ASimpleHeartI

For fifty years the ladies of Pont-l’Évêque envied Madame Aubain her servantFelicity.

Forahundred francsayear shecooked,andcleaned, sewed,washed, ironed,couldharnessahorse,fattenuppoultry,churnbutter;andsheremainedloyaltohermistresswho,allthesame,wasnotanagreeableperson.

MadameAubainhadmarrieda fineyoung fellowwithouta fortune,whodiedatthebeginningof1809,leavinghertwoveryyoungchildren,andagreatnumberofdebts.Thenshesoldherrealestate,exceptthefarmofToucques,andthefarmofGeffosses,whoserentsamountedtofivethousandfrancsattheoutside,andshequittedthehouseatSaint-Milainetosettle inanotheronelesscostly,whichhadbelongedtoherancestors,andwassituatedbehindthemarket-place.

Thishouse,coveredwithtiles,wassetbetweenalaneandanalleythatgaveontheriver. Inside, itsgroundlevelswereunequal,andwerethecauseof frequentstumbles.Anarrowvestibule separated the kitchen from the living-room,whereMadameAubainpassed thewholeday,seatednear thewindowcasementonastraw-bottomedchair.Againstthewainscoting,paintedwhite,werelinedupeightmahoganychairs.Anoldpianocarried,underabarometer,aheapedpyramidofwooden and cardboard boxes. Two deep arm-chairs, tapestry covered, flankedtheyellowmarblemantelpiece in thestyleofLouisXV.Theclock in themiddlerepresentedatempleofVesta-andthewholeroomsmelledslightlymusty,forthefloorwaslowerthanthegarden.

On the first floor therewas, first of all, ‘Madame’s’ room, very big, hungwith awallpaper with pale flowers, and containing the portrait of ‘Monsieur’ in thecostume of a muscadin. It communicated with a smaller room, where twochildren’s couches were to be seen without their mattresses. Then came thedrawing- room, always shut up, and filled with furniture covered with a sheet.Thenacorridorledtoastudy:booksandpapersfilledtheshelvesofabook-casesurroundingwithitsthreesidesalargeblackwooddesk.Thetwoendpanelswereinvisiblebeneathpen-and-inksketches,landscapesinbodycolour,andAudran’sengravings,souvenirsofbetter timesandvanished luxury.AdormerwindowonthesecondstorylightedFelicity’sroom,lookingoutonthefields.

SherosewiththedawnsoasnottomissMass,andworkedwithoutstoppinguntilevening;then,dinnerbeingfinished,thedishesputawayandthedoorfastshut,shecoveredthefaggotswithashes,andfellasleepbeforethehearth,herrosaryin her hand. Nobody in her marketing could show more obstinacy. As to hercleanliness, the polish on her saucepans was the despair of other servants.Thrifty,sheateslowly,andgatheredupfromthetablewithherfingersthecrumbsof the loaf—a twelve-pound loaf, baked specially for her, which lasted twenty

days.

Allthroughtheyearshecarriedacottonhandkerchieffixedatherbackbyapin,abonnetthathidherhair,greystockings,aredskirt,andoverherbodiceanapronwithabiblikeahospitalnurse.

Herfacewasthinandhervoicesharp.Attwenty-fiveyearsofageyouwouldhaveguessedhertobeforty.Afterherfiftiethyearsheshowednotracesofanyageatall;and,alwayssilent,uprightincarriage,andmeasuredingesture,sheseemedawomanmadeofwood,functioningautomatically.

II

Shehadhad,likeanyoneelse,herlovestory.

Herfather,amason,hadbeenkilledinfallingfromascaffolding.Thenhermotherdied,her sistersscattered;a farmer tookher in,andemployedher,while still alittlegirl,inguardingcowsinthefields.Sheshiveredunderherrags,drankflatonherstomach thewaterof thepools, fornopretextatallwasbeaten,and finallywasdismissedforatheftofthirtypencewhichshehadnotcommitted.Shetookservice in another farm, became hen girl there, and, as she pleased heremployers,hercomradeswerejealousofher.

OnedayinthemonthofAugust(shewaseighteenthen)theytookherwiththemtothefairatColleville.Straightwayshewasbewildered,stupefiedbythenoiseofthefiddlers,thelightsinthetrees,themotleyofthecostumes,thelaces,thegoldcrosses—this mass of people who leapt simultaneously. She was keepingmodestly in the background when a young man, well-to-do in appearance,smokinghispipe,withhistwoelbowsonthepoleofasmallwagon,cametoinvitehertodance.Herecompensedherwithcider,withcoffee,withcake,withascarf,andofferedtoleadheroutagain.Shedidnotknowwhattoanswer,andwantedtorunaway.Hedeparted.

AnothereveningontheroadtoBeaumontshewantedtopassabigwagonofhaythatwasgoingalongslowly,andasshebrushedpastthewheelssherecognizedTheodore.

Atoncehespokeoftheharvestsandthenotablesofthedistrict,forhisfatherhadleftColleville for the farmofÉcots,so thatnow theywereneighbours. ‘Ah’,shesaid. He added that they wanted to set him up for himself. Yet he wasn’t in ahurry;hewaswaitingforawifetohistaste.Shehungherhead.Thenheaskedherifshewasthinkingofmarriage.Sheanswered,smiling,thatitwasn’trighttolaughather. ‘ButI’mnot,Igiveyoumyword!’andwithhisleftarmheencircledherwaist: shewalkedon, heldupbyhisembrace: theywentmore slowly.Thewindwassoft,thestarsshone,thehugewagon-loadofhayswayedbeforethem,andthefourhorses,draggingtheirfeet,raisedthedust.Then,withoutbeingtold,

theyturnedtotheright.Hehuggedheragain.Shedisappearedintotheshadows.

Theodore,thefollowingweek,gothertopromisetomeethim.

Theymet at the far end of the courtyard, under an isolated tree. Shewas notinnocent, in the fashionof ladies,butcommonsenseand the instinctofhonourkeptherfromyielding.ThisresistanceexasperatedTheodore’slovesomuchthatinordertosatisfyit(orperhapsquiteingenuously)heproposedtomarryher.Shehesitatedtobelievehim.Hesworegreatoaths.

Soonheadmittedsomethingannoying;hisparents lastyearhadboughthimoffconscription;butanydaytheycouldtakehimagain.Theideaofservingterrifiedhim.ThiscowardicewasinFelicity’seyesaproofofaffection;herownredoubled.Shestoleoutatnight,andwhenshegottothemeetingplaceTheodoretorturedherwithhisanxietyandhisentreaties.

Atlastheannouncedthathewouldgohimselftoheadquarterstogetinformation,and thathewouldbringherwordon the followingSundaybetweenelevenandtwelveatnight.

Whenthemomentcamesherantoherlover.

Inhisplaceshefoundoneofhisfriends.Hetoldherthatshewouldnotseehimagain.ToassurehimselffromconscriptionTheodorehadmarriedaveryricholdwoman,MadameLehoussais,ofToucques.

Shegaveway toaburstofextravagantgrief.She threwherselfon theground,cried aloud, called on the good God, and groaned, all alone in the country tillsunrise.Thenshewentbacktothefarm,anddeclaredherintentionofleavingit,and at the end of a month, having received her wages, she tied all her littlebelongingsinahandkerchief,andwenttoPont-l’Évêque.

In front of the inn she asked some questions of a lady in a widow’s cap, whohappenedatthetimetobelookingforacook.Thegirldidnotknowmuch,butsheseemed so anxious to please and to have so few unreasonable demands, thatMadameAubainfinishedbysaying:

‘Allright,I’lltakeyou.’

Felicityaquarterofanhourafterwardswassettledinherhouse.

Atfirstshelivedthere inasortof tremorcausedbythe‘kindofhouse’,andthememory of ‘Monsieur’ hovering over everything. Paul and Virginia, one agedseven, the other hardly four, seemed to her to bemade of precious stuff; shecarried themonherback likeahorse,andMadameAubain forbadeher tokissthemeveryminute,andthatmortifiedher.Yetshewashappy.Thegentlenessoftheenvironmenthadmeltedhersorrow.

EveryThursdayfriendscametotakeahandatboston-whist.Felicitypreparedinadvance the cards and the footwarmers. They arrived at eight o’clock verypunctually,andwentawaybeforethestrokeofeleven.

