Madame Tellier had a brother, who was a carpenter in their native place,
Virville, in the Department of Eure. When she still kept the inn at
Yvetot, she had stood godmother to that brother's daughter, who had
received the name of Constance--Constance Rivet; she herself being a
Rivet on her father's side. The carpenter, who knew that his sister was
in a good position, did not lose sight of her, although they did not
meet often, for they were both kept at home by their occupations, and
lived a long way from each other. But as the girl was twelve years old,
and going to be confirmed, he seized that opportunity to write to his
sister, asking her to come and be present at the ceremony. Their old
parents were dead, and as she could not well refuse her goddaughter, she
accepted the invitation. Her brother, whose name was Joseph, hoped that
by dint of showing his sister attention, she might be induced to make
her will in the girl's favor, as she had no children of her own.
His sister's occupation did not trouble his scruples in the least, and,
besides, nobody knew anything about it at Virville. When they spoke of
her, they only said: “Madame Tellier is living at Fecamp,” which might
mean that she was living on her own private income. It was quite twenty
leagues from Fecamp to Virville, and for a peasant, twenty leagues on
land is as long a journey as crossing the ocean would be to city people.
The people at Virville had never been further than Rouen, and nothing
attracted the people from Fecamp to a village of five hundred houses in
the middle of a plain, and situated in another department; at any rate,
nothing was known about her business.
But the Confirmation was coming on, and Madame Tellier was in great
embarrassment. She had no substitute, and did not at all care to leave
her house, even for a day; for all the rivalries between the girls
upstairs and those downstairs would infallibly break out. No doubt
Frederic would get drunk, and when he was in that state, he would knock
anybody down for a mere word. At last, however, she made up her mind to
take them all with her, with the exception of the man, to whom she gave
a holiday until the next day but one.
When she asked her brother, he made no objection, but undertook to put
them all up for a night, and so on Saturday morning the eight-o'clock
express carried off Madame Tellier and her companions in a second-class
carriage. As far as Beuzeville they were alone, and chattered like
magpies, but at that station a couple got in. The man, an old peasant,
dressed in a blue blouse with a turned-down collar, wide sleeves tight
at the wrist, ornamented with white embroidery, wearing an old high hat
with long nap, held an enormous green umbrella in one hand, and a large
basket in the other, from which the heads of three frightened ducks
protruded. The woman, who sat up stiffly in her rustic finery, had a
face like a fowl, with a nose that was as pointed as a bill. She sat
down opposite her husband and did not stir, as she was startled at
finding herself in such smart company.
There was certainly an array of striking colors in the carriage.
Madame Tellier was dressed in blue silk from head to foot, and had on a
dazzling red imitation French cashmere shawl. Fernande was puffing in
a Scotch plaid dress, of which her companions had laced the bodice as
tight as they could, forcing up her full bust, that was continually
heaving up and down. Raphaele, with a bonnet covered with feathers, so
that it looked like a bird's nest, had on a lilac dress with gold spots
on it, and there was something Oriental about it that suited her Jewish
face. Rosa had on a pink skirt with largo flounces, and looked like a
very fat child, an obese dwarf; while the two Pumps looked as if they
had cut their dresses out of old flowered curtains dating from the
Restoration.
As soon as they were no longer alone in the compartment, the ladies put
on staid looks, and began to talk of subjects which might give others a
high opinion of them. But at Bolbeck a gentleman with light whiskers,
a gold chain, and wearing two or three rings, got in, and put several
parcels wrapped in oilcloth on the rack over his head. He looked
inclined for a joke, and seemed a good-hearted fellow.
“Are you ladies changing your quarters?” he said, and that question
embarrassed them all considerably. Madame Tellier, however, quickly
regained her composure, and said sharply, to avenge the honor of her
corps:
“I think you might try and be polite!”
He excused himself, and said: “I beg your pardon, I ought to have said
your nunnery.”
She could not think of a retort, so, perhaps thinking she had said
enough, madame gave him a dignified bow and compressed her lips.
Then the gentleman, who was sitting between Rosa and the old peasant,
began to wink knowingly at the ducks whose heads were sticking out of
the basket, and when he felt that he had fixed the attention of his
public, he began to tickle them under the bills and spoke funnily to
them to make the company smile.
“We have left our little pond, quack! quack! to make the acquaintance of
the little spit, qu-ack! qu-ack!”
