared from her mind, and the 
 hours during which she did not see him became 
 hours of terrible suffering. Soon he ceased to 
 come home regularly at night; he spent the nights 
 with women at the casino at Royal and did not 
 come home until daybreak. But she never went to 
 bed before he returned. She remained sitting mo- 
 tionless in an easy-chair, with her eyes fixed on the 
 hands of the clock, which turned slowly and reg- 
 ularly round the china face on which the hours 
 were painted. 
 
 She heard the trot of his horse in the distance, 
 and sat up with a start, and when he came into 
 the room she got up with the movements of an au- 
 tomaton and pointed to the clock, as if to say : 'See 
 how late it is!' 
 
 "And he began to be afraid of this amorous and 
 jealous half-witted woman, and flew into a rage, 
 as brutes do ; and one night he even went so far as 
 to strike her, so they sent for me. When I arrived 
 she was writhing and screaming in a terrible crisis 
 of pain, anger, passion, how do I know what? Can 
 one tell what goes on in such undeveloped brains? 
 
 "I calmed her by subcutaneous injections of mor- 
 phine, and forbade her to see that man again, for 
 I saw clearly that marriage would kill her by degrees.
 
 254 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "Then she went mad ! Yes, my dear friend, that 
 idiot has gone mad. She is always thinking of him 
 and waiting for him; she waits for him day and 
 night, awake or asleep, at this very moment, cease- 
 lessly. When I saw her getting thinner and thinner, 
 and as she persisted in never taking her eyes oft 
 the clocks, I had them removed from the house. 
 I thus made it impossible for her to count the hours, 
 and she tries to remember, from her vague remi- 
 niscences, at what time he used to come home for- 
 merly. I hope to destroy the recollection of it in 
 time, and to extinguish that ray of thought which 
 I kindled with so much difficulty. 
 
 "The other day I made an experiment. I offered 
 her my watch ; she took it and looked at it for some 
 time; then she began to scream terribly, as if the 
 sight of that little object had suddenly aroused her 
 recollection, which was beginning to grow more dis- 
 tinct. She is pitiably thin now, with hollow and 
 glittering eyes, and she walks up and down cease- 
 lessly, like a wild beast in its cage ; I have had bars 
 put to the windows, and have had the seats fixed 
 to the floor so as to prevent her from looking to see 
 whether he is coming. 
 
 "Oh! her poor parents! What a life they must 
 lead !" 
 
 We were now at the top of the hill, and the doc- 
 tor turned round and said to me: 
 
 "Look at Riom from here." 
 
 The gloomy town looked like some ancient city.
 
 THE CLOCK 255 
 
 Behind it a green, wooded plain studded with towns 
 and villages, and bathed in a soft blue haze, ex- 
 tended until it was lost in the distance. Far away, 
 on my right, was a range of lofty mountains, some 
 with round summits, some cut off flat, as if with a 
 sword, and the doctor began to enumerate the vil- 
 lages, towns, and hills, and to give me the history 
 of all of them. But I did not listen to him ; I was 
 thinking of nothing but the mad woman, and I saw 
 her only. She seemed to be hovering over that vast 
 extent of country like a mournful ghost, and I 
 asked him abruptly : 
 
 ' What has become of the husband?" 
 
 My friend seemed rather surprised, but after a 
 few moments' hesitation, he replied: 
 
 "He is living at Royat, on an allowance that 
 they made him, and is quite happy ; he leads a very 
 fast life." 
 
 As we were slowly going back, an English dog- 
 cart, drawn by a thoroughbred horse passed us 
 rapidly. The doctor took me by the arm : 
 
 "There he is," he said. 
 
 I saw nothing but a gray felt hat, cocked over 
 one ear, above a pair of broad shoulders, driving off 
 in a cloud of dust.
 
 THE DOWRY 
 
 THE marriage of Maitre Simon Lebrument 
 with Mademoiselle Jeanne Cordier was a 
 surprise to no one. When Maitre Lebrument 
 bought out the practice of Maitre Papillon, he 
 needed money to pay for it; and Mademoiselle 
 Jeanne Cordier had three hundred thousand francs 
 clear in currency and in bonds. 
 
 Maitre Lebrument was handsome and stylish, 
 although in a provincial way; nevertheless, he was 
 stylish, a rare thing at Boutigny-le-Rebours. 
 
 Mademoiselle Cordier was graceful and fresh- 
 looking, though a little awkward; but she was a 
 handsome girl, and one to be desired. 
 
 The marriage ceremony turned Boutigny topsy- 
 turvy. Everybody admired the young couple, who 
 quickly returned home to domestic felicity, having 
 made simply a short trip to Paris, after a few 
 days of close intimacy. 
 
 This tete-a-tete was delightful. Maitre Lebru- 
 ment had shown just the proper amount of deli- 
 cacy. He had taken as his motto: "All things 
 
 256
 
 THE DOWRY 257 
 
 come round to him who waits." He knew how to 
 be at once patient and energetic, and his success 
 was rapid and complete. 
 
 After four days, Madame Lebrument adored her 
 husband. She could not get along without him, 
 she must have him near her all the time, to caress 
 and kiss him, to run her hands through his hair 
 and beard, to play with his hands and nose. She 
 would sit on his knees, and taking him by the ears 
 would say: "Open your mouth and shut your 
 eyes." He would open his mouth wide and partly 
 close his eyes, and he would try to nip her fingers 
 as she slipped some dainty between his teeth. Then 
 she would give him a kiss, sweet and long, which 
 would make chills run up and down his spine. And 
 then, in his turn, he would not have enough 
 caresses, enough lips, enough hands, enough of him- 
 self to please his wife from morning to night and 
 from night to morning. 
 
 When the first week was over, he said to her : 
 
 "If you wish, we will leave for Paris next Tues- 
 day. We will be like two lovers who are not mar- 
 ried; we will go to the restaurants, the theaters, 
 the concert halls, everywhere!" 
 
 She was ready to dance for joy. 
 
 "Oh! yes, yes. Let us go as soon as possible." 
 
 He continued: 
 
 "And then, as we must forget nothing, ask your 
 faiHei' to hold your dowry in readiness ; I shall pay 
 Maitie Papillon on this trip."
 
 2b GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "All right!" she answered. "I will tell him to- 
 morrow morning." 
 
 And he took her in his arms once more, to renew 
 those sweet games of love which she had so enjoyed 
 in the past week. 
 
 The following Tuesday, father-in-law and 
 mother-in-law went to the station with their daugh- 
 ter and their son-in-law, who were leaving for the 
 capital. 
 
 The father-in-law said: 
 
 "I tell you it is very imprudent to carry so much 
 money around in a pocketbook." And the young 
 lawyer smiled. 
 
 "Don't worry; I am accustomed to such things. 
 You understand that, in my profession, I sometimes 
 have as much as a million about me. In this man- 
 ner, at least, we avoid a great amount of red tape 
 and delays. You needn't worry." 
 
 The conductor cried: "All aboard for Paris!" 
 
 They scrambled into a car where two old ladies 
 were already seated. 
 
 Lebrument whispered in his wife's ear: 
 
 "What a bother! I shall not be able to smoke." 
 
 She answered in a low voice: 
 
 "It annoys me, too, but not on account of your 
 cigar." 
 
 The whistle blew, and the train started. The trip 
 lasted about an hour, during which time they did 
 not say much to each other, as the two old ladi 
 did not go to sleep.
 
 THE DOWRY 259 
 
 As soon as they were in front of the Saint-La- 
 zare Station, Maitre Lebrument said: 
 
 "Dearie, let us first go over to the Boulevard 
 and get something to eat; then we can quietly re- 
 turn and get our trunk and bring it to the hotel." 
 
 She immediately assented. 
 
 "Oh, yes! Let us eat at the restaurant. Is it 
 far?" 
 
 He answered: 
 
 "Yes, it's quite a distance, but we will take the 
 omnibus." 
 
 She was surprised. 
 
 "Why don't we take a cab?" 
 
 He began to scold her smilingly: 
 
 "Is that the way you save money? A cab for 
 a five minutes' ride at six cents a minute! You 
 would deprive yourself of nothing." 
 
 "That is true," she said, a little embarrassed. 
 
 A large omnibus was passing by, drawn by three 
 big horses, which were trotting. Lebrument called 
 out: 
 
 " Conductor ! Conductor !" 
 
 The heavy carriage stopped. And the young 
 lawyer, pushing his wife, said to her quickly : 
 
 "Go inside; I'm going up on top, so that I may 
 smoke at least one cigarette before luncheon." 
 
 She had no time to answer. The conductor, who 
 had seized her by the arm to help her up the step, 
 pushed her inside, and she fell into a seat, bewil- 
 dered, looking through the back window at the feet
 
 260 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 of her husband as he climbed up to the top of thf 
 vehicle. 
 
 And she sat there motionless, between a fat map 
 odorous of cheap tobacco and an old woman odo** 
 ous of garlic. 
 
 All the other passengers were lined up in silence 
 a grocer's boy, a young girl, a soldier, a gentle- 
 man with gold-rimmed spectacles and a large silk 
 hat, two ladies with a self-satisfied and crabbed 
 look, which seemed to say: "We are riding in 
 this thing, but we don't have to," two sisters of 
 charity, and an undertaker. They looked like a 
 collection of caricatures. 
 
 The jolting of the carriage made them wag their 
 heads, and the shaking of the wheels seemed to 
 deaden them. They all looked as if they were 
 asleep. 
 
 The young woman remained motionless. "Why 
 didn't he come inside with me?" she was saying to 
 herself. An unaccountable sadness seemed to be 
 hanging over her. He really need not have 
 acted so. 
 
 The sisters motioned to the conductor to stop, 
 and they got off one after the other, leaving in 
 their wake the pungent smell of camphor. The car 
 started up, and soon stopped again. And in got 
 a cook, red-faced and out of breath. She sat 
 down, and placed her basket of provisions on her 
 knees. A strong odor of dishwater filled the ve- 
 hicle.
 
 THE DOWRY 261 
 
 "It's farther than I imagined," thought Jeanne. 
 
 The undertaker went out, and was replaced by 
 a coachman, who seemed to bring the atmosphere 
 of the stable with him. The young girl had as a 
 successor a messenger whose feet exhaled the odor 
 of his errands. 
 
 The lawyer's wife began to feel ill at ease, nau- 
 seated, ready to cry without knowing why. 
 
 Other persons left, and others entered. The 
 coach went on through interminable streets, stop- 
 ping at stations and starting again. 
 
 "How far it is!" thought Jeanne. "I hope he 
 hasn't gone to sleep ! He has been so tired the last 
 few days." 
 
 Little by little all the passengers left. She was 
 left alone. 
 
 The conductor cried : 
 
 "Vaugirard!" 
 
 Seeing that she did not move, he repeated: 
 
 "Vaugirard!" 
 
 She looked at him, understanding that he was 
 speaking to her, as no one else was there. For the 
 third time the man said : 
 
 "Vaugirard !" 
 
 Then she asked: 
 
 "Where are we?" 
 
 He answered gruffly : 
 
 "We're at Vaugirard, of course! I have been 
 yelling it for the last half-hour!" 
 
 "Is it far from the Boulevard?" she said.
 
 262 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "Which boulevard?" 
 
 "The Boulevard des Italiens." 
 
 "We passed that a long time ago!" 
 
 "Would you mind telling my husband?" 
 
 "Your husband? Where is he?" 
 
 "On the top of the 'bus." 
 
 "On the top! There hasn't been anybody there 
 for a long time." 
 
 She started, terrified. 
 
 "What? That's impossible! He got on with 
 me. Look well ! He must be there." 
 
 The conductor was becoming uncivil. 
 
 "Come on, little one, you've talked enough! 
 Tou can find ten men for every one that you lose. 
 Now run along. You'll find another in the street." 
 
 Tears were coming to her eyes. She insisted : 
 
 "But, Monsieur, you are mistaken; I assure you 
 that you must be mistaken. He had a big portfolio 
 under his arm." 
 
 The man began to laugh. 
 
 "A big portfolio! Oh! Yes! He got off at tne 
 Madeleine. He got rid of you, all right! Ha! 
 ha! ha!" 
 
 The stage had stopped. She got out and, in spite 
 of herself, she looked up to the roof of the 'bus. 
 It was absolutely deserted. 
 
 Then she began to cry, and, without thinking that 
 anybody was listening or watching her, she said 
 aloud : 
 
 "What is to become of me?"
 
 THE DOWRY 263 
 
 An inspector approached. 
 
 "What's the matter?" 
 
 The conductor answered, in a bantering tone: 
 
 "It's a lady who got left by her husband during 
 the trip." 
 
 The other continued : 
 
 "Oh! that's nothing. You go about your busi- 
 ness." 
 
 Then he turned on his heels and walked away. 
 
 She began to walk straight ahead, too bewildered, 
 too crazed even to understand what had happened 
 to her. Where was she to go? What could she 
 do? What could have happened to him? How 
 could he have made such a mistake? How could 
 he have been so forgetful ? 
 
 She had two francs in her pocket. To whom 
 could she go? Suddenly she remembered her 
 cousin Barral, one of the assistants in the Navy 
 Department. 
 
 She had just enough to pay for a cab. She 
 drove to his house. He met her as he was leav- 
 ing for his office. He was carrying a large port- 
 folio under his arm, just like Lebrument. 
 
 She jumped out of the carriage. 
 
 "Henri!" she cried. 
 
 He stopped, astonished. 
 
 "Jeanne! Here all alone? What are you do- 
 ing? Wiiere have you come from?" 
 
 Her eyes were full of tears as she stammered : 
 
 "My husband has just got lost!"
 
 264 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "Lost! Where?" 
 
 "On an omnibus." 
 
 "On an omnibus?" 
 
 Weeping, she told him her whole adventure. 
 
 He listened, thought, and then asked: 
 
 "Was he calm this morning?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Good. Did he have much money with him?" 
 
 "Yes, he was carrying my dowry." 
 
 "Your dowry! The whole of it?" 
 
 "The whole of it, in order to pay for the prac- 
 tice which he bought." 
 
 "Well, my dear cousin, by this time your hus- 
 band must be well on his way to Belgium." 
 
 She could not understand. She kept repeating : 
 
 "My husband you say " 
 
 "I say that he has disapeared with your your 
 capital that's all!" 
 
 She stood there sobbing. 
 
 "Then he is he is he is a villain!" 
 
 And, faint from excitement, she leaned her head 
 on her cousin's shoulder and wept. 
 
 As people were stopping to look at them, he 
 pushed her gently into the vestibule of his house, 
 and, passing his arm around her waist, he led 
 her up the stairs, and as his astonished servant 
 opened the door, he ordered : 
 
 "Sophie, run to the restaurant and get a lunch- 
 eon for two. I am not going to the office to-day."
 
 THE LANCER'S WIFE 
 
 THE affair occurred after Bourbaki's defeat in 
 Eastern France. The army, broken up, deci- 
 mated, and exhausted, had been obliged to re- 
 treat into Switzerland after that terrible campaign, 
 only the short duration of which saved a hundred 
 and fifty thousand men from certain death. Hun- 
 ger, the terrible cold, forced marches in the snow 
 without boots, over bad mountain roads, had caused 
 us francs-tireurs, especially, the greatest suffering, 
 for we had no tents, and were almost without food, 
 always in the van when we were marching toward 
 Belfort, and in the rear when returning by the 
 Jura. Of our little band, which had numbered 
 twelve hundred men on the first of January, only 
 twenty-two pale, thin, ragged wretches remained, 
 when we at last succeeded in reaching Swiss terri- 
 tory. 
 
 There we were safe, and could rest. Everybody 
 knows what sympathy was shown to the unfor- 
 tunate French army, and how well it was cared for. 
 We all gained fresh life, and those who had been 
 
 Vol. 118 265
 
 266 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 rich and happy before the war declared that they 
 never had experienced a greater feeling of comfort 
 than at that time. Think of it! We actually had 
 something to eat every day, and could sleep every 
 night. 
 
 Meanwhile, the war continued in Eastern France, 
 which had been excluded from the armistice. 
 Besanc,on still held the enemy in check, and the 
 latter had their revenge by ravaging Franche 
 Comte. Sometimes we heard that they had ap- 
 proached close to the frontier, and we saw Swiss 
 troops, who were to form a line of observation 
 between us and them, set out on their march. 
 
 That exasperated us in the end, and, as we re- 
 gained health and strength, the longing to fight took 
 possession of us. It was disgraceful and irritating 
 to know that within two or three leagues of us the 
 Germans were victorious and insolent, to know that 
 we were protected by our captivity, and to feel that 
 on that account we were powerless against them. 
 
 One day our Captain took five or six of us aside, 
 and spoke to us about it, long and furiously. He 
 was a fine fellow, that captain. He had been a sub- 
 lieutenant in the zouaves, was tall and thin and as 
 hard as steel, and during the whole campaign he 
 had made things lively for the Germans. He 
 fretted in inactivity, and could not accustom him- 
 self to the idea of being an idle prisoner. 
 
 "Hang it!" he said to us, "does it not enrage 
 you to know that there is a number of uhlans
 
 THE LANCER'S WIFE 267 
 
 within two hours of us ? Does it not almost drive 
 you mad to know that those beggarly wretches are 
 walking about as masters in our mountains, when 
 six determined men might kill a whole spitful any 
 day ? I cannot endure it any longer, and I must go 
 there." 
 
 "But how can you manage it, Captain?" 
 
 "How? It is not very difficult! Just as if we 
 had not done some risky things within the last six 
 months, and got out of woods that were guarded by 
 very different men from the Swiss. The day that 
 you wish to cross over into France, I will under- 
 take to get you there." 
 
 "That may be; but what shall we do in France 
 without any arms ?" 
 
 "Without arms? \Ve will get them over yon- 
 der, by heaven!" 
 
 "You are forgetting the treaty," another sol- 
 dier said; "we shall run the risk of doing the Swiss 
 an injury, if Manteuffel learns that they have al- 
 lowed prisoners to return to France." 
 
 "Come," said the Captain, "those are all bad rea- 
 sons. I mean to go and kill some Prussians; that 
 is all I care about. If you do not wish to do as I 
 do, very well; only say so at once. I can go by 
 myself; I do not need anybody's company." 
 
 Naturally we all protested, and, as it was quite 
 impossible to make the Captain change his mind, we 
 felt obliged to promise to go with him. We liked 
 him too much to leave him in the lurch, as he never
 
 268 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 failed us in any extremity; and so the expedition 
 was decided on. 
 
 The Captain had a plan of his own that he had 
 been cogitating over for some time. A man in that 
 part of the country whom he knew was willing 
 to lend him a cart and six suits of peasants' clothes. 
 We could hide under some straw at the bottom of 
 the wagon, which would be loaded with Gruyere 
 cheese, which he was supposed to be going to sell in 
 France. The Captain told the sentinels that he was 
 taking two friends with him to protect his goods, 
 in case anyone should try to rob him, which did 
 not seem an extraordinary precaution. A Swiss 
 officer seemed to look at the wagon in a knowing 
 manner, but that was in order to impress his sol- 
 diers. In a word, neither officers nor men could 
 see anything amiss. 
 
 "Get along," the Captain said to the horses, as he 
 cracked his whip, while our three men quietly 
 smoked their pipes. I was half suffocated in my 
 box, which admitted the air only through some holes 
 in front, and at the same time I was nearly frozen, 
 for it was bitterly cold. 
 
 "Get up," the Captain said again, and the wagon 
 loaded with Gruyere cheese entered France. 
 
 The Prussian lines were very badly guarded, as 
 the enemy trusted to the watchfulness of the Swiss. 
 The sergeant spoke North German, while our Cap- 
 tain spoke the bad German of the Four Cantons, 
 and so they could not understand each other. The
 
 THE LANCER'S WIFE 269 
 
 sergeant, however, pretended to be very intelligent ; 
 and, in order to make us believe that he understood 
 us, they allowed us to continue our journey; and, 
 after traveling for seven hours, being continually 
 stopped in the same way, at nightfall we arrived 
 at a small village of the Jura, in ruins. 
 
 What were we about to do? Our only arms 
 were the Captain's whip, our uniforms, the peas- 
 ants' blouses, and our food the Gruyere cheese. Our 
 sole wealth consisted in our ammunition, packages 
 of cartridges which we had stowed away inside 
 some of the huge cheeses. We had about a thou- 
 sand of them, just two hundred each, but we needed 
 rifles, and they must be chassepots. Luckily, how- 
 ever, the Captain was a bold man of an inventive 
 mind, and this was the plan that he proposed: 
 
 While three of us remained hidden in a cellar in 
 the abandoned village, he continued his journey as 
 far as Besancon with the empty wagon and one 
 man. The town was invested, but one can always 
 make one's way into a town among the hills by 
 crossing the tableland till within about ten miles of 
 the walls, and then following paths and ravines on 
 foot. They left their wagon at Omans, among the 
 Germans, and escaped out of it at night on foot, so 
 as to gain the heights which border the River 
 Doubs ; the next day they entered Besancpn, where 
 there were plenty of chassepots. There were nearly 
 forty thousand of them left in the arsenal, and Gen- 
 eral Roland, a brave marine, laughed at the Captain's
 
 270 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 daring project, but let him have six rifles and 
 wished him good luck. There he had also found his 
 wife, who had been through all the war with us 
 before the campaign in the East, and who had been 
 only prevented by illness from continuing with 
 Bourbaki's army. She had recovered, however, in 
 spite of the cold, which was growing more and 
 more intense, and in spite of the numberless priva- 
 tions that awaited her, she persisted in accompany- 
 ing her husband. He was obliged to yield to her, 
 and all three, the Captain, his wife, and our com- 
 rade, set out on their expedition. 
 