EachMondaymorningthesecond-handdealerwholodgedunderthealleyspreadouthisscrapironontheground.Thenthetownwasfilledwithahumofvoices,inwhichweremingledtheneighingofhorses,thebleatingofsheep,thegruntingofpigs,and thedry rattleof trapson the road.Aboutmidday,at theheightof themarket,couldbeseenonthethresholdatalloldpeasant,hiscappulleddown,hisnosehooked,andwhowasRobelin,thefarmerofGeffosses.AshorttimeafteritwasLiébard, the farmerofToucques, small, red, fat,wearingagrey jacketandleggingsfittedwithspurs.

Both of them offered their landlady fowls or cheeses. Felicity invariably baffledtheirtricks,andtheywentawayfullofconsiderationforher.

OnindeterminateoccasionsMadameAubainreceivedavisitfromtheMarquisdeGermanville,oneofheruncles,ruinedbydebauchery,wholivedatFalaise,onthelastmorselofhisproperty.Hearrivedalwaysat lunch time,witha frightful littledog, whose paws dirtied all the furniture. In spite of his efforts to appear agentleman,evengoingsofarastolifthishateverytimehesaid:‘Mylatefather’,hisoldhabitsgotthebetterofhim;hepouredoutforhimselfglassafterglass,andletoutsomerather freestories.Felicitywouldpushhimoutsidepolitely: ‘You’vehadenoughofit,MonsieurdeGermanville!We’llseeyouanothertime!’Andsheshutthedoor.

SheopeneditwithpleasuretoMonsieurBourais,anex-solicitor.Hiswhitecravat,andhisbaldhead,thefrillofhisshirt,hiswidebrownfrockcoat,hiswayoftakingsnuff, making a circle with his arm, his whole personality produced in her theexcitementintowhichthesightofextraordinarymenthrowsus.

Ashemanagedtheestateof ‘Madame’heshuthimselfupwithher forhours inmonsieur’sstudy:hewasalwaysafraidofcompromisinghimself,hehadagreatrespectforthemagistracy,andhadpretensionstoLatin.

To instruct the children in a pleasant fashion he made them a present of ageography with engravings. They represented different scenes in the world,cannibalswithfeathersintheirhair,amonkeycarryingoffayounglady,Bedouinsinthedesert,awhalebeingharpooned,etc.

Paul explained these engravings to Felicity. This, in fact, was all her literaryeducation.

Thechildren’seducationwastakeninhandbyGuyot,apoorwretchemployedattheTownHall,famousforhisfinehandwriting,amanwhosharpenedhispenknifeonhisboot.

When theweatherwas clear theywouldgoearly in themorning to the farmofGeffosses.

Thecourtyard is sloping, thehouse in themiddle:and thesea, in thedistance,appearslikeagreystain.

Felicity took out of her basket slices of coldmeat, and they lunched in a room

attachedtothedairy.Itwastheonlyremnantofapleasurehousewhichhadnotdisappeared.Thewall-paperhunginrags,andtrembledinthedraughts.MadameAubain leant forward, overwhelmedwithmemories: the childrendid not dare tospeak.‘Butgooutandplay’,shewouldsay.Theydecamped.

Paulwentupintothebarn,caughtbirds,playedducksanddrakeswithstonesonthepond,orwithastickhitthebigcasksthatresoundedlikedrums.

Virginiafedtherabbits,rushedtogathercornflowers,andtheswiftmotionofherlegsshowedherlittleembroidereddrawers.

Oneautumneveningtheycamebackthroughthemeadows.

Themooninitsfirstquarterlitupapartofthesky,andamistwasfloatinglikeaveil on the windings of the River Toucques. Oxen, stretched amid the turf,tranquilly watched those four people pass. In the third meadow some of themrose, and formed a circle before them. ‘Don’t be afraid,’ said Felicity, andmurmuringasortoflowsongshepattedtheonewhowasnearestonthespine;he turned round, the others imitated him. But when the succeeding field wascrossedaformidablebellowingarose.Itwasabullthatthefoghadconcealed.Headvancedtowardsthetwowomen.MadameAubainwasgoingtorun.‘No,no,notso quick!’ They quickened their steps all the same, and heard behind them asonorousbreathingcomingnearerthem.Hishoofs,likehammers,beatthegrassofthefields; there,hewasgallopingnow!Felicityturnedroundandtoreupwithhertwohandsclodsofearthwhichshethrewinhiseyes.Heloweredhismuzzle,shook his horns, and trembledwith fury, bellowing horribly.MadameAubain, attheendofthegrasswithhertwochildren,wasmadlyseekinghowtogetoverthehighbank.Felicityretiredsteadilybeforethebull,andcontinuallyflungbitsofturfthatblindedhim,while shecried: ‘Hurryup,hurryup!’MadameAubainclimbedovertheditch,pushedVirginiaup,thenPaul, fellseveraltimesintryingtoclimbovertheslope,andbydintofcouragesucceeded.

The bull had driven Felicity into a corner against an opening in the hedge; hisslaver sprayedonher face, a secondmoreandhewouldhavegoredher.Shehad time to slip between two bars, and the big beast, quite surprised, stoppedshort.

Thisevent formanyyearswasa topicofconversationatPont-l’Évêque.Felicityfeltnoprideaboutit,notevenconsideringthatshehaddoneanythingheroic.

Virginia took up all her time, for she suffered, as a result of her fright, fromanaffectionof thenerves,andMonsieurPourpart, thedoctor,advisedseabathsatTrouville.

Inthosedaystheywerenotcrowded.MadameAubainmadeinquiries,consultedBourais,andmadepreparationsasforalongjourney.

HerluggagewentoffthenightbeforeinLiébard’scart.Thenextdayhebroughttwohorses,oneofwhichhadawoman’ssaddlefittedwithavelvetbackrest;and

on the croup of the second a coat, rolled up, formed a sort of seat. MadameAubain mounted there behind him. Felicity took charge of Virginia, and PaulstraddledMonsieurLechaptois’sdonkey, lentoncondition theywould takegreatcareofit.

Theroadwassobadthattheeightkilometrestooktwohours.Thehorsessankupto the pasterns in themud, and to free themselvesmade brusquemovementswith theirhaunches;orelse theystumbledagainst thehedges;other times theyhad to jump over them. Liébard’s mare, at certain spots, stopped suddenly.Liébard waited patiently until she resumed her walk, and he talked about thepeoplewhoseestatesbordered the road,addingmoral reflections to theirstory.Thus, in themiddleofToucquesas theypassedunderwindowssurroundedbynasturtiums,hesaidwithashrugofhisshoulders:‘There’saMadameLehoussaislives there,who, insteadof takinga younghusband—’Felicity did not hear therest:thehorsestrotted,thedonkeygalloped;theyallwentinsinglefileupapath;agateswunground, twostableboysappeared, theygotdownbeside thedungwaterontheverythresholdofthedoor.

MotherLiébard,seeinghermistress,wasprodigal indemonstrationsof joy.Sheservedthemalunchwheretherewasroastbeef,tripe,blacksausage,africasseeof chicken, sparkling cider, a fruit tart, and plums in brandy, accompanying thewhole with polite observations to madame, who seemed in better health, tomademoiselle,become‘magnificent’,toMr.Paul,grownsingularly‘stout’;withoutforgetting their late grandparents, whom the Liébards had known, being in theserviceofthefamilyforseveralgenerations.Thefarmhad,likethem,anold-timecharacter.Thebeamsof the roofwereworm-eaten, thewallsblackwithsmoke,the tilesgreywithdust.Anoakdressercarriedallsortsofutensils, jugs,plates,pewter,basins,wolftraps,sheepshears;anenormoussyringemadethechildrenlaugh.Notatreeinthethreecourtyardsbuthadmushroomsatitsbase,orinitsbranches a bunch of mistletoe. The wind had thrown down several. They hadsproutedagaininthemiddle,andallwerebentunderthenumberoftheirapples.The thatch roofs, like brown velvet, and all unequal in thickness, resisted thestrongest gales. Yet thewagon-shedwas falling in ruins.MadameAubain saidshewouldseeaboutit,andbadethemreharnessthebeasts.

They were half an hour yet before they reached Trouville. The little caravandismountedtopasstheÉcoresHill;itwasarockoverhangingtheships;andthreeminutes later, at the end of the quay, they entered the courtyard of theGoldenLamb,MotherDavid’sinn.