The unfortunate creatures turned their necks away, to avoid his
caresses, and made desperate efforts to get out of their wicker prison,
and then, suddenly, all at once, uttered the most lamentable quacks
of distress. The women exploded with laughter. They leaned forward and
pushed each other, so as to see better; they were very much interested
in the ducks, and the gentleman redoubled his airs, his wit and his
teasing.
Rosa joined in, and leaning over her neighbor's legs, she kissed the
three animals on the head, and immediately all the girls wanted to kiss
them, in turn, and as they did so the gentleman took them on his knee,
jumped them up and down and pinched their arms. The two peasants, who
were even in greater consternation than their poultry, rolled their
eyes as if they were possessed, without venturing to move, and their old
wrinkled faces had not a smile, not a twitch.
Then the gentleman, who was a commercial traveller, offered the ladies
suspenders by way of a joke, and taking up one of his packages, he
opened it. It was a joke, for the parcel contained garters. There were
blue silk, pink silk, red silk, violet silk, mauve silk garters, and
the buckles were made of two gilt metal cupids embracing each other.
The girls uttered exclamations of delight and looked at them with that
gravity natural to all women when they are considering an article of
dress. They consulted one another by their looks or in a whisper, and
replied in the same manner, and Madame Tellier was longingly handling a
pair of orange garters that were broader and more imposing looking than
the rest; really fit for the mistress of such an establishment.
The gentleman waited, for he had an idea.
“Come, my kittens,” he said, “you must try them on.”
There was a torrent of exclamations, and they squeezed their petticoats
between their legs, but he quietly waited his time and said: “Well, if
you will not try them on I shall pack them up again.”
And he added cunningly: “I offer any pair they like to those who will
try them on.”
But they would not, and sat up very straight and looked dignified.
But the two Pumps looked so distressed that he renewed his offer to
them, and Flora, especially, visibly hesitated, and he insisted: “Come,
my dear, a little courage! Just look at that lilac pair; it will suit
your dress admirably.”
That decided her, and pulling up her dress she showed a thick leg fit
for a milkmaid, in a badly fitting, coarse stocking. The commercial
traveller stooped down and fastened the garter. When he had done this,
he gave her the lilac pair and asked: “Who next?”
“I! I!” they all shouted at once, and he began on Rosa, who uncovered a
shapeless, round thing without any ankle, a regular “sausage of a leg,”
as Raphaele used to say.
Lastly, Madame Tellier herself put out her leg, a handsome, muscular
Norman leg, and in his surprise and pleasure, the commercial traveller
gallantly took off his hat to salute that master calf, like a true
French cavalier.
The two peasants, who were speechless from surprise, glanced sideways
out of the corner of one eye, and they looked so exactly like fowls that
the man with the light whiskers, when he sat up, said: “Co--co--ri--co”
under their very noses, and that gave rise to another storm of
amusement.
The old people got out at Motteville with their basket, their ducks and
their umbrella, and they heard the woman say to her husband as they went
away:
“They are no good and are off to that cursed place, Paris.”
The funny commercial traveller himself got out at Rouen, after behaving
so coarsely that Madame Tellier was obliged sharply to put him in his
right place, and she added, as a moral: “This will teach us not to talk
to the first comer.”
At Oissel they changed trains, and at a little station further on
Monsieur Joseph Rivet was waiting for them with a large cart with a
number of chairs in it, drawn by a white horse.
The carpenter politely kissed all the ladies and then helped them into
his conveyance.
Three of them sat on three chairs at the back, Raphaele, Madame Tellier
and her brother on the three chairs in front, while Rosa, who had no
seat, settled herself as comfortably as she could on tall Fernande's
knees, and then they set off.
But the horse's jerky trot shook the cart so terribly that the chairs
began to dance and threw the travellers about, to the right and to the
left, as if they were dancing puppets, which made them scream and make
horrible grimaces.
They clung on to the sides of the vehicle, their bonnets fell on their
backs, over their faces and on their shoulders, and the white horse went
on stretching out his head and holding out his little hairless tail like
a rat's, with which he whisked his buttocks from time to time.
Joseph Rivet, with one leg on the shafts and the other doubled under
him, held the reins with his elbows very high, and kept uttering a kind
of clucking sound, which made the horse prick up its ears and go faster.
The green country extended on either side of the road, and here and
there the colza in flower presented a waving expanse of yellow, from
which arose a strong, wholesome, sweet and penetrating odor, which the
wind carried to some distance.
The cornflowers showed their little blue heads amid the rye, and the
women wanted to pick them, but Monsieur Rivet refused to stop.