 To go there was nothing in comparison to return- 
 ing. They were obliged to travel by night, to avoid 
 meeting anybody, as the possession of six rifles 
 would have made them liable to suspicion. But, in 
 spite of everything, a week after leaving us, the 
 Captain and his two men were back with us again. 
 The campaign was about to begin. 
 
 On the first night of his arrival he began it him- 
 self, and, under the pretext of examining the sur- 
 rounding country, he went along the highroad. 
 
 I must tell you that the little village which 
 served as our fortress was a small collection of 
 poor, badly built houses, which had been deserted 
 long before. It lay on a steep slope, which termi- 
 nated in a wooded plain. The country people sell 
 the wood; they send it down the slopes, which are 
 locally called coulees, and which lead down to the 
 plain, and there they stack it into piles, which they
 
 THE LANCER'S WIFE 271 
 
 sell three times a year to the wood-merchant. The 
 spot where this market is held is indicated by two 
 small houses beside the highway, which serve for 
 public houses. The Captain had gone down there 
 by way of one of these coulees. 
 
 He had been gone about half an hour, and we 
 were on the lookout at the top of the ravine, when 
 we heard a shot. The Captain had ordered us not 
 to stir, and to come to him only when we heard him 
 blow his trumpet. It was made of a goat's horn, 
 and could be heard a league off; but it gave no 
 sound, and, in spite of our cruel anxiety, we were 
 obliged to wait in silence, with our rifles by our 
 side. 
 
 It is nothing to go down these coulees; one just 
 lets oneself slide; but it is more difficult to get 
 up again; one has to scramble up by catching 
 hold of the hanging branches of the trees, and 
 sometimes on all fours, by main strength. A whole 
 hour passed, and he did not come ; nothing moved 
 in the brushwood. The Captain's wife began to 
 grow impatient. What could he be doing? Why 
 did he not call us ? Did the shot that we had heard 
 proceed from an enemy, and had he killed or 
 wounded our leader, her husband? They did not 
 know what to think, but I myself fancied either that 
 he was dead or that his enterprise was successful ; 
 and I was merely anxious and curious to know what 
 he had done. 
 
 Suddenly we heard the sound of his trumpet, and
 
 272 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 we were much surprised that instead of coming 
 from below, as we had expected, it came from the 
 village behind us. What did that mean? It was 
 a mystery to us, but the same idea struck us all, 
 that he had been killed, and that the Prussians were 
 blowing the trumpet to draw us into an ambush. 
 We therefore returned to the cottage, keeping a 
 careful lookout, with our ringers on the trigger, and 
 hiding under the branches ; but his wife, in spite of 
 our entreaties, rushed on, leaping like a tigress. 
 She thought that she had to avenge her husband, 
 and had fixed the bayonet to her rifle, and we lost 
 sight of her at that moment that we heard the trum- 
 pet again. A few moments later, we heard her 
 calling out to us : 
 
 "Come on! come on! He is alive! It is he!" 
 We hastened on, and saw the Captain smoking his 
 pipe at the entrance of the village, but strangely 
 enough he was on horseback. 
 
 "Ah!" he said, "you see that there is something 
 to be done here. Here I am on horseback already ; 
 I knocked over an uhlan yonder, and took his horse ; 
 I suppose they were guarding the wood, but it was 
 by drinking and eating in clover. One of them, 
 the sentry at the door, had not time to see me 
 before I gave him a sugarplum in his stomach, and 
 then, before the others could come out, I jumped 
 on the horse and was off like a shot. Eight or ten 
 of them followed me, I think ; but I took the cross- 
 roads through the woods. I have got scratched and
 
 THE LANCER'S WIFE 273 
 
 torn a bit, but here I am, and now, my good fel- 
 lows, attention, and take care! Those brigands 
 will not rest until they have caught us, and we 
 must receive them with rifle bullets. Come on; 
 let us take up our posts !" 
 
 We set out. One of us took up his position a 
 good way from the village of the crossroads ; I was 
 posted at the entrance of the main street, where 
 the road from the level country enters the village, 
 while the two others, the Captain and his wife, w y ere 
 in the middle of the village, near the church, whose 
 tower served for an observatory and a citadel. 
 
 We had not been in our places long before we 
 heard a shot, followed by another, and then two, 
 then three. The first was evidently a chassepot 
 one recognized it by the sharp report, which sounds 
 like the crack of a whip while the other three came 
 from the lancers' carbines. 
 
 The Captain was furious. He had given orders 
 to the outpost to let the enemy pass and merely to 
 follow them at a distance if they marched toward 
 the village, and to join me when they had gone well 
 between the houses. Then they were to appear 
 suddenly, take the patrol beween two fires, and not 
 allow a single man to escape; for, posted as we 
 were, the six of us could have hemmed in ten Prus- 
 sians, if needful. 
 
 "That confounded Piedelot has roused them," 
 the Captain said, "and they will not venture to 
 come on blindfolded any longer. I am quite sure
 
 274 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 that he has managed to get a shot into himself 
 somewhere or other, for we hear nothing of him. 
 It serves him right; why did he not obey orders?" 
 And then, after a moment, he grumbled in his 
 beard : "After all, I am sorry for the poor fellow ; 
 he is so brave, and shoots so well !" 
 
 The Captain was right. We waited until evening, 
 without seeing the uhlans ; they had retreated after 
 the first attack ; but unfortunately we had not seen 
 Piedelot, either. Was he dead or a prisoner ? When 
 night came, the captain proposed that we should 
 go out and look for him, and so the three of us 
 started. At the crossroads we found a broken rifle 
 and some blood, while the ground was trampled 
 down; but we did not find either a wounded man 
 or a dead body, although we searched every thicket, 
 and at midnight we returned without having dis- 
 covered anything of our unfortunate comrade. 
 
 "It is very strange," the Captain growled. "They 
 must have killed him and thrown him into the 
 bushes somewhere ; they cannot possibly have taken 
 him prisoner, as he would have called out for help. 
 I cannot understand it all." Just as he said that, 
 bright red flames shot up in the direction of the 
 inn on the highroad, which illuminated the sky. 
 
 "Rascals! cowards!" he shouted. "I will bet 
 that they have set fire to the two houses in the 
 marketplace, in order to have their revenge, and 
 then they will scuttle off without saying a word. 
 They will be satisfied with having killed a man and
 
 THE LANCER'S WIFE 275 
 
 set fire to two houses. But it shall not pass over 
 like that. We must go for them; they will not 
 like to leave their illuminations in order to fight." 
 
 "It would be a great stroke of luck if we could 
 set Piedelot free at the same time," some one said. 
 
 The five of us set off, full of rage and hope. In 
 twenty minutes we had reached the bottom of the 
 coulee, and had not yet seen anyone when we were 
 within a hundred yards of the inn. The fire was 
 behind the house, and all we saw of it was the 
 reflection above the roof. However, we were walk- 
 ing rather slowly, as we were afraid of an ambush, 
 when suddenly we heard Piedelot's well-known 
 voice. It had a strange sound, however ; for it was 
 at the same time dull and vibrating, stifled and clear, 
 as if he were calling out as loud as he could with a 
 rag stuffed into his mouth. He seemed to be 
 hoarse and panting, and the unlucky fellow kept 
 exclaiming : " Help ! Help !" 
 
 We sent all thought of prudence to the devil, 
 and in two bounds we were at the back of the inn, 
 where a terrible sight met our eyes. 
 
 Piedelot was being burned alive. He was writh- 
 ing in the midst of a heap of fagots, tied to a stake, 
 and the flames were lapping him with their burning 
 tongues. When he saw us, his tongue seemed to 
 stick in his throat ; he drooped his head, and seemed 
 as if he were about to die. It was only the affair of 
 a moment to upset the burning pile, to scatter the 
 embers, and to cut the ropes that fastened him.
 
 276 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Poor fellow, in what a terrible state we found 
 him ! The evening before he had had his left arm 
 broken, and it seemed as if he had been badly 
 beaten since then, for his whole body was covered 
 with wounds, bruises, and blood. The flames had 
 also begun their work on him, and he had two large 
 burns, one on his loins and the other on his right 
 thigh, and his beard and hair were scorched. Poor 
 Piedelot ! 
 
 No one knows the terrible rage we felt at this 
 sight! We would have rushed headlong at a hun- 
 dred thousand Prussians ; our thirst for vengeance 
 was intense. But the cowards had run away, leav- 
 ing their crime behind them. Where could we find 
 them now ? Meanwhile, however, the Captain's wife 
 was looking after Piedelot, and dressing his wounds 
 as best she could, while the Captain himself shook 
 hands with him excitedly, and in a few minutes he 
 recovered himself. 
 
 "Good morning, Captain; good morning, all of 
 you," he said. "Ah! the scoundrels, the wretches! 
 Why, twenty of them came to surprise us." 
 
 "Twenty, do you say?" 
 
 "Yes; there was a whole band of them, and that 
 is why I disobeyed orders, Captain, and fired on 
 them, for they would have killed you all, and I pre- 
 ferred to stop them. That frightened them, and 
 they did not venture to go farther than the cross- 
 roads. They were such cowards. Four of them 
 shot at me at twenty yards, as if I had been a tar-
 
 THE LANCER'S WIFE 277 
 
 get, and then they slashed me with their swords. 
 My arm was broken, so that I could only use my 
 bayonet with one hand." 
 
 " But why did you not call for help ?" 
 
 "I took good care not to do that, for you would 
 all have come; and you would neither have been 
 able to defend me nor yourselves, being only five 
 against twenty." 
 
 "You know that we should not have allowed you 
 to be taken, poor old fellow." 
 
 "I preferred to die by myself. I did not want 
 to bring you there, for it would have been a mere 
 ambush." 
 
 "Well, we will not talk about it any more. Do 
 you feel rather easier?" 
 
 "No, I am suffocating. I know that I cannot 
 live much longer. The brutes ! They tied me to a 
 tree, and beat me till I was half dead, and then they 
 shook my broken arm ; but I did not make a sound. 
 I would rather have bitten my tongue out than have 
 cried ont before them. . . . Now I can tell what 
 I am suffering and shed tears; it does one good. 
 Thank you, my kind friends." 
 
 "Poor Piedelot! But we will avenge you, you 
 may be sure !" 
 
 "Yes, yes; I want you to do that. There is, in 
 particular, a woman among them who passes as the 
 wife of the lancer whom the captain killed yester- 
 day. She is dressed like a lancer, and she tortured 
 me the most yesterday, and suggested burning me;
 
 278 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 and it was she who set fire to the wood. Oh ! the 
 wretch, the beast. . . . Ah! how I suffer! My 
 loins, my arms!" and he fell back panting and 
 exhausted, writhing in his terrible agony, while the 
 captain's wife wiped the perspiration from his fore- 
 head, and we all shed tears of grief and rage, as if 
 we had been children. I will not describe the end ; 
 he died half an hour later, previously telling us 
 in which direction the enemy had gone. When he 
 was dead we gave ourselves time to bury him, and 
 then we set out in pursuit of them, with our 
 hearts full of fury and hatred. 
 
 "We will throw ourselves on the whole Prus- 
 sian army, if it be necessary," the Captain said; 
 "but we will avenge Piedelot. We must catch 
 those scoundrels. Let us swear to die, rather -than 
 not to find them ; and if I am killed first, these are 
 my orders: All the prisoners that you take are 
 to be shot immediately, and as for the lancer's wife, 
 she is to be tortured before she is put to death." 
 
 "She must not be shot, because she is a woman," 
 the Captain's wife said. "If you survive, I am 
 sure that you would not shoot a woman. Torturing 
 her will be quite sufficient; but if you are killed in 
 this pursuit, I ask one thing, and that is to fight 
 with her; I will kill her with my own hands, and 
 the others can do what they like with her if she 
 kills me." 
 
 "We will dishonor her! We will burn her! We 
 will tear her to pieces ! Piedelot shall be avenged !
 
 THE LANCER'S WIFE 2/9 
 
 An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth!" 
 Next morning we unexpectedly fell on an out- 
 post of uhlans four leagues away. Surprised by 
 our sudden attack, they were not able to mount their 
 horses, nor even to defend themselves; and in a 
 few moments we had five prisoners, corresponding 
 to our own number. The Captain questioned them, 
 and from their answers we felt sure that they 
 were the same whom we had encountered the day 
 before. Then a very curious operation took place. 
 One of us was told off to ascertain their sex, and 
 nothing can describe our joy when we discovered 
 what we were seeking among them, the female 
 executioner who had tortured our friend. 
 
 The four men were shot on the spot, with their 
 backs to us and close to the muzzles of our rifles; 
 and then we turned our attention to the woman. 
 What were we going to do with her? I must ac- 
 knowledge that we were all in favor of shooting 
 her. Hatred, and the wish to avenge Piedelot, 
 had extinguished all pity in us, and we had forgot- 
 ten that we wished to shoot a woman, but a woman 
 reminded us of it, the Captain's wife; at her en- 
 treaties, therefore, we determined to hold her a 
 prisoner. 
 
 , The Captain's poor wife was to be severely pun- 
 ished for this act of clemency. 
 
 The next day we heard that the armistice had 
 been extended to the eastern part of France, and 
 we had to put an tnd to our little campaign. Two
 
 280 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 of us, who belonged to the neighborhood, returned 
 home, so there were only four of us, all told: the 
 captain, his wife, and two men. We belonged to 
 Besanc,on, which was still being besieged in spite of 
 the armistice. 
 
 "Let us stop here," said the captain. "I can- 
 not believe that the war is to end like this. The 
 devil take it! Surely there are men still left in 
 France; and now is the time to prove what they 
 are made of. The spring is coming on, and the 
 armistice is only a trap laid for the Prussians. Dur- 
 ing the time that it lasts, a new army will be raised, 
 and some fine morning we shall fall upon them 
 again. We shall be ready, and we have a hostage 
 let us remain here." 
 
 We fixed our quarters there. It was terribly 
 cold, and we did not go out much, and somebody 
 had always to keep the female prisoner in sight. 
 
 She was sullen, and never said anything, or else 
 spoke of her husband, whom the Captain had killed. 
 She looked at him continually with fierce eyes, and 
 we felt that she was tormented by a wild longing 
 for revenge. That seemed to us to be the most 
 suitable punishment for the terrible torments that 
 she had made Piedelot suffer, for impotent desire 
 for vengeance is such intense pain ! 
 
 Alas ! we who know how to avenge our comrade 
 should have known that this woman would know 
 how to avenge her husband, and should have been 
 on our guard. It is true that one of us kept watch
 
 THE LANCER'S WIFE 281 
 
 every night, and that at first we tied Her by a long 
 rope to the great oak bench that was fastened to 
 the wall. But, by and by, as she never tried to 
 escape, in spite of her hatred for us, we relaxed our 
 extreme prudence, and allowed her to sleep some- 
 where else except on the bench, and without being 
 tied. What had we to fear? She was at the end 
 of the room, a man was on guard at the door, and 
 between her and the sentinel the Captain's wife and 
 two other men used to lie. She was alone and 
 unarmed against four, so there could be no danger. 
 One night when we were asleep, and the Captain 
 was on guard, the lancer's wife was lying more 
 quietly in her corner than usual, and she had even 
 smiled during the evening, for the first time since 
 she had been our prisoner. Suddenly, however, 
 in the middle of the night, we were all awakened 
 by a terrible cry. We got up, groping about, and 
 at once stumbled over a furious couple who were 
 rolling about and fighting on the ground. It was 
 the Captain and the lancer's wife. We threw our- 
 selves on them, and separated them in a moment. 
 She was shouting and laughing, and he seemed to 
 be uttering the death rattle. All this took place 
 in the dark. Two of us held her, and when a light 
 was struck a terrible sight met our eyes. The cap- 
 tain was lying on the floor in a pool of blood, with 
 an enormous gash in his throat, and his bayonet, 
 which had been taken from his rifle, was sticking in 
 the red, gaping wound. A few minutes afterward 
 
 Vol. 119
 
 282 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 he died, without having been able to utter a word. 
 
 His wife did not shed a tear. Her eyes were 
 dry, her throat was contracted, and she looked at 
 the lancer's wife steadfastly and ferociously. 
 
 "This woman belongs to me," she said to us 
 suddenly. "You swore to me not a week ago to let 
 me kill her as I chose, if she should kill my hus- 
 band ; and you must keep your oath. You must 
 fasten her securely to the fireplace, upright against 
 the back of it, and then you can go where you like, 
 but far from here. I will take my revenge on her 
 myself. Leave the Captain's body, and we three, 
 he, she, and I, will remain here." 
 
 We obeyed, and left her. She promised to write 
 to us at Geneva. 
 
 Two days later I received the following letter, 
 dated the day after we had left ; it had been written 
 at an inn on the highroad: 
 
 "My FRIEND : I am writing to you, according to my 
 promise. For the moment I am at the inn, where I have 
 just handed my prisoner over to a Prussian officer. 
 
 "I. must tell you, my friend, that this poor woman has 
 teft two children in Germany. She had followed her hus- 
 band, whom she adored, as she did not wish him to be 
 exposed to the risks of war by himself, and as her chil- 
 dren were with their grandparents. I have learned all this 
 since yesterday, and it has turned my ideas of vengeance 
 into more humane feelings. At the very moment when I 
 f".lt pleasure in insulting this woman, and in threatening 
 her with the most fearful torments, in recalling Piedelot, 
 who had been burned alive, and in threatening her with 
 a similar death, she looked at me coldly, and said : 
 
 "'What have you to reproach me with, Frenchwoman?
 
 THE LANCER'S WIFE 283 
 
 You think that you will do right in avenging your hus- 
 band's death, is not that so?' 
 
 "'Yes,' I replied. 
 
 " 'Very well, then ; in killing him I did what you are 
 about to do in burning me. I avenged my husband, for 
 your husband killed him.' 
 
 "'Well,' I replied, 'as you approve of this vengeance, 
 prepare to endure it.' 
 
 " 'I do not fear it.' 
 
 "And in fact she did not seem to have lost courage. 
 Her face was calm, and she looked at me without trem- 
 bling, while I brought wood and dried leaves, and fever- 
 ishly threw on them the powder from some cartridges, 
 which was to make her funeral pile the more cruel. 
 
 "I hesitated in my thoughts of persecution for a mo- 
 ment. But the Captain was there, pale and covered with 
 blood, and he seemed to be looking at me with his large, 
 glassy eyes, and I applied myself to my work again after 
 kissing his pale lips. Suddenly, however, on raising my 
 head, I saw that she was weeping, and I felt rather sur- 
 prised. 
 
 '"So you are frightened?' I said to her. 
 
 " 'No, but when I saw you kiss your husband, I thought 
 of mine, and of all whom I love.' 
 
 "She continued to sob, but stopping suddenly, she said 
 to me in broken words and in a low voice : 
 
 " 'Have you any children ?' 
 
 "A shiver ran over me, for I guessed that this poor 
 woman had some She asked me to look in a pocketbook 
 which was in her bosom, and in it I saw two photographs 
 of quite young children, a boy and a girl, with those kind, 
 gentle, chubby faces that German children have. In it 
 there were also two locks of light hair and a letter in a 
 large, childish hand, and beginning with German words 
 which meant: 'My dear little mother.' 
 
 "I could not restrain my tears, my dear friend, and so I 
 untied her, and without venturing to look at the face of 
 my poor dead husband, who was not to be avenged, I 
 went with her as far as the inn. She is free; I have just
 
 284 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 left her, and she kissed me with tears. I am going up- 
 stairs to my husband; come as soon as possible, my dear 
 friend, to look for our two bodies." 
 
 I set off with all speed, and when I arrived there 
 was a Prussian patrol at the cottage; and when I 
 asked what it all meant I was told that there was 
 a Captain of francs-tireurs and his wife inside, both 
 dead. I gave their names; they saw that I knew 
 them, and I begged to be allowed to arrange their 
 funeral. 
 
 "Somebody has already undertaken it," was the 
 reply. "Go in if you wish to, as you know them. 
 You can settle about their funeral with their 
 friend." 
 
 I went in. The Captain and his wife were lying 
 side by side on a bed, and were covered by a sheet. 
 I raised it, and saw that the woman had inflicted a 
 wound in her throat similar to that from which her 
 husband had died. 
 
 At the side of the bed there sat, watching and 
 weeping, the woman who had been mentioned to 
 me as their best friend. It was the lancer's wife.
 
 PRISONERS OF WAR 
 
 NOT a sound was to be heard in the forest save 
 the indistinct, fluttering sound of the snow 
 falling on the trees. It had been snowing 
 since noon ; a fine snow, which covered the branches 
 as with frozen moss and spread a silvery mantle 
 over the dead leaves in the ditches, covered the 
 roads with a white, yielding carpet, and made still 
 more intense the boundless silence of this ocean 
 of trees. 
 
 Before the door of a forester's dwelling a young 
 woman, her arms bare to the elbow, was chopping 
 wood with a hatchet on a block of stone. She was 
 tall, slender, strong a true woman of the woods, 
 daughter and wife of a forester. 
 
 A voice called from within the house: 
 
 "We are alone tonight, Berthine; you must come 
 in. It is growing dark, and there may be Prus- 
 sians or wolves about." 
 
 "I've just finished, mother," replied the young 
 woman, splitting as she spoke an immense log of 
 wood with strong, deft blows, which expanded her 
 
 285
 
 286 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 chest every time she raised her arms to strike. 
 "Here I am; there's no need to be afraid; it is 
 still light." 
 
 She gathered up her sticks and logs, piled them 
 in the chimney corner, went back to close the great 
 oaken shutters, and finally came in, drawing behind 
 her the heavy bolts of the door. 
 
 Her mother, a wrinkled old woman whom age 
 had rendered timid, was spinning by the fireside. 
 
 "I am uneasy," she said, "when your father is 
 not here. Two women are not much good." 
 
