Mademoiselle Fifi Part 7

In the end one would have been led to believe that the only mission of woman on this earth was a perpetual sacrifice of her person, a continual offering of herself to the caprices of enemy soldiers.

The two nuns did not seem to hear this conversation, lost as they were in their own deep thoughts. Boule de Suif was silent.

The whole afternoon she was left to herself. But instead of calling her "Madame" as they had done so far, they addressed her as mademoiselle, n.o.body knew why, as if they wanted to lower her one step in their esteem, which she had escaladed, and make her feel her shameful situation.

While soup was being served, Mr. Follenvie reappeared and repeated his sentence of the day before:--"The Prussian Officer sends me to inquire whether Mademoiselle Elizabeth Rousset has not yet changed her mind?"

Boule de Suif replied curtly: "No, Sir."

But at dinner the coalition weakened. Loiseau spoke three unfortunate sentences. Each was racking his brains to find new examples and did not find any, when the Countess, possibly without premeditation, prompted by a vague desire to render homage to religion, questioned the elder of the two nuns about the most noteworthy deeds in the lives of the Saints.--Now, many Saints had committed acts which would be crimes in our estimation; but the Church absolves readily such transgressions when they are committed for the glory of G.o.d and the love of our neighbors. This was a powerful argument; the Countess made the most of it. Then, either by one of those tacit understandings, those veiled complaisances in which whoever wears the clerical garb excels, or through fortunate stupidity, serviable foolishness, the old nun brought a formidable support to the conspiracy. They thought she was timid; she showed herself bold, talkative, violent. This one was not trouble by the hesitations of casuistry; her doctrine seemed to be an iron bar; her faith never hesitated; her conscience had no scruples. She found quite natural Abraham's sacrifice, because she would immediately have killed her father and mother if she had received an order from heaven to do so; and in her opinion nothing could displease G.o.d if the motive were laudable. The Countess taking advantage of the sacred authority of her unexpected accomplice, led her on to make a kind of edifying paraphrase of this axiom of morality: "The end justifies the means."

She questioned her:

--"Then, Sister, you think that G.o.d accepts all methods and forgives the act when the motive is pure?"

--"Who could doubt it, Madame? An action condemnable in itself often becomes meritorious by the thought which inspires it."

And they continued in this way, unraveling G.o.d's intentions, forecasting his judgments, and making Him take interest in things that really did not concern Him at all.

All this was expounded in a veiled, clever, discreet and insinuating manner. But each word of the holy woman in cornet made a breach in the indignant resistance of the courtesan. Then the conversation drifting somewhat, the woman with the hanging rosary spoke of the Convents of her Order, of her Superior, of herself, and of her lovely neighbor, the dear Sister Saint-Niceph.o.r.e. They had been called to Havre to nurse in the Hospitals hundreds of soldiers stricken with small-pox. She described them, those wretched victims, and gave details about their disease. And while they had been stopped on their way by the caprices of this Prussian Officer, a large number of Frenchmen, whom they would probably have saved, might die. It was her specialty to nurse soldiers; she had been in Crimea, in Italy, in Austria, and telling the story of her campaigns, she unexpectedly revealed herself one of those Nuns fond of drums and bugles, who seem to have been created to follow the armies in action, to pick soldiers during the vicissitudes of battles, and, better than a General, to tame with one word the rough and insubordinate troopers; a genuine martial and bellicose Nun, whose wrinkled and pitted face, looked like an image of the devastations of war.

No one uttered a word after she had concluded, so excellent seemed to be the effect of her discourse.

As soon as the meal was over, they went up quickly to their rooms and came down the next morning rather late.

Luncheon went off quietly. They were giving the seed that had been sown time to germinate and come to fruition.

The Countess proposed to take a walk in the afternoon; then the Count, as previously agreed, offered his arm to Boule de Suif and walked with her at some distance behind.

He spoke to her in that familiar, paternal and slightly contemptuous tone which sedate men a.s.sume when talking with women of loose morals, calling her: "my dear child," treating her from the height of his social position, his unquestionable honesty. He went straight to the core of the matter:

--"So you prefer to leave us here exposed like yourself to all the violence which would result from a defeat of the Prussian Army, rather than consent to one of those complaisances which you have had so often in your life"--

Boule de Suif did not answer.

He tried kindness, reasoning, sentiment. He managed to remain "Monsieur le Comte" even while showing himself gallant, when necessary, flattering, amiable. He praised to exaltation the services she would render them, spoke of their grat.i.tude, then suddenly, using the familiar "thou," gaily: "And thou knowest, my dear, he might be proud of having tasted the charms of a pretty girl such as he won't find often in his own country."

Boule de Suif did not reply and joined the rest of the party.

As soon as they returned to the inn, she went up to her room and was not seen again. There was extreme anxiety. What was she going to do? If she resisted, what an embarra.s.sment for them all?

The dinner hour struck; they waited for her in vain. Then Mr.

Follenvie came in and announced that Mademoiselle Rousset did not feel well and that they might sit down to dinner. They all p.r.i.c.ked their ears. The Count came near the inn-keeper and whispered: "Is it all right?"--"Yes."