Virginia, fromthebeginning, feltherselfmorerobust, theresultof thechangeofairandtheactionofthebaths.Shetooktheminherchemise,forlackofabathingcostume;andhermaiddressedherafterwardsintheshedofacustomsmanwholookedafterthebathers.

In the afternoon they would go with the donkey past the Black Rocks in thedirectionofHennequeville.Thepathatfirstrosebetweenlandundulatinglikethe

lawnsofagentleman’sestate,thenarrivedataplateau,wherealternatedpasturegroundandcultivatedfields.Attheedgeoftheroad,amongtheclustersofreeds,grewhollybushes;hereandthereatalldeadtreemadezigzagswithitsbranchesontheblueair.

Almostalwaystheyrestedinameadow,withDeauvilleontheirleft,Havreontheirright, and in front the open sea. It was brilliant in the sunshine, smooth like amirror, so gentle that its murmur could scarcely be heard. Hidden sparrowschirped,andtheimmensevaultoftheskyformedacoverforall.MadameAubain,seated, would work at her sewing; Virginia beside her, plaited reeds; Felicitypulleduplavender;Paul,whowasbored,wantedtogoaway.

OthertimestheycrossedtheRiverToucquesinaboat,andlookedforshells.Thelow tide left uncovered sea urchins, scallops, jellyfish; and the children ran tocatchthepuffsoffoamthatthewindcarriedup.Thesleepywaves,fallingonthesand,rolledinalongthebeach;theystretchedasfaraseyecouldsee,butonthelandward side had for limit the dunes separating it from the Marais, a widemeadow, shaped like a hippodrome. When they were coming back that wayTrouville,atthefootofitsslopinghillock,grewbiggerateachstep,andwithallitsdifferent-sizedhouses,seemedtospreadoutingaydisorder.

The days on which it was too hot they did not leave their room. The dazzlingbrightness outside plastered bars of light between the slats of the shutters. Nonoise in the village. Down below on the pavement, nobody. This widespreadsilence increased everything’s tranquillity. In the distance the hammers of thecaulkerspluggedthekeels,andaheavybreezebroughtascentoftar.

Theprincipalamusementwasthehomecomingoftheships.Assoonastheyhadpassed the buoys they began to tack. Their sails dropped to two-thirds of themasts: and the foresail swelling like a balloon they came on, gliding in theplashingof thewaves, to themiddleof theharbour,where theanchorsuddenlyfell.Thentheboatdrewupbesidethequay.Thesailorsthrewovertheedgethequivering fish; a row of carts was waiting, and women in cotton bonnets ranforwardtotakethebasketsandembracetheirmen.

Oneof thewomenonedayaccostedFelicity,whoa littlewhileafterwardscameinto theroomfullof joy.Shehadrefoundasister:andNastasieBarette,wifeofLeroux,appeared,holdingababyatherbreast,anotherchildclingingtoherrighthand,andatherleftalittlefellowwithhisfistsonhiships,andhisberetoveroneear.

AttheendofaquarterofanhourMadameAubaindismissedher.

Theywerealwaystobemethangingaboutthekitchen,oronthewalkstheytook.Thehusbanddidnotshowhimself.

Felicitytookalikingtothem.Sheboughtthembedclothes,shirts,acookingstove;evidentlytheywereexploitingher.ThisweaknessirritatedMadameAubain,who,besides,didn’tlikethefamiliaritiesofthenephew,forhetalkedtohersonastoan

equal;and,asVirginiahadacough,and theweatherwasno longergood, shereturnedtoPont-l’Évêque.

MonsieurBouraisgaveheradviceon the choiceof a school.TheoneatCaenwasconsideredthebest.Paulwassentthere,andsaidgood-byestoutly,pleasedtogoandliveinahousewherehewouldhavecomrades.

MadameAubainresignedherself to theseparationfromhersonbecause itwasindispensable. Virginia thought of it less and less. Felicitymissed the noise hemade.Butanoccupationcamealong todistracther.StartingatChristmas,shetookthelittlegirleverydaytoCatechism.

III

Whenshehadmadeagenuflexionatthedoorshewalkedonunderthehighnavebetweenthedoublerowofchairs,openedMadameAubain’spew,satdown,andlookedallroundher.Theboysontheright,thegirlsontheleft,filledthestallsofthechoir;theprieststoodnearthelectern;onastained-glasswindowintheapsetheHolyGhosthoveringoverthevirgin;anothershowedheronherkneesbeforethe Infant Jesus, and behind the ciboriuma group carved inwood representedSaintMichaelsubduingthedragon.

ThepriestgavethemfirstashortaccountofSacredHistory.ShethoughtshesawParadise, the deluge, the tower of Babel, cities in flames, peoples dying, idolsoverthrown;andsheretainedfromthisstateofamazementrespectfortheMostHigh, and fear ofHiswrath. Then shewept, listening to thePassion.Why hadtheycrucifiedHim,thisOnewholovedthechildren,whofedthemultitudes,whocuredtheblind,andhaddesired,inHisgentleness,tobebornamidthepoor,onthedungofastable?Seedtime,harvest,thewinepress,allthefamiliarthingsofwhich theGospelspeaks,existed inher life; thepassageofGodhadsanctifiedthem;andshe loved the lambsmore tenderly for loveof theLambofGod, thedovesbecauseoftheHolyGhost.

Shehadtroubleinimaginingitsshape;foritwasnotonlyabird,butbesidesthat,afire,andatothertimesabreath.Maybeitwasitslightthatflickeredatnightsontheedgeofthemarshes,itsbreaththatpushedtheclouds,itsvoicethatmadethebellsringsweetly;andshestayedinadoration,enjoyingthefreshnessofthewallsandthetranquillityofthechurch.

Astothedogmas,sheunderstoodnoneofthem,didnoteventrytounderstandthem.Thepriestdiscoursed,thechildrenrecited,shefinishedbygoingtosleep;andwokeupsuddenlywhen,astheycameout,theirwoodenshoesclatteredontheflagstones.

It was in this way, by dint of hearing it, that she learned the catechism, herreligiouseducationhavingbeenneglected in her youth; and from that time she

imitatedall thepracticesofVirginia, fastingasshedid,going toconfessionwithher.OnCorpusChristidaytogethertheyerectedastreetaltar.

Sheworriedaboutthefirstcommunioninadvance.Shewasinaflutterabouttheslippers, about the wreath, about the book, about the gloves. With what innertremblingsshehelpedhermotherdressher!

All through theMass shewas in an agony.Monsieur Bourais hid a part of thechoirfromher;but just infronttheflockofgirls,wearingtheirwhitecrownsovertheir loweredveils, formedas itwerea fieldof snow;andshe recognized fromafarherdear littleonebyherdaintyneckandcontemplativeattitude.Thebellsrang out: heads bent: there was a silence. To an outburst of organ music thechoristersandthecongregationbegantosingtheAgnusDei;thenthemarchpastoftheboysbegan;andafterthemthegirlsrose.Stepbystep,andhandsjoinedinprayer, theywent towards thealtar, ablazewith candles, knelt on the first step,received in turn the wafer, and in the same order returned and knelt in theirplaces.WhenitwasVirginia’s turnFelicitybent forwardtoseeher,andwith theimaginationwhichtruetendernessbestows,itseemedtoherthatsheherselfwasthischild.Virginia’sfacebecameherown,herdressclothedher;herheartbeatinherbreast;at themomentwhensheopenedhermouth,shuttinghereyes,shealmostfainted.

Nextday,early,shepresentedherself in thevestryso that thepriestmightgivehercommunion.Shereceiveditdevoutly,butdidnottastethesamedelights.

MadameAubainwantedtomakeherdaughteraccomplished:andasGuyotcouldnotteacheitherEnglishormusic,sheresolvedtosendhertotheboardingschooloftheUrsulinesatHonfleur.

The child made no objections. Felicity sighed, finding madame hard-hearted.Then she thought that her mistress, perhaps, was right. These matters wentbeyondherprovince.

Finally,oneday,anoldvanstoppedbeforethedoor,andfromitsteppedanun,whohadcometogetmademoiselle.Felicityliftedthebaggageontothetop,gaveinjunctions to the coachman, and placed under the seat six pots of jam, and adozenpears,withabunchofviolets.

Virginia, at the last moment, was shaken by a huge sob; she embraced hermother, who kissed her on the forehead, repeating: ‘Come now, courage,courage!’Thestepsweredrawnup,thecarriagesetout.