 "Oh," said the younger woman, "I'd cheerfully 
 kill a wolf or a Prussian if necessary." 
 
 And she glanced at a heavy revolver hanging 
 above the hearth. 
 
 Her husband had been called upon to serve in 
 the army at the beginning of the Prussian invasion, 
 and the two women had remained alone with the old 
 father, a keeper named Nicolas Pichon, sometimes 
 calkd Long-legs, who refused obstinately to leave 
 his home and take refuge in the town. 
 
 This town was Rethel, an ancient stronghold 
 built on a rock. Its inhabitants were patriotic, and 
 had made up their minds to resist the invaders, to 
 fortify their native place, and, if need be, to stand 
 a siege as in the good old days. Twice already, 
 under Henri IV and under Louis XIV, the people 
 of Rethel had distinguished themselves by their 
 heroic defense of their town. They would do as 
 much now, they said, or be killed in their own 
 houses.
 
 PRISONERS OF WAR 287 
 
 They had, therefore, bought cannon and rifles, 
 organized a militia, and formed themselves into bat- 
 talions and companies, and now spent their time 
 drilling all day long in the square. Everyone 
 bakers, grocers, butchers, lawyers, carpenters, book- 
 sellers, chemists took his turn at military training, 
 at regular hours of the day, under the leadership of 
 Monsieur Lavigne, a former noncommissioned offi- 
 cer in the dragoons, now a draper, having married 
 the daughter and inherited the business of Monsieur 
 Ravaudan, Senior. 
 
 He had taken the rank of commanding officer 
 in Rethel, and, seeing that all the young men had 
 gone off to the war, he had enlisted all the others 
 who were in favor of resisting an attack. Fat men 
 now invariably walked the streets at a rapid pace, 
 to reduce their weight and improve their breathing, 
 and feeble men carried weights to strengthen their 
 muscles. 
 
 And they awaited the Prussians. But the Prus- 
 sians did not appear. They were not far off, how- 
 ever, for twice already their scouts had penetrated 
 as far as the forest dwelling of Nicolas Pichon, 
 called Long-legs. 
 
 The old keeper, who could run like a fox, had 
 come and warned the town. The guns had been got 
 ready, but the enemy had not shown them- 
 selves. 
 
 Long-legs's dwelling served as an outpost in the 
 Aveline forest. Twice a week the old man went to
 
 288 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 the town for provisions and brought the citizens 
 news of the outlying district. 
 
 On this particular day he had gone to announce 
 the fact that a small detachment of German in- 
 fantry had stopped at his house the day before, 
 about two o'clock in the afternoon, and had left 
 again almost immediately. The noncommissioned 
 officer in charge spoke French. 
 
 When the old man set out like this he took with 
 him his dogs two powerful animals with the jaws 
 of lions as a safeguard against the wolves, which 
 were beginning to be fierce, and he left directions 
 with the two women to barricade themselves se- 
 curely within their dwelling as soon as night fell. 
 
 The younger feared nothing, but her mother was 
 always apprehensive, and repeated continually: 
 
 "We'll come to grief one of these days. You 
 see if we don't!" 
 
 This evening she was more nervous than ever. 
 
 "Do you know what time your father will be 
 back?" she asked. 
 
 "Oh, not before eleven. When he dines with the 
 commandant he's always late." 
 
 And Berthine was hanging her pot over the fire 
 to warm the soup when she suddenly stood still, 
 listening attentively to a sound that had reached 
 her through the chimney. 
 
 "There are people walking in the wood," she 
 said; "seven or eight men at least, and they are 
 coming this way."
 
 PRISONERS OF WAR 289 
 
 The terrified old woman stopped her spinning- 
 wheel, and gasped: 
 
 "Oh, my God ! And your father not here !" 
 
 She had scarcely finished speaking when a suc- 
 cession of violent blows shook the door. 
 
 As the woman made no reply, a loud, guttural 
 voice shouted: 
 
 "Open the door!" 
 
 After a brief silence the same voice repeated: 
 
 "Open the door or I'll break it down!" 
 
 Berthine took the heavy revolver from its hook, 
 slipped it into the pocket of her skirt, and, putting 
 Jier ear to the door, asked : 
 
 "Who are you?" 
 
 "The detachment that came here yesterday," re- 
 plied the voice. 
 
 "What do you want?" demanded the young 
 woman. 
 
 "My men and I have lost our way in the forest 
 since morning. Open the door or I'll break it 
 down !" 
 
 The forester's daughter had no choice ; she drew 
 back the heavy bolts, threw open the ponderous 
 shutter, and perceived in the wan light of the snow 
 six men, Prussian soldiers, the same who had visited 
 the house the day before. 
 
 "What are you doing here at this time of 
 night?" she asked dauntlessly. 
 
 "I lost my bearings," replied the officer; "lost
 
 290 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 them completely. Then I recognized this house. 
 I've eaten nothing since morning, and neither have 
 my men." 
 
 "But I'm quite alone with my mother this even- 
 ing," said Berthine. 
 
 "Never mind," replied the soldier, who seemed 
 a decent sort of fellow. "We won't do you any 
 harm, but you must give us something to eat. We 
 are nearly dead with hunger and fatigue." 
 
 Then the girl moved aside. 
 
 "Come in," she said. 
 
 They entered, covered with snow, their helmets 
 sprinkled with a creamy-looking froth, which gave 
 them the appearance of meringues. They seemed 
 completely exhausted. 
 
 The young woman pointed to the wooden benches 
 on either side of the large table. 
 
 "Sit down," she said, "and I'll make you some 
 soup. You certainly look tired, and no mistake." 
 
 Then she bolted the door again. 
 
 She put more water in the pot, added butter and 
 potatoes ; then, taking down a piece of bacon from 
 a hook in the chimney corner, cut it in two and 
 slipped half of it into the pot. 
 
 The six men watched her movements with hun- 
 gry eyes. They had placed their rifles and helmets 
 in a corner and waited for supper, as well behaved 
 as children on a school bench. 
 
 The old mother had resumed her spinning, cast- 
 ing from time to time a furtive and uneasy glance
 
 PRISONERS OF WAR 291 
 
 at the soldiers. Nothing was to be heard save the 
 humming of the wheel, the crackling of the fire, 
 and the singing of the water in the pot. 
 
 But suddenly a strange noise a sound like the 
 harsh breathing of some wild animal sniffing 
 under the door startled the occupants of the 
 room. 
 
 The German officer sprang toward the rifles. 
 Berthine stopped him with a gesture, and said, smil- 
 ingly : 
 
 "It's only the wolves. They are like you 
 prowling through the forest." 
 
 The incredulous man wanted to see with his own 
 eyes, and as soon as the door was opened he per- 
 ceived two large grayish animals disappearing with 
 long, swinging trot into the darkness. 
 
 He returned to his seat, muttering: 
 
 "I wouldn't have believed it!" 
 
 And he waited quietly till supper was ready. 
 
 The men devoured their meal voraciously, with 
 mouths stretched to their ears that they might swal- 
 low the more. Their round eyes opened at the same 
 time as their jaws, and as the soup coursed down 
 their throats it made a noise like the gurgling of 
 water in a rainpipe. 
 
 The two women watched in silence the move- 
 ments of the big blond beards. The potatoes seemed 
 to be engulfed in these moving fleeces. 
 
 But, as they were thirsty, the forester's daugh- 
 ter went down to the cellar to draw them some
 
 292 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 cider. She was gone some time. The cellar was 
 small, with an arched ceiling, and had served, so 
 people said, as both prison and hiding-place dur- 
 ing the Revolution. It was approached by means 
 of a narrow, winding staircase, closed by a trap- 
 door at the farther end of the kitchen. 
 
 When Berthine returned she was smiling mys- 
 teriously to herself. She gave the Germans her jug 
 of cider. 
 
 Then she and her mother ate apart, at the other 
 end of the kitchen. 
 
 The soldiers had finished eating, and were all six 
 falling asleep as they sat round the table. Every 
 now and then a forehead fell with a thud on the 
 board, and the man, awakened suddenly, sat up- 
 right again. 
 
 Berthine said to the officer : 
 
 "Go and lie down, all of you, round the fire. 
 There is plenty of room for six. I'm going up to 
 my room with my mother." 
 
 And the two women went upstairs. They could 
 be heard locking the door and walking about over- 
 head for a time; then they were silent. 
 
 The Prussians lay down on the floor, with their 
 feet to the fire and their heads resting on their 
 rolled-up cloaks. Soon all six snored loudly and 
 uninterruptedly in six different keys. 
 
 They had been sleeping for some time when a 
 shot rang out so loudly that it seemed directed 
 against the very walls of the house. The soldiers
 
 PRISONERS OF WAR 293 
 
 rose hastily. Two then three more shots were 
 fired. 
 
 The door opened hastily, and Berthine appeared, 
 barefooted and only half dressed, with her candle 
 in her hand and a scared look on her face. 
 
 "There are the French," she stammered; "at 
 least two hundred of them. If they find you here 
 they'll burn the house down. For God's sake, hurry 
 down into the cellar, and don't make a sound, what- 
 ever you do. If you make any noise we are lost." 
 
 "We'll go, we'll go," replied the terrified officer. 
 "Which is the way?" 
 
 The young woman hurriedly raised the small, 
 square trap-door, and the six men disappeared one 
 after another down the narrow, winding staircase, 
 feeling their way as they went. 
 
 But as soon as the spike of the last helmet was 
 out of sight Berthine lowered the heavy oaken lid 
 thick as a wall, hard as steel, furnished with the 
 hinges and bolts of a prison cell shot the two 
 heavy bolts, and began to laugh long and silently, 
 possessed with a mad longing to dance above the 
 heads of her prisoners. 
 
 They made no sound, inclosed in the cellar as in 
 a strong box, obtaining air only from a small, iron- 
 barred vent-hole. 
 
 Berthine lighted her fire again, hung the pot over 
 it, and prepared more soup, saying to herself : 
 
 "Father will be tired to-night." 
 
 Then she sat and waited. The heavy pendulum
 
 294 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 of the clock swung to and fro with a monotonous 
 tick. 
 
 At times the young woman cast an impatient 
 glance at the dial a glance which seemed to say: 
 
 "I wish he would be quick !" 
 
 But soon there was a sound of voices beneath her 
 feet. Low, confused words reached her through 
 the masonry which roofed the cellar. The Prus- 
 sians were beginning to suspect the trick she had 
 played them, and presently the officer came up the 
 narrow staircase, and knocked at the trapdoor. 
 
 "Open the door!" he cried. 
 
 "What do you want?" she said, rising from her 
 seat and approaching the cellarway. 
 
 "Open the door!" 
 
 "I will not!" 
 
 "Open it or I'll break it down!" shouted the 
 man angrily. 
 
 She laughed. 
 
 "Hammer away, my good man! Hammer away!" 
 
 He struck with the butt-end of his gun at the 
 closed oaken door. But it would have resisted a 
 battering-ram. 
 
 The forester's daughter heard him go down the 
 stairs again. Then the soldiers came one after an- 
 other and tried their strength against the trap- 
 door. But, finding their efforts useless, they all re- 
 turned to the cellar and began to talk among them- 
 selves. 
 
 The young woman heard them for a short time,
 
 PRISONERS OF WAR 295 
 
 then she rose, opened the door of the house, looked 
 out into the night, and listened. 
 
 A sound of distant barking reached her ear. She 
 whistled just as a huntsman would, and almost im- 
 mediately two great dogs emerged from the dark- 
 ness, and bound to her side. She held them tight, 
 and shouted at the top of her voice: 
 
 "Hello, father!" 
 
 A far-off voice replied: 
 
 "Hello, Berthine!" 
 
 She waited a few seconds, then repeated : 
 
 "Hello, father!" 
 
 The voice, nearer now, replied: 
 
 "Hello, Berthine!" 
 
 "Don't go in front of the vent-hole!" shouted 
 his daughter. "There are Prussians in the cellar!" 
 
 Suddenly the man's tall figure could be seen to 
 the left, standing between two tree trunks. 
 
 "Prussians in the cellar?" he asked anxiously. 
 "What are they doing?" 
 
 The young woman laughed. 
 
 "They are the same that were here yesterday. 
 They lost their way, and I've given them free lodg- 
 ings in the cellar." 
 
 She told the story of how she had alarmed them 
 by firing the revolver, and had shut them up in the 
 cellar. 
 
 The man, still serious, asked : 
 
 "But what am I to do with them at this time of 
 night?"
 
 296 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "Go and fetch Monsieur Lavigne with his men," 
 she replied. "He'll take them prisoners. He'll be 
 delighted." 
 
 Her father smiled. 
 
 "So he will delighted." 
 
 "Here's some soup for you," said his daugh- 
 ter. "Eat it quick, and then be off." 
 
 The old keeper sat down at the table, and began 
 to eat his soup, having first filled two plates and put 
 them on the floor for the dogs. 
 
 The Prussians, hearing voices, were silent. 
 
 "Long-legs set off a quarter of an hour later, 
 and Berthine, with her head between her hands, 
 waited. 
 
 The prisoners began to make themselves heard 
 again. They shouted, called, and beat furiously 
 with the butts of their muskets against the rigid 
 trap-door of the cellar. 
 
 Then they fired shots through the vent-hole, hop- 
 ing, no doubt, to be heard by any German detach- 
 ment which chanced to be passing that way. 
 
 The forester's daughter did not stir, but the 
 noise irritated and unnerved her. Blind anger rose 
 in her heart against the prisoners ; she would have 
 been only too glad to kill them all, and so silence 
 them. 
 
 Then, as her impatience grew, she watched the 
 clock, counting the minutes as they passed. 
 
 Her father had been gone an hour and a half. 
 He must have reached the town by now. She con-
 
 PRISONERS OF WAR 297 
 
 jured up a vision of him telling the story to Mon- 
 sieur Lavigne, who grew pale with emotion, and 
 rang for his servant to bring him his arms and uni- 
 form. She fancied she could hear the drum as it 
 sounded the call to arms. Frightened faces ap- 
 peared at the windows. The citizen-soldiers 
 emerged from their houses half dressed, out of 
 breath, buckling on their belts, and hurrying to the 
 commandant's house. 
 
 Then the troop of soldiers, with Long-legs at 
 its head, set forth through the night and the snow 
 toward the forest. 
 
 She looked at the clock. "They may be here 
 in an hour." 
 
 A nervous impatience possessed her. The min- 
 utes seemed endless. Would the time never come? 
 
 At last the clock marked the moment she had 
 fixed on for their arrival. 
 
 And she opened the door to listen for their ap- 
 proach. She perceived a shadowy form creeping 
 toward the house. She was afraid, and cried out. 
 But it was her father. 
 
 "They have sent me," he said, "to see whether 
 there is any change in the state of affairs." 
 
 "No none." 
 
 Then he gave a shrill whistle. Soon a dark 
 mass loomed up under the trees : the advance guard, 
 composed of ten men. 
 
 "Don't go in front of the vent-hole!" repeated 
 Long-legs at intervals. 
 
 Vol. 120
 
 298 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 And the first arrivals pointed out the much- 
 dreaded vent-hole to those who came after. 
 
 At last the main body of the troop arrived, in all 
 two hundred men, each carrying two hundred cart- 
 ridges. 
 
 Monsieur Lavigne, in a state intense excite- 
 ment, posted them in such a fashion as to surround 
 the whole house, save for a large space left vacant 
 in front of the little hole on a level with the ground, 
 through which the cellar derived its supply of air. 
 
 Monsieur Lavigne struck the trap-door a blow 
 with his foot, and called : 
 
 "I wish to speak to the Prussian officer!" 
 . The German did not reply. 
 
 "The Prussian officer!" again shouted the com- 
 mandant. 
 
 Still no response. For the space of twenty min- 
 utes Monsieur Lavigne called on this silent officer 
 to surrender, promising him that all lives should 
 be spared, and that he and his men should be ac- 
 corded military honors. But he could extort no sign, 
 either of consent or of defiance. The situation be- 
 came puzzling. 
 
 The citizen-soldiers kicked their heels in the 
 snow, slapping their arms across their chest, as cab- 
 drivers do, to warm themselves, and gazing at the 
 vent-hole with a growing and childish desire to pass 
 in front of it. 
 
 At last one of them took the risk a man named 
 Potdevin, who was fleet of limb. He ran like a deer
 
 PRISONERS OF WAR 299 
 
 across the zone of danger. The experiment suc- 
 ceeded. The prisoners gave no sign of life. 
 
 A voice cried: 
 
 " No one is there ! " 
 
 Another soldier crossed the open space before 
 the dangerous vent-hole. Then this hazardous sport 
 developed into a game. Every minute a man ran 
 swiftly from one side to the other, like a boy play- 
 ing baseball, kicking up the snow behind him as 
 he ran. They had lighted big fires of dead wood 
 at which to warm themselves, and the figures of the 
 runners were illumined by the flames as they passed 
 rapidly from the camp on the right to that on the 
 left. 
 
 Some one shouted: "It's your turn now, Ma- 
 loison." 
 
 Maloison was a fat baker, whose corpulent per- 
 son served to point many a joke among his com- 
 rades. 
 
 He hesitated. They jeered at him. Then, nerving 
 himself to the effort, he set off at a little, waddling 
 gait, which shook his fat paunch and made the 
 whole detachment laugh till they cried. 
 
 "Bravo, bravo, Maloison 1" they shouted for his 
 encouragement. 
 
 He had accomplished about two thirds of his 
 journey when a long, crimson flame shot forth from 
 the vent-hole. A loud report followed, and the fat 
 baker fell face forward to the ground, uttering a 
 frightful scream.
 
 300 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 No one went to his assistance. Then he was 
 seen to drag himself, groaning, on all fours through 
 the snow until he was beyond danger, when he 
 fainted. 
 
 He was shot in the upper part of the thigh. 
 
 After the first surprise and fright were over 
 they laughed at him again. 
 
 But Monsieur Lavigne appeared on the threshold 
 of the forester's dwelling. He had formed his 
 plan of attack. He called in a loud voice: 
 
 "I want Planchut, the plumber, and his work- 
 men." 
 
 Three men approached. 
 
 "Take the eaves-troughs from the roof." 
 
 In a quarter of an hour they brought the com- 
 mandant thirty yards of pipes. 
 
 Next, with infinite precaution, he had a small 
 round hole drilled in the trap-door ; then, making a 
 conduit with the troughs from the pump to this 
 opening, he said, with an air of extreme satisfac- 
 tion: 
 
 "Now we'll give these German gentlemen some- 
 thing to drink." 
 
 A shout of frenzied admiration, mingled with up- 
 roarious laughter, burst from his followers. And 
 the commandant organized relays of men, who were 
 to relieve one another every five minutes. Then he 
 commanded : 
 
 "Pump!" 
 
 And, the pump-handle having been set in motion,
 
 PRISONERS OF WAR 301 
 
 a stream of water trickled throughout the length of 
 the piping, and flowed from step to step down the 
 cellar stairs with a gentle, gurgling sound. 
 
 They waited. 
 
 An hour passed, then two, then three. 
 
 The commandant, in a state of feverish agita- 
 tion, walked up and down the kitchen, putting his 
 ear to the ground every now and then to discover, 
 if possible, what the enemy were doing and whether 
 they would capitulate. 
 
 The enemy were astir now. They could be 
 heard moving the casks about, talking, splashing 
 through the water. 
 
 Then, after eight o'clock in the morning, a voice 
 said from the vent-hole: 
 
 "I want to speak to the French officer." 
 
 Lavigne replied from the window, taking care 
 not to put his head out too far : 
 
 "Do you surrender?" 
 
 "I surrender." 
 
 "Then put your rifles outside." 
 
 A rifle immediately protruded from the hole, and 
 fell into the snow, then another and another, until 
 all were disposed of. And the voice which had 
 spoken before said: 
 
 "I have no more. Be quick ! I am drowning." 
 
 "Stop pumping!" ordered the commandant. 
 
 The pump-handle hung motionless. 
 
 Then, having filled the kitchen with armed and 
 waiting soldiers, he slowly raised the oaken door.
 
 302 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Four heads appeared, soaking wet, four blond 
 heads with long, fair hair, and one after another 
 the six Germans emerged scared, shivering, and 
 dripping from head to foot. 
 
 They were seized and bound. Then, as the 
 French feared a surprise, they set off at once in two 
 convoys, one in charge of the prisoners, and the 
 other conducting Maloison on a mattress borne on 
 poles. 
 
 They made a triumphal entry into Rethel. 
 
 Monsieur Lavigne was decorated as a reward for 
 having captured a Prussian advance guard, and the 
 fat baker received the military metal for wounds 
 received at the hands of the enemy.
 
 WOMAN'S LOVE 
 
 THE dinner that opened the hunt was at an 
 end. The Marquis de Bertrans sat with his 
 guests around a brightly lighted table, covered 
 with fruits and flowers. The conversation drifted 
 to the subject of love. Immediately an animated 
 discussion arose, the same eternal discussion as to 
 whether it is possible to love more than once. Ex- 
 amples were given of persons who had loved only 
 once ; these were offset by stories of those who had 
 loved violently many times. The men agreed that 
 passion, like illness, may attack the same person 
 several times, unless it strikes to kill. This con- 
 clusion seemed quite incontestable. But the women, 
 who based their opinion on poetry rather than on 
 practical observation, maintained that love, the 
 great passion, comes only once to mortals. Love 
 resembles powder, they said. A heart once touched 
 with it becomes forever so ravaged, so consumed, 
 that no other strong sentiment can find rest in it, 
 not even a dream. 
 
 The Marquis, who had indulged in many love af- 
 fairs, disputed this belief. 
 
