Green Mare

Ten

Honore read aloud:

“My dear parents — I am coming out of hospital the day after to-morrow. I put my shoulder out on the pay-office stairs fetching the adjutant’s gloves. I’m all right now, but I couldn’t be in the fourteenth July parade which was a bit of a pity but I’m all right no%v. I didn’t write to tell you in case you were worried. The gloves had been left in the captain’s room and so now I have been given five days’ leave and I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you next Wednesday. I’m not going on manoeuvres and perhaps they’ll shift me to another company and I’ll be sorry about that because our sergeant has been very nice to me. It was a bit of luck getting some leave and I’ll tell you about it. Well, I hope I’ll find you all all right and being that my shoulder is all right I will be able to help a bit with the harvest.

“Your affectionate son — Ernest Haudouin.”

“Well, I’m glad he’s coming,” said Deodat. “It’s a pity your brother Ferdinand left just a minute too soon. He could have heard the news.”

“Ferdinand? But he hasn’t been here to-day. He hadn’t any reason-”

“W’ell then he’s on his way here. I saw his gig outside Zephe’s house uffien I passed by.”

Honore’s face was suddenly purple wfith rage. Ferdinand — the dirty dog!. . When Deodat had departed he cried:

“Bring me my hat!”

“Stay where you are,” said Adelaide. “It’s better to let Ferdinand come here.”

“Bring me my hat, I tell you!”

“You won’t do any good by quarrelling with him in front of other people. I don’t suppose he means any harm.”

“Never mind what he means. I’m going to throw' him out of their house!”

But before he had gone a hundred yards Honore had begun to cool off. He reflected that a bust-up, instead of mending matters, might simply make Ferdinand more obstinate. When he reached the Malorets’ house he found the kitchen door open. Ferdinand, alone with the tw'o w'omen, was talking to Marguerite in the prim voice he affected w'hen embarked upon a difficult interview. The sight of his brother caused him to look both angry and alarmed.

“I was just passing and I saw the gig,” said Honore. “Well, Anals, and so you’ve got Marguerite home again.”

“Only for three weeks, and it’s not nearly long enough. They’ll be soon over, and the time will pass slowly when she’s gone again.”

“Paris has made a pretty girl of her,” said Honore.

He was looking her over, weighing her up, comparing her with her mother in a cool, matter-of-fact way that filled Ferdinand w'ith apprehension. Marguerite was not so tall as Anais, but twenty-two years slimmer. Her hair was less fair and she had not her mother’s regular features or her patient and gentle expression; she was bold-eyed, W'ith a full-throated greedy laugh and a way of thrusting her bosom into the gaze of men. She was wearing a blue dress and on top of it the flowered apron that Adelaide regarded as a needless ostentation.

Honore kept the ball rolling with Marguerite, was gallant with both ladies, laughed and made them laugh, slapping his thigh. Ferdinand stayed huddled in astonished silence on his chair. Anais was somewhat on the defensive, more from prudence than from shyness: whenever she was moved to laughter she looked hastilv out of the window to see if her men were coming; Marguerite, however, showed no backwardness in playing up to Honore. They talked about Paris. Honore had been there in ’8j at the expense of the Covnnune to attend the obsequies of Victor Hugo, since Philibert Messelon, too old to be disposed to make the journey himself, had insisted that Claquebue should be represented.

“The crowd there was at that funeral,” said Honore. “I can’t say I saw much of it, not what you’d call seeing. And the people didn’t seem to want to talk to you very much. Still, no matter, I had two very good days there.”

Charmed by Marguerite’s bright eyes and the full-bosomed softness of Anals, he finally rose to leave having forgotten the object of his visit. However, when Ferdinand showed signs of staying he gripped him firmly by the arm.

“Come along. Adelaide will be waiting dinner.”

“Wait another minute or two,” said Anais. “Zephe won’t be long. He’s staying in the Champ-Dieu with the two boys.”

“I’m in no hurry to see him,” said Honore loftily. “I know where to find him when I want him.”

When they got outside he took Ferdinand’s horse by the bridle, resolved that they should return on foot to his house.

“And now perhaps you’ll tell me what the devil you were doing calling on them behind my back, without even letting me know you were coming here!”

“It’s quite simple. I’m sure you’ll agree-”

“For God’s sake don’t start telling me that stuff all over again!”

“But listen. I had a letter this morning from — well, you know who. . ”

“No I don’t. Who was it from?”

“From — from Valtier,” said Ferdinand lowering his voice.

“All right, so you had a letter from Valtier. Why not sav so? Do you think your horse is going to go round telling people?”

“It came this morning. He said he was sending the girl to her parents because he’s going to be away for a month.”

“I suppose he thought the voters wouldn’t dare-”

“You know, I think that story mav be exaggerated. I think the truth is simply that he takes a friendly interest in the girl.”

“You do, do you? And I suppose he asked vou to come and fix things up with Zephe — about him running for mayor?”

Ferdinand protested that he had come simplv to make sure that Marguerite was comfortable in the bosom of her family, at Valuer's request, and that his visit had no other purpose. But his discomfort was apparent.

“Well, I can't be always keeping an eve on vou,” said Honore. "But don't suddenly take it into vour head to talk to Zephe about the stolen letter. That letter's mine, and nothing to do with anyone else.” After a pause he went on with a chuckle: “I must say she's a pretty wench, that.Marguerite. Enough to give anyone ideas.”

“She’s a girl with a future,” said Ferdinand with a mildly reproving gesture.

“I don't know about her future, but she's got a nice little behind; and as for her tits-”

“Xo, really, Honore! Really!”

“And a lively piece, too — likes a bit of fun. I daresay. While we were talking I saw her leg almost up to the knee, and mv word. .!”

Honore clicked his tongue and licked his lips, less from genuine licentiousness than in order to shock his brother. Ferdinand had turned crimson.

“You oughtn't to sav such things — you really shouldn't! Anvwav, what good does it do?”

“Well, I agree it doesn't do much good. Still, there’s no harm in thinking about it.”

And Honore continued to think aloud, in considerable detail. Ferdinand's face became congested, and he had dreadful trouble with his conscience. Carried away by his own flight of fancy. Honore grew a little excited:

“Well, but can't you imagine it? My God. there'd be some satisfaction… to have one of the Maloret women!

. . I don't know why I never thought of that before. I don’t know why. . One just goes jogging along, sowing and reaping, ploughing and harrowing, and the days go by and — one doesn't think. .” He sighed and con-

cluck’d in a low voice, heavy with self-reproach: “In the end one hasn’t thought of anything.”

There was silence for another hundred yards. Ferdinand restored his conscience to order, furtivelv feeling his pulse with his hands behind his back. Honore was now walking more slowlv, a prey to sombre meditations. He was thinking of an adventure he had missed, without quite knowing when lie had missed it.

“By the way,” he said, “I haven't told you that Ernest is coming home on Wednesday. He’s got five days’ leave. It’s not much, but-”

“Well, I take it he’ll pay us at least one visit in Saint-Margelon.”

“Oh, no!” protested Honore. “Only five days at home! You can hardly expect that.”