ThenMadame Aubain fainted: and in the evening all her friends, the Lormeauhousehold, Madame Lechaptois, those ladies Rochefeuille, Monsieur deHoupeville,andBouraisputinanappearancetoconsoleher.

The lossofherdaughterwasat firstverygrievous.But three timesaweekshegotaletterfromher,theotherdaysshewrotetoher,walkedinhergarden,readalittle,andinthiswayfilledtheemptinessofthehours.

In themorning, from habit, Felicity went into Virginia’s room and looked at thewalls.Shemissednothavingherhairtocomb,herbootstolace,totuckherinherbed—andnotseeingcontinuallyherprettyface,nothavingtoholdherhandwhentheywentouttogether.Nothavingenoughworktodo,shetriedtomakelace.Herfingersweretooclumsyandbrokethethreads.Shewasgoodfornothing,couldnotsleep,touseherownexpressionwas‘awreck’.

To‘cheerherselfup’sheaskedpermissiontohaveavisitfromhernephewVictor.

HearrivedonSundayaftermass,withrosycheeks,hischestbare,breathingtheodourofthecountryhehadpassedthrough.Atonceshesethisplace.Theyhadlunchfacingeachother:andherselfeatingaslittleaspossibletokeepdowntheexpense,shestuffedhimwithfoodtosuchanextentthathefinishedbygoingtosleep. At the first stroke of the bell for vespers she woke him, brushed histrousers,tiedhistie,andwenttochurch,leaningonhisarminmaternalpride.

His parents charged him always to bring something home, maybe a packet ofbrownsugar,soap,brandy,sometimesevenmoney.Hebroughthisclothestobemended,andsheacceptedthistask,gladofthechancewhichforcedhimtocomeback.

InAugusthisfathertookhimwithhimonthecoastingtrade.

Itwasholidaytime.Thearrivalofthechildrenconsoledher.ButPaulhadbecomecapricious,andVirginiawasnolongeryoungenoughtobespokentoasanequal,andthatputafeelingofconstraint,abarrierbetweenthem.

VictorwentinturntoMorlaix,toDunkirk,andtoBrighton.Onhisreturnfromeachvoyagehemadeherapresent.Thefirsttimeitwasaboxcoveredwithshells;thesecondacoffeecup;thethirdabiggingerbreadman.Hegrewhandsome,withagoodcarriage,nicefrankeyes,andalittleleathercapwornwelltothefrontlikeapilot.Heamusedherbytellingherstoriesmixedwithnauticalterms.

OnMonday,14thJuly1819(shedidnotforgetthedate),Victorannouncedthathewasengagedforatripand,duringthenightofthedayafternext,bytheHonfleursteamer, hewould go to join his schooner,whichwasgoing to sail fromHavrequitesoon.Hewouldbe,maybe,awayfortwoyears.

TheprospectofsuchanabsencegrievedFelicity;andtosayanothergood-byetohim onWednesday evening, aftermadame’s dinner, she put on her clogs andhurrieddownthefourleagueswhichseparatedPont-l’ÉvêquefromHonfleur.

WhenshewasatthecrossroadsbeforetheCalvary,insteadoftakingthepathtotheleftshetooktheonetotheright,lostherselfintheyards,andcamebackonhertracks;thepeoplesheaccostedadvisedhertohurry.Shewalkedrightroundthe harbour, stumbled over ropes; then the land dropped before her, lightsintersectedeachother,andshethoughtherselfmad,perceivinghorsesintheair.

Ontheedgeofthequayotherswhinnied,terrifiedofthesea.Thetacklethatliftedthemsetthemdowninaboatwheretravellerselbowedoneanotheramongcasks

of cider, baskets of cheese, sacks of grain; you could hear hens cackling, thecaptainwasswearing;andaboywasstandingleaningonthecathead,indifferenttoall that.Felicity,whohadnotrecognizedhim,screamed‘Victor!’Heraisedhishead;sherushedforward,whenthegangwaywassuddenlypulledback.

The steamer which was towed by women, singing, left the port. Its timberscreaked,heavywaveswhippeditsprow.Thevesselhadturned,nobodywasseenany longer—and, on the sea silvered by the moon, it made a black spot thatsteadilypaled,sank,disappeared.

Felicity,passingnear theCalvary,wanted to recommend toGod thatwhichshecherishedmost.Andsheprayeda longtime,standing,herfacebathedintears,hereyestowardstheclouds.Thetownslept,customsofficialswalkedabout,andthewaterfellwithoutceasingthroughtheholesofthesluice.Twoo’clockstruck.

Thereceptionroomoftheconventdidnotopenbeforeday-break.Adelay,quitecertainly,wouldannoymadame;and,inspiteofherdesiretoembracetheotherchild,shereturned.TheservantgirlsattheinnwerewakingassheenteredPont-l’Évêque.

Thepoorladwasgoingtorollaboutonthewavesformonths.Hisformervoyageshad not frightened her. From England and Brittany people came back; butAmerica,theColonies,theWestIndies,thatwastobelostinanuncertainland,attheotherendoftheworld.

FromthattimeonFelicitythoughtexclusivelyofhernephew.Onsunnydaysshetormentedherselfwith thirst;whenastormcameonshe feared the thunder forhim.Listeningtothewindwhichhowledinthechimneyandblewoffthetiles,shesawhimbeatenbythesametempest,atthetopofashatteredmast,allhisbodythrown back under a sheet of foam; or else—souvenirs of the geographyengravings—hewasdevouredbysavages,capturedinawoodbymonkeys,wasdyingalongadesertedseashore.Andneverdidshespeakofheranxieties.

MadameAubainhadothersforherdaughter.Thegoodsistersfoundthatshewasaffectionatebutdelicate.Theslightestemotionunnervedher.Thepianohadtobegivenup.

Hermother required a regular correspondence from the convent. Onemorningthat the postman did not come she was impatient: and she walked about theliving-roomfromherchairtothewindow.Itwasreallyextraordinary!Forfourdaysnonews.

SothatshemightfindcomfortinherexampleFelicitysaidtoher:

‘Lookatme,madame:it’ssixmonthssinceI’vehadany!’

‘Fromwhom?’

Theservantrepliedgently:

‘But—frommynephew!’

‘Oh—yournephew!’and,shrugginghershoulders,MadameAubainwentonwithherwalkingasiftosay:‘Ididnotthinkabouthim!Moreover,Idon’tcare!acabinboy,abeggar,afinebusiness—whilemydaughter—Thinkofit!’

Felicity,althoughbroughtupon rudeness,was indignantagainstmadame, thenforgot.

Itseemedtoherquiteeasytoloseone’sheadaboutthelittlegirl’sconcerns.

Thetwochildrenhadanequal importance;oneofherheart-stringsunitedthem,andtheirdestiniesshouldbethesame.

Thechemist toldher thatVictor’sboathadarrivedatHavana.Hehad read theinformationinagazette.

Becauseof the cigars she imaginedHavanaa countrywherenothingelsewasdone but smoke, and Victor moving among the niggers in a cloud of tobacco.Couldhe‘incaseofneed’comebackbyland?Whatdistancewasit fromPont-l’Évêque?TolearnthatsheaskedMonsieurBourais.

Hegothisatlas,thenbeganexplanationsaboutthelongitudes,andhehadafinepedant’ssmile infaceofFelicity’sbewilderment.At lengthwithhispocketpencilhe showed her the indentations on an oval mark, a black imperceptible point,adding: ‘That’s it’.She leanedover themap; thisnetworkofcoloured lines tiredhereyes,withoutteachingheranything;and,Bouraisinvitinghertosaywhatwasworrying her, she begged him to show her the house where Victor was living.Bourais raised his arms, sneezed, laughed enormously; such ingenuousnessexcited his joy: and Felicity did not understand the cause of it—she who wasexpecting,perhaps,eventoseeaphotographofhernephew,solimitedwasherintelligence.

ItwasafortnightafterwardsthatLiébard,atthehourwhenthemarketwason,aswashiscustom,cameintothekitchenandgaveheraletterwhichherbrother-in-lawhadsent.Sinceneitherofthetwoknowhowtoread,shehadrecoursetohermistress.

MadameAubain, whowas counting stitches in her knitting, put her work downbesideher,unsealedtheletter,trembled,andinalowvoicewithaseriouslook:

‘It’sbadnews…youarebeingtoldof.Yournephew—’

Hewasdead.Theytoldhernomore.