 303
 
 304 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "I tell you it is possible to love several times 
 with all one's heart and soul. You quote examples 
 of persons who have killed themselves to prove the 
 impossibility of feeling a second passion. I wager 
 that if they had not foolishly committed suicide and 
 so destroyed the possibility of a second experience 
 they would have found a new love, and still an- 
 other and another till death. It is with love as with 
 drink. He that has once indulged is a slave forever. 
 It is a matter of temperament." 
 
 They chose the old Doctor as arbitrator. He 
 agreed with the Marquis, that it is a matter of tem- 
 perament. 
 
 "As for me," he said, "I once knew of a love 
 that lasted fifty-five years without one day's cessa- 
 tion, which ended only with death." The Marquis' 
 wife clasped her hands. 
 
 "How beautiful! Ah, what a dream to be loved 
 like that ! What bliss to live for fifty-five years en- 
 veloped in an unwavering, penetrating affection! 
 How this happy being must have blessed her life, to 
 be so adored!" 
 
 The Doctor smiled. 
 
 "You are mistaken, Madame, on that point the 
 loved one was a man. You even know him; it is 
 Monsieur Chonquet, the chemist. As to the woman, 
 you knew her also the old chair-mender, who 
 came every year to the Chateau." The enthusiasm 
 of the women faded. Some expressed their con- 
 tempt with "Pooh!" for the love of common per-
 
 WOMAN'S LOVE 305 
 
 sons did not interest them. The Doctor continued : 
 "Three months ago I was called to the deathbed of 
 the old chair-mender. The priest had preceded 
 me. She wished to make us the executors of her 
 will. In* order that we might understand her con- 
 duct, she told us the story of her life. It was most 
 singular and touching. Her father and mother were 
 chair-menders. She never had lived long in any 
 one place. As a little child she wandered about with 
 them, dirty, neglected, and hungry. They visited 
 many towns, leaving their horse, wagon, and dog 
 outside the limits, where the child played in the 
 grass alone until her parents had mended all the 
 broken chairs in the place. They seldom spoke, 
 except to cry, 'Chairs ! Chairs 1 Have your chairs 
 mended !' 
 
 "When the little one strayed too far away, she 
 was called back by the harsh, angry voice of her 
 father. She never heard a word of affection. When 
 she grew older, she fetched and carried the broken 
 chairs. Then it was that she made friends with 
 the little street urchins, but their parents always 
 called them away and scolded them for speaking 
 to the barefooted mender. Often the boys threw 
 stones at her. Once a kind woman gave her a few 
 sous. She saved them carefully. 
 
 "One day she was then eleven years old as 
 she picked her way through a country town she met, 
 behind the cemetery, the little Chonquet, weeping 
 bitterly, because one of his playmates had stolen two
 
 306 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 precious sous. The tears of the small villager, one 
 of those much-envied mortals who, she imagined, 
 never knew trouble, greatly disturbed her. She ap- 
 proached him and, bowing, asked the cause of his 
 grief, and put into his hands all her savings. He 
 took them without hesitation and dried his eyes. 
 Wild with joy, she kissed him. He was busy count- 
 ing his money, and did not object. Seeing that 
 she was not repulsed, she began again to kiss him 
 and even gave him a tremendous hug then she ran 
 away. 
 
 "What was passing in her poor little head? Was 
 it because she had sacrificed all her fortune that 
 she became madly fond of him, or was it because 
 she had given him her first tender kiss ? The mys- 
 tery is alike for children and for those of riper 
 years. For months she dreamed of that corner 
 near the cemetery and of the little village boy. She 
 stole small coins from her parents to give to him 
 at their next meeting. When she returned to the 
 spot near the cemetery, he was not there. Passing 
 his father's shop, she caught sight of him behind 
 the counter. He was sitting between a large red 
 globe and a blue one. She only loved him the 
 more, and wrought up to an ecstasy by the sight 
 of him surrounded by the brilliant-colored globes, 
 she nearly fainted with emotion. She cherished 
 forever in her heart this beautiful sight. The fol- 
 lowing year she met him near the school, playing 
 marbles. She threw herself on him, took him in
 
 WOMAN'S LOVE 307 
 
 her arms, and kissed him so passionately that he 
 cried aloud. To quiet him, she gave him all her 
 money. Three francs! A veritable gold mine, at 
 which he gazed with staring eyes. 
 
 "After this he allowed her to caress him as 
 much as she wished. During the next four years 
 she put into his hands all her savings, which he 
 pocketed conscientiously in exchange for kisses. At 
 one time it was thirty sous, at another two francs. 
 Again, she only had twelve sous. She wept with 
 grief and shame, explaining brokenly that it had 
 been a bad year. The next time she brought five 
 francs, in one whole piece, which made her laugh 
 with delight. She no longer thought of anyone 
 but the boy, and he watched for her with impa- 
 tience ; sometimes he would run to meet her. This 
 made her heart throb with joy. Suddenly he dis- 
 appeared. He had gone to boarding-school. She 
 found this out by careful investigation. She soon 
 ingratiated herself with his parents and used her 
 diplomacy in order that they might call him home 
 for the holidays. After a year of intrigue she met 
 with success. She had not seen him for two years, 
 and hardly recognized him, he was so changed 
 tall, beautiful, and dignified in his uniform, with 
 its brass buttons. He pretended not to know her : 
 and passed by without a glance. She wept for two 
 days and after that she loved and suffered until the 
 end. 
 
 "Every year he returned and she passed him,
 
 308 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 not daring to lift her eyes. He never condescended 
 to turn his head toward her. She loved him madly, 
 hopelessly. She said to me: 
 
 " 'He is the only man whom I have ever seen. 
 I don't even know whether another exists.' Her 
 parents died and she continued their work. 
 
 "One day, on entering the village, where her 
 heart always remained, she saw Chonquet coming 
 out of his pharmacy with a young lady leaning on 
 his arm. She was his bride. That night the chair- 
 mender threw herself into the river. A drunkard 
 passing the spot pulled her out and took her to the 
 pharmacy. Young Chonquet came down in his 
 dressing-gown to revive her. Without seeming to 
 know who she was, he undressed her and rubbed 
 her ; then he said, in a harsh voice : 
 
 " 'You are crazy ! People must not do stupid 
 things like that.' His voice brought her to life 
 again, and she was happy for a long time. He re- 
 fused remuneration for his trouble, although she 
 insisted on paying him. 
 
 "All her life passed in this way. She worked, 
 thinking always of him. She began to buy medi- 
 cines at his pharmacy; this gave her a chance to 
 talk to him and to see him closely. In a way, she 
 was still able to give him money. 
 
 "As I said before, she died this spring. When 
 she had finished her pathetic story she entreated me 
 to take her earnings to the man she loved. She had 
 worked only that she might leave him something to
 
 WOMAN'S LOVE 309 
 
 remind him of her after death. I gave the priest 
 fifty francs for her funeral expenses. The next 
 morning I took the rest of the money to Monsieur 
 Chonquet as he was finishing his breakfast. His 
 wife sat at the table, fat and red, important and 
 self-satisfied. They welcomed me and offered me 
 some coffee, which I accepted. Then I began my 
 story in a trembling voice, sure that they would 
 be softened, even to tears. As soon as Chonquet 
 understood that he had been loved by 'that vaga- 
 bond! that chair-mender! that stroller!' he swore 
 with indignation, as if his reputation had been sul- 
 lied, the respect of decent people lost, his personal 
 honor, something precious and dearer to him than 
 life, gone. His exasperated wife kept repeating: 
 'That thing! That creature!' 
 
 "Seeming unable to find words suitable to the 
 enormity, he rose and began striding about. He 
 muttered: 'Can you understand anything so hor- 
 rible, Doctor? If I had only known it while she 
 was alive, I should nave had her thrown into prison. 
 I assure you, she would not have escaped.' 
 
 "I was dumbfounded; I hardly knew what to 
 think or say, but I had to finish my mission. 'She 
 commissioned me,' I said, 'to give you her savings, 
 which amount to three thousand five hundred 
 francs. As what I have just told you seems to be 
 very disagreeable, perhaps you would prefer to give 
 this money to the poor.' 
 
 "The man and the woman looked at me speech-
 
 310 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 less with amazement. I took the few thousand 
 francs from my pocket. Wretched-looking money 
 from every country. Coppers and gold pieces were 
 mingled together. 
 
 " 'What is your decision?' I asked. 
 
 "Madame Chonquet spoke first. 'Well, since it 
 was the dying woman's wish, it seems to me impos- 
 sible to refuse it/ 
 
 "Her husband said, in a shamefaced manner: 
 'We could purchase something for our children 
 with it/ 
 
 " 'As you wish/ I answered dryly. 
 
 "He replied: 'Well, give it to us anyhow, since 
 she commissioned you to do so ; we will find a way 
 to use it for some good purpose/ 
 
 "I gave them the money, bowed and departed. 
 
 "The next day Chonquet came to me and said 
 brusquely : 
 
 " 'That women left her wagon here what have 
 you done with it?' 
 
 " 'Nothing; take it if you wish/ 
 
 " 'It's just what I wanted,' he said, and walked 
 off. I called him back and said: 
 
 " 'She left her old horse and two dogs also. Don't 
 you need them?' 
 
 "He stared at me, surprised: 'Well, no! Really, 
 what could I do with them?' 
 
 " 'Dispose of them as you like/ 
 
 "He laughed and held out his hand to me. I 
 shook it. What could I do? The doctor and the
 
 WOMAN'S LOVE 311 
 
 chemist must not be at enmity. I have kept the 
 dogs. The priest took the old horse. The wagon is 
 useful to Chonquet, and with the money he has 
 bought railroad stock. That is the only deep, un- 
 failing example of love that I have ever known in 
 my whole existence." 
 
 The Doctor looked up. The Marquise, whose eyes 
 were full of tears, sighed and said: 
 
 "There is no denying the fact, only women know 
 how to love."
 
 THE DEVIL'S VISIT 
 
 ON opposite sides of the bed the peasant and 
 the doctor stood beside the dying old woman. 
 She was calm and resigned and her mind was 
 quite clear as she looked at them and listened to 
 their conversation. She was about to die, and she 
 did not rebel at it, for her time was come, as she 
 was ninety-two years old. 
 
 The July sun streamed in through the window 
 and the open door, and cast its hot flames on the 
 uneven brown mud floor, which had been stamped 
 upon by four generations of peasants. The smell 
 of fields came in also, driven by the brisk wind 
 and parched by the noontide heat. The grasshop- 
 pers chirped themselves hoarse, and filled the coun- 
 try with their shrill noise, which was like that of 
 the wooden toys sold to children at fair time. 
 
 The doctor said : "Honore, you cannot leave your 
 mother in this state ; she may die at any moment." 
 The peasant, in great distress, replied : " But I must 
 get in my wheat, for it has been lying on the 
 ground a long time, and the weather is just right 
 for it; what do you say about it, mother?" And 
 
 312
 
 THE DEVIL'S VISIT 313 
 
 the dying old woman, still tormented by her Nor- 
 man avariciousness, assented with her eyes and 
 forehead, and thus urged her son to get in his 
 wheat, and to leave her to die alone. 
 
 But the doctor was angry, and, stamping his foot, 
 he said: "You are no better than a brute, do you 
 hear, and I will not allow you to do it, you under- 
 stand? And if you must get in your wheat to- 
 day, go and bring Rapet's wife and make her look 
 after your mother; I will have it, do you under- 
 stand me? If you do not obey me, I will let you 
 die like a dog when you are ill in your turn ; do you 
 hear?" 
 
 The peasant, a tall, thin fellow with slow move- 
 ments, who was tormented by indecision, by his 
 fear of the doctor and his fierce love of saving, hesi- 
 tated, calculated, and stammered: "How much does 
 La Rapet charge for attending sick people?" "How 
 should I know?" the doctor cried. "That depends 
 upon how long she is needed. Settle it with her! 
 But I want her to be here within an hour, do you 
 hear?" 
 
 So the man decided. "I will go for her," he re- 
 plied; "don't be angry, doctor." And the latter 
 departed, calling out as he went: "Be careful, be 
 very careful, you know, for I do not joke when 
 I am angry !" As soon as they were alone the peas- 
 ant turned to his mother and said in a resigned 
 voice : " I will go and fetch La Rapet, as the doctor 
 will have it. Don't worry till I get back." 
 
 Vol. 121
 
 314 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 And he, too, departed. 
 
 La Rapet, who was an old laundress, watched 
 the dead and the dying of the neighborhood, and 
 as soon as she had sewn her customers into that 
 linen garment from which they would emerge no 
 more, she took up her irons to smooth out the 
 linen of the living. Wrinkled like a last year's 
 apple, spiteful, envious, avaricious with a phenom- 
 enal avarice, bent double, as if she had been 
 broken in half across the loins by the constant mo- 
 tion of passing the iron over the linen, one might 
 have said that she had a kind of abnormal and 
 cynical love of a death-struggle. She never spoke 
 of anything but the persons she had seen die, of 
 the various kinds of deaths at which she had been 
 present, and she related with the greatest minute- 
 ness details that were always similar, just as a 
 sportsman recounts his luck. 
 
 \Yhen Honore Bontemps entered her cottage, he 
 found her preparing the starch for the collars of 
 the women villagers, and he said: "Good evening; 
 I hope you are pretty well, Mother Rapet ?" 
 
 She turned her head round to look at him, and 
 said: "As usual, as usual, and you?" "Oh! as 
 for me, I am as well as I could wish, but my mother 
 is not well." "Your mother?" "Yes, my mother!" 
 "What's the matter with her?" "She is going to die, 
 that's what's the matter with her !" 
 
 The old woman took her hands out of the water 
 and asked with sudden sympathy: "Is she as bad
 
 THE DEVIL'S VISIT 315 
 
 as all that?" "The doctor says she will not last 
 till morning." "Then she certainly is very bad!" 
 Honore hesitated, for he wished to make a few 
 preparatory remarks before coming to his proposi- 
 tion ; but as he could hit upon nothing, he made up 
 his mind suddenly. 
 
 "How much will you ask to stay with her till the 
 end? You know that I am not rich, and I cannot 
 even afford to keep a maid servant. It is just that 
 which has brought my poor mother to this state 
 too much worry and fatigue ! She did the work of 
 ten, in spite of her ninety-two years. You don't 
 find any made of that stuff nowadays !" 
 
 La Rapet answered gravely: "There are two 
 prices: Forty sous by day and three francs by 
 night for the rich, and twenty sous by day and forty 
 by night for the others. You shall pay me the 
 twenty and forty." But the peasant reflected, for 
 he knew his mother well. He knew how tenacious 
 of life, how vigorous and unyielding she was, and 
 she might last another week, in spite of the doctor's 
 opinion; and so he said resolutely: "No, I would 
 rather you would fix a price for the whole time un- 
 til the end. I will take my chance, one way or the 
 other. The doctor says she will die very soon. If 
 that happens, so much the better for you, and so 
 much the worse for her ; but if she holds out till to- 
 morrow or longer, so much the better for her and 
 so much the worse for you !" 
 
 The nurse looked at the man in astonishment,
 
 316 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 for she had never treated a death as a speculation, 
 and she hesitated, tempted by the idea of the pos- 
 sible gain, but she suspected that he wanted to play 
 her a trick. "I can say nothing until I have seen 
 your mother," she replied. 
 
 "Then come with me and see her. " 
 
 She washed her hands, and went with him imme- 
 diately. 
 
 They did not speak on the road ; she walked with 
 short, hasty steps, while he strode on with his long 
 legs, as if he were crossing a brook at every step. 
 
 The cows lying down in the fields, overcome by 
 the heat, raised their heads heavily and lowed feebly 
 at the two passers-by, as if to ask them for some 
 green grass. 
 
 When they got near the house, Honore Bon- 
 temps murmured: "Suppose it is all over?" And 
 the unconscious wish which he had that it might be 
 so showed itself in the sound of his voice. 
 
 But the old woman was not dead. She was lying 
 on her back, on her miserable bed, her hands cov^ 
 ered with a purple cotton counterpane horribly 
 thin, knotted hands, like the claws of strange ani- 
 mals, or like crabs, half closed by rheumatism, fa- 
 tigue, and the work of nearly a century which she 
 had accomplished. 
 
 La Rapet went up to the bed and looked at the 
 dying woman, felt her pulse, tapped her on the 
 chest, listened to her breathing, and asked her ques- 
 tions, so as to hear her speak; and then, having
 
 THE DEVIL'S VISIT 317 
 
 looked at her for some time, she went out of the 
 room, followed by Honore. Her decided opinion 
 was that the old woman would not live through the 
 night. "Well?" said the son. And the sick-nurse 
 replied: "She may last two days, perhaps three. 
 You will have to give me six francs, everything in- 
 cluded." 
 
 "Six francs! six francs!" he shouted. "Are you 
 out of your mind? I tell you that she cannot last 
 more than five or six hours !" They disputed angrily 
 for some time, but as the nurse said she must go 
 home, for time was going by, and as his wheat 
 would not come to the farmyard of its own accord, 
 he finally agreed to her terms. 
 
 "Very well, then, that is settled; six francs, in- 
 cluding everything, until the corpse is taken out." 
 
 "That is settled, six francs." 
 
 And he went away, with long strides, to his 
 wheat which was lying on the ground under the hot 
 sun, while the nurse went into the house again. 
 
 She had brought some work with her, for she 
 worked without ceasing by the side of the dead and 
 dying, sometimes for herself, sometimes for the 
 family which employed her as seamstress and paid 
 her rather more in that capacity. Suddenly she 
 asked: "Have you received the last sacraments, 
 Mother Bontemps?" 
 
 The old peasant woman shook her head, and La 
 Rapet, who was very devout, got up quickly : " Good 
 heavens, is it possible? I will go and fetch the
 
 318 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 cure;" and she rushed off to the parsonage s$ 
 quickly that the urchins in the street thought som& 
 accident had happened, when they saw her running. 
 
 The priest came immediately in his surplice, pre- 
 ceded by a choir-boy who rang a bell to announce 
 the passage of the Host through the parched and 
 quiet country. Some men who were working at a 
 distance took off their large hats and remained mo- 
 tionless until the white vestment had disappeared 
 behind some farm buildings ; the women who were 
 making up the sheaves stood up to make the sign 
 of the cross; the frightened black hens ran away 
 along the ditch until they reached a well-known 
 hole, through which they suddenly disappeared, 
 while a colt which was tied in a meadow took 
 fright at the sight of the surplice and began to gal- 
 lop around and around, kicking out every now and 
 then. The acolyte, in his red cassock, walked 
 quickly, and the priest, with his head inclined 
 toward one shoulder and his square biretta on his 
 head, followed him, muttering some prayers ; while 
 last of all came La Rapet, bent almost double as if 
 she wished to prostrate herself, walking with folded 
 hands as they do in church. 
 
 Honore saw them pass in the distance, and he 
 asked: "Where is our priest going?" His man, 
 who was more intelligent, replied: "He is taking 
 the sacrament to your mother, of course!" 
 
 The peasant was not surprised, and said: "That 
 may be," and went on with his work.
 
 THE DEVIL'S VISIT 319 
 
 Mother Bontemps confessed, received absolution 
 and communion, and the priest took his departure, 
 leaving the two women alone in the suffocating 
 room, while La Rapet began to look at the dying 
 woman, and to ask herself whether she could last 
 much longer. 
 
 The day was on the wane, and gusts of cooler 
 air began to blow, causing a picture of Epinal, which 
 was fastened to the wall by two pins, to flap up and 
 down; the scanty window curtains, which had for- 
 merly been white, but were now yellow and covered 
 with fly-specks, looked as if they were going to fly 
 off, as if they were struggling to get away, like the 
 old woman's soul. 
 
 Lying motionless, with her eyes open, she seemed 
 to await with indifference that death which was so 
 near and which yet delayed its coming. Her short 
 breath whistled in her constricted throat. It would 
 stop altogether soon, and there would be one 
 woman less in the world ; no one would regret her. 
 
 At nightfall Honore returned, and when he went 
 up to the bed and saw that his mother was still 
 alive, he asked: "How is she?" just as he had 
 done formerly when she had been ailing, and then 
 he sent La Rapet away, saying to her: "To-mor- 
 row morning at five o'clock, without fail." And she 
 replied : "To-morrow, at five o'clock." 
 
 She came at daybreak, and found Honore eating 
 his soup, which he had made himself before going 
 to work, and the nurse asked : "Well, is your mother
 
 320 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 dead?" "She is rather better, on the contrary," he 
 replied, with a sly look out of the corner of his 
 eyes. And he went out. 
 
 La Rapet, seized with anxiety, went up to the 
 dying woman, who remained in the same state, 
 lethargic and impassive, with her eyes open and her 
 hands clutching the counterpane. The nurse per- 
 ceived that this might go on thus for two days# 
 four days, eight days, and her avaricious mind war 
 seized with fear, while she was furious at the slj 
 fellow who had tricked her, and at the woman who 
 would not die. 
 
 Nevertheless, she began to work, and waited, 
 looking intently at the wrinkled face of Mother 
 Bontemps. When Honore returned to breakfast he 
 seemed quite satisfied and even in a bantering 
 humor. He was decidedly getting in his wheat 
 under very favorable circumstances. 
 
 La Rapet was becoming exasperated ; every min- 
 ute now seemed to her so much time and money 
 stolen from her. She felt a mad inclination to take 
 this old woman, this headstrong old fool, this ob- 
 stinate old wretch, and to stop that short, rapid 
 breath, which was robbing her of her time and 
 money, by squeezing her throat a little. But then 
 she reflected on the danger of doing so, and other 
 thoughts came into her head; so she went up to 
 the bed and said : "Have you ever seen the Devil?" 
 Mother Bontemps murmured: "No." 
 