Then, sometimes, a whole field appeared to be covered with blood, so
thick were the poppies, and the cart, which looked as if it were filled
with flowers of more brilliant hue, jogged on through fields bright
with wild flowers, and disappeared behind the trees of a farm, only to
reappear and to go on again through the yellow or green standing crops,
which were studded with red or blue.
One o'clock struck as they drove up to the carpenter's door. They were
tired out and pale with hunger, as they had eaten nothing since they
left home. Madame Rivet ran out and made them alight, one after another,
and kissed them as soon as they were on the ground, and she seemed as if
she would never tire of kissing her sister-in-law, whom she apparently
wanted to monopolize. They had lunch in the workshop, which had been
cleared out for the next day's dinner.
The capital omelet, followed by boiled chitterlings and washed down with
good hard cider, made them all feel comfortable.
Rivet had taken a glass so that he might drink with them, and his wife
cooked, waited on them, brought in the dishes, took them out and asked
each of them in a whisper whether they had everything they wanted. A
number of boards standing against the walls and heaps of shavings that
had been swept into the corners gave out a smell of planed wood, a smell
of a carpenter's shop, that resinous odor which penetrates to the lungs.
They wanted to see the little girl, but she had gone to church and would
not be back again until evening, so they all went out for a stroll in
the country.
It was a small village, through which the highroad passed. Ten or a
dozen houses on either side of the single street were inhabited by the
butcher, the grocer, the carpenter, the innkeeper, the shoemaker and the
baker.
The church was at the end of the street and was surrounded by a small
churchyard, and four immense lime-trees, which stood just outside the
porch, shaded it completely. It was built of flint, in no particular
style, and had a slate-roofed steeple. When you got past it, you were
again in the open country, which was varied here and there by clumps of
trees which hid the homesteads.
Rivet had given his arm to his sister, out of politeness, although he
was in his working clothes, and was walking with her in a dignified
manner. His wife, who was overwhelmed by Raphaele's gold-striped dress,
walked between her and Fernande, and roly-poly Rosa was trotting behind
with Louise and Flora, the Seesaw, who was limping along, quite tired
out.
The inhabitants came to their doors, the children left off playing, and
a window curtain would be raised, so as to show a muslin cap, while an
old woman with a crutch, who was almost blind, crossed herself as if it
were a religious procession, and they all gazed for a long time at those
handsome ladies from town, who had come so far to be present at the
confirmation of Joseph Rivet's little girl, and the carpenter rose very
much in the public estimation.
As they passed the church they heard some children singing. Little
shrill voices were singing a hymn, but Madame Tellier would not let them
go in, for fear of disturbing the little cherubs.
After the walk, during which Joseph Rivet enumerated the principal
landed proprietors, spoke about the yield of the land and the
productiveness of the cows and sheep, he took his tribe of women home
and installed them in his house, and as it was very small, they had to
put them into the rooms, two and two.
Just for once Rivet would sleep in the workshop on the shavings; his
wife was to share her bed with her sister-in-law, and Fernande and
Raphaele were to sleep together in the next room. Louise and Flora were
put into the kitchen, where they had a mattress on the floor, and Rosa
had a little dark cupboard to herself at the top of the stairs, close to
the loft, where the candidate for confirmation was to sleep.
When the little girl came in she was overwhelmed with kisses; all the
women wished to caress her with that need of tender expansion, that
habit of professional affection which had made them kiss the ducks in
the railway carriage.
They each of them took her on their knees, stroked her soft, light hair
and pressed her in their arms with vehement and spontaneous outbursts of
affection, and the child, who was very good and religious, bore it all
patiently.
As the day had been a fatiguing one for everybody, they all went to
bed soon after dinner. The whole village was wrapped in that perfect
stillness of the country, which is almost like a religious silence,
and the girls, who were accustomed to the noisy evenings of their
establishment, felt rather impressed by the perfect repose of the
sleeping village, and they shivered, not with cold, but with those
little shivers of loneliness which come over uneasy and troubled hearts.
As soon as they were in bed, two and two together, they clasped each
other in their arms, as if to protect themselves against this feeling of
the calm and profound slumber of the earth. But Rosa, who was alone in
her little dark cupboard, felt a vague and painful emotion come over
her.
She was tossing about in bed, unable to get to sleep, when she heard the
faint sobs of a crying child close to her head, through the partition.
