"Is the sky blue all over, father? Look out and tell me, will you?" said
Renée, one afternoon, as she lay on the sofa.
"Yes, my child," answered M. Mauperin from the window, "it is superb."
"Oh!"
"Why? Are you in pain?"
"No, only it seemed to me that there must be clouds--as though the
weather were going to change. It's very odd when one is ill, it seems as
if the sky were much nearer. Oh, I'm a capital barometer now." And she
went on reading the book she had laid down while she spoke.
"You tire yourself with reading, little girl; let us talk instead. Give
it me," and M. Mauperin held out his hand for the book, which she
slipped from her fingers into his. On opening it, M. Mauperin noticed
some pages that he had doubled down some years before, telling her not
to read them, and these forbidden pages were still doubled down.
Renée appeared to be sleepy. The storm which was not yet in the sky had
already begun to weigh on her. She felt a most unbearable heaviness
which seemed to overwhelm her, and at the same time a nervous uneasiness
took possession of her. The electricity in the air was penetrating her
and working on her.
A great silence had suddenly come over everything, as though it had been
chased from the horizon, and the breath of solemn calm passing over the
country filled her with immense anxiety. She looked at the clock, did
not speak again, but kept moving her hands about from place to place.
"Ah, yes," said M. Mauperin, "there is a cloud, really, a big cloud over
Fresnoy. How it is moving along! Ah, it's coming over on to our
side--it's coming. Shall I shut everything up--the window and the
shutters, and light up? Like that my big girl won't be so frightened."
"No," said Renée, quickly, "no lights in the daytime--no, no! And then,
too," she went on, "I'm not afraid of it now."
"Oh, it is some distance off yet," said M. Mauperin, for the sake of
saying something. His daughter's words had called up a vision of lighted
tapers in this room.
"Ah, there's the rain," said Renée, in a relieved tone. "It's like dew,
that rain is. It's as if we were drinking it, isn't it? Come here--near
me."
Some large drops came down, one by one, at first. Then the water poured
from the sky, as it does from a vase that has been upset. The storm
broke over Morimond and the thunder rolled and burst in peals. The
country round was all fire and then all dark. And at every moment in the
gloomy room, lighted up with pale gleams, the flashes would suddenly
cover the reclining figure of the invalid from head to foot, throwing
over her whole body a shroud of light.
There was one last peal of thunder, so loud and which burst so near,
that Renée threw her arms round her father's neck and hid her face
against him.
"Foolish child, it's over now," said M. Mauperin; and like a bird which
lifts its head a little from under its wing, she looked up, keeping her
arms round him.
"Ah, I thought we were all dead!" she said, with a smile in which there
was something of a regret.