 Then the nurse began to talk and to tell her tales
 
 THE DEVIL'S VISIT 321 
 
 vhich were likely to terrify the weak mind of the 
 <tying woman. Some minutes before one dies the 
 Devil appears, she said, to all who are in the death 
 throes. He has a broom in his hand, a saucepan 
 on his head, and he utters loud cries. When any- 
 body sees him, all is over, and that person has 
 only a few moments longer to live. She then enu- 
 merated all those to whom the Devil had appeared 
 that year: Josephine Loisel, Eulalie Ratier, Sophie 
 Padaknau, Seraphine Grospied. 
 
 Mother Bontemps, who had at last become dis- 
 turbed in mind, moved about, wrung her hands, and 
 tried to turn her head to look toward the end of the 
 room. Suddenly La Rapet disappeared at the foot 
 of the bed. She took a sheet out of the cupboard 
 and wrapped herself up in it; she put the iron 
 saucepan on her head, so that its three short bent 
 feet rose up like horns, and she took a broom in 
 her right hand and a tin pail in her left, which she 
 threw up suddenly, so that it might fall to the 
 ground noisily. 
 
 When it fell, it certainly made a terrible crash. 
 Then, climbing upon a chair, the nurse lifted the 
 curtain that hung at the foot of the bed, and showed 
 herself, gesticulating and uttering shrill cries inside 
 the iron saucepan which covered her face. 
 
 Terrified, with an insane expression on her face, 
 the dying woman made a superhuman effort to rise 
 and escape; she even got her shoulders and chest 
 out of bed; then she fell back with a deep sigh.
 
 322 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 All was over, and La Rapet calmly put everything 
 back into its place; the broom into the corner by 
 the cupboard, the sheet inside it, the saucepan on 
 the hearth, the pail on the floor, and the chair against 
 the wall. Then, with professional movements, she 
 closed the dead woman's large eyes, put a plate on 
 the bed and poured some holy water into it, placing 
 in it the twig of boxwood that had been nailed to 
 the chest of drawers, and kneeling down, she fer- 
 vently repeated the prayers for the dead, which she 
 knew by heart, as a matter of business. 
 
 And when Honore returned in the evening he 
 found her praying, and he calculated immediately 
 that she had made twenty sous out of him, for she 
 had spent only three days and one night there, 
 which made five francs altogether, instead of the 
 six which he owed her.
 
 WAS IT A DREAM? 
 
 Yr*.**,, 1 loved her wildly! Why do we love? 
 Why do we love? How strange it is to see 
 only one being in the world, to have only one 
 thought in the mind, one desire in the heart, and one 
 name on the lips ; a name that conies up continually, 
 rising from the depths of the soul like water from 
 a spring, and which one repeats over and over again, 
 and murmurs incessantly everywhere, like a prayer. 
 
 "I shall not tell you our story. Love is always 
 the same. I met her and loved her ; that is all. For 
 a whole year I lived in her tenderness, her caresses, 
 in her arms, hung on her words and looks, loved 
 her gowns, was so completely wrapped up, bound, 
 imprisoned in everything that pertained to her that 
 I no longer knew whether it was day or night, 
 whether I were dead or alive, on this old earth of 
 ours or elsewhere. 
 
 "Then she died. How? I do not know; I no 
 longer know. But one evening she came home with 
 her clothes wet, for it was raining heavily. The 
 next day she coughed, and she coughed for about a 
 
 323
 
 324 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 week, and took to her bed. What happened I do 
 not remember now; but doctors came, wrote pre- 
 scriptions, and went away. Medicines were brought, 
 and a nurse made her take them. Her hands were 
 feverish, her forehead burned, and her eyes were 
 bright and sad. When I spoke to her she answered, 
 but I do not remember what we said. I have for- 
 gotten everything, everything, everything ! She died, 
 and I remember well her little faint sigh her last. 
 The nurse said: 'Ah!' and I understood, I under- 
 stood ! 
 
 "I knew nothing more, nothing. I saw a priest, 
 who said : 'Your mistress ?' and it seemed to me as 
 if he were insulting her. As she was dead, nobody 
 had the right to know our relationship, and I turned 
 him out. Another came who was very kind and 
 tender, and I wept when he spoke to me about her. 
 
 "They consulted me about the funeral, but I do 
 not remember anything they said, though I dis- 
 tinctly recall the coffin and the strokes of the ham- 
 mer as they nailed her in it. Oh, my God, my God ! 
 
 "She was buried! Buried! She! In that hole! 
 Some persons came women friends. I made my 
 escape, and fan away; I ran, and then I walked, 
 through the streets, and finally went home. The 
 next day I set out on a journey. 
 
 "Yesterday I returned to Paris, and when I saw 
 my room again our room, our bed, our furniture, 
 everything that remains of the life of a human be- 
 ing after death I was seized by such a violent re-
 
 WAS IT A DREAM? 325 
 
 currence of grief that I came very near opening the 
 window and throwing myself into the street. As 
 I could no longer stay among these things, between 
 these walls which had enclosed and sheltered her, 
 and which retained a thousand atoms of her, of her 
 skin and her breath, in their imperceptible crevices, 
 I took up my hat to make my escape, and just as I 
 reached the door I passed the large mirror in the hall, 
 which she had put there so that she could look at 
 herself every day from head to foot as she went out, 
 to see whether her toilet was in order, and was 
 correct and pretty, from her little shoes to her 
 hat. 
 
 "I stopped short in front of that looking-glass 
 in which she had so often been reflected so often 
 that it too must have retained her reflection. I 
 was standing there, trembling, with my eyes fixed on 
 the glass on that flat, deep, empty glass which 
 had contained her entirely, and had possessed her 
 as much as I had, as my passionate looks had. I 
 felt as if I loved that glass. I touched it; it was 
 cold. Oh, the recollection ! Sorrowful mirror, burn- 
 ing mirror, live mirror, horrible mirror, which 
 makes us suffer such torments ! Happy is the man 
 whose heart is like a mirror where images glide 
 and pass away; that forgets all it has contained, 
 reflected, all that have basked in its love and af- 
 fection ! But I how I suffer ! 
 
 "I went out and, without knowing it, without 
 wishing it, walked to the cemetery. I found her
 
 326 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 simple grave, with its white marble cross, bearing 
 these few words : 
 
 " 'She loved, was beloved, and died.' 
 
 "She lay there, beneath the ground, decom- 
 posed ! How horrible ! I sobbed, with my forehead 
 resting on the ground. I remained there a long, 
 long time. Then I saw that it was growing dark, 
 and a strange, mad wish, the desire of a despairing 
 lover, seized me. I wished to pass the night, the 
 last night, in weeping on her grave. But I should 
 be seen and driven out. How was I to manage? 
 I was cunning, so I rose and began to roam about 
 that city of the dead. I walked and walked. How 
 small this city is, in comparison with the other 
 the city in which we live! And yet, how much 
 more numerous are the dead than the living! We 
 require high houses, wide streets, and much room 
 for the four generations who see daylight at the 
 same time, drink water from the spring, wine 
 from the vines, and eat the bread from the fields. 
 
 "And for all the generations of the dead, for all 
 that ladder of humanity that has descended to us, 
 there is hardly anything only a field! The earth 
 takes them back, oblivion effaces them. Farewell! 
 
 "At the end of this cemetery I suddenly, per- 
 ceived the old abandoned portion where the dead 
 have long since blended with the soil, where the 
 crosses themselves decay, where the latest comers 
 will be put to-morrow. It is full of untended roses,
 
 WAS IT A DREAM? 327 
 
 of robust, dark cypress trees, a sad and beautiful 
 garden, nourished on human flesh. 
 
 "I was alone, absolutely alone. I hid in a leafy 
 tree, and concealed myself completely among the 
 thick and somber branches, and waited, clinging 
 to the trunk, as a shipwrecked man clings to a 
 plank. 
 
 "When it was quite dark I left my refuge and 
 began to walk softly, slowly, noiselessly through 
 that ground full of the dead, and I wandered about 
 a long time, but could not find her again. I went on 
 with extended arms, striking against the tombs with 
 my hands, my feet, my knees, my chest, even with 
 my head, without being able to find her. I touched 
 and felt about like a blind man groping his way. I 
 felt the stones, the crosses, the iron railings, the 
 metal wreaths, and the wreaths of faded flowers! 
 I read the names with my fingers, by passing them 
 over the letters. What a night! What a night! 
 I could not find her again ! 
 
 "There was no moon. What a night! I was 
 afraid, horribly afraid in these narrow paths, be- 
 tween two rows of graves. Graves ! graves ! graves ! 
 nothing but graves! On my right, on my left, in 
 front of me, around me, everywhere there were 
 graves! I sat down on one of them, for I could 
 not walk any longer, my knees were so weak. I 
 could hear my heart throb ! And I could hear some- 
 thing else as well. What? A confused, nameless 
 noise. Was the noise in my head, in the impene-
 
 328 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 trable night, or beneath the mysterious earth, the 
 earth sown with human corpses? I looked about 
 me, but I cannot say how long I remained there; I 
 was paralyzed with terror, drunk with fright, ready 
 to cry out, ready to die. 
 
 "Suddenly it seemed to me as if the slab of mar- 
 ble on which I was sitting was moving. Certainly, 
 it was moving, as if it were being raised. With a 
 bound I sprang upon the neighboring tomb, and I 
 saw, yes, I distinctly saw the stone I had just left 
 standing upright, and the dead person appeared, a 
 naked skeleton, pushing the stone with its bent 
 back. I saw it quite clearly, although the night 
 was so dark. On the cross I could read: 
 
 " 'Here lies Jacques Olivant, who died at the age 
 of fifty-one. He loved his family, was kind and 
 honorable, and died in the peace of God' 
 
 "The dead man also read what was inscribed on 
 his tombstone; then he picked up a stone from the 
 path, a little, pointed stone, and began to scrape the 
 letters carefully. He slowly effaced them alto- 
 gether, and with the hollows of his eyes he looked 
 at the places where they had been engraved, and, 
 with the tip of the bone that had been his forefinger 
 he wrote in luminous letters, like those lines which 
 one traces on walls with the tip of a lucif er match : 
 
 " 'Here reposes Jacques Olivant, who died at the 
 age of fifty-one. He hastened his father's death by
 
 WAS IT A DREAM? 329 
 
 hi* unkindness, as he wished to inherit his fortune; 
 he tortured his wife, tormented his children, de- 
 ceived his neighbors, robbed every one he could, 
 and died wretchedly unhappy.' 
 
 "When he had finished writing, the dead man 
 stood motionless, looking at his work, and on turn- 
 ing round I saw that all the graves were open, that 
 all the dead bodies had emerged from them, and 
 that all had effaced the lies inscribed on their grave- 
 stones by their relatives, and had substituted the 
 truth instead. And I saw that all had been the tor- 
 mentors of their neighbors malicious, dishonest, 
 hypocrites, liars, rascals, calumniators, envious ; 
 that they had stolen, deceived, performed every dis- 
 graceful, every abominable action, these good 
 fathers, these faithful wives, these devoted sons, 
 these chaste maidens, these honest tradesmen, these 
 men and women who were called irreproachable. 
 They were all writing at the same time, on the 
 threshold of their eternal abode, the truth, the cruel, 
 terrible, and holy truth of which everyone on earth 
 is ignorant, or pretends to ignore. 
 
 " I thought that she also must have written some- 
 thing on her tombstone, and now, running without 
 any fear among the half -open coffins, among the 
 corpses and skeletons, I went toward her, sure that 
 I should find her immediately. I recognized her at 
 once, without seeing her face, which was covered 
 by the winding-sheet, and on the marble cross, 
 
 Vol. 122
 
 330 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 where shortly before I had read : 'She loved, was 
 beloved, and died,' I now read: 'Having gone out 
 one day, in order to deceive her lover, she caught 
 cold in the rain and died.' 
 
 "I heard that they found me at daybreak lying 
 unconscious on her grave."
 
 SIMON'S PAPA 
 
 THE hour of noon had just struck. The school 
 door of the schoolhouse opened and the 
 children darted out, jostling each other in their 
 haste. But instead of dispersing promptly and go- 
 ing home to dinner as usual, they stopped a few 
 paces away, broke up into groups, and began whis- 
 pering. 
 
 The fact was that that morning Simon, the son 
 of La Blanchotte, had attended school for the first 
 time. 
 
 All the children had heard talk in their families 
 of La Blanchotte; and, although in public she was 
 welcome enough, the mothers among themselves 
 treated her with a somewhat disdainful compassion, 
 which the children had imitated without in the least 
 knowing the reason why. 
 
 As for Simon himself, they did not know him, for 
 he never went out, and did not play with them 
 in the village streets or along the banks of the river. 
 And they did not care for him; so it was with a 
 certain delight, mingled with considerable astonish- 
 
 331
 
 332 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 ment, that they met and repeated to one another 
 what had been said by a lad of fourteen or fifteen, 
 who appeared to know all about it, so wisely did 
 he wink. "You know . . . Simon . . . well, 
 he has no papa." 
 
 La Blanchotte's son suddenly appeared in the 
 doorway of the schoolhouse. 
 
 He was seven or eight years old, rather pale, very 
 neat, with a timid and almost awkward manner. 
 
 He was about to go to his mother's house when 
 the groups of his schoolmates, whispering and 
 watching him with the mischievous and heartless 
 eyes of children bent upon playing a mean trick, 
 gradually closed in around him and ended by sur- 
 rounding him altogether. There he stood among 
 them, surprised and embarrassed, not understanding 
 what they intended to do with him. But the lad 
 who had brought the news, puffed up with the suc- 
 cess he had met with already, demanded : 
 
 "What is your name, you boy?" 
 
 "Simon," he answered. 
 
 "Simon what?" asked the other. 
 
 The child, altogether bewildered, repeated: 
 "Simon." 
 
 The lad shouted at him: "One is named Simon 
 something . . . that is not a name . . .Simon, 
 indeed !" 
 
 The boy, on the brink of tears, replied for the 
 third time: 
 <_"My name is Simon."
 
 SIMON'S PAPA 333 
 
 The other boys began to laugh. The triumphant 
 tormentor cried: "You can see plainly that he has 
 no papa." 
 
 A deep silence followed. The children were dumb- 
 founded by this extraordinary, impossible, mon- 
 strous thing a boy who had not a father; they 
 looked upon him as a phenomenon, an unnatural 
 being, and they felt that hitherto inexplicable con- 
 tempt of their mothers for La Blanchotte growing 
 within them. As for Simon, he had leaned against 
 a tree to avoid falling, and he remained as if pros- 
 trated by an irreparable disaster. He sought to ex- 
 plain, but could think of nothing to say to refute 
 this terrible charge that he had no father. At last 
 he shouted at them quite recklessly: "Yes, I have 
 one." 
 
 "Where is he?" the boy demanded. 
 
 Simon was silent ; he did not know. The children 
 roared, tremendously excited; and those country 
 boys, little more than animals, experienced that 
 cruel craving with prompts the fowls of a farm- 
 yard to destroy one among themselves as soon as it 
 is wounded. Simon suddenly espied a little neigh- 
 bor, the son of a widow, whom he had seen, as he 
 himself was to be seen, always alone with his 
 mother. 
 
 "And neither have you," he said. "Neither have 
 you a papa." 
 
 "Yes," replied the other, "I have one." 
 
 "Where is he?" Simon asked.
 
 334 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "He is dead," declared the lad with superb dig- 
 nity. "He is in the cemetery, is my papa." 
 
 A murmur pf approval rose among the little 
 wretches, as if this fact of possessing a papa dead 
 in a cemetery had caused their comrade to grow big 
 enough to crush the other one who had no papa at 
 all. And these boys, whose fathers were for the 
 most part bad men, drunkards, thieves, and who 
 beat their wives, jostled one another to press closer 
 and closer, as if they, the legitimate ones, would 
 smother by their pressure one who was illegiti- 
 mate. 
 
 The boy who chanced to be next Simon suddenly 
 thrust his tongue out at him with a mocking air and 
 shouted at him: 
 
 "No papa! No papa!" 
 
 Simon seized him by the hair with both hands 
 and tried to disable his legs with kicks, while he 
 bit his cheek ferociously. A tremendous struggle 
 ensued between the two combatants, and Simon 
 found himself beaten, torn, bruised and rolled on 
 the ground in the midst of the ring of applauding 
 schoolboys. As he arose, mechanically brushing 
 with his hand his little blouse all covered with dust, 
 some one shouted: 
 
 "Go and tell your papa." 
 
 Simon felt a great sinking at his heart. They 
 were stronger than he was, they had beaten him, 
 and he had no answer to give them, for he knew 
 well that it was true that he had no father. Full of
 
 SIMON'S PAPA 335 
 
 pride, he attempted for some moments to struggle 
 against the tears that were choking him. He had 
 a feeling of suffocation, and then without any sound 
 he began to weep, with heavy, shaking sobs. A 
 ferocious joy broke out among his enemies, and, 
 with one accord, like savages in their fearful fes- 
 tivals, they took one another by the hand and 
 danced around him in a circle, repeating: 
 
 "No papa! no papa!" 
 
 Suddenly Simon ceased sobbing. He became furi- 
 ous. There were stones under his feet; he picked 
 them up and with all his strength hurled them at 
 his tormentors. Two or three were struck and 
 rushed off yelling, and so formidable did he appear 
 that the rest became panic-stricken. Cowards, as 
 the mob always is in presence of an exasperated 
 man, they broke up and fled. Left alone, the little 
 fellow without a father set off running toward the 
 fields, for a recollection had been awakened in him 
 which determined his soul to a great resolve. He 
 made up his mind to drown himself in the river. 
 
 He remembered, in fact, that a week before a 
 poor beggar had thrown himself into the water be- 
 cause he had no more money. Simon had been 
 there when they fished him out again; and the 
 wretched man, who usually seemed to him so mis- 
 erable and ugly, had then struck him as being envi- 
 ably peaceful with his pale cheeks, his long drenched 
 beard, and his open eyes full of calm. The by- 
 standers had said:
 
 336 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "He is dead." 
 
 Some one added: "He is quite happy now." 
 
 And Simon wished to drown himself, too, be- 
 cause he had no father, like the wretched being who 
 had no money. 
 
 He reached the water and watched it flowing. 
 Some fish were sporting briskly in the clear stream 
 and occasionally made a little bound and caught 
 the flies flying on the surface. He stopped crying 
 in order to watch them, for their maneuvers inter- 
 ested him greatly. But, at intervals, as in a tempest 
 moments of calm alternate suddenly with tremen- 
 dous gusts of wind, which snap off branches and 
 then lose themselves in the horizon, this thought 
 would return to him with intense pain : 
 
 "I want to drown myself because I have no 
 papa." 
 
 The weather was very warm and fine. The pleas- 
 ant sunshine warmed the grass, and the water 
 shone like a mirror. Simon enjoyed some minutes 
 of happiness, of that languor which follows weep- 
 ing, and felt inclined to fall asleep there on the 
 grass in the bright sunshine. 
 
 A little green frog leaped from under his feet. 
 He tried to catch it. It escaped him. He followed 
 it and lost it three times in succession. At last he 
 caught it by one of its hind legs and began to laugh 
 as he saw the efforts the creature made to escape. 
 It gathered itself up on its hind legs and then with 
 a violent spring suddenly stretched them out as stiff
 
 SIMON'S PAPA 337 
 
 as two bars; while it beat the air with its front 
 legs as if they were hands, its round eyes staring 
 in their circle of yellow. It reminded him of a 
 toy made of straight slips of wood nailed zigzag 
 one on the other, which by a similar movement 
 regulated the movements of the little soldiers fast- 
 ened thereon. Then he thought of his home, of 
 his mother, and, overcome by sorrow he again be- 
 gan to weep. A shiver passed over him. He knelt 
 down and said his prayers as before going to bed. 
 But he was unable to finish them, for tumultuous, 
 violent sobs shook his whole frame. He no longer 
 thought, no longer saw anything around him, and 
 was wholly absorbed in grief. 
 
 Suddenly a heavy hand was laid on his shoul- 
 der, and a rough voice asked : 
 
 "What is it that causes you so much grief, my 
 little man?" 
 
 Simon turned. A tall workman with a beard 
 and black curly hair was staring at him good-na- 
 turedly. He answered with his eyes and throat 
 full of tears: 
 
 "They beat me . . . because ... I ... 
 have no ... papa ... no papa." 
 
 "What!" said the man, smiling, "why, every- 
 body has one." 
 
 The child answered amid his spasms of weeping: 
 
 "But I . . . I . . . have none." 
 
 The workman became serious. He had recog- 
 nized La Blanchotte's son, and, although himself
 
 338 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 a new arrivaKn the neighborhood, he had a vague 
 idea of her history. 
 
 "Well," said he, "console yourself, my boy, and 
 come with me home to your mother. They will 
 give you ... a papa." 
 
 And so they started on the way, the big fellow 
 holding the little fellow by the hand, and the man 
 smiled, for he was rather curious to see this Blan- 
 chotte, who was, it was said, one of the prettiest 
 girls of the countryside, and perhaps he was say- 
 ing to himself, at the bottom of his heart, a lass who 
 had erred once might very well err again. 
 
 They arrived in front of a neat little white house. 
 
 "There it is," exclaimed the child, and he cried, 
 "Mamma!" 
 
 A woman appeared, and the workman instantly 
 left off smiling, for he saw at once that no non- 
 sense could be expected with the tall pale girl who 
 stood austerely at her door as if to defend from 
 one man the threshold of that house where she 
 had already been betrayed by another. Intimidated, 
 his cap in his hand, he stammered out: 
 
 "See, Madame, I have brought you back your 
 little boy who had lost himself near the river." 
 