For the sake of propriety, he did not say anything to his companions, but nodded to them slightly. Immediately a great sigh of relief went up from all b.r.e.a.s.t.s; joy brightened every face. Loiseau exclaimed: "By Jove, I'll treat to champagne if any is left in this house!"--And Madame Loiseau felt a pang when the inn-keeper returned with four bottles in his hand. Every one had suddenly become communicative and merry; a lively joy filled the hearts.

The Count seemed to notice that Madame Carre-Lamadon was charming; the manufacturer paid compliments to the Countess; the conversation was lively, gay and full of witticisms.

Suddenly Loiseau, with an alarmed face, raised his arms and shouted: "Silence!" They all stopped talking, were surprised nay even frightened. Then he listened, said "Hush!" signaling with his two hands, raised his eyes to the ceiling, listened again and, in his natural voice, he resumed: "Don't be afraid, everything is all right!"

They hesitated to understand what he meant, but soon a smile lighted up all the faces.

After a quarter of an hour, he started again the same farce and repeated it often during the evening; he mimicked as if he were calling a person on the second floor and giving her equivocal advices drawn from his imagination of a commercial traveler. At times he a.s.sumed a dismal air and sighed:--"Poor girl!"--or he muttered in his teeth, with a peevish air:--"Rascal of a Prussian!"--Several times, when the others did not think of it, he called out repeatedly in a vibrating voice: "Enough! Enough!" and he added as if soliloquizing:--"Provided that we see her again and that the wretch does not kill her!"

Although such jokes were in very bad taste, they amused more than they shocked the company, for indignation like everything else depends on environment, and the atmosphere that had gradually developed around them was laden with naughty thoughts.

At dessert, even the women indulged in witty and discreet allusions.

Their eyes were bright and gleaming; they had drunk considerably.

The Count who, even in his moments of relaxation, preserved a dignified appearance, found a comparison with the end of winter in the polar regions and the joy of the ship-wrecked mariners when they see a way open to the South; and this comparison was greatly appreciated.

Loiseau, warmed up, rose to his feet with a gla.s.s of champagne in his hands:--"I drink to our deliverance!"--Everybody stood up; he was acclaimed. Even the two good sisters, urged by the ladies, consented to moisten their lips with the sparkling wine, which they had never tasted. They declared that it tasted like sparkling lemonade, but that it was finer.

Loiseau summed up the situation:

--"What a pity that there is no piano! We might have danced a quadrille!"--

Cornudet had not said a single word, nor made a single gesture; he even seemed to be plunged in very serious thoughts, and from time to time tugged furiously at his long beard as if he wanted to make it longer. Finally, toward midnight, as they were going to separate, Loiseau, who was unsteady on his feet slapped him suddenly on the stomach and spluttered:--"You are not in a gay mood to-night, you don't talk much, citoyen?"--But Cornudet raised briskly his head and casting a swift and terrible look at the company, fairly shouted:--"I tell you all, that you have behaved infamously!"--He got up, walked to the door and repeated once more: "Infamous!"

and he disappeared.

This threw a chill at first. Loiseau nonplused, stood looking foolish; but he recovered his countenance and then suddenly began to laugh and repeat:--"Sour grapes! my dear Sir, sour grapes!"--The company did not understand what he meant; he explained the "mysteries of the hall"--Then there was a resumption of formidable gayety.

The ladies were immensely amused. The Count and Mr. Carre-Lamadon laughed to tears. They could hardly believe their ears.

--"Why! are you sure? He wanted"--"I tell you that I saw it with my own eyes."

--"And she refused?"

--"Because the Prussian was in the next room."

--"Is it possible?"

--"I swear it is true!"--

The Count was choking with laughter. The manufacturer was compressing his stomach with his hands.

--"And you understand, to-night he does not think it is funny at all."--

And all three began to laugh again, choking, out of breath.

Thereupon they retired. But Madame Loiseau, who had the p.r.i.c.kly disposition of a nettle remarked to her husband, at the moment they were going to bed:--"That stuck-up little Madame Carre-Lamadon laughed deceitfully all evening."

"You know, for women, when they chase uniforms, it does not make any difference whether the uniforms are French or Prussian. What a pity, oh Lord!"--

And all night, in the darkness of the hall there were light sounds like tremors, hardly audible, similar to murmurs, contacts of bare feet, imperceptible crackings. And they fell asleep quite late, certainly, because rays of light could be seen for a long time under the doors. Champagne has such effects; I understand it disturbs the sleep.

The next morning a bright winter sunshine made the snow dazzling.

The coach, finally harnessed, was waiting at the door, while an army of white pigeons, ensconced in their white feathers, with their pink eyes spotted in the middle with small black dots, were walking leisurely between the legs of the six horses and picking their food from the steaming manure which they were scattering.

The driver, wrapped up in his sheepskin cloak, was up on his seat, smoking a pipe, and all the travelers, looking radiant, were having provisions packed up for the rest of the trip.