original short stories-13-第15章

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〃What　was　that　noise？〃

She　answered　quietly　and　confidently：

〃Do　not　be　uneasy；　my　dear　boy；　it　is　my　neighbor。　　The　partition　is　so
thin　that　one　can　hear　everything　as　if　it　were　in　the　room。　　These　are
wretched　rooms；　just　like　pasteboard。〃

I　felt　so　lazy　that　I　paid　no　further　attention　to　it。　　We　resumed　our
conversation。　　Driven　by　the　stupid　curiosity　that　prompts　all　men　to
question　these　creatures　about　their　first　experiences；　to　attempt　to
lift　the　veil　of　their　first　folly；　as　though　to　find　in　them　a　trace　of
pristine　innocence；　to　love　them；　possibly；　in　a　fleeting　memory　of　their
candor　and　modesty　of　former　days；　evoked　by　a　word；　I　insistently　asked
her　about　her　earlier　lovers。

I　knew　she　was　telling　me　lies。　　What　did　it　matter？　　Among　all　these
lies　I　might；　perhaps；　discover　something　sincere　and　pathetic。

〃Come；〃　said　I；　〃tell　me　who　he　was。〃

〃He　was　a　boating　man；　my　dear。〃

〃Ah！　　Tell　me　about　it。　　Where　were　you？〃

〃I　was　at　Argenteuil。〃

〃What　were　you　doing？〃

〃I　was　waitress　in　a　restaurant。〃

〃What　restaurant？〃

〃'The　Freshwater　Sailor。'　Do　you　know　it？〃

〃I　should　say　so；　kept　by　Bonanfan。〃

〃Yes；　that's　it。〃

〃And　how　did　he　make　love　to　you；　this　boating　man？〃

〃While　I　was　doing　his　room。　　He　took　advantage　of　me。〃

But　I　suddenly　recalled　the　theory　of　a　friend　of　mine；　an　observant　and
philosophical　physician　whom　constant　attendance　in　hospitals　has　brought
into　daily　contact　with　girl…mothers　and　prostitutes；　with　all　the　shame
and　all　the　misery　of　women；　of　those　poor　women　who　have　become　the
frightful　prey　of　the　wandering　male　with　money　in　his　pocket。

〃A　woman；〃　he　said；　〃is　always　debauched　by　a　man　of　her　own　class　and
position。　　I　have　volumes　of　statistics　on　that　subject。　　We　accuse　the
rich　of　plucking　the　flower　of　innocence　among　the　girls　of　the　people。
This　is　not　correct。　　The　rich　pay　for　what　they　want。　　They　may　gather
some；　but　never　for　the　first　time。〃

Then；　turning　to　my　companion；　I　began　to　laugh。

〃You　know　that　I　am　aware　of　your　history。　　The　boating　man　was　not　the
first。〃

〃Oh；　yes；　my　dear；　I　swear　it：〃

〃You　are　lying；　my　dear。〃

〃Oh；　no；　I　assure　you。〃

〃You　are　lying；　come；　tell　me　all。〃

She　seemed　to　hesitate　in　astonishment。　　I　continued：

〃I　am　a　sorcerer；　my　dear　girl；　I　am　a　clairvoyant。　　If　you　do　not　tell
me　the　truth；　I　will　go　into　a　trance　sleep　and　then　I　can　find　out。〃

She　was　afraid；　being　as　stupid　as　all　her　kind。　　She　faltered：

〃How　did　you　guess？〃

〃Come；　go　on　telling　me；〃　I　said。

〃Oh；　the　first　time　didn't　amount　to　anything。

There　was　a　festival　in　the　country。　　They　had　sent　for　a　special　chef；
M。　Alexandre。　　As　soon　as　he　came　he　did　just　as　he　pleased　in　the　house。
He　bossed　every　one；　even　the　proprietor　and　his　wife；　as　if　he　had　been
a　king。　　He　was　a　big　handsome　man；　who　did　not　seem　fitted　to　stand
beside　a　kitchen　range。　　He　was　always　calling　out；　'Come；　some　butter…
some　eggssome　Madeira！'　　And　it　had　to　be　brought　to　him　at　once　in　a
hurry；　or　he　would　get　cross　and　say　things　that　would　make　us　blush　all
over。

〃When　the　day　was　over　he　would　smoke　a　pipe　outside　the　door。　　And　as　I
was　passing　by　him　with　a　pile　of　plates　he　said　to　me；　like　that：　'Come；
girlie；　come　down　to　the　water　with　me　and　show　me　the　country。'　　I　went
with　him　like　a　fool；　and　we　had　hardly　got　down　to　the　bank　of　the　river
when　he　took　advantage　of　me　so　suddenly　that　I　did　not　even　know　what　he
was　doing。　　And　then　he　went　away　on　the　nine　o'clock　train。　　I　never　saw
him　again。〃

〃Is　that　all？〃　I　asked。

She　hesitated。

〃Oh；　I　think　Florentin　belongs　to　him。〃

〃Who　is　Florentin？〃

〃My　little　boy。〃

〃Oh！　　Well；　then；　you　made　the　boating　man　believe　that　he　was　the
father；　did　you　not？〃

〃You　bet！〃

〃Did　he　have　any　money；　this　boating　man？〃

〃Yes；　he　left　me　an　income　of　three　hundred　francs；　settled　on
Florentin。〃

I　was　beginning　to　be　amused　and　resumed：

〃All　right；　my　girl；　all　right。　　You　are　all　of　you　less　stupid　than　one
would　imagine；　all　the　same。　　And　how　old　is　he　now；　Florentin？〃