 But Simon flung his arms about his mother's 
 neck and told her, as he again began to cry : 
 
 "No, mamma, I wished to drown myself, because 
 the others had beaten me . . . had beaten me 
 . . . because I have no papa." 
 
 A burning blush covered the young woman's
 
 SIMON'S PAPA 339 
 
 cheeks; and, hurt to the quick, she embraced her 
 child passionately, while the tears ran down her 
 face. The man, much moved, stood there, not 
 knowing how to get away. But Simon suddenly 
 ran to him and said: 
 
 "Will you be my papa?" 
 
 A deep silence ensued. La Blanchotte, dumb, 
 and tortured with shame, leaned against the wall, 
 both her hands pressed to her heart. The child, 
 seeing that no answer was made added firmly: 
 
 "If you will not, I shall go back and drown my- 
 self." 
 
 The workman took the matter as a jest and an- 
 swered, laughing: 
 
 "Oh, yes, certainly I will." 
 
 "What is your name," the child continued, "so 
 that I may tell the others when they wish to know 
 your name?" 
 
 "Philip," answered the man. 
 
 Simon was silent a moment so that he might get 
 the name well into his head ; then he stretched out 
 his arms, quite consoled, as he said : 
 
 "Well, then, Philip, you are my papa." 
 
 The workman, lifting him from the ground, 
 kissed him hastily on both cheeks, and then walked 
 away quickly with great strides. 
 
 When the child returned to school next day he 
 was received with a spiteful laugh, and at the end 
 of school, when the lads were on the point of re- 
 suming their taunts, Simon threw these words at
 
 340 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 their heads as he would have thrown a stone: "He 
 is named Philip, my papa." 
 
 Cries of delight burst out from all sides. 
 
 "Philip who? . . . Philip what? Who is this 
 Philip? Where did you find your Philip?" 
 
 Simon did not answer; and, immovable in his 
 faith, he defied them with his eye, ready to be mar- 
 tyred rather than run before them. The schoolmas- 
 ter came to his rescue and he returned home to his 
 mother. 
 
 During three months, the tall workman, Philip, 
 frequently passed La Blanchotte's house, and some- 
 times he ventured to speak to her when he saw her 
 sewing near the window. She answered him civilly, 
 always sedately, never joking with him, nor permit- 
 ting him to enter her house. Notwithstanding, 
 being, like all men, rather conceited, he imagined 
 that her cheeks were often rosier than usual when 
 she chatted with him. 
 
 But a lost reputation is so difficult to regain and 
 always remains so fragile that, in spite of the cold 
 reserve of La Blanchotte, the women already gos- 
 siped in the neighborhood. 
 
 As for Simon, he loved his new papa very much, 
 and walked with him nearly every evening when 
 the day's work was done. He went regularly to 
 school, and mingled with great dignity with his 
 schoolfellows without ever answering them back. 
 
 One day, however, the lad who had first attacked 
 him said to him :
 
 SIMON'S PAPA 341 
 
 "You have told a lie. You have not a papa 
 named Philip." 
 
 "Why do you say that?" demanded Simon, much 
 disturbed. 
 
 The youth rubbed his hands. 
 
 "Because if you had one he would be your 
 mamma's husband," he replied. 
 
 Simon was confused by the truth of this reason- 
 ing; nevertheless, he retorted: 
 
 "He is my papa, all the same." 
 
 "That may be," exclaimed the urchin with a 
 sneer, "but that is not being your papa altogether." 
 
 La Blanchotte's boy bowed his head and went 
 off dreaming in the direction of the forge belong- 
 ing to old Loizon, where Philip worked. 
 
 This forge seemed fairly buried beneath trees. 
 It was very dark there ; the red glare of a formid- 
 able furnace alone illumined with great flashes five 
 blacksmiths, who hammered upon their anvils with 
 a terrible clamor. They were standing enveloped in 
 flame, like demons, their eyes fixed on the red-hot 
 iron they were pounding; and their dull thoughts 
 rose and fell with their hammers. 
 
 Simon 'entered without being noticed, and went 
 quietly to pluck his friend by the sleeve. Philip 
 turned round. All at once the work came to a 
 standstill, and all the men looked on, very atten- 
 tive. Then, in the midst of this unaccustomed 
 silence, rose the little slender pipe of Simon: 
 
 "Philip, explain to me what the lad at La
 
 342 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Michande has just said to me, that you are not 
 altogether my papa." 
 
 "And why that?" asked the smith. 
 
 The child replied in all innocence: 
 
 "Because you are not my mamma's husband." 
 
 No one laughed. Philip remained standing, lean- 
 ing his forehead upon the back of his great hands, 
 xvhich supported the handle of his hammer standing 
 upright upon the anvil. He mused. His four com- 
 panions watched him, and Simon, a tiny mite among 
 these giants, anxiously waited. Suddenly, one of 
 the smiths, answering to the sentiment of all, said 
 to Philip: 
 
 "La Blanchotte is a good, honest girl, upright 
 and steady in spite of her misfortune, and would 
 make a good wife for an honest man." 
 
 "That is true," remarked the three others. 
 
 The smith continued : 
 
 "Is it the girl's fault if she went wrong? She 
 had been promised marriage; and I know more 
 than one who is much respected to-day, and who 
 sinned quite as much as she." 
 
 "That is true," repeated the three men. 
 
 He resumed: 
 
 "How hard she has toiled, poor thing, to bring 
 up her child all alone, and how she has wept all 
 these years that she never has gone out except to 
 church, God only knows." 
 
 "That is true also," said the others. 
 
 Nothing was heard but the bellows fanning the
 
 SIMON'S PAPA 343 
 
 furnace fire. Philip hastily bent down to Simon: 
 
 "Go and tell your mother that I am coming to 
 speak to her this evening." 
 
 Then he pushed the boy out by the shoulders. 
 He returned to his work, and as with a single blow 
 the five hammers again fell upon their anvils. Thus 
 they wrought the iron until nightfall, strong, pow- 
 erful, happy, like contented hammers. But just as 
 the great bell of the cathedral resounds upon feast 
 days above the jingling of the other bells, so Philip's 
 hammer, sounding above the rest, clanged second 
 after second with a deafening uproar. And he 
 stood amid the flying sparks plying his trade vig- 
 orously. 
 
 The sky was sown with stars as he knocked at La 
 Blanchotte's door. He had on his Sunday blouse, 
 a clean shirt, and his beard was trimmed. The 
 young woman showed herself upon the threshold, 
 and said in a grieved tone: 
 
 "It is not well to come thus after night has fallen, 
 Monsieur Philip." 
 
 He wished to answer, but stammered and stood 
 confused before her. 
 
 She resumed: 
 
 "You understand, do you not, that it will not do 
 for me to be talked about again." 
 
 Then Philip said suddenly: "What does that 
 matter to me, if you will be my wife!" 
 
 No voice replied, but he believed that he heard in 
 the shadow of the room the sound of a falling body.
 
 344 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 He entered quickly; and Simon, who had gone to 
 his bed, distinguished the sound of a kiss and some 
 words that his mother murmured softly. Then, 
 suddenly, he found himself lifted by the hands of 
 his friend, who, holding him at the length of his 
 herculean arms, exclaimed : 
 
 "You will tell them, your schoolmates, that your 
 papa is Philip Remy, the blacksmith, and that he 
 will pull the ears of all who do you any harm." 
 
 The next day, when the school was full and les- 
 sons were about to begin, little Simon stood up, 
 quite pale, with trembling lips: 
 
 "My papa," said he in a clear voice, "is Philip 
 Remy, the blacksmith, and he has promised to pull 
 the ears of all who do me any harm." 
 
 This time no one laughed, for Philip Remy, the 
 blacksmith, was very well known, and was a papa 
 of whom anyone in the w r orld might have been 
 proud.
 
 THE DIAMOND NECKLACE 
 
 THE girl was one of those pretty and attractive 
 young creatures who sometimes are born, 
 as if by an error of destiny, in a family of 
 clerks. She had no dot, no expectations, no way 
 of being known, understood, loved and married, 
 by a rich and distinguished man; so she allowed 
 herself to be married to a humble clerk in the Min- 
 istry of Public Instruction. 
 
 She dressed plainly because she could not dress 
 handsomely, but she was as unhappy as if she had 
 really sunk from a higher station ; since with women 
 there is neither caste nor rank, for beauty, grace, 
 and charm take the place of family and high birth. 
 Natural delicacy, an instinct for what is elegant, 
 suppleness of wit, are the only hierarchy, and they 
 often make from women of the people the equals 
 of the greatest ladies. 
 
 Mathilde suffered continually, feeling that she 
 was born to enjoy all delicacies and all luxuries. 
 She suffered from the poverty of her home, from 
 the barrenness of the walls, the shabby chairs, the 
 
 Vol. 123 345
 
 346 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 ugliness of the curtains. All those things, of which 
 another woman of her rank never would even have 
 been conscious, tortured her and made her angry. 
 The sight of the little Breton peasant-girl who 
 did her humble household tasks aroused in her 
 despairing regrets and distracted dreams. She 
 thought of silent antechambers hung with Oriental 
 tapestry, illumined by tall bronze candelabra, and 
 of two great footmen in knee-breeches who sleep 
 in big armchairs, made drowsy by the heavy warmth 
 of the stove. She thought of long salons hung 
 with ancient silk, of delicate furniture bearing 
 priceless curiosities, and of the coquettish perfumed 
 boudoirs made for little chats at five o'clock with 
 intimate friends, with men famous and sought after, 
 whom all women envy and whose attentions they 
 all desire. 
 
 When she sat down to dinner, before the round 
 table covered with a tablecloth three days used, op- 
 posite her husband, who uncovered the soup-tureen, 
 and declared with a delighted air, "Ah, the good 
 soup ! I don't know anything better than that," she 
 thought of dainty dinners, of shining silverware, 
 of tapestry that peopled the walls with ancient per- 
 sonages and with strange birds flying in the midst 
 of a fairy forest; and she thought of delicious 
 dishes served on marvelous plates, and of the whis- 
 pered gallantries to wnich you listen with a sphinx- 
 like smile, while you are eating the pink flesh of a 
 trout or the wings of a quail.
 
 THE DIAMOND NECKLACE 347 
 
 She had no gowns, no jewels, nothing. And she 
 loved nothing but that ; she felt she was made for 
 that. She would have liked so much to please, to 
 be envied, to be charming, to be sought after. 
 
 She had a friend, a former schoolmate at the 
 convent, who was rich, and whom she did not like 
 to go to see any more, because she suffered so 
 much when she came home. 
 
 But, one evening her husband arrived home with 
 a triumphant air, holding out a large envelope. 
 
 "There," said he, "is something for you." 
 
 She opened the paper quickly, and drew out a 
 printed card, which bore these words : 
 
 "The Minister of Public Instruction and Madame 
 Georges Ramponneau request the honor of M. and Madame 
 Loisel's company at the palace of the Ministry on Mon- 
 day evening, January 18th." 
 
 Instead of being delighted, as her husband had 
 hoped, she threw the invitation on the table with 
 disdain, murmuring: 
 
 "What do you wish me to do with that?" 
 
 "Why, my dear, I thought you would be glad. 
 You never go out, and this is such a fine oppor- 
 tunity. I had great trouble to get it. Every one 
 desires to go ; it is very select, and they are not giv- 
 ing many invitations to clerks. The whole official 
 world will be there." 
 
 She looked at him with an irritated glance, and 
 said impatiently:
 
 348 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "And what do you wish me to put on my back?" 
 
 He had not thought of that; he stammered: 
 
 "Why, the gown you go to the theater in. It 
 looks very well to me." 
 
 He stopped, distracted, seeing that his wife was 
 weeping. Two great tears ran slowly from the cor- 
 ners of her eyes toward the corners of her mouth. 
 
 "What's the matter? What's the matter?" he 
 answered. 
 
 By a violent effort she conquered her grief, and 
 replied, with a calm voice, while she wiped her 
 cheeks : 
 
 "Nothing. Only I have no gown, and, therefore, 
 I can't go to this ball. Give your card to some col- 
 league whose wife is better equipped than I." 
 
 He was in despair. He resumed: 
 
 "Come, let us see, Mathilde. How much would 
 it cost, a suitable gown, which you could use on 
 other occasions something very simple?" 
 
 She reflected several seconds, making her calcu- 
 lations and wondering also what sum she could ask 
 without drawing on herself an immediate refusal 
 and a frightened exclamation from the economical 
 clerk. 
 
 Finally she replied hesitatingly: 
 
 "I don't know exactly, but I think I could man- 
 age it with four hundred francs." 
 
 He grew a little pale, because he was laying aside 
 just that amount to buy a gun and treat himself 
 to a little shooting next summer on the plain of
 
 THE DIAMOND NECKLACE 349 
 
 Nanterre, with several friends who went to shoot 
 larks there of a Sunday. But he said : 
 
 "Very well. I will give you four hundred francs. 
 And try to have a pretty gown." 
 
 The day of the ball drew near, and Madame Loi- 
 sel seemed sad, uneasy, anxious. Her frock was 
 ready, however. Her husband said to her one 
 svening : 
 
 "What is the matter? Come, you have seemed 
 very queer these last three days." 
 
 And she answered : 
 
 "It annoys me not to have a single jewel, not a 
 single stone, nothing to put on. I shall look pover- 
 ty-stricken. I should almost rather not go at all." 
 
 "You might wear natural flowers," said her 
 husband. "They're very stylish at this time of 
 the year. For ten francs you can get two or three 
 magnificent roses." 
 
 She was not convinced. 
 
 "No; there's nothing more humiliating than to 
 look poor among other women who are rich." 
 
 "How stupid you are!" her husband cried. 
 "Go look up your friend Madame Forestier, and 
 ask her to lend you some jewels. You're intimate 
 enough with her to do that." 
 
 She uttered a cry of joy : 
 
 "True! I never thought of it." 
 
 The next day she went to her friend and told of 
 her distress. 
 
 Madame Forestier went to a wardrobe with a
 
 350 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 glass door, took out a large jewel box, brought it 
 back, opened it, and said to Madame Loisel: 
 
 "Choose, my dear." 
 
 She saw first some bracelets ; then a pearl neck- 
 lace, then a Venetian cross of gold and precious 
 stones, of admirable workmanship. She tried on 
 the ornaments before the mirror, hesitated, but 
 could not make up her mind to part with them, to 
 give them back. She kept asking: 
 
 "Haven't you any more?" 
 
 "Why, yes. Look further; I don't know what 
 you like." 
 
 Suddenly she discovered, in a black satin box, a 
 superb diamond necklace, and her heart throbbed 
 with an immoderate desire. Her hands trembled as 
 she took it. She fastened it around her throat, out- 
 side her high-necked waist, and was lost in ecstasy 
 at sight of herself. 
 
 Then she asked, hesitatingly : 
 
 "Will you lend me this, only this?" 
 
 "Why, yes, certainly." 
 
 She threw her arms round her friend's neck, 
 kissed her passionately, then fled with her treasure. 
 
 The night of the ball arrived. Madame Loisel 
 made a great success. She was prettier than any 
 other woman present, elegant, graceful, smiling, 
 and intoxicated with joy. All the men looked at 
 her, asked her name, endeavored to be introduced. 
 All the attaches of the Cabinet wished to wnltz with 
 her. She was remarked by the Minister himself.
 
 THE DIAMOND NECKLACE 351 
 
 She danced with rapture, with passion, made 
 drunk by pleasure, forgetting all, in the triumph of 
 her beauty, in the glory of her success, in a cloud 
 of happiness composed of all this homage, admira- 
 tion, awakened desires, and that sense of triumph 
 which is so sweet to woman's heart. 
 
 She left the ball about four o'clock in the morn- 
 ing. Her husband had been sleeping since mid- 
 night, in a little deserted anteroom, with three other 
 gentlemen whose wives were enjoying the ball. 
 
 He threw over her shoulders the wraps he had 
 brought, the modest wraps of common life, the 
 poverty of which contrasted with the elegance of 
 the ball-dress. She felt this, and wished to escape 
 so as not to be remarked by the other women, who 
 were enveloping themselves in costly furs. 
 Loisel held her back, saying: "Wait a bit. You 
 will take cold outside. I will call a cab." 
 
 But she did not listen to him, and rapidly de- 
 scended the stairs. When they reached the street 
 they could not find a carriage, and began to look 
 for one, shouting after the cabmen passing at a 
 distance. 
 
 They went toward the Seine, in despair, shiver- 
 ing with cold. At last they found on the quay one 
 of those ancient night cabs which, as if they were 
 ashamed to show their shabbiness during the day, 
 are never seen round Paris until after dark. 
 
 It took them to their dwelling in the Rue des 
 Martyrs, and sadly they climbed up homeward. All
 
 352 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 was ended, for her. As to him, he reflected that 
 he must be at the Ministry at ten o'clock that 
 morning. 
 
 She removed her wraps before the glass so as to 
 see herself once more in all her glory. But sud- 
 denly she uttered a cry. She no longer had the 
 necklace round her neck ! 
 
 "What is the matter with you?" demanded her 
 husband, already half undressed. 
 
 She turned madly toward him. 
 
 "I have I have I've lost Madame Forestier's 
 necklace," she cried. 
 
 He stood up, distracted. 
 
 what ! How ? Impossible !" 
 
 They looked among the folds of her skirt, of her 
 cloak, in her pockets, everywhere, but did not 
 find it. 
 
 "You're sure you had it on when you left the 
 ball?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes, I felt it in the vestibule of the palace." 
 
 "But if you had lost it in the street we should 
 have heard it fall. It must be in the cab." 
 
 "Yes, probably. Did you take his number?" 
 
 "No. And you didn't you notice it?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 They looked, thunderstruck, at each other. At 
 last Loisel put on his clothes. 
 
 "I shall go back on foot," said he, "over the 
 whole route, to see whether I can find it." 
 
 He went out. She sat waiting on a chair in her
 
 THE DIAMOND NECKLACE 353 
 
 ball-dress, without strength to go to bed, over- 
 whelmed, without fire, without a thought. 
 
 Her husband returned about seven o'clock. He 
 had found nothing. 
 
 He went to police headquarters, to the newspaper 
 offices, to offer a reward; he went to the cab com- 
 panies everywhere, in fact, whither he was urged 
 by the least spark of hope. 
 
 She waited all day, in the same condition of mad 
 fear before this terrible calamity. 
 
 Loisel returned at night with a hollow, pale face ; 
 he had discovered nothing. 
 
 "You must write to your friend," said he, "that 
 you have broken the clasp of her necklace and that 
 you are having it mended. That will give us time 
 to turn round." 
 
 She wrote at his dictation. 
 
 At the end of a week they had lost all hope. 
 Loisel, who had aged five years, declared: 
 
 "We must consider how to replace the necklace." 
 
 The next day they took the box that had con- 
 tained it, and went to the jeweler whose name was 
 found within. He consulted his books. 
 
 "It was not I, Madame, who sold that necklace; 
 I must simply have furnished the case." 
 
 Then they went from jeweler to jeweler, searcn- 
 ing for a necklace like the other, consulting their 
 memories, both sick with chagrin and anguish. 
 
 They found, in a shop at the Palais Royal, a 
 string of diamonds that seemed to them exactly like
 
 354 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 the one they had lost. It was worth forty thousand 
 francs. They could have it for thirty-six. 
 
 So they begged the jeweler not to sell it for 
 three days yet. And they made a bargain that he 
 should buy it back for thirty-four thousand francs, 
 in case they should find the lost necklace before the 
 end of February. 
 
 Loisel had eighteen thousand francs which his 
 father had left him. He would borrow the rest. 
 
 He did borrow, asking a thousand francs of one, 
 five hundred of another, five louis here, three louis 
 there. He gave notes, entered into ruinous obliga- 
 tions, dealt with usurers and all the race of lenders. 
 He compromised all the rest of his life, risked his 
 signature without even knowing whether he could 
 meet its promise ; and, frightened by the trouble yet 
 to come, by the black misery that was about to fall 
 upon him, by the prospect of all the physical priva- 
 tions and moral tortures that he was to suffer, he 
 went to get the new necklace, laying upon the 
 jeweler's counter thirty-six thousand francs. 
 
 When Madame Loisel took back the necklace, 
 Madame Forestier said to her, with a chilly man- 
 ner: 
 
 "You should have returned it sooner; I might 
 have needed it." 
 
 She did not open the case, as her friend had so 
 much feared. If she had detected the substitution, 
 what would she have thought, what would she have 
 said? Would she not have taken Madame Loisel 
 for a thief?
 
 THE DIAMOND NECKLACE 355 
 
 Thereafter Madame Loisel knew the horrible ex- 
 istence of the needy. She bore her part, however, 
 with sudden heroism. That dreadful debt must be 
 paid. She would pay it. They dismissed their 
 servant ; they changed their lodgings ; they rented a 
 garret. 
 
 She came to know what heavy housework meant 
 and the odious cares of the kitchen. She washed 
 the dishes, using her dainty fingers and rosy nails 
 on greasy pots and pans. She washed the soiled 
 linen, the shirts, and the dishcloths, which she dried 
 upon a line; she carried the slops down to the 
 street every morning, and carried up the water, 
 stopping for breath at every landing. And, dressed 
 like a woman of the people, she went to the fruit- 
 erer, the grocer, the butcher, a basket on her arm, 
 bargaining, insulted, defending her pitiful money 
 sou by sou. 
 
 Every month they had to meet some notes, renew 
 others, obtain more time. 
 
 Her husband worked evenings, making a fair 
 copy of some tradesman's accounts, and late at 
 night he often copied manuscript for five sous a 
 page. 
 
 This life lasted ten years. 
 
 At the end of ten years they had paid every- 
 thing, everything, with the rates of usury and the 
 accumulations of compound interest. 
 