Felicity fellonachair, leaningherheadonthewall,andshuthereyes,andhereyelids suddenly grew pink. Then, her head drooping, her eyes fixed, sherepeatedatintervals:

‘Poorlittlechap!Poorlittlechap!’

Liébardlookedather,emittingdeepsighs.MadameAubainwastremblingslightly.

SheproposedtohertogoandseehersisteratTrouville.

Felicityansweredbyagesturethatshehadnoneedtogothere.

Therewasa silence.GoodoldLiébard thought it proper togoaway.Thenshesaid:

‘It’snothingtothem!’

Her head sank down again; andmechanically she lifted, from time to time, thelongknitting-needlesonthework-table.

Somewomenpassedinthecourtyardwithabarrowheapedwithdrippinglinen.

Asshesawthemthroughthewindowpanessherememberedherwashing;shehadsoakeditthenightbefore,to-dayithadtoberinsed,andshelefttheroom.

HerwashboardandhertubwereonthebrinkoftheRiverToucques.Sheflungonthebankaheapofchemises, tuckeduphersleeves, tookupherbeating-stick;and theheavyblowsshegavewereheard in theothergardensalongside.Thefieldswereempty,thewindrippledtheriver;atthebottomlongweedssweptoverlike the hair of dead men floating in the water. She restrained her sorrow tillevening,wasverybrave;but, inherroomsheabandonedherselftoit, lyingflat,face down on her mattress, her eyes in her pillow, and her fists against hertemples.

Much later, from Victor’s captain himself, she learnt the circumstances of hisdeath.Hehadbeenbledtoomuchat thehospital foryellowfever.Fourdoctorswerelookingafterhimatonce.Hediedimmediately,andthechiefhadsaid:

‘Tut,tut,that’sanotherone!’

Hisparentshadalways treatedhimbarbarously.Shepreferrednot tosee themagain; and they made no advances, either through forgetfulness or thecallousnessofthewretchedpoor.

Virginiagrewweaker.

Shortness of breath, a cough, a continual fever, and red spots on her cheek-bones revealed somedeep- seatedaffection.MonsieurPourpart hadadvisedastayinProvence.MadameAubainmadeuphermindtogothere,andwouldhaveimmediatelyrecalledherdaughterhomeexceptfortheclimateofPont-l’Évêque.

Shemade an arrangement with a man who hired carriages to take her to theconvent everyThursday.There is in the gardensa terrace fromwhich you candiscerntheSeine.Virginiawouldwalkthereonherarm,onthefallengrape-vineleaves. Sometimes the sun, shining through the clouds, made her blink hereyelids,whenshelookedatthesailsinthedistance,andallthehorizonfromthechâteauofTancarvilletothelighthouseatHavre.Thentheyrestedinthearbour.HermotherhadgotalittlebarrelofanexcellentMalagawine;and,laughingattheideaofbeingdrunk,shewoulddrinktwofingersofit,notmore.

Her strength improved. The autumn slipped away quietly. Felicity reassuredMadame Aubain. But one evening that she had been on an errand in the

neighbourhoodshemetbeforethedoorMonsieurPourpart’sgig:andhehimselfwasinthevestibule.MadameAubainwastyingonherhat.

‘Givememyfootwarmer,mypurse,mygloves:bequicker,can’tyou?’

Virginiahadaninflammationofthelungs:itwasperhapshopeless.

‘Not yet,’ said the doctor, and the two of them got into the carriage under thesnowflakeswhicheddiedaround.Nightwasabouttofall.Itwasverycold.

Felicityrushedintothechurchtolightacandle.Thensheranafterthegig,whichsherejoinedanhourlater,leapedlightlyupbehind,whereshewasholdingonbythe twisted cords, when a reflection came to her. ‘The courtyard is not shut. Ifrobbersgetin?’andshegotdown.

Nextdayatsunriseshepresentedherselfat thedoctor’s.Hehadcome in,andgoneoutagaintothecountry.Thenshestayedintheinn,thinkingthatstrangerswouldbringheraletter.AtlengthatdawnshetookthecoachtoLisieux.

Theconventwassituatedattheendofasteeplane.Aboutthemiddlesheheardstrange sounds, a death knell. ‘It’s for other people,’ she thought, and Felicitypulledviolentlyattheknocker.

Attheendofseveralminutesslippersdraggedalong,thedoorhalfopened,andanunappeared.

Thegoodsistersaidwithanairofcompunctionthat‘shehadjustpassed’.AtthesametimetheknellofSaintLeonard’sredoubleditspeal.

Felicityarrivedatthesecondstory.

From the threshold of the room she saw Virginia, stretched on her back, herhands joined, hermouth open, and her head thrown back under a black crossbending towards her, between motionless curtains, less white than her face.Madame Aubain, at the foot of the couch which she clasped with her hands,uttered sobs of agony. The Mother Superior was standing on the right. Threecandlestickson thechestofdrawersmaderedsplashes,and themistwhitenedthewindows.NunstookawayMadameAubain.

FortwonightsFelicitydidnotleavethedeadgirl.Sherepeatedthesameprayers,threwholywateronthesheets,camebackandsatdown,and lookedather.Attheendof thefirstwatchshenoticedthat thefacehadgotyellow,the lipsblue,thenosepinched,theeyessunk.Shekissedthemseveraltimes,andwouldnothavefeltan immenseastonishment ifVirginiahadreopenedthem: forsouls likehers the supernatural is quite simple. She dressed her, wrapped her in hershroud,liftedherintohercoffin,placedawreathonher,spreadoutherhair.Herhairwasfair,ofanextraordinarylengthforherage.Felicitycutoffathicklock,thehalfofwhichsheslippedintoherbosom,resolvednevertopartwithit.

The body was carried back to Pont-l’Évêque, in obedience to the wishes ofMadameAubain,whofollowedthehearseinaclosedcarriage.

Afterthemasstheytookanotherthree-quartersofanhourtoreachthecemetery.Paulwalkedinfrontandsobbed.MonsieurBouraiswasbehind,thentheprincipalinhabitants,thewomencoveredinblackmantles,andFelicity.Shethoughtofhernephew,andnothavingbeenabletorenderhimthesehonours,feltanincreaseofgriefasiftheywereburyinghimwiththeother.

MadameAubain’sdespairwaswithoutbounds.

FirstsherevoltedagainstGod,findingHimunjustforhavingtakenherdaughter,shewhohadneverdoneanywrong,andwhoseconsciencewassopure.Butno!she should have taken her south. Other doctors would have saved her! Sheaccusedherself,wanted to joinher,criedout indistressamidherdreams.Onedream,aboveall,obsessedher.Herhusband,cladlikeasailor,wascomingbackfromalongvoyage,andsaidtoherweeping,thathehadgotorderstotakeawayVirginia.Thentheyarrangedtofindahidingplacesomewhere.

Onedayshecameinfromthegardencompletelyupset.Thefatheranddaughter(shepointedouttheplace)hadappearedtoherjustnow,oneaftertheother,andtheydidnothing;theylookedather.

Forseveralmonthsshe remained inher room inert.Felicity lecturedhergently;shemustkeepherselfforherson,andfortheother,inmemoryof‘her’.

‘Her’,tookupMadameAubain,asifawakening, ‘oh,yes!yes!Youdonotforgether!’ An allusion to the cemetery which it had been scrupulously forbidden tomention.

Felicitywentthereeveryday.

At four o’clock exactly she passed alongside the houses, climbed the slope,opened the gate, and arrived at Virginia’s tomb. It was a little column of rosemarble,witha flagstoneat thebase,andchainsaround, framinga littlegarden.The flower-beds were invisible under a coverlet of flowers. She watered theirleaves, renewed the sand, knelt down the better to work the earth. MadameAubain,whenshecouldcomethere,feltsomecomfort,akindofconsolation.

Thenyearsslippedby,allalike,andwithoutotherepisodesthanthereturnofthegreat feasts: Easter, the Assumption, All Saints. Inside happeningsmarked thedateswhich they used for reference later on. Thus in 1825 two glazierswhite-washed thevestibule; in1827abitof the roof, falling into thecourtyard,almostkilledaman.Inthesummerof1828itwasmadame’sturntoprovidethesacredbreadforMass.Bourais,aboutthistime,absentedhimselfmysteriously;andtheold acquaintances, little by little, passed away; Guyot, Liébard, MadameLechaptois,Robelin,UncleGermanville,paralysedalongtimeago.

