“You don’t seem to have considered that during all the weeks she’s there Lucienne will be left to her own devices. There will be no one to keep an eye on her, and she will be surrounded by bad examples. You always say yourself that the way her cousins behave is disgraceful.”
“That’s very true. I hadn’t thought. We should have to. . Dear me, how difficult it is!… If only I could be sure that Honore will back me up and not be against me. Or if Messelon could manage to live another year, or even six months!. . Valtier would have time to forget about this hussy, and then the whole problem would be solved.”
Ferdinand seemed suddenly crestfallen, and his wife was not displeased. Although she had acquiesced in the manoeuvres designed to place Valuer’s protege in the Mairie of Claquebue, she did so without enthusiasm. She had no great liking for the Deputy, and found it hard to reconcile herself to the idea that her son, Frederic, should eventually attach himself to him in order to achieve a brilliant career as an attorney, or something of the sort. The witty, cynical, gluttonous politician seemed to her a doubtful mentor for a youth who already showed too much tendency to be influenced by his teachings. Moreover it was her secret wish to see Frederic a cavalry officer. Helene had always had a weakness for the army. In her schooldays, at the establishment of the Demoiselles Hermeline, she had dreamed at least once a week of being abducted by a second-lieutenant, and since her marriage she had not ceased to be disappointed by her husband’s social circle, which consisted entirely of the working middle-class of Saint-Margelon. She dreamed of the salons of officers’ wives where the pianos were all “grand” and the armchairs unencumbered with loose covers.
There were, stationed in Saint-Margelon, a regiment of Hussars and an infantry regiment which would gladly have exterminated one another with cold steel. The cavalrymen despised the infantrymen for going on foot, and the infantrymen alleged that the cavalrymen were nothing but parade-ground soldiers. The hatred between them was thus well understandable. Number Seventeen, Rue des Oiseaux, was constantly being put out of bounds on account of the brawls among the rank and file. Nor was there any better feeling between the officers. Those of the cavalry bore such names as Burgard de Montesson, played the piano or even the harp, got into debt, seduced the daughters of the bourgeoisie, rode out to dinner, went stiff-legged to Mass, were Royalists to a man and ignored their colleagues of the infantry. The infantry officers, for their part, played piquet and kept up their spirits by reciting the names of the Revolutionary generals whose fathers had been butchers, bakers, dyers and stable-boys. They suffered somewhat from their ostracism at the hands of the cavalrymen, and wished one of the supply regiments were quartered in the town so that they could ostracise them in their turn: for the officers of the supply corps were nearly as ridiculous as those of the administrative branch. The good people of Saint-Margelon muttered all through the year about the arrogance of the cavalry officers, but on the fourteenth of July all the cheers went to the Hussars, who were accustomed to bring the Military Review to an end with a charge that caused every heart to beat faster.
Ferdinand also had an unavowed preference for the Hussars. On one occasion when, as a member of the Council, he was on the platform at the school prize-giving, he had found himself seated beside their Colonel, whose name was De Prebord de la Chastelaine, and this gentleman, wiping his monocle, had turned to him and said, “Deuced hot, ain’t it?” Charmed by this unaffected simplicity, Ferdinand had become the regiment’s devoted adherent from that moment. They had several times called upon his professional services in the absence of their own veterinary surgeon. He had thus encountered a certain Lieutenant Galais, and they had entered into a discussion on the subject of gelding which had led to mutual esteem. The lieutenant was an earnest young man, a horseman by vocation, who spent his leisure in the composition of a work on the cavalry-harness used by the Sequani at the time of the conquest of Gaul. Impressed by so much scholarship and sobriety Ferdinand came home singing his praises.
“The best horseman in the regiment! I understand he has no private fortune at all, and I’ve heard that he’s rather lonely among all those chaps with their titles.”
The “no fortune at all” went straight to Mme. Hau-douin’s heart. She dreamed again as she had dreamed so often beneath the roof of the Demoiselles Hermeline: the adored of a marvellously poor young officer, she killed off her parents, who were insufficiently decorative in any case, and brought her inheritance to the marriage-bed. And as it happened the dream was not wholly unfulfilled. Ferdinand had occasion for further horse-talks with the lieutenant, and one day invited him to his home on the pretext of showing him some anatomical plates. Helene watched the street from behind the window-curtains. When she saw the two men coming she sat down at the piano, and uttered a cry of surprise when the lieutenant entered. Flattered by her blushes, he found her attractive and besought her to finish the piece she was playing; and thereafter he studied musical notation in order to be able to turn the pages for her. He took to visiting them regularly. Ferdinand complained that she did not pay him sufficient attention. It was true that she did not talk very much; neither had the lieutenant any great fondness for small-talk. They looked gravely at one another, confident of their love, and not even her husband’s presence could mar their happiness. One afternoon Lieutenant Galais found Helene alone. She played and he turned the pages,
and their unspoken avowals were even more tender than usual. But when he took his leave, feeling her hand tremble in his own, he murmured her Christian name. . and then hurriedly withdrew, tottering slightly on his bandy-legs. Thereafter their chaste loves were uttered in looks alone.
The train drew in to Valbuisson, escorted by a lieutenant of Hussars and the eyes of Jasmin. Mainehal, the man who owed Ferdinand money, was awaiting the travellers in the yard of the small station with his carriage. He was a large, civil-spoken man who had quite decided not to pay.
“The harvest looks splendid this year,” said Ferdinand.
“It looks all right, but on my land it’s nothing but thistles.”
“Come, come, you mustn’t say that!”
“It’s true, I assure you, Monsieur Haudouin.”
“You’re exaggerating, my dear Mainehal.”
“No, indeed, Monsieur Haudouin. Why should I exaggerate? But in any case I shan’t be able to pay you this year. Even if the harvest were good I couldn’t manage it.”
Ferdinand was taken aback by this coolness. He climbed furiously into the carriage, considering means of redress. Antoine tried to avoid sitting either beside his father or confronting him. He waited for the rest of the family to instal themselves on the two seats and then started to ciimb up beside the driver, saying that there was not enough room at the back; but his father pulled up a sort of folding-seat between his legs and compelled him to sit on it. The carriage started on its way through Valbuisson, and the party returned to their rhythmic meditations — Jasmin, the Hussar, bowler hats and Conscience Scrutiny.
Antoine had his head almost buried in his father’s waistcoat, and was forced to twist his neck in order that he might see nothing but the eyes of Jasmin.
“What are you thinking about?” asked Ferdinand, who considered it wrong that a child having reached the age of reason should be lost in day-dreams.
“Nothing,” said Antoine in a cold voice, without turning his head.
“Well, since you aren’t thinking about anything you can tell me the date of the signing of the Peace of Westphalia.”
Antoine neither moved nor answered. His father remonstrated in a shrill voice which caused the horse to prick up its ears.