She was frightened, and called out, and was answered by a weak voice,
broken by sobs. It was the little girl, who was always used to sleeping
in her mother's room, and who was afraid in her small attic.
Rosa was delighted, got up softly so as not to awaken any one, and went
and fetched the child. She took her into her warm bed, kissed her
and pressed her to her bosom, lavished exaggerated manifestations of
tenderness on her, and at last grew calmer herself and went to sleep.
And till morning the candidate for confirmation slept with her head on
Rosa's bosom.
At five o'clock the little church bell, ringing the Angelus, woke the
women, who usually slept the whole morning long.
The villagers were up already, and the women went busily from house to
house, carefully bringing short, starched muslin dresses or very long
wax tapers tied in the middle with a bow of silk fringed with gold, and
with dents in the wax for the fingers.
The sun was already high in the blue sky, which still had a rosy tint
toward the horizon, like a faint remaining trace of dawn. Families of
fowls were walking about outside the houses, and here and there a black
cock, with a glistening breast, raised his head, which was crowned by
his red comb, flapped his wings and uttered his shrill crow, which the
other cocks repeated.
Vehicles of all sorts came from neighboring parishes, stopping at
the different houses, and tall Norman women dismounted, wearing dark
dresses, with kerchiefs crossed over the bosom, fastened with silver
brooches a hundred years old.
The men had put on their blue smocks over their new frock-coats or over
their old dress-coats of green-cloth, the two tails of which hung down
below their blouses. When the horses were in the stable there was a
double line of rustic conveyances along the road: carts, cabriolets,
tilburies, wagonettes, traps of every shape and age, tipping forward on
their shafts or else tipping backward with the shafts up in the air.
The carpenter's house was as busy as a bee-hive. The women, in
dressing-jackets and petticoats, with their thin, short hair, which
looked faded and worn, hanging down their backs, were busy dressing the
child, who was standing quietly on a table, while Madame Tellier was
directing the movements of her battalion. They washed her, did her hair,
dressed her, and with the help of a number of pins, they arranged the
folds of her dress and took in the waist, which was too large.
Then, when she was ready, she was told to sit down and not to move, and
the women hurried off to get ready themselves.
The church bell began to ring again, and its tinkle was lost in the air,
like a feeble voice which is soon drowned in space. The candidates
came out of the houses and went toward the parochial building, which
contained the two schools and the mansion house, and which stood quite
at one end of the village, while the church was situated at the other.
The parents, in their very best clothes, followed their children, with
embarrassed looks, and those clumsy movements of a body bent by toil.
The little girls disappeared in a cloud of muslin, which looked like
whipped cream, while the lads, who looked like embryo waiters in a cafe
and whose heads shone with pomatum, walked with their legs apart, so as
not to get any dust or dirt on their black trousers.
It was something for a family, to be proud of, when a large number of
relatives, who had come from a distance, surrounded the child, and the
carpenter's triumph was complete.
Madame Tellier's regiment, with its leader at its head, followed
Constance; her father gave his arm to his sister, her mother walked by
the side of Raphaele, Fernande with Rosa and Louise and Flora together,
and thus they proceeded majestically through the village, like a
general's staff in full uniform, while the effect on the village was
startling.
At the school the girls ranged themselves under the Sister of Mercy and
the boys under the schoolmaster, and they started off, singing a hymn as
they went. The boys led the way, in two files, between the two rows
of vehicles, from which the horses had been taken out, and the girls
followed in the same order; and as all the people in the village had
given the town ladies the precedence out of politeness, they came
immediately behind the girls, and lengthened the double line of the
procession still more, three on the right and three on the left, while
their dresses were as striking as a display of fireworks.
When they went into the church the congregation grew quite excited.
They pressed against each other, turned round and jostled one another in
order to see, and some of the devout ones spoke almost aloud, for they
were so astonished at the sight of those ladies whose dresses were more
elaborate than the priest's vestments.
The mayor offered them his pew, the first one on the right, close to the
choir, and Madame Tellier sat there with her sister-in-law, Fernande and
Raphaele. Rosa, Louise and Flora occupied the second seat, in company
with the carpenter.
The choir was full of kneeling children, the girls on one side and the
boys on the other, and the long wax tapers which they held looked like
lances pointing in all directions, and three men were standing in front
of the lectern, singing as loud as they could.
They prolonged the syllables of the sonorous Latin indefinitely, holding
on to “Amens” with interminable “a-a's,” which the reed stop of the
organ sustained in a monotonous, long-drawn-out tone.