 Madame Loisel looked old now. She had be- 
 come the woman of impoverished households
 
 356 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 strong and hard and rough. With frowsy hair, 
 skirts askew, and red hands, she talked loud while 
 washing a floor with great swishes of water. But 
 sometimes, when her husband was at the office, she 
 sat down near the window, and she thought of that 
 gay evening of long ago, of that ball where she 
 had been so beautiful and so admired. 
 
 What would have happened if she had not lost 
 that necklace? Who knows? How strange and 
 changeful is life! How little a thing is needed 
 for us to be lost or saved ! 
 
 But, one Sunday, having gone to take a walk in 
 the Champs Elysees to refresh herself from the 
 labors of the week, she suddenly perceived a 
 woman who was leading a child. It was Madame 
 Forestier, still young, still beautiful, still charming. 
 
 Madame Loisel felt moved. Should she speak 
 to her? Yes, certainly. And now that she had 
 paid, she would tell her all about it. Why not? 
 
 She went up. 
 
 "Good day, Jeanne." 
 
 The other, astonished to be familiarly addressed 
 by this plain good-wife, did not recognize her at 
 all, and stammered: 
 
 "But Madame ! I do not know You must 
 
 have mistaken." 
 
 "No. I am Mathilde Loisel." 
 
 Her friend uttered a cry. 
 
 "Oh, my poor Mathilde! How you are 
 changed !"
 
 THE DIAMOND NECKLACE 357 
 
 "Yes, I have had days hard enough, since I have 
 seen you, days wretched enough and that because 
 of you !" 
 
 "Of me! How so?" 
 
 "Do you remember that diamond necklace you 
 loaned me to wear at the ministerial ball?" 
 
 "Yes. Well?" 
 
 "Well, I lost it." 
 
 "What do you mean? You brought it back." 
 
 "I brought you back another exactly like it. 
 And for this we have been ten years paying. You 
 can understand that it was not easy for us, us 
 who had nothing. At last it is ended, and I am 
 glad." 
 
 Madame Forestier had stopped. 
 
 "You say that you bought a necklace of dia- 
 monds to replace mine?" 
 
 "Yes. You never noticed it, then! They were 
 very like." 
 
 And she smiled with a joy that was at once proud 
 and naive. 
 
 Madame Forestier, deeply moved, took her 
 hands. 
 
 " Oh, my poor Mathilde ! Why, my necklace was 
 paste! It was worth at most only five hundred 
 francs!"
 
 DUCHOUX 
 
 BARON DE MORDIANE kept his fur coat un- 
 buttoned when he descended the wide stair- 
 case of the club, which was over-heated by a 
 stove, and when he reached the street a shiver 
 ran over him, one of those that come when the sys- 
 tem is depressed. For he had lost money and his 
 digestion had troubled him for some time, so that 
 he could not eat what he enjoyed. 
 
 He returned to his own residence; and suddenly 
 the thought of his great, empty apartment, of his 
 footman asleep in the ante-chamber, of the dres- 
 sing-room in which the water was kept warm for 
 his evening toilet on a gas stove, and the large, an- 
 tique, solemn-looking bed like a mortuary couch, 
 caused another chill to penetrate his whole being. 
 
 For some years past he had felt that load of 
 solitude which sometimes crushes old bachelors. 
 Formerly, he had been strong, lively, and gay, giv- 
 ing his days to sport and his nights to festive 
 gatherings. Now, he had grown dull, and no 
 longer took pleasure in anything. Exercise fa- 
 
 358
 
 DUCHOUX 359 
 
 tigued him; suppers and even dinners made him 
 ill; women annoyed him as much as they had for- 
 merly amused him. 
 
 The monotony of evenings all alike, of always 
 meeting the same friends in the same place, at the 
 club, of the same game with a good hand and a run 
 of luck, of the same talk on the same topics, of the 
 same witty remarks by the same lips, of the same 
 jokes on the same themes, of the same scandals 
 about the same women, disgusted him and made 
 him feel at times a strong inclination to commit 
 suicide. He could not lead this regular, inane life, 
 commonplace, frivolous and dull, and he felt a 
 longing for something tranquil, restful, comfortable, 
 without knowing what. 
 
 He certainly did not think of marrying, for he 
 feared he had not sufficient fortitude to submit 
 to that melancholy conjugal servitude, to that hate- 
 ful existence of two beings who, always together, 
 know each other so well that one cannot utter a 
 word which the other would not anticipate, could 
 not make a single movement which would not be 
 foreseen, could not have any thought, desire, or 
 opinion that would not be divined. He considered 
 that a woman was interesting only when you knew 
 her but slightly, when there is something mysteri- 
 ous and unexplored about her, when she remains 
 an enigma, hidden behind a veil. What he would 
 desire would be a family without family life, 
 wherein he might spend only a portion of his exist-
 
 360 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 ence. But he was also haunted by the recollection 
 of his son. 
 
 For the past year, he had been constantly think- 
 ing of this, feeling an irritating desire springing up 
 within him. He had become the father of this child 
 while still a young man, in the midst of dramatic 
 and touching incidents. The boy, sent to the South, 
 had been brought up near Marseilles without ever 
 hearing his father's name. 
 
 He had at first paid for the child from month 
 to month, for his nurture, education, and the ex- 
 pense of holidays, and finally had provided an al- 
 lowance for him on his making a sensible match. 
 A discreet notary had acted as intermediary, with- 
 out ever disclosing anything. 
 
 The Baron de Mordiane accordingly knew merely 
 that a child of his was living somewhere in the 
 neighborhood of Marseilles, that he was looked 
 upon as intelligent and well-educated, and that he 
 had married the daughter of an architect and con- 
 tractor to whose business he had succeeded. He 
 was also believed to be wealthy. 
 
 Why should he not go and see this unknown son 
 without telling his name, in order to form an opin- 
 ion about him, and to assure himself whether, in 
 case of necessity, he might find an agreeable refuge 
 in this family. 
 
 He had acted handsomely toward the young man, 
 had settled a good fortune on him, which had been 
 thankfully accepted. He was, therefore, certain
 
 DUCHOUX 361 
 
 that he would not find himself clashing against any 
 inordinate sense of self-importance; and this de- 
 sire of setting out for the South, which was renewed 
 each day, acted like a kind of irritant. A strange, 
 selfish feeling of affection also attracted him as he 
 pictured this pleasant, warm abode by the seaside, 
 where he would meet his young and pretty daugh- 
 ter-in-law, his grandchildren with outstretched 
 arms, and his son, who would recall to his memory 
 the charming and short-lived adventure of bygone 
 years. He regretted only having given so much 
 money, and that this money had prospered in the 
 young man's hands, thus preventing him from any 
 longer presenting himself in the character of a 
 benefactor. 
 
 He hurried along with the collar of his fur coat 
 turned up, his mind full of all these thoughts. Sud- 
 denly he made up his mind. A cab was passing ; he 
 hailed it, drove home, and, when his valet, just 
 roused from a nap, had opened the door, he said : 
 
 "Louis, we set out to-morrow evening for Mar- 
 seilles. We shall remain there perhaps a fortnight. 
 You will make all the necessary preparations." 
 
 The train rushed on past the Rhone with its 
 sand-banks, then through yellow plains, bright vil- 
 lages, and a wide expanse of country, shut in by 
 bare mountains, which rose on the distant horizon. 
 
 The Baron de Mordiane, after a night spent in 
 a sleeping compartment, looked at himself, in a 
 melancholy fashion, in the little mirror of his dress- 
 
 Vol. 124
 
 362 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 ing-case. The glaring sun of the South showed 
 him some wrinkles which he had not observed 
 before a condition of decrepitude unnoticed in 
 the imperfect light of Parisian rooms. He thought, 
 as he examined the corners of his eyes, and saw 
 the wrinkled lids, the temples, the skinny forehead : 
 
 "Damn it! not merely is the gloss taken off 
 I've become quite a regular fossil." 
 
 And his desire for rest suddenly increased, with 
 a vague yearning, born in him for the first time, to 
 take his grandchildren on his knees. 
 
 About one o'clock in the afternoon the Baron 
 arrived in a landau, which he had hired at Mar- 
 seilles, at the gate of one of those houses of South- 
 ern France so dazzlingly white, at the end of their 
 avenues of plane-trees, that they almost blind one 
 at first. He smiled as he pursued his way along the 
 avenue leading to the house, and reflected: 
 
 "Deuce take it! this is a nice place." 
 
 Suddenly, a young rogue of five or six darted out 
 of the shrubbery, and remained standing at the side 
 of the path, staring at the gentleman. 
 
 Mordiane went over to him. 
 
 "Good morning, my boy." 
 
 The child made no reply. 
 
 The Baron, stooping, took him up in his arms to 
 kiss him, but the smell of garlic with which the 
 child seemed impregnated almost suffocated him, 
 and he quickly put him down again, muttering: 
 
 "Oh! it is the gardener's son."
 
 DUCHOUX 363 
 
 And he proceeded toward the house. 
 
 The linen was hanging out on a line before the 
 door shirts and chemises, napkins, dish-cloths, 
 aprons, and sheets, while a row of socks, hanging 
 from strings one above the other, filled up an entire 
 window, like sausages exposed for sale in front of 
 a pork-butcher's shop. 
 
 The Baron announced his arrival. A servant- 
 girl apeared, a true servant of the South, dirty 
 and untidy, with her hair hanging in wisps over her 
 face, while her petticoat, under the accumulation of 
 stains that had soiled it, retained only a certain 
 uncouth remnant of its former color, and might 
 have done for the particolored suit of a clown. 
 
 He asked : 
 
 "Is Monsieur Duchoux at home?" 
 
 Many years ago, in the mocking spirit of a cyni- 
 cal man of pleasure, he had given this name to the 
 foundling in order that it might not be forgotten 
 that he had been picked up under a cabbage. 
 
 The servant-girl asked: 
 
 "Do you want Monsieur Duchoux?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, he is in the big room, drawing some 
 plans." 
 
 "Tell him that Monsieur Merlin wishes to speak 
 to him." 
 
 She replied, in amazement: 
 
 "Hey! go inside then, if you want to see him." 
 
 And she bawled out:
 
 364 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "Mo'sieur Duchoux a caller." 
 
 The Baron entered, and in a spacious apartment, 
 darkened by the windows being half-closed, he in- 
 distinctly traced out persons and things that ap- 
 peared to him very slovenly. 
 
 Standing in front of a table laden with articles 
 of every sort, a little bald man was tracing lines on 
 a large sheet of paper. 
 
 He interrupted his work, and advanced two steps. 
 His waistcoat left open, his unbuttoned breeches, 
 and his turned-up shirt-sleeves, indicated that he 
 felt hot, and his muddy shoes showed that it had 
 been raining hard for some days. He asked with 
 a very broad Southern accent: 
 
 "Whom have I the honor of ?" 
 
 "Monsieur Merlin; I came to consult you about 
 the purchase of a building-lot." 
 
 "Ha! ha! that is good." 
 
 And Duchoux, turning toward his wife, who was 
 knitting in the shade, said : 
 
 "Clear off a chair, Josephine." 
 
 Mordiane then saw a young woman, who ap- 
 peared prematurely old, as women look old at 
 twenty-five in the provinces, for want of attention 
 to their persons, of regular baths, and all the little 
 cares bestowed on the feminine toilet that freshen 
 and preserve, till the age of fifty, the charm and 
 beauty of the sex. With a kerchief over her shoul- 
 ders, her hair clumsily braided though it was 
 lovely hair, thick and black, one could see that it
 
 DUCHOUX 365 
 
 was badly brushed she stretched out hands like 
 those of a servant, and removed an infant's robe, 
 a knife, a fag-end of packthread, an empty flower- 
 pot, and a greasy plate left on the seat of a chair, 
 which she then moved over toward the visitor. 
 
 He sat down, and presently noticed that 
 Duchoux's work-table had on it, in addition to the 
 books and papers, two lettuces recently gathered, a 
 wash-basin, a hair-brush, a napkin, a revolver, and 
 cups that had not been washed. 
 
 The architect perceived this look, and said with a 
 smile: 
 
 "Excuse us! The room is rather untidy owing 
 to the children." 
 
 And he drew over his chair in order to chat with 
 his client. 
 
 "So you are looking out for a piece of ground 
 in the neighborhood of Marseilles ?" 
 
 His breath carried toward the Baron that odor- 
 of garlic which the people of the South exhale as 
 flowers shed their perfume. 
 
 Mordiane asked: 
 
 "Is it your son that I met under the plane- 
 trees?" 
 
 "Yes. Yes, the second." 
 
 "You have two of them?" 
 
 "Three, Monsieur, one a year." 
 
 And Duchoux looked full of pride. 
 
 The Baron was thinking to himself : 
 
 "If they all have the same perfume, their nursery
 
 366 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 must be a real conservatory." Then he continued: 
 
 "Yes, I should like a nice piece of ground near 
 the sea, on a little solitary strip of beach " 
 
 Thereupon Duchoux proceeded to explain. He 
 had ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred, or more, pieces of 
 ground of the kind required, at different prices and 
 suited to different tastes. He talked as a fountain 
 flows, smiling, self-satisfied, wagging his bald 
 round head. 
 
 And Mordiane was reminded of a little woman, 
 fair-haired, slight, with a somewhat melancholy 
 look, and a tender fashion of murmuring, "My dar- 
 ling," the mere remembrance of which stirred the 
 blood in his veins. She had loved him passion- 
 ately, madly, for three months ; then, becoming en- 
 ceinte in the absence of her husband, who was gov- 
 ernor of a colony, she had run away and concealed 
 herself, distracted with despair and terror, till the 
 birth of the child, which Mordiane carried off one 
 summer evening, and which they had not seen after- 
 ward. 
 
 She died of consumption three years later, in the 
 colony of which her husband was governor, whither 
 she had gone to join him. And here before him 
 was their son, who was saying, in metallic tones, 
 as he rang out his closing words : 
 
 "This piece of ground, Monsieur, is a rare bar- 
 gain " 
 
 And Mordiane recalled the other voice, light as 
 the touch of a gentle b*eze, as it used to murmur :
 
 DUCHOUX 367 
 
 My darling, we shall never part- 
 
 And he remembered the soft, deep, devoted glance 
 in those blue eyes, as he watched the round, vacant 
 eyes, though also blue, of this ridiculous little man, 
 who, in spite of all, bore a resemblance to his 
 mother. 
 
 Yes, he looked more like her every moment 
 like her in accent, in movement, in his entire de- 
 portment. He resembled her, but as an ape resem- 
 bles a man. Still he was hers ; he displayed a thou- 
 sand external characteristics peculiar to her, though 
 in a distorted, irritating, and revolting form. 
 
 The Baron was galled, haunted as he was all of a 
 sudden by this resemblance, horrible, each instant 
 growing stronger, exasperating, maddening, tortur- 
 ing him like a nightmare, like a weight of remorse. 
 
 He stammered out: 
 
 "When can we look at this piece of ground to- 
 gether?" 
 
 "Why, to-morrow, if you like." 
 
 "Well, yes, to-morrow. At what hour?" 
 
 "One o'clock." 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 The child he had met in the avenue appeared be- 
 fore the open door, exclaiming: 
 
 "Dada!" 
 
 There was no answer. 
 
 Mordiane had risen with a longing to run away, 
 which made his legs tremble. This "dada" had hit 
 him like a bullet. It was to him that it was ad-
 
 368 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 dressed, it was intended for him, this "dada," smell- 
 ing of garlic, this "dada" of the South! 
 
 Oh ! how sweet had been the perfume exhaled by 
 her, his sweetheart of bygone days ! 
 
 Duchoux saw him to the door. 
 
 "This house is your own?" said the Baron. 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur; I bought it recently. And I am 
 proud of it. I am a child of accident, Monsieur, 
 and I don't care to hide it. I am proud of it. I 
 owe nothing to any one; I am the son of my own 
 efforts; I owe everything to myself." 
 
 The little boy, who remained on the threshold 
 kept on exclaiming, though at some distance: 
 
 "Dada!" 
 
 Mordiane, shaking as with a chill, seized with 
 panic, fled as one flees from a great danger. 
 
 "He is about to guess who I am, to recognize 
 me," he thought. "He is about to take me in his 
 arms, and call out to me 'dada' while giving me a 
 kiss perfumed with garlic." 
 
 "To-morrow, Monsieur." 
 
 "To-morrow, at one o'clock." 
 
 The landau rolled over the white road. 
 
 "Coachman! to the railway-station!" 
 
 And he heard two voices, one far-away and 
 sweet, the faint, sad voice of the dead, saying: 
 "My darling," and the other sonorous, sing-song, 
 frightful, bawling out, "Dada," just as people bawl 
 out "Stop him!" when a thief is flying through 
 the street.
 
 DUCHOUX 369 
 
 Next evening as he entered the club, the Count 
 d'Etreillis said to him : 
 
 "We have not seen you for the last three days. 
 Have you been ill?" 
 
 "Yes, a little indisposed. I get these headaches 
 from time to time."
 
 TIMBUCTOO 
 
 THAT river of humanity, the boulevard, was 
 alive with people in the golden light of the 
 setting sun. The sky was red, blinding; and 
 behind the Madeleine a great bank of flaming clouds 
 cast a shower of light the whole length of the 
 boulevard, vibrant as the heat from a brazier. 
 
 The gay, animated crowd went by in this golden 
 mist, and appeared to be glorified. Their faces were 
 gilded, their black hats and clothes took on purple 
 tints, the patent leather on their shoes cast bright 
 reflections on the asphalt of the sidewalk. 
 
 Before the cafes a mass of men were drinking 
 opalescent liquids that looked like precious stones 
 dissolved in the glasses. 
 
 In the midst of them two officers in uniform 
 dazzled all eyes with their glittering gold lace. They 
 chatted, happy without asking why, in this glory 
 of life, in this radiant light of sunset, and they 
 looked at the crowd, the leisurely men and the 
 hurrying women, who left a bewildering odor of 
 perfume as they passed by. 
 
 All at once an enormous negro, dressed in black, 
 
 370
 
 TIMBUCTOO 371 
 
 with a paunch beneath his jean waistcoat, which 
 was covered with charms, his face shining as if it 
 had been polished, passed before them with a tri- 
 umphant air. He laughed at the passers-by, at the 
 news vendors, at the dazzling sky, at all Paris. 
 He was so tall that he overtopped every one else, 
 and when he had passed all the loungers turned 
 round to look at his back. 
 
 But he suddenly perceived the officers, and darted 
 toward them, jostling the drinkers in his path. As 
 soon as he reached their table he fixed his delighted 
 eyes upon them, and his mouth expanded to his 
 ears, showing his dazzling white teeth like a crescent 
 moon in a black sky. The two men looked in aston- 
 ishment at this ebony giant, unable to understand 
 his delight. 
 
 With a voice that made the guests laugh, he said : 
 
 "Good day, my Lieutenant." 
 
 One of the officers was commander of a battalion, 
 the other was a colonel. The former said : 
 
 " I do not know you, sir ; I am at a loss to know 
 what you want of me." 
 
 "We like you much, Lieutenant VeMie, siege of 
 Bezi, much grapes, find me." 
 
 The officer, bewildered, looked at the man in- 
 tently, trying to refresh his memory; then he ex- 
 claimed abruptly: 
 
 "Timbuctoo?" 
 
 The negro, radiant, slapped his thigh as he ut- 
 tered a tremendous laugh and roared :
 
 372 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "Yes, yes, my Lieutenant, you remember Tim- 
 buctoo ! Ya, how do you do ?" 
 
 The commandant held out his hand, laughing 
 heartily. Then Timbuctoo became serious, seized 
 the officer's hand, and, before the other could pre- 
 vent it, he kissed it, according to negro and Arab 
 custom. The officer, embarrassed, said in a severe 
 tone: 
 
 "Come, now, Timbuctoo, we are not in Africa. 
 Sit down there and tell me how it is that I find 
 you here." 
 
 Timbuctoo swelled himself out and, his words 
 falling over one another, replied hurriedly : 
 
 "I make much money, much, big restaurant, good 
 food, Prussians, me much steal, much, French cook- 
 ing, Timbuctoo, cook to the Emperor, two thousand 
 francs mine. Ha! ha! ha!" 
 
 And he laughed, doubling himself up, roaring, 
 with wild delight in his glances. 
 
 When the officer, who understood his manner of 
 expressing himself, had questioned him, he said: 
 
 "Well, au revoir, Timbuctoo. I will see you 
 again." 
 
 The negro rose, this time shaking the hand that 
 was extended to him, and, smiling still, said: 
 
 "Good day, my Lieutenant!" 
 
 He went off, so happy that he gesticulated as he 
 walked, and people thought he was crazy. 
 
 "Who is that brute?" asked the Colonel. 
 
 "A fine fellow and a brave soldier. I will eeH
 
 TIMBUCTOO 373 
 
 you what I know about him. It is funny enough. 
 "You know that at the beginning of the war of 
 1870 I was shut up in Bezieres, which this negro 
 called Bezi. We were not besieged, but blockaded. 
 The Prussian lines surrounded us, outside the reach 
 :>f cannon, not firing on us, but slowly starving us 
 
 DUt. 
 
 "I was then lieutenant. Our garrison consisted 
 of all descriptions of soldiers, fragments of slaugh- 
 tered regiments, some that had run away, and free- 
 booters separated from the main army. We had all 
 kinds in fact, even eleven Turcos (Algerian sol- 
 diers in the service of France), who arrived one 
 evening no one knew whence or how. They ap- 
 peared at the gates of the city, exhausted, in rags, 
 starving and dirty, and were handed over to me. 
 
 "I saw very soon that they were quite undisci- 
 plined, always in the street, and always drunk. I 
 tried putting them in the guard-house, even in 
 prison, but nothing was of any use. They would 
 disappear, sometimes for days at a time, as if they 
 had been swallowed up by the earth, and then come 
 back beastly drunk. They had no money. Where 
 did they buy drink? And how, and with what? 
 
