The rest of the family were all conscious of the better feeling that now prevailed, although they were a little disappointed by the postman’s story, particularly the younger ones, who had hoped for a more dramatic climax. For example, Gustave reflected, a mad bull might have come rushing out of the Viards’ farmyard, and grandfather might have grabbed it by the tail and after swinging it a few times round his head flung it right into the Chat-Bleu pond. At a pinch something even less remarkable would have done. Alexis was not content to leave it at the umbrella.
“What happened then, Deodat?”
The question troubled Deodat. Interpreting their meditations, he feared to have been perhaps a trifle inadequate.
“Well, as to whether he had left his umbrella at the Fair or at home,” he said, “I’m afraid that’s something I can't tell you.”
“He must have left it at home,” said Ferdinand.
Deodat took a draught of wine and asked him his opinion of a three-months-old fowl that refused to eat except under the legs of the pigs and had the curious foible that it limped after four o’clock in the afternoon. He had a fowl like that.
“One of the vicious sort,” said Ferdinand. “You have to be careful on account of the chicks. I remember a case. .”
The conversation grew suddenly lively. A number of tales were told of vicious hens. Frederic profited by the general preoccupation to lav his hand on his cousin’s thigh. Juliette glanced at him with soft bright eyes, a warmth pervaded him and he blushed happily. The hubbub of voices, the clatter of knives and forks, all the tumult of well-being that rises up from a table where the consumption of good food does not hinder conversation, went a little to their heads. They both laughed, and Frederic murmured:
“As soon as we’ve finished the duck I’m going into the barn.”
Juliette gave a little nod to show that she had understood. Ferdinand suspected nothing. He v'as almost happy, because his wife and his sister-in-law were now exchanging cooking recipes:
“You grease the bottom of the pan thoroughly and put it over a slow fire and baste it every half-hour. . ”
“I make a garlic stuffing. .
“Not garlic. Adelaide broke off to join in the chicken conversation. “We had a hen with a beak that overlapped like scissors, so it couldn’t pick up corn. . I think a chestnut stuffing’s better than garlic. .
Clotilde remained silent amid the rowdiness, frowning to herself. Gustave, seeing that no one was paying him any attention, seized the bottle of wine and filled his tumbler to the brim. He was refilling it, having emptied it at a draught, when Lucienne informed her father.
“Daddy, Gustave has just drunk a whole glassful of wine!”
“It’s not true!” squealed Gustave. “Liar! Bitch! Pig! It’s a dirty lie!”
And he burst out laughing because the wine was bubbling up into his head. His hilarity caused them all to look at him. His lips were red, and he was still clutching the bottle with both hands.
“Very stupid of him,” said Ferdinand. “All that wine’s enough to make the child thoroughly ill.”
Honore looked at his son and was perturbed at the sight of ffis crimson cheeks.
“Perhaps I’d better make him sick it up,” he said.
“Well, that never did anyone any harm,” said Deodat. “There’s nothing like it for cleaning out the stomach.”
Honore took him out into the yard and put a finger down his throat. The sound of choking, followed by the splashing tide of deliverance, reached them clearly in the dining-room.
“That’s done it,” said Deodat.
He was glad it had been accomplished so easily. You never know, he pointed out; some people find it very difficult, they try and try and can’t manage. Helene had turned slightly pale, and Frederic, deciding to go without the duck, got up hastily, but not without nudging Juliette to indicate that he was going to the barn.
She joined him there a minute later, closing the door quietly behind her, and laid a hand on his shoulder. She was taller than Frederic; he had to raise his head to kiss her lips. She stayed motionless, seeming indifferent to his ardour, and he grew shy. His hand fumbled with her breast, and feeling the nipple in his palm he clasped it tightly. Juliette seemed not even to notice. He tried to draw her towards the end of the barn, but feeling her resistance was afraid to be too open in his purpose. He sought to gain ground by stealth, and had manoeuvred her over several yards when Juliette suddenly put her arms round him, drawing his body hard against her own and pressing her cheek to his. She murmured with her lips to his ear:
“I wish you were Noel Maloret! I wish vou were Noel!”
Acutely humiliated, Frederic tried to break away and flung back his head. But she clasped him still more tightly, and fiercely drew back his mouth to hers.
“Be Noel, Frederic! Be Noel!.
He still struggled, out of pride, but with her mouth on his, his resolution gave way and he yielded.
“All right,” he said in a voice of fury and impatience, “I'm Noel, if you like.”
“Noel?” repeated Juliette.
With a sudden display of strength she bent him backwards, and for a moment stared down at his upturned face with wild eyes. Then she smiled and thrust him gently away from her.
“I’m being stupid. I'm sorry. We’d better go back.”
Frederic, his arms hanging at his sides, sought to say something wounding and burst into tears. Juliette fished the handkerchief out of the pocket of his shorts and dabbed his eyes.
“Don't cry, darling. I didn't mean to hurt you. I said it without thinking. I won’t do it again.”
He cried more bitterly. Juliette put her arm round his neck, led him to the end of the barn, and sitting with him on the sheayes of corn nursed him and stroked his cheeks. She talked to him softly.
“Don't cry, darling Frederic. I love you too, you know I do. You can kiss me and touch me as much as you like.
. . Don't cry! We’ve got to go back. We shall have Uncle Ferdinand coming after us! You'll kiss me some more this afternoon, won’t you?”
Frederic was trying to smile. As she started to get up he restrained her.
“Is it true that you love that boy, Noel?”
“I don’t know. I just said it without thinking. Honestly
I wasn’t thinking. I don’t know what got into me all of a sudden. . ”
When Frederic returned to the dining-room and seated himself again beside Juliette, Ferdinand, by a striking omission, neglected to glance at his watch in order to see how long he had been away. He was leaning across the table, tugging at his chin and stammering:
“What? What?. . You’re sure?. .”
Deodat, who had just let fall the bombshell, was making ready to depart. Standing behind his chair he replied less placidly:
“I tell you Anals opened the letter in front of me. The girl’s coming home to-morrow.”
“Well, it’s not so surprising,” said Honore in a lazy voice. “She hasn’t been back to see her parents since she went to Paris.”
“Zephe told me once that she scarcely ever gets a day off, particularly since she’s been working in a shop.” “Working in a shop, is she?” said Adelaide with a high note of sarcasm in her voice. “I can guess what she serves the customers!”
“What do you know about it?” protested Honore.
“One doesn’t need any inside information to know that the Maloret girls have always been sluts!”