She　replied：

〃He　is　now　twelve。　　He　will　make　his　first　communion　in　the　spring。〃

〃That　is　splendid。　　And　since　then　you　have　carried　on　your　business
conscientiously？〃

She　sighed　in　a　resigned　manner。

〃I　must　do　what　I　can。〃

But　a　loud　noise　just　then　coming　from　the　room　itself　made　me　start　up
with　a　bound。　　It　sounded　like　some　one　falling　and　picking　themselves　up
again　by　feeling　along　the　wall　with　their　hands。

I　had　seized　the　candle　and　was　looking　about　me；　terrified　and　furious。
She　had　risen　also　and　was　trying　to　hold　me　back　to　stop　me；　murmuring：

〃That's　nothing；　my　dear；　I　assure　you　it's　nothing。〃

But　I　had　discovered　what　direction　the　strange　noise　came　from。　　I
walked　straight　towards　a　door　hidden　at　the　head　of　the　bed　and　I　opened
it　abruptly　and　saw　before　me；　trembling；　his　bright；　terrified　eyes
opened　wide　at　sight　of　me；　a　little　pale；　thin　boy　seated　beside　a　large
wicker　chair　off　which　he　had　fallen。

As　soon　as　he　saw　me　he　began　to　cry。　　Stretching　out　his　arms　to　his
mother；　he　cried：

〃It　was　not　my　fault；　mamma；　it　was　not　my　fault。　　I　was　asleep；　and　I
fell　off。　　Do　not　scold　me；　it　was　not　my　fault。〃

I　turned　to　the　woman　and　said：

〃What　does　this　mean？〃

She　seemed　confused　and　worried；　and　said　in　a　broken　voice：

〃What　do　you　want　me　to　do？　　I　do　not　earn　enough　to　put　him　to　school！
I　have　to　keep　him　with　me；　and　I　cannot　afford　to　pay　for　another　room；
by　heavens！　　He　sleeps　with　me　when　I　am　alone。　　If　any　one　comes　for　one
hour　or　two　he　can　stay　in　the　wardrobe；　he　keeps　quiet；　he　understands
it。　　But　when　people　stay　all　night；　as　you　have　done；　it　tires　the　poor
child　to　sleep　on　a　chair。

It　is　not　his　fault。　　I　should　like　to　see　you　sleep　all　night　on　a
chairyou　would　have　something　to　say。〃

She　was　getting　angry　and　excited　and　was　talking　loud。

The　child　was　still　crying。　　A　poor　delicate　timid　little　fellow；　a
veritable　child　of　the　wardrobe；　of　the　cold；　dark　closet；　a　child　who
from　time　to　time　was　allowed　to　get　a　little　warmth　in　the　bed　if　it
chanced　to　be　unoccupied。

I　also　felt　inclined　to　cry。

And　I　went　home　to　my　own　bed。






THE　MOUNTAIN　POOL

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Saint　Agnes；　May　6。
MY　DEAR　FRIEND：
You　asked　me　to　write　to　you　often　and　to　tell　you　in　particular　about
the　things　I　might　see。　　You　also　begged　me　to　rummage　among　my
recollections　of　travels　for　some　of　those　little　anecdotes　gathered　from
a　chance　peasant；　from　an　innkeeper；　from　some　strange　traveling
acquaintance；　which　remain　as　landmarks　in　the　memory。　　With　a　landscape
depicted　in　a　few　lines；　and　a　little　story　told　in　a　few　sentences　you
think　one　can　give　the　true　characteristics　of　a　country；　make　it　living；
visible；　dramatic。　　I　will　try　to　do　as　you　wish。　　I　will；　therefore；
send　you　from　time　to　time　letters　in　which　I　will　mention　neither　you
nor　myself；　but　only　the　landscape　and　the　people　who　move　about　in　it。
And　now　I　will　begin。

Spring　is　a　season　in　which　one　ought；　it　seems　to　me；　to　drink　and　eat
the　landscape。　　It　is　the　season　of　chills；　just　as　autumn　is　the　season
of　reflection。　　In　spring　the　country　rouses　the　physical　senses；　in
autumn　it　enters　into　the　soul。

I　desired　this　year　to　breathe　the　odor　of　orange　blossoms　and　I　set　out
for　the　South　of　France　just　at　the　time　that　every　one　else　was
returning　home。　　I　visited　Monaco；　the　shrine　of　pilgrims；　rival　of　Mecca
and　Jerusalem；　without　leaving　any　gold　in　any　one　else's　pockets；　and　I
climbed　the　high　mountain　beneath　a　covering　of　lemon；　orange　and　olive
branches。

Have　you　ever　slept；　my　friend；　in　a　grove　of　orange　trees　in　flower？
The　air　that　one　inhales　with　delight　is　a　quintessence　of　perfumes。　　The
strong　yet　sweet　odor；　delicious　as　some　dainty；　seems　to　blend　with　our
being；　to　saturate　us；　to　intoxicate　us；　to　enervate　us；　to　plunge　us
into　a　sleepy；　dreamy　torpor。　　As　though　it　were　an　opium　prepared　by　the
hands　of　fairies　and　not　by　those　of　druggists。

This　is　a　countr