 "This began to worry me greatly, all the more as 
 these savages interested me with their everlasting 
 laugh and the characteristics of overgrown, frolic- 
 some children. 
 
 "I then noticed that they implicitly obeyed the 
 largest among them, the one you have just seen.
 
 374 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 He made them do as he pleased, and planned their 
 mysterious expeditions with the undisputed author- 
 ity of a leader. I sent for him and questioned him. 
 Our conversation lasted three hours, for it was 
 hard for me to understand his remarkable gibberish. 
 As for him, poor devil, he made strenuous efforts 
 to render himself intelligible, invented words, ges- 
 ticulated, perspired in his anxiety, mopping his 
 forehead, puffing, stopping, and abruptly beginning 
 again when he thought he had formed some new 
 method of explaining what he wanted to say. 
 
 "I understood, finally, that he was the son of a 
 big chief, a sort of negro king of the region around 
 Timbuctoo. I asked his name. He repeated some- 
 thing like Chavaharibouhalikranapotapolara. It 
 seemed simpler to me to give him the name of his 
 native place, Timbuctoo. And a week later he was 
 known by no other name in the garrison. 
 
 "But we were all wildly anxious to find out 
 where this African ex-prince procured his drinks. 
 I discovered it in a singular way. 
 
 "I was on the ramparts one morning, watching 
 the horizon, when I perceived something moving 
 about in a vineyard. It was near the time of 
 vintage, the grapes were ripe, but I was not think- 
 ing of that. I though a spy was approaching the 
 town, and I organized a complete expedition to 
 catch the prowler. I took command myself, after 
 obtaining permission from the general. 
 
 "I sent out by three different gates three little
 
 TIMBUCTOO 375 
 
 companies, which were to meet at the suspected 
 vineyard and form a cordon round it. To cut off 
 the spy's retreat, one of these detachments had to 
 make at least an hour's march. A watch on the 
 walls signaled to me that the person I had seen 
 had not left the place. We went along in profound 
 silence, creeping along the paths. At last we 
 reached the spot assigned. 
 
 "I abruptly disbanded my soldiers, who darted 
 into the vineyard, and found Timbuctoo, on hands 
 and knees, traveling round among the vines and 
 eating grapes, or, rather, devouring them as a dog 
 eats his sop, snatching them in mouthfuls from the 
 vine with his teeth. 
 
 "I wanted him to get up, but he could not think 
 of it. I then understood why he was crawling on 
 his hands and knees. As soon as we stood him on 
 his feet he began to wabble, then stretched out his 
 arms and fell down on his nose. He was more 
 drunk than I have ever seen any one. 
 
 "They brought him home on two poles. He 
 never stopped laughing all the way back, gesticulat- 
 ing with his arms and legs. 
 
 "This explained the mystery. My men also 
 drank the juice of the grapes, and when they were 
 thoroughly intoxicated they went to sleep in the 
 vineyard. As for Timbuctoo, his love of the vine- 
 yard was beyond all belief and all bounds. He 
 lived in it as did the thrushes, which he hated with 
 the jealous hatred of a rival. He assured me:
 
 376 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 " The thrushes eat all the grapes, Captain !' 
 
 "One evening I was sent for. Something had 
 been seen on the plain coming in our direction. I 
 had not brought my field-glass, and I could not dis- 
 tinguish things clearly. It looked like a great ser- 
 pent uncoiling itself a convoy, how could I tell ? 
 
 "I sent some men to meet this strange caravan, 
 which presently made its triumphal entry. Timbuc- 
 too and nine comrades were carrying, on a sort 
 of altar made of camp stools, eight grinning and 
 bleeding heads. The African was dragging along a 
 horse to whose tail another head was fastened, and 
 six other animals followed, adorned in the same 
 manner. 
 
 "This is what I learned. Having set out for the 
 vineyard, my Africans had suddenly perceived a 
 detachment of Prussians approaching a village. In- 
 stead of taking to their heels they hid themselves, 
 and as soon as the Prussian officers dismounted at 
 an inn to refresh themselves, the ten rascals rushed 
 on them, put to flight the lancers, who thought they 
 were being attacked by the main army, and killed 
 the two sentries, then the Colonel and the five 
 officers of his escort. 
 
 "That day I kissed Timbuctoo. I saw, however, 
 that he walked with difficulty, and I thought he wa's 
 wounded. He laughed and said : 
 
 " 'Me, provisions for my country.' 
 
 "Timbuctoo was not fighting for glory, but for 
 gain. Everything he found that seemed to him to 
 be of the slightest value, especially anything that
 
 TIMBUCTOO 377 
 
 glistened, he put into his pocket. What a pocket! 
 An abyss that began at his hips and reached to his 
 ankles. He had retained an old term used by the 
 troopers, and called it his profonde, and it was his 
 profonde, in fact! 
 
 "He had taken the gold lace off the Prussian 
 uniforms, the brass off their helmets, detached their 
 buttons, and thrown them all into his profonde, 
 which was full to overflowing. 
 
 "Each day he pocketed every glistening object 
 that he saw: pieces of tin or pieces of silver, and 
 sometimes his contour was very comical. 
 
 "He intended to carry all that back to the land 
 of ostriches, whose brother he might have been, this 
 son of a king, tormented with the longing to gobble 
 up all objects that glistened. If he had not had his 
 profonde, what would he have done? Doubtless he 
 would have swallowed them. 
 
 "Every morning his pocket was empty. He had, 
 then, some general store where his riches were 
 hidden. But where? I could not discover it. 
 
 "The General, on being informed of Timbuctoo's 
 mighty act of valor, had the headless bodies that 
 had been left in the neighboring village interred at 
 once, that it might not be discovered that they were 
 decapitated. The Prussians returned thither the 
 following day. The Mayor and seven prominent 
 inhabitants were shot on the spot, by way of re- 
 prisal, as having denounced the Prussians. 
 
 "Winter arrived. We were exhausted and des- 
 
 Vol. 125
 
 378 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 perate. There were skirmishes every day. The 
 famished men could no longer march. The eight 
 'Turcos' alone (three had been killed) remained 
 fat, shiny, vigorous, and always ready to fight. 
 Timbuctoo was even getting fatter. He said to me 
 one day: 
 
 " 'You much hungry, me good meat.' 
 "And he brought me an excellent filet. But of 
 what? We had no more cattle, nor sheep, nor 
 goats, nor donkeys, nor pigs. It was impossible to 
 find a horse. I thought of all this after I had de- 
 voured my meat. Then a horrible idea came to me. 
 These negroes were born close to a country where 
 human beings are eaten! And each day a number 
 of soldiers were killed around the town. I ques- 
 tioned Timbuctoo. He would not answer. I did 
 not insist, but from that time I declined his presents. 
 "He worshiped me. One night snow took us 
 by surprise at the outposts. We were seated on the 
 ground. I looked with pity at those poor negroes, 
 shivering beneath the white, frozen shower. I was 
 very cold and began to cough. At once I felt some- 
 thing fall on me, like a large warm quilt. It was 
 Timbuctoo's cape, which he had thrown over my 
 shoulders. 
 
 "I rose and returned his garment, saying: 
 " 'Keep it, my boy ; you need it more than I.' 
 " 'No, my Lieutenant, for you ; me no need, me 
 hot, hot!' 
 
 "And he looked at me entreatingly.
 
 TIMBUCTOO 379 
 
 " 'Come, obey orders ! Keep your cape. I in- 
 sist/ I repeated. 
 
 "He stood up, drew his sword, which he had 
 sharpened to an edge like a scythe, and, holding in 
 his other hand the large cape which I had refused, 
 said: 
 
 " 'If you not keep cape, me cut; no one cape.' 
 
 "And he would have done it. So I yielded. 
 
 "Eight days later we capitulated. Some of us 
 had escaped. The rest were to march out of the 
 town and give themselves up to the conquerors. 
 
 "I went toward the parade ground, where we 
 were all to meet, when I was dumbfounded at the 
 sight of a gigantic negro dressed in white duck and 
 wearing a straw hat in front of a little shop where 
 two plates and two glasses were displayed. It was 
 Timbuctoo. 
 
 " 'What are you doing?' I asked. 
 
 " 'Me not go, me good cook, me make food for 
 (Lionel, Algeria; me eat Prussians, much steal, 
 much/ 
 
 "There were ten degrees of frost. I shivered at 
 fight of this negro in white duck. He took me by 
 the arm and led me inside. I noticed a large flag 
 that he intended to place outside his door as soon 
 as we had left, for he had some shame. I read 
 this sign, traced by the hand of an accomplice: 
 
 " 'Army kitchen of M. Timbuctoo, 
 "'Formerly cook to H. M. the Emperor. 
 '"A Parisian Artist! Moderate Prices.'
 
 380 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "In spite of the despair that was gnawing at my 
 heart, I could not help laughing, and I left my negro 
 to his new enterprise. 
 
 "Was not that better than taking him prisoner? 
 
 "You have just seen that he made a success of 
 it, the rascal. 
 
 "Bezieres to-day belongs to the Germans, and the 
 Restaurant Timbuctoo is the beginning of a retalia- 
 tion."
 
 DENIS 
 
 M ARAM EOT smiled when he opened the let- 
 ter that his servant Denis gave him. For 
 twenty years Denis had served in this house. 
 He was short, stocky and jovial, and was known 
 throughout the countryside as a model servant. He 
 asked : 
 
 "Is Monsieur pleased? Has Monsieur received 
 good news?" 
 
 M. Marambot was not rich. He was an old vil- 
 lage druggist, a bachelor, who lived on an income 
 acquired with difficulty by selling drugs to the 
 farmers. He answered : 
 
 "Yes, my boy. Old man Malois is afraid of 
 the lawsuit with which I have threatened him. I 
 shall get my money tomorrow. Five thousand 
 francs are not liable to harm the account of an 
 old bachelor." 
 
 M. Marambot rubbed his hands with satisfac- 
 tion. He was a man of a quiet temperament, 
 oftener sad than gay, incapable of any prolonged 
 effort, and careless in business. 
 
 381
 
 382 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 Undoubtedly he could have amassed a greater 
 fortune had he taken advantage of the deaths of 
 colleagues established in more important centers, 
 by taking their places and carrying on their busi- 
 ness. But the trouble of moving and the thought 
 of the necessary preparations had always stopped 
 him. After thinking the matter over for a few 
 days, he would say : 
 
 "Bah! I'll wait until the next time. I'll not 
 lose anything by the delay. I may even find some- 
 thing better." 
 
 Denis, on the contrary, was always urging his 
 master to new enterprises. He would continually 
 repeat : 
 
 "Oh! If I had only had the capital to begin 
 with, I could have made a fortune ! One thousand 
 francs would do me." 
 
 M. Marambot would smile without answering 
 and go out into his little garden, where, with his 
 hands behind his back, he would walk around, 
 dreaming. 
 
 Denis sang the joyful refrains of the folk-songs 
 of the neighborhood all day long. He even showed 
 an unusual activity, for he cleaned all the win- 
 dows of the house, energetically rubbing the glass, 
 and singing at the top of his voice. 
 
 Several times, smiling, M. Marambot, surprised 
 at his zeal, told him : 
 
 "My boy, if you work like that nothing will be 
 left for you to do to-morrow."
 
 DENIS 383 
 
 The next day, at about nine o'clock in the morn- 
 ing, the postman gave Denis four letters for his 
 master, one of them very heavy. M. Marambot 
 immediately shut himself up in his room until late 
 in the afternoon. He then handed his servant 
 four letters, for the mail. One of these, addressed 
 to M. Malois, was undoubtedly a receipt for the 
 money. 
 
 Denis asked no questions; he appeared to be as 
 sad and gloomy that day as he had seemed joyful 
 the day before. 
 
 Night came. M. Marambot went to bed as usual 
 and slept. 
 
 Awakened by a strange noise, he sat up in his 
 bed and listened. Suddenly the door opened, and 
 Denis appeared, having in one hand a candle and 
 in the other a carving-knife, his eyes staring, his 
 face contracted as if moved by some deep emotion. 
 He was as pale as a ghost. 
 
 M. Marambot, astonished, thought that he was 
 sleep-walking, and he was going to get out of bed 
 and assist him, when the servant blew out the light 
 and rushed for the bed. His master stretched out 
 his hands to receive the shock which knocked him 
 over on his back ; he was trying to seize the hands 
 of his servant, whom he now thought to be crazy, 
 in order to avoid the blows which the latter was 
 aiming at him. 
 
 He was struck by the knife, once in the shoul- 
 der, once in the forehead and a third time in the
 
 384 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 chest. He fought wildly, waving his arms around 
 in the darkness, kicking and crying: 
 
 "Denis! Denis! Are you mad? Listen, 
 Denis!" 
 
 But Denis, gasping for breath, kept up his furious 
 attack, always striking, always repulsed, sometimes 
 with a kick, sometimes with a punch, and again 
 rushing forward furiously. 
 
 M. Marambot was wounded twice more, once 
 in the leg and once in the stomach. But suddenly 
 a thought flashed across his mind, and he began 
 to shriek: 
 
 "Stop, stop, Denis. I have not yet received my 
 money !" 
 
 The man immediately ceased, and his master 
 could hear his labored breathing in the darkness. 
 
 M. Marambot immediately continued : 
 
 "I have received nothing. M. Malois takes back 
 what he said, the lawsuit will take place; that is 
 the reason you carried the letters to the mail. Just 
 read those on my desk." 
 
 With a final effort, he reached for his matches 
 and lighted the candle. 
 
 He was covered with blood. His sheets, his 
 curtains, and even the walls, were spattered with 
 red. Denis, also standing in the center of the room, 
 was bloody from head to foot. 
 
 When he saw that, M. Marambot thought him- 
 self dead, and he fell unconscious. At break of 
 day he revived. It was some time, however, before
 
 DENIS 385 
 
 he regained his senses and was able to understand 
 or remember. But suddenly the memory of the 
 attack and of his wounds returned to him, and he 
 was filled with such fright that he closed his eyes, 
 afraid to see anything. After a few minutes he 
 grew calmer and began to think. He had not died 
 immediately, therefore he might still recover. He 
 was very weak; but he had no real pain, although 
 he noticed an uncomfortable smarting sensation in 
 several parts of his body. He also felt icy cold, 
 and all wet, and as if wrapped up in bandages. He 
 thought this dampness came from the loss of blood ; 
 and he shivered at the dreadful thought of the red 
 liquid which had come from his veins and covered 
 his bed. The fear of seeing this terrible spectacle 
 again so upset him that he kept his eyes closed 
 tightly, as if they might open in spite of himself. 
 
 What had become of Denis? He had probably 
 escaped. But what could he, Marambot, do now? 
 Get up? Call for help? But if he should make the 
 slightest motion, his wounds would undoubtedly 
 open again and he would die from loss of blood. 
 
 Suddenly he heard the door of his room open. 
 His heart almost stopped. It was certainly Denis 
 who was coming to finish him. He held his breath, 
 in order to make the murderer think he had been 
 successful. 
 
 He felt his sheet being lifted up, and then some 
 one feeling his stomach. A sharp pain near his 
 hip made him start. He was being very gently
 
 386 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 washed with cold water. Therefore, some one must 
 have discovered the misdeed and he was being 
 cared for. A wild joy seized him; but prudently, 
 he did not wish to show that he was conscious. 
 He opened one eye, just one, with the greatest pre- 
 caution. 
 
 He recognized Denis standing beside him, Denis 
 himself ! Mercy ! He hastily closed his eye again. 
 
 Denis ! What could he be doing ? What did he 
 want? What awful scheme could he now be carry- 
 ing out? 
 
 What was he doing ? Well, he was washing him 
 in order to hide the traces of his crime! And he 
 would now bury him in the garden, under ten feet 
 of earth, so that no one should discover him ! Or 
 perhaps under the wine-cellar! And M. Maram- 
 bot began to tremble like a leaf. He kept saying 
 to himself: "I am lost, lost!" He closed his 
 eyes, so as not to see the knife as it descended 
 for the final stroke. But it did not come. Denis 
 was now lifting him up and bandaging him. Then 
 he began carefully to dress the wound on his leg, 
 as his master had taught him to do. 
 
 There was no longer any doubt. His servant, 
 after wishing to kill him, was trying to save him. 
 
 Then M. Marambot, in a dying voice, gave him 
 this practical piece of advice: 
 
 "Wash the wounds in a dilute solution of car- 
 bolic acid!" 
 
 "That is what I am doing, Monsieur," said Denis.
 
 DENIS 387 
 
 M. Marambot opened both eyes. There was no 
 sign of blood either on the bed, on the walls, or 
 on the murderer. The wounded man was stretched 
 out on clean white sheets. 
 
 The two men looked at each other. 
 
 Finally M. Marambot said calmly: 
 
 "You have been guilty of a great crime." 
 
 Denis answered : 
 
 "I am trying to make up for it, Monsieur. If 
 you will not tell of it, I will serve you as faith- 
 fully as in the past." 
 
 This was no time to anger his servant. M. Ma- 
 rambot murmured as he closed his eyes : 
 
 "I swear not to tell." 
 
 Denis saved his master. He spent days and 
 nights without sleep, never leaving the sick-room, 
 preparing drugs, broths, potions, feeling his pulse, 
 anxiously counting the beats, attending him with 
 the skill of a trained nurse and the devotion of 
 a son. 
 
 He was all the time asking : 
 
 "Well, Monsieur, how do you feel?" 
 
 And M. Marambot would answer in a weak 
 voice : 
 
 "A little better, my boy, thank you." 
 
 And when the sick man woke at night, he often 
 aw his servant seated in an arm-chair, weeping 
 silently. 
 
 Never had the old druggist been so cared for. 
 io fondled, so spoiled. At first he had said:
 
 388 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 "As soon as I am well I shall get rid of this 
 rascal." 
 
 He was now convalescing, and from day to day 
 he put off dismissing his murderer. He thought 
 no one would ever have such care and attentions 
 for him, since he held this man through fear; and 
 he warned him that he had left a document with a 
 lawyer denouncing him to the law if any new acci- 
 dent should occur. 
 
 This precaution seemed to guarantee him against 
 any future attack; and he then asked himself 
 whether it would not be wiser to keep this man near 
 him, and watch him closely. 
 
 Just as formerly, when he hesitated about taking 
 some more important store, he could not make up 
 his mind to any decision. 
 
 "There is always time," he would say. 
 
 Denis continued to show himself an admirable 
 servant. M. Marambot was well. He kept him. 
 
 One morning, as he was finishing breakfast, he 
 suddenly heard a great noise in the kitchen. He 
 hastened in there. Denis was struggling with two 
 gendarmes. An officer was taking notes on his pad. 
 
 As soon as he saw his master, the servant be- 
 gan to sob, exclaiming: 
 
 "You told, Monsieur; that's not right, after what 
 you had promised me. You have broken your word 
 of honor, Monsieur Marambot; that's not right." 
 
 M. Marambot, bewildered and distressed at being 
 suspected, lifted his hand:
 
 DENIS 389 
 
 "I swear to you before the Lord, my boy, that 
 I did not tell. I haven't the slightest idea hojv 
 the police could have found out about your attack 
 on me." 
 
 The officer started : 
 
 "You say that he attacked you, Monsieur?" 
 
 The bewildered druggist answered : 
 
 "Yes but I did not tell of it I haven't said 
 a word I swear it he has served me excellently 
 ever since " 
 
 The officer said severely: 
 
 "I will take down your testimony. The lawv 
 will take notice of this new action, of which it was 
 ignorant, Monsieur Marambot. I was commis- 
 sioned to arrest your servant for the theft of two 
 ducks lately stolen by him from Monsieur Du- 
 hamel, for which action there are witnesses. I 
 shall take notice of your information." 
 
 "Then, turning to his men, he said: 
 
 "Come on, bring him along!" 
 
 The two gendarmes dragged Denis out. 
 
 The lawyer used a plea of insanity, contrasting 
 the two misdeeds in order to strengthen his argu- 
 ment. He had clearly proved that the theft of the 
 two ducks came from the same mental condition is 
 the eight knife-wounds in the body of Marambot. 
 He had cunningly analyzed all the phases of this 
 transitory condition of mental aberration, which 
 doubtless, could be cured by a few months' treat- 
 ment in a reputable sanitarium. He had spoken
 
 390 GUY DE 'MAUPASSANT 
 
 in enthusiastic terms of the continued devotion of 
 this faithful servant, of the care with which he 
 had protected his master, wounded by him in a 
 moment of alienation. 
 
 Touched by this memory, M. Marambot felt the 
 tears rising to his eyes. 
 
 The lawyer noticed it, opened his arms with a 
 broad gesture, spreading out the long black sleeves 
 of his robe like the wings of a bat, and exclaimed : 
 
 "Look, look, gentlemen of the jury, look at those 
 tears. What more can I say for my client? What 
 speech, what argument, what reasoning would be 
 worth these tears of his master? They speak 
 louder than I, louder than the law ; they cry : 'Mercy 
 for the poor wandering mind !' They implore, they 
 pardon, they bless!" 
 
 He v/as silent and sat down. 
 
 Then the judge, turning to Marambot, whose 
 testimony had been favorable for his servant, asked 
 him: 
 
 "But, Monsieur, even admitting that you con- 
 sider this man insane, that does not explain why 
 you should have kept him. He was none the less 
 dangerous." 
 
 Marambot, wiping his eyes, answered : 
 
 "Well, your honor, what can you expect? Now- 
 adays it's so hard to find good servants I never 
 could have found a better one." 
 
 Denis was acquitted and sent to a sanatorium, at 
 his master's expense.
 
 001062671 1
 
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