The conversation turned to more technical matters, which gave them a pleasant feeling of their own importance, barely diminished, despite recent events.
"A German group," Corbin said, "is going to buy out Eastern Steelworks. We're not in too bad a position there. Though it's true that the business with the Rouen Docks…"
They became depressed. Furières said goodbye. Corbin wanted to walk him out, but when he tried to turn on the lights in the drawing room where the shutters were closed, there was no electricity. He started swearing.
"This man is so vulgar," the Count thought. "Give them a call," he advised. "They won't take long to fix it. The telephone's working."
"You just can't imagine how chaotic everything is here," Corbin said, choking with rage. "The servants have all taken off-all of them, I'm telling you-and I wouldn't be at all surprised if they made off with some of the silver! My wife isn't here. I'm lost in all this mess, I'm…"
"Is Madame Corbin in the Free Zone?"
"Yes," Corbin grumbled.
He and his wife had had a painful row: in the chaos of the hurried departure, or perhaps out of malice, the chambermaid had put a small framed picture belonging to Monsieur Corbin in Madame Corbin's bag; it contained a photograph of Arlette, stark naked. The nudity itself might not have offended his wife-she was a person with a great deal of common sense-but the dancer was wearing a magnificent necklace. "But it's not real, I promise you!" Monsieur Corbin had said with venom. His wife refused to believe him. As for Arlette, there was no sign of her. He had heard she was in Bordeaux and was often seen in the company of German officers. Thinking of this only made Monsieur Corbin's mood worse. He pushed his buzzer with all his might.
"All I have left is a typist I met in Nice. Stupid as they come but rather pretty. Oh, there you are," he said suddenly to the young brunette who came into the room. "The electricity's been cut off. See what you can do about it. Telephone them and give them a good talking to. Well, get on with it-and then bring me the post."
"The post hasn't been brought up?"
"No, it's with the concierge. Chop chop. Go and get it. Do you think I'm paying you to do nothing?"
"I'm leaving," said Furières. "You frighten me."
Corbin caught a glimpse of the Count's slightly scornful smile; his anger increased. "Poseur, crook," he thought. Out loud he replied, "What do you want me to do? They're driving me crazy."
The post contained a letter from the Michauds. They had gone to the bank's head office in Paris but no one could tell them anything definite. They had written to Nice and the letter had just been forwarded to Corbin. The Michauds were asking for instructions and some money.
Corbin's vague bad temper finally found something to latch on to. "Ha! That's a good one!" he exclaimed. "They've got some nerve! You run around bending over backwards for people, nearly get killed on the roads of France. Meanwhile Monsieur and Madame Michaud have a nice holiday in Paris and then have the cheek to demand money. You're going to write to them," he said to the terrified typist. "Take this down:"
Paris , 25 July 1940
Monsieur Maurice Michaud
23 rue Rousselet
Paris VIIe
Monsieur
On 11 June we gave both you and Madame Michaud the order to take up your duties in the city to which the bank had been evacuated, that is to say Tours. You will not be unaware that during these crucial moments, every employee of the bank, and you in particular since you hold a position of trust, is like a soldier. You know what it means to abandon your post in times such as these. The result of your failings was the complete disintegration of the departments entrusted to you-the Secretarial and Accounting Services. This is not the only thing for which we hold you responsible. As we already informed you on 31 December last year when, despite my goodwill towards you, it was not considered possible to award you the increased bonus of three thousand francs that you requested, it has been pointed out that your department's efficiency is minimal in comparison with that of your predecessor's. Under the circumstances, while regretting you have waited such a long time to get in touch with the management, we consider your failure to contact us as a resignation, both by you and Madame Michaud. This resignation, which derives entirely from you and was without any notice, means we are not required to pay you any compensation whatsoever. Nevertheless, taking account of your long employment at the bank as well as the current situation, we are making an exception and, purely as a gesture of goodwill, we are allocating you compensation equivalent to two months' salary. Please find enclosed, therefore, a cheque drawn on the Bank of France in Paris, made payable to you in the sum of…francs. Would you please notify us of its safe arrival.
Yours sincerely,
Corbin
Corbin's letter plunged the Michauds into despair. They had only five thousand francs in savings, as Jean-Marie's studies had been expensive. This and their two months' salary came to barely fifteen thousand francs and they owed money to the taxman. It was almost impossible to find work now; jobs were rare and badly paid. They had lived a solitary life; they had no relatives, no one to ask for help. They were exhausted by the journey and depressed by their anguish over their son. When Jean-Marie was little and she had faced difficulties, Madame Michaud had often thought, "If only he were old enough to manage by himself, nothing would really matter." She had known she was strong and in good health, she felt courageous, she feared nothing for herself, nor for her husband, who thought the same way.
Jean-Marie was a man now. Wherever he might be, if he were still alive, he didn't need her. Yet this thought offered little consolation. First of all, she couldn't imagine that her child could do without her. And at the same time she realised that now she needed him. All her courage abandoned her; she recognised Maurice's frailty: she felt alone, old, ill. How would they find work? What would they live on when their fifteen thousand francs ran out? She had a few small pieces of jewellery; she cherished them. She had always said, "They're not worth anything," but now she couldn't bring herself to believe that the charming little pearl brooch, the modest ruby ring, gifts from Maurice when they were young, which she loved so much, might not perhaps be sold for a good price. She offered them to the jeweller in her neighbourhood, then to a larger establishment on the Rue de la Paix, but both turned her away: the brooch and the ring were pretty but they were only interested in the stones and they were so small it wasn't worth buying them. Madame Michaud was secretly happy at the thought she could keep them, but facts were facts: it had been their only option.
By the end of July their savings were almost gone. They had considered going to see Corbin to explain that they had done their very best to get to Tours and that if he insisted on letting them go, he at least owed them the normal compensation. But they both had enough experience of him to know they didn't stand a chance. They didn't have the money to take him to court and Corbin was not easy to intimidate. They also found it wholly repugnant to think of approaching this man whom they loathed and mistrusted.
"I just can't do it, Jeanne. Please don't ask me to, I just can't," Maurice said in his soft, low voice. "I think if I found myself standing in front of him I'd spit in his face and that wouldn't help matters."
"No," said Jeanne, smiling in spite of herself, "but we're in a terrible situation, my poor darling. It's as if we're heading towards a deep hole, watching it get closer and closer with each step without being able to escape. It's unbearable."