One night the driver of the mail coach announced in Pont-l’Évêque the JulyRevolution.Anewsub-prefectwasappointedafewdaysafterwards;theBarondeLarsonnière,anex-consul inAmerica,whohadlivingwithhim,besideshiswife,hissister-in-law,with threeyoung ladies,alreadyprettybig.Theywereseenon

their lawn, dressed in floating blouses; they possessed a negro and a parrot.MadameAubainreceivedavisitfromthem,anddidnotfailtoreturnit.WhentheyappearedinthefarthestdistanceFelicityrantowarnher.Butonethingwasalonecapableofmovingher,herson’sletters.

Hecouldnotfollowanycareer,beingwrappedupintaverns.Shepaidhisdebts;heranupothers;andthesighswhichMadameAubainuttered,knittingnearherwindow,couldbeheardbyFelicity,turningherspinning-wheelinthekitchen.

They took walks together beside the wall where the pears grew; and talkedalwaysofVirginia,askingeachotherifsuchandsuchathingwouldhavepleasedher;onsuchanoccasionwhatwouldsheprobablyhavesaid?

Allherlittlepossessionsoccupiedapressintheroomwiththetwobeds.MadameAubain inspected them as seldom as possible. One summer day she resignedherselftoit,andmothsflewfromthewardrobe.

Herdresseswerethere inarowunderashelf,onwhichtherewerethreedolls,hoops, doll’s furniture, the washbowl she had used. They took out as wellunderskirts, stockings, handkerchiefs, and spread them on the two couchesbeforefoldingthemupagain.Thesunshoneonthosepoorobjects,showingupthe stains and the foldsmade by the body’smovements. The air was hot andblue, a blackbird chirped, everything seemed alive in a deep sweetness. Theyfounda littleplushhat,with longhair,chestnutcoloured;but itwasalleatenbyinsects.Felicityclaimedit forherself.Theireyesmet, filledwithtears; finally themistress opened her arms, the servant flung herself into them; and they clungtogether,satisfyingtheirgriefinakissthatequalizedthem.

It was the first time in their lives, Madame Aubain not being of an expansivenature.Felicitywasgratefulforit,asforakindness,andhenceforthcherishedherwithananimaldevotionandareligiousveneration.

Thekindnessofherheartdeveloped.

Whensheheardinthestreetthedrumsofaregimentonthemarchshestationedherselfbefore thedoorwitha jugofcider,andoffered thesoldiersadrink.Shelookedafterthevictimsofcholera.SheprotectedthePoles;andtherewasevenoneof themwhodeclaredhewanted tomarryher.But theyquarrelled: foronemorning,cominginfromtheAngelus,shefoundhiminherkitchen,intowhichhehadmadehisway,andfixedhimselfupadishofmeatwithvinegarsaucewhichhewaseatingquietly.

After the Poles there was old Father Colmiche, an old man, who passed forhavingdoneterriblethingsin’93.Helivedontheriverside,intheruinsofapigsty.Urchins used to peer at him through the chinks in the wall, and threw stoneswhich fellon thewretchedbedwherehe lay,continuallyshakenbyacold,withvery longhair, inflamedeyelids,andonhisarma tumourbigger thanhishead.Shegotlinenforhim,triedtocleanouthishovel,haddreamsofsettlinghiminthewashhouse, without annoying Madame. When cancer knocked him out she

bandagedhimeveryday,sometimesbroughthimcake,puthim in thesunonabundleofhay;and thepooroldman,droolingandtrembling, thankedher inhisfeeblevoice,fearingtoloseher,stretchingouthishandswhenhesawhergoingoff.Hedied:shehadaMasssaidforthereposeofhissoul.

That day a great happiness came to her; just at dinner-time Madame deLarsonnières’s negro presented himself, holding the parrot in its cage,with thestand, the chain, and the padlock. A note from the baroness announced toMadame Aubain that, her husband being raised to the prefecture, they wereleavingthatevening;andshebeggedhertoacceptthebirdasasouvenir,andintokenofherrespect.

ForalongtimehehadfilledFelicity’simagination,forhecamefromAmerica,andthiswordrecalledVictor,somuchsothatshehadmadeinquiriesaboutitfromthenegro.Onceevenshehadsaid:

‘Madamewouldliketohaveit!’

Thenegrohadrepeatedtheremarktohismistresswho,notbeingabletotakethebirdwithher,hadgotridofitinthisway.

IV

HewascalledLoulou.Hisbodywasgreen, the tipsofhiswings rose,his frontblue,andhisthroatgolden.

Buthehadthetiresomemaniaofbitinghisstand,pullingouthisfeathers,spillingthewaterfromhisbath.MadameAubain,whomhebored,gavehimforgoodtoFelicity.

Sheundertook to instructhim.Soonhe repeated: ‘Niceboy!’ ‘Yourservant, sir!’‘HailMary!’Hewasplacedbeside thedoor, and somepeoplewereastonishedthat he did not answer to the name of Jacquot, since all parrots are calledJacquot.Hewascomparedtoagoose,toablockhead:somanydaggerblowsforFelicity! Strange obstinacy of Loulou not speaking at the time people werelooking.

Nevertheless he courted company; for on Sundays, when those ladiesRochefeuille, Monsieur de Houpeville, and some new friends—Onfroy theapothecary,MonsieurVarin,andCaptainMathieu—weremakinguptheirpartyatcards,heknockedon thewindowpaneswithhiswings,and thrashedaboutsoviolentlythatitwasimpossibletohearoneself.

Bourais’s face,nodoubt,seemedtohimvery funny.Assoonashesawhimhebegantolaugh,tolaughwithallhismight.Thepealsofhisvoicereboundedinthecourtyard, the echoes repeated them, the neighbours came to their windowslaughing too;andsoasnot tobeseenby theparrot,MonsieurBouraisslipped

alongthewall,hidinghisprofilewithhishat,reachedtheriver,thenenteredbythegardengate;andtheglanceshedirectedatthebirdlackedtenderness.

Thebutcher’sboyhadsnappedhisfingersatLoulou,whohadventuredtothrusthisheadintohisbasket;andsincethenhehadalwaystriedtopinchhimthroughhisshirt.Fabuthreatenedtowringhisneck,althoughhewasnotcruel,inspiteofthetattooingonhisarm,andhisthickwhiskers.Onthecontraryhehadratheralikingfortheparrot,wanting,inajovialmood,toteachhimswearwords.Felicity,whowasfrightenedatthiskindofbehaviour,puthiminthekitchen.Hislittlechainwastakenoff,andhemovedaboutthehouse.

When he came down the stairs he leaned the curve of his beak on the steps,raisedhisrightclaw,thentheleft,andshewasafraidthatsuchgymnasticswouldmakehimdizzy.Hebecameill,wasnotabletospeakoreat.Therewasagrowthunderhistongue,astheresometimesis inhens.Shecuredhim,tearingoutthelumpwith her nails.Monsieur Paul one day was imprudent enough to puff thesmokeofacigar intohisnostrils;another time thatMadameLormeauannoyedhimwiththeendofhersunshadehesnappedtheferuleoff;finallyhegotlost.

Shehadputhimonthegrasstolethimrefreshhimself,wentawayforamoment;andwhenshecameback,noparrot.Atfirstshelookedforhiminthebushes,atthewateredge,andontheroofs,withoutheedinghermistresswhocriedtoher:‘Takecare.Youaremad!’Thenshe inspectedall thegardensofPont-l’Évêque:and she stopped the passers-by: ‘You haven’t seen anywhere, by chance, myparrot?’To thosewhodidnotknowtheparrotshedescribedhim.Suddenlyshethought she distinguished, behind themill, at the bottom of the slope, a greenthingflutteringabout.Butatthetopofthehill,nothing!Apedlaraffirmedthathehad justmet it inSaint-Milaine inMotherSimon’s shop.She ran there.Nobodyknew what she meant. Finally she came back, worn out, her slippers in rags,deathinhersoul;and,seatedinthecentreofthegardenseat,nearmadame,shewas recounting all her adventures, when a light weight fell on her shoulder—Loulou! What the deuce had he done? Maybe he had taken a stroll in theneighbourhood.

Shehadtroubleinrecoveringfromit,orrather,sheneverdidrecover.