A child's shrill voice took up the reply, and from time to time a priest
sitting in a stall and wearing a biretta got up, muttered something and
sat down again, while the three singers continued, their eyes fixed on
the big book of plain chant lying open before them on the outstretched
wings of a wooden eagle.
Then silence ensued and the service went on. Toward the close Rosa,
with her head in both hands, suddenly thought of her mother, her village
church and her first communion. She almost fancied that that day had
returned, when she was so small anti was almost hidden in her white
dress, and she began to cry.
First of all she wept silently, and the tears dropped slowly from her
eyes, but her emotion in creased with her recollections, and she began
to sob. She took out her pocket handkerchief, wiped her eyes and held it
to her mouth, so as not to scream, but it was in vain. A sort of
rattle escaped her throat, and she was answered by two other profound,
heartbreaking sobs, for her two neighbors, Louise and Flora, who were
kneeling near her, overcome by similar recollections, were sobbing by
her side, amid a flood of tears; and as tears are contagious, Madame
Tellier soon in turn found that her eyes were wet, and on turning to
her sister-in-law, she saw that all the occupants of her seat were also
crying.
Soon, throughout the church, here and there, a wife, a mother, a sister,
seized by the strange sympathy of poignant emotion, and affected at
the sight of those handsome ladies on their knees, shaken with sobs
was moistening her cambric pocket handkerchief and pressing her beating
heart with her left hand.
Just as the sparks from an engine will set fire to dry grass, so the
tears of Rosa and of her companions infected the whole congregation in
a moment. Men, women, old men and lads in new smocks were soon all
sobbing, and something superhuman seemed to be hovering over their
heads--a spirit, the powerful breath of an invisible and all powerful
Being.
Suddenly a species of madness seemed to pervade the church, the noise
of a crowd in a state of frenzy, a tempest of sobs and stifled cries.
It came like gusts of wind which blow the trees in a forest, and the
priest, paralyzed by emotion, stammered out incoherent prayers, without
finding words, ardent prayers of the soul soaring to heaven.
The people behind him gradually grew calmer. The cantors, in all the
dignity of their white surplices, went on in somewhat uncertain voices,
and the reed stop itself seemed hoarse, as if the instrument had been
weeping; the priest, however, raised his hand to command silence and
went and stood on the chancel steps, when everybody was silent at once.
After a few remarks on what had just taken place, and which he
attributed to a miracle, he continued, turning to the seats where
the carpenter's guests were sitting; “I especially thank you, my dear
sisters, who have come from such a distance, and whose presence among
us, whose evident faith and ardent piety have set such a salutary
example to all. You have edified my parish; your emotion has warmed all
hearts; without you, this great day would not, perhaps, have had this
really divine character. It is sufficient, at times, that there should
be one chosen lamb, for the Lord to descend on His flock.”
His voice failed him again, from emotion, and he said no more, but
concluded the service.
They now left the church as quickly as possible; the children themselves
were restless and tired with such a prolonged tension of the mind. The
parents left the church by degrees to see about dinner.
There was a crowd outside, a noisy crowd, a babel of loud voices, where
the shrill Norman accent was discernible. The villagers formed two
ranks, and when the children appeared, each family took possession of
their own.
The whole houseful of women caught hold of Constance, surrounded her and
kissed her, and Rosa was especially demonstrative. At last she took
hold of one hand, while Madame Tellier took the other, and Raphaele and
Fernande held up her long muslin skirt, so that it might not drag in the
dust; Louise and Flora brought up the rear with Madame Rivet; and the
child, who was very silent and thoughtful, set off for home in the midst
of this guard of honor.
Dinner was served in the workshop on long boards supported by trestles,
and through the open door they could see all the enjoyment that was
going on in the village. Everywhere they were feasting, and through
every window were to be seen tables surrounded by people in their Sunday
best, and a cheerful noise was heard in every house, while the men sat
in their shirt-sleeves, drinking glass after glass of cider.
In the carpenter's house the gaiety maintained somewhat of an air of
reserve, the consequence of the emotion of the girls in the morning, and
Rivet was the only one who was in a jolly mood, and he was drinking to
excess. Madame Tellier looked at the clock every moment, for, in order
not to lose two days running, they must take the 3:55 train, which would
bring them to Fecamp by dark.
The carpenter tried very hard to distract her attention, so as to keep
his guests until the next day, but he did not succeed, for she never
joked when there was business on hand, and as soon as they had had their
coffee she ordered her girls to make haste and get ready, and then,
turning to her brother, she said:
“You must put in the horse immediately,” and she herself went to finish
her last preparations.