Asaresultofachillshegotasorethroat;alittleafter,anear-ache.Threeyearsafter,shewasdeaf;andshespokevery loud,even in thechurch.Althoughhersins might have been broadcast to all the corners of the parish, withoutdishonouring her, or inconveniencing the world, the priest thought it right toreceiveherconfessiononlyinthevestry.

Illusory buzzings in the ear completely confused her. Often hermistress wouldsay:‘Gracious!howstupidyouare!’Andshewouldreply:‘Yes,madame,’lookingforsomethingroundher.

The littlecircleofher ideasnarrowedstillmore,andtheringingof thebells, thelowingoftheherdsnolongerexisted.Allcreaturesfunctionedinghostlysilence.

Onenoisealonenowreachedherears,thevoiceoftheparrot.

Asiftoamuseher,hewouldreproducethetick-tackoftheturnspit,theshrillcryofthe fishmonger, thesawof thecarpenterwho livedopposite:andwhen thebellrang,imitatedMadameAubain:‘Felicity!thedoor!thedoor!’

They had dialogues together; he reeling off to satiety the three phrases of hisrepertory,andsheansweringbywordswithoutcoherencebut inwhichhersoulunbosomeditself.Loulou,inherisolation,wasalmostason,alover.Heclimbedupherfingers,nibbledatherlips,hungontoherneckerchief;andasshebentherforehead,shakingherheadaschildren’snursesdo,thebigwingsofherbonnetandthewingsofthebirdshooktogether.

Whenthecloudsgatheredandthethundergrowled,hewoulduttercries,recallingperhapsthedelugesofhisnativeforests.

Thetricklingofwaterexcitedhimalmosttodelirium:heflutteredaboutmadly,rosetotheroof,turnedovereverything,andwentthroughthewindowtodabbleinthegarden;butcamebackquicklytooneof theandironsand,hoppingabouttodryhiswings,showednowhistail,andnowhisbeak.

One morning of the terrible winter of 1837, when she had put him before thehearth because of the cold, she found him dead in themiddle of his cage, hisheaddown,hisclawsinthewiremeshing.Acongestionhadkilledhim,nodoubt.Shebelievedhehadbeenpoisonedbyparsley;and,inspiteoftheabsenceofallproof,hersuspicionscentredonFabu.

Sheweptsomuchthathermistresssaidtoher:‘Well,then,havehimstuffed’.

Sheaskedadvicefromthechemist,whohadalwaysbeengoodtotheparrot.

HewrotetoHavre.AcertainFellacherundertookthebusiness.But,asthestagecoach sometimes mislaid parcels, she resolved to carry it herself as far asHonfleur.

Appletreesbareofleaves,oneafteranother,borderedthesidesoftheroad.Icecovered the ditches.Dogs barked around the farms; and, her hands under hercloak,withherlittleblackwoodenshoesandherbasket,shewalkedquicklyinthecentreoftheroad.

Shecrossedtheforest,passedHautChêne,reachedSaintGatien.

Behindher,inacloudofdust,andcarriedawaybyitsownimpetusonthehill,amailcoachatafullgalloprushedonherlikeawhirlwind.Seeingthiswoman,whodid not get out of the way, the driver stood up on the hood, and the postilionshoutedtoo,whilethefourhorsesthathecouldnotholdbackwentquickerthanever; the two first justgrazedher;witha twistof the reinshedrew them to thesideoftheroad,butinatemper,raisedhisarm,andwithafullswing,withhisbigwhip,gavehersucha lash fromstomach to the twistofhairat thenapeofherneck,thatshefellonherback.

Herfirstgesture,whenshecamebacktoconsciousness,wastoopenherbasket.Loulouwasnothurt,fortunately.Shefeltaburningonherrightcheek:sheraisedherhandstoit,andtheywerered.Bloodwasflowing.

Shesatdownonapileofroadmetal,pattedherfacewithherhandkerchief,thensheateacrustofbread,put inherbasketbywayofprecaution,andconsoledherselfforherwoundinlookingatthebird.

Whenshe reached theheightsofEcquemauvilleshesaw the lightsofHonfleursparkling in the night like a cluster of stars; the sea, farther off, stretched outvaguely. Then a feeling of faintness stopped her, and the wretchedness of herchildhood, thedisappointmentofher first love, thedepartureofhernephew, thedeathofVirginia, likethewavesofatide,returningallatonce,andrisingtoherthroat,chokedher.

Thenshewantedtospeaktothecaptainoftheboat,andwithouttellinghimwhatshewassending,shegavehimcarefulorders.

Fellacherkepttheparrotalongtime.Healwayspromiseditforthenextweek;atthe end of sixmonths he announced the shipping of a box, and there was nomore question of it. She could only think that Loulou would never come back.‘They’llhavestolenhimfromme,’shethought.

Finally he arrived—and splendid, upright on the branch of a tree, which wasscrewedinamahoganybase,oneclawintheair,hisheadsideways,andbitinganutwhichthebirdstufferhadgildedthroughloveofthegrandiose.

Sheshutitupinherroom.

Thisspot,towhichsheadmittedfewpeople,hadthelookatonceofachapelandabazaar,itcontainedsomanyreligiousobjectsandheteroclitethings.

Abigwardrobewasinthewaywhenoneopenedthedoor.Infrontofthewindow,overhangingthegarden,aroundwindowlookedoutatthecourtyard;atablenearthe truckle bed bore a water jug, two combs, and a cube of blue soap on achipped plate. On the walls were seen strings of beads, medals, several HolyVirgins, aholy-waterbasinof coco-nut; on the chestof drawers coveredwithaclothlikeanaltar,theshellboxthatVictorhadgivenher:thenawateringpotandaballoon,writingexercisebooks, thegeographywithengravings,apairofboots;andonthenailwhichheldupthemirror,hungbyitsribbons,thelittleplushhat.Felicity even pushed this kind of respect so far as to keep one of monsieur’scoats.AlltheoldstuffthatMadameAubaindidnotwantanymoreshetookforherroom.Thatwaswhy therewereartificial flowersat thesideof thedrawers,andthepictureoftheCountofArtoisintherecessofthedormerwindow.

Byway of shelf, Loulouwas established on a part of the chimney-piecewhichjuttedintotheroom.Everymorningasshewakedupshesawhiminthelightofdawn,and recalled then thedays thatweregone, insignificantactions,down totheirleastdetail,withoutgrief,fulloftranquillity.

Communicating with no one, she lived in the torpor of the sleep-walker. Theprocessions of Corpus Christi day roused her. She went to beg from theneighbourstorchesandstrawmattingtoembellishthealtarsetupinthestreet.

AtthechurchshecontemplatedsteadilytheHolyGhost,andnoticedthatithadalook of the parrot. The resemblance seemed to her stillmore noticeable on anÉpinal picture, representing the baptismofOur Lord.With its purplewings andemeraldbodyitwasreallytheportraitofLoulou.

Havingbought itshehungit in theplaceof theCountofArtois,sothatwiththesamelookshecouldseethemboth.Theybecameassociatedinherthoughts,theparrotbecomingsanctifiedbythisunionwiththeHolyGhost,whichbecamemorealiveandintelligibleinhereyes.TheFather,togiveutterancetohiswill,hadnotchosenadove,sincethesebeastshavenovoice,butratheroneoftheancestorsofLoulou.AndFelicity saidherprayers, lookingat thepicture,but from time totimeturnedalittletothebird.

ShewantedtojointheSistersoftheVirgin;MadameAubaindissuadedher.

Aneventofsomeimportancetookplace:Paul’smarriage.

Afterhavingbeenatfirstanotaryclerk,theninbusiness,intheCustoms,intheTreasury,andhavingeven takensomesteps toget into theWaterandForestsDepartment, at the age of thirty-six, suddenly, by a heaven-sent inspiration, hehaddiscoveredhis real road: theRegistryOffice.Andhehadshownsuchhightalentsthatanauditorhadofferedhimhisdaughter,promisinghimhisprotection.

Paul,becomeseriousminded,broughthertohismother.

ShelookeddownonthecustomsofPont-l’Évêque,behavedlikeaprincess,hurtFelicity.MadameAubain,whenshewentaway,feltrelieved.

The following week they learned of the death of Monsieur Bourais, in LowerBrittany, inan inn.The rumourof suicidewasconfirmed:doubts roseabouthishonesty.MadameAubainstudiedheraccounts,andwasnot long in finding thewhole listofhisevildeeds;embezzlementofarrears,pretendedsalesofwood,falsereceipts,etc.