When she came down again, her sister-in-law was waiting to speak to her
about the child, and a long conversation took place, in which, however,
nothing was settled. The carpenter's wife was artful and pretended to be
very much affected, and Madame Tellier, who was holding the girl on her
knee, would not pledge herself to anything definite, but merely gave
vague promises--she would not forget her, there was plenty of time, and
besides, they would meet again.
But the conveyance did not come to the door and the women did not come
downstairs. Upstairs they even heard loud laughter, romping, little
screams, and much clapping of hands, and so, while the carpenter's
wife went to the stable to see whether the cart was ready, madame went
upstairs.
Rivet, who was very drunk, was plaguing Rosa, who was half choking with
laughter. Louise and Flora were holding him by the arms and trying
to calm him, as they were shocked at his levity after that morning's
ceremony; but Raphaele and Fernande were urging him on, writhing and
holding their sides with laughter, and they uttered shrill cries at
every rebuff the drunken fellow received.
The man was furious, his face was red, and he was trying to shake off
the two women who were clinging to him, while he was pulling Rosa's
skirt with all his might and stammering incoherently.
But Madame Tellier, who was very indignant, went up to her brother,
seized him by the shoulders, and threw him out of the room with such
violence that he fell against the wall in the passage, and a minute
afterward they heard him pumping water on his head in the yard, and when
he reappeared with the cart he was quite calm.
They started off in the same way as they had come the day before, and
the little white horse started off with his quick, dancing trot. Under
the hot sun, their fun, which had been checked during dinner, broke
out again. The girls now were amused at the jolting of the cart, pushed
their neighbors' chairs, and burst out laughing every moment.
There was a glare of light over the country, which dazzled their eyes,
and the wheels raised two trails of dust along the highroad. Presently,
Fernande, who was fond of music, asked Rosa to sing something, and she
boldly struck up the “Gros Cure de Meudon,” but Madame Tellier made her
stop immediately, as she thought it a very unsuitable song for such a
day, and she added:
“Sing us something of Beranger's.” And so, after a moment's hesitation,
Rosa began Beranger's song “The Grandmother” in her worn-out voice, and
all the girls, and even Madame Tellier herself, joined in the chorus:
“How I regret
My dimpled arms,
My nimble legs,
And vanished charms.”
“That is first rate,” Rivet declared, carried away by the rhythm, and
they shouted the refrain to every verse, while Rivet beat time on the
shaft with his foot, and with the reins on the back of the horse, who,
as if he himself were carried away by the rhythm, broke into a wild
gallop, and threw all the women in a heap, one on top of the other, on
the bottom of the conveyance.
They got up, laughing as if they were mad, and the Gong went on, shouted
at the top of their voices, beneath the burning sky, among the ripening
grain, to the rapid gallop of the little horse, who set off every time
the refrain was sung, and galloped a hundred yards, to their great
delight, while occasionally a stone-breaker by the roadside sat up and
looked at the load of shouting females through his wire spectacles.
When they got out at the station, the carpenter said:
“I am sorry you are going; we might have had some good times together.”
But Madame Tellier replied very sensibly: “Everything has its right
time, and we cannot always be enjoying ourselves.” And then he had a
sudden inspiration:
“Look here, I will come and see you at Fecamp next month.” And he gave
Rosa a roguish and knowing look.
“Come,” his sister replied, “you must be sensible; you may come if you
like, but you are not to be up to any of your tricks.”
He did not reply, and as they heard the whistle of the train, he
immediately began to kiss them all. When it came to Rosa's turn, he
tried to get to her mouth, which she, however, smiling with her lips
closed, turned away from him each time by a rapid movement of her
head to one side. He held her in his arms, but he could not attain his
object, as his large whip, which he was holding in his hand and waving
behind the girl's back in desperation, interfered with his movements.
“Passengers for Rouen, take your seats!” a guard cried, and they got in.
There was a slight whistle, followed by a loud whistle from the engine,
which noisily puffed cut its first jet of steam, while the wheels began
to turn a little with a visible effort, and Rivet left the station and
ran along by the track to get another look at Rosa, and as the carriage
passed him, he began to crack his whip and to jump, while he sang at the
top of his voice:
“How I regret
My dimpled arms,
My nimble legs,
And vanished charms.”
And then he watched a white pocket-handkerchief, which somebody was
waving, as it disappeared in the distance.