Theseactsofbasenessafflictedhergreatly.InMarch1853shewasseizedbyapaininthechest;hertongueseemedcoveredwithsmoke;leechesdidnotcalmthefever;andontheeighthdayshedied,beingexactlyseventy-twoyearsold.

Shewasconsideredyounger,becauseofherbrownhair,whosefoldssurroundedher pale face,markedwith the smallpox. Few friendsmourned her, herway oflivinghaddisplayedahaughtinesswhichkeptpeopleatadistance.

Felicityweptforher,asmastersarenotweptfor.Thatmadameshoulddiebeforeherupsether ideas,seemed tohercontrary to theorderof things, inadmissibleandmonstrous.

Tendaysafter (the timetorush toBesançon) theheirsarrived; thedaughter-in-

lawwentthroughthedrawers,chosethebestofthefurniture,soldtherest;thentheywentdowntotheRegistryOfficeagain.

Madame’schair,hertable,herfootwarmer,theeightchairsweregone.Theplaceof theengravingswasmarkedby yellowsquareson thewalls.Theyhad takenaway the two little beds, with their mattresses, and in the cupboard none ofVirginia’sbelongingswereseenanymore.Felicityclimbedthestairs,drunkwithgrief.

Thenextdaytherewasanoticeonthedoor:theapothecaryshoutedinherearthatthehousewasforsale.

Shestaggeredandwasobligedtositdown.

Whatdistressedhermostwasleavingherroom-soconvenientforpoorLoulou.Enveloping him with a look of anguish she implored the Holy Ghost, andcontracted the idolatrous habit of saying her prayers on her knees before theparrot.Sometimesthesun,enteringthroughthedormerwindow,fellonhisglasseye,andcausedittoshootoutafineluminousbeam,whichputherinecstasies.

She had an income of three hundred and eighty francs, a legacy from hermistress. The garden furnished her with vegetables. As to dresses, shepossessedenoughof themtoclotheher to theendofherdays,andshesavedlightbygoingtobedatdusk.

Shehardlyeverwentout,soas toavoid thesecond-handdealer’sshop,wherewasdisplayedsomeoftheoldfurniture.Sinceherattackofdizzinessshelimpedin one leg, and, her strength diminishing, Mother Simon, ruined in the grocerybusiness,cameeverymorningtocutherwoodandtopumpherwater.

Hereyesgrewweaker.Theshutterswerenolongeropened.Manyyearspassed.Andthehousewasnotlet,norsold.

In terror lest she should be sent away Felicity did not ask for any repairs. Thelathsoftheroofwererotting.Duringthewholeofonewinter,herpillowwasdamp.AfterEastershespatblood.

ThenMotherSimonhadrecoursetoadoctor.Felicitywantedtoknowwhatwasthematterwithher.But,toodeaftohear,asinglewordreachedher,‘Pneumonia!’Itwasonesheknew,andsherepliedquietly:‘Ah,likemadame’,findingitnaturaltofollowhermistress.

Thetimeforsettingupthestreetaltarsdrewnear.Thefirstwasalwaysatthefootofthehill,thesecondbeforetheposthouse,thethirdaboutthemiddleoftheroad.There were rival factions about that one; and the parishioners finally choseMadameAubain’scourtyard.

Herdifficulty in breathingand fever grewworse.Felicitywaswretchedat doingnothing for the altar. If she had had something to put there at least! Then shethoughtoftheparrot.Itwasnotsuitable,theneighboursobjected.Butthepriestgrantedpermissionforit;shewassohappythatshebeggedhimtoaccept,when

sheshouldbedead,Loulou,heronlytreasure.

From Tuesday to Saturday, the eve of Corpus Christi, she coughed morefrequently. In theevening,her facedrawn,her lipsstuck tohergums,vomitingsmade theirappearance;and thenextday,atdaybreak, feelingherself very low,shegotthemtocallthepriest.

Threeoldwomensurroundedherduringtheextremeunction.ThenshedeclaredthatsherequiredtospeaktoFabu.

HearrivedinhisSundayclothes,illateaseinthislugubriousatmosphere.

‘Forgiveme,’shesaid,withanefforttostretchoutherarm,‘Ithoughtitwasyouwhohadkilledhim!’

Whatwasthemeaningofgossiplikethat?Tosuspecthimofamurder,amanlikehim!andhewasindignant,wasgoingtomakearow.

‘Shehasn’therwits,youcanseethateasilyenough.’

Felicity from time to time spoke to the ghosts. The old women went away.MadameSimonhadherbreakfast.

A little later she took Loulou, and lifting him close toFelicity: ‘Come, then!Saygood-bye!’

Althoughhewasnotacorpse thewormsweredevouringhim;oneofhiswingswasbroken, the stuffingprotruded fromhis stomach.Butblindnow, shekissedhimonthehead,andpressedhimagainsthercheek.MotherSimontookhim,toputhimonthestreetaltar.

V

From the grasswaswafted up the scent of summer; the flies buzzed; the sunglintedon the river, andwarmed the roofs.MotherSimon returned to the roomandsleptpeacefully.

Churchbellswokeher;peoplewerecomingout fromvespers.Felicity’sdeliriumdropped.Thinkingoftheprocession,shesawit,justasifshewerefollowingit.

All theschoolchildren, thechoristers,and the firebrigadeweremarchingalongthe pavements, while in themiddle of the road were advancing, first the headbeadle,armedwithhishalberd, theunder-beadlewithhisbigcross, theteachersupervising the boys, the nun anxious for her little girls; three of the prettiest,curly-hairedlikeangles,werethrowingpetalsofrosesintotheair;thedeaconwithoutspread arms conducted themusic; and two censer swingers turned at eachsteptotheHolySacrament,which,underadaisofflamingredvelvet,upheldbyfour churchwardens, the priest in his fine chasuble was carrying. A crowd ofpeoplejostledbehind,betweenthewhiteclothscoveringthehousewalls;andthe

footofthehillwasreached.

AcoldsweatwetFelicity’stemples.MotherSimonspongeditwithatowel,sayingthatonedaywemustallgo thatway.Themurmurof thecrowdgrew,wasveryloudforamoment,diedaway.

Avolleyshook thewindowpanes. Itwas thepostilionssaluting theMonstrance.Felicityrolledhereyeballs,andsaid,asloudasshecould:‘Doeshelookallright?’tormentedbytheparrot.

Her death agony began. A rattle, more andmore hurried, caused her sides toheave. Bubbles of foam came to the corners of her mouth, and all her bodytrembled.

Soontheblareofophicleideswasdistinguished,theclearvoicesofthechildren,thedeepvoicesofthemen.Allwasstillatintervals,andthetrampoffeetwhichtheflowersmuffledmadethenoiseofaflockontheturf.

Theclergyappearedinthecourtyard.MadameSimonclimbedonachairtoreachtheroundwindow,andinthiswaycommandedaviewofthealtar.

Greengarlandswerehangingonthealtar,adornedwithaflounceinEnglishpointlace.Therewasinthecentrealittleboxenclosingtherelics,twoorangetreesatthe corners, and, all its length, silver candlesticksandporcelain vases,whencesprangsunflowers,lilies,peonies,foxgloves,bunchesofhortensias.

Thismassofdazzlingcoloursdescended inasloping line from the table to thecarpet, trailingon thepaving-stones;and rareobjectsdrew theeye.Asilver-giltsugar basin had a crown of violets, earrings in Alencon quartz gleamed in themoss,twoChinesescreensdisplayedtheirlandscapes.Loulou,hiddenundertheroses,onlyshowedhisbluefrontlikeasheetoflapis-lazuli.

Thechurchwardens,thechoristers,thechildrenrangedthemselvesonthreesidesofthecourtyard.Thepriestslowlymountedthesteps,andplacedonthelacehishuge,glittering‘GoldenSun’.Everybodyknelt.Therewasagreatsilence.Andthecensers,swinginginfullflight,slippedontheirchains.

AnazurevapourroseintoFelicity’sroom.Shedistendedhernostrils,scentingitwithamysticsensuality:thensheshuthereyes.Herlipssmiled.Thebeatsofherheartslowedonebyone,moreunsteadyeach time,moregentle likea fountainthat isexhausted, likeanechothatdisappears;andwhenshebreathedher lastbreath she thought she saw in the heavens as they opened, a gigantic parrot,flyingaboveherhead.