"Mademoiselle, the Prussian officer wants to speak to you at once."
"To me?"
"Yes, if you really are Mademoiselle Elizabeth Rousset."
She hesitated, thought for a moment, and then declared roundly: "That
may be, but I'm not going."
There was a movement round about her--everybody was much exercised as to
the reason of this summons. The Count came over to her.
"You may do wrong to refuse, madame, for it may entail considerable
annoyance not only to yourself but on the rest of your companions. It is
a fatal mistake ever to offer resistance to people who are stronger than
ourselves. The step can have no possible danger for you--it is probably
about some little formality that has been omitted."
One and all concurred with him, implored and urged and scolded, till
they ended by convincing her; for they were all apprehensive of the
results of her contumacy.
"Well, I do it for you sure enough!" she said at last. The Countess
pressed her hand. "And we are most grateful to you."
She left the room, and the others agreed to wait for her before
beginning the meal. Each one lamented at not having been asked for
instead of this hot-headed, violent young woman, and mentally prepared
any number of platitudes for the event of being called in their turn.
At the end of ten minutes she returned, crimson with rage, choking,
snorting,--"Oh, the blackguard; the low blackguard!" she stammered.
They all crowded round her to know what had happened, but she would not
say, and the Count becoming insistent, she answered with much dignity,
"No, it does not concern anybody! I can't speak of it."
They then seated themselves round a great soup tureen from which steamed
a smell of cabbage. In spite of this little contretemps the supper was
a gay one. The cider, of which the Loiseaus and the two nuns partook
from motives of economy, was good. The rest ordered wine and Cornudet
called for beer. He had a particular way with him of uncorking the
bottle, of making the liquid froth, of gazing at it while he tilted the
glass, which he then held up between his eye and the light to criticise
the color; while he drank, his great beard, which had the tints of his
favorite beverage, seemed to quiver fondly, his eyes squinting that he
might not lose sight of his tankard for a moment, and altogether he had
the appearance of fulfilling the sole function for which he had been
born. You would have said that he established in his own mind some
connection or affinity between the two great passions that monopolized
his life--Ale and Revolution--and most assuredly he never dipped into
the one without thinking of the other.
Monsieur and Madame Follenvie supped at the farther end of the table.
The husband--puffing and blowing like a bursting locomotive--had too
much cold on the chest to be able to speak and eat at the same time, but
his wife never ceased talking. She described her every impression at the
arrival of the Prussians and all they did and all they said, execrating
them in the first place because they cost so much, and secondly because
she had two sons in the army. She addressed herself chiefly to the
Countess, as it flattered her to be able to say she had conversed with a
lady of quality.
She presently lowered her voice and proceeded to recount some rather
delicate matters, her husband breaking in from time to time with--"You
had much better hold your tongue, Madame Follenvie,"--to which she paid
not the slightest attention, but went on.
"Well, madame, as I was saying--these men, they do nothing but eat
potatoes and pork and pork and potatoes from morning till night. And as
for their habits--! And you should see them exercising for hours and
days together out there in the fields--It's forward march and backward
march, and turn this way and turn that. If they even worked in the
fields or mended the roads in their own country! But, no, madame, these
soldiers are no good to anybody, and the poor people have to keep them
and feed them simply that they may learn how to massacre. I know I am
only a poor ignorant old woman, but when I see these men wearing
themselves out by tramping up and down from morning till night, I cannot
help saying to myself, if there are some people who make a lot of useful
discoveries, why should others give themselves so much trouble to do
harm? After all, isn't it an abomination to kill anybody, no matter
whether they are Prussians, or English, or Poles, or French? If you
revenge yourself on some one who has harmed you that is wicked, and you
are taken up and punished; but let them shoot down our sons as if they
were game, and it is all right, and they give medals to the man who
kills the most. No, no, look you, I shall never be able to see any rhyme
or reason in that!"
"War is barbarous if one attacks an unoffending neighbor--it is a sacred
duty if one defends one's country," remarked Cornudet in a declamatory
tone.
The old woman nodded assent. "Yes--defending oneself, of course, that
is quite another thing; but wouldn't it be better to kill all these
kings who do this for their pleasure?"
Cornudet's eyes flashed. "Bravo, citizeness!" he cried.
Monsieur Carré-Lamadon was lost in thought. Although he was an ardent
admirer of famous military men, the sound common sense of this peasant
woman's observations made him reflect upon the wealth which would
necessarily accrue to the country if all these unemployed and
consequently ruinous hands--so much unproductive force--were available
for the great industrial works that would take centuries to complete.
Loiseau meanwhile had left his seat and gone over beside the innkeeper,
to whom he began talking in a low voice. The fat man laughed, coughed,
and spat, his unwieldy stomach shaking with mirth at his neighbor's
jokes, and he bought six hogsheads of claret from him for the spring
when the Prussians would have cleared out.
Supper was scarcely over when, dropping with fatigue, everybody went off
to bed.
Loiseau, however, who had made certain observations, let his wife go to
bed and proceeded to glue first his ear and then his eye to the keyhole,
endeavoring to penetrate what he called "the mysteries of the corridor."
After about half an hour he heard a rustling, and hurrying to the
keyhole, he perceived Boule de Suif looking ampler than ever in a
dressing-gown of blue cashmere trimmed with white lace. She had a candle
in her hand and was going towards the end of the corridor. Then a door
at one side opened cautiously, and when she returned after a few
minutes, Cornudet in his shirt sleeves was following her. They were
talking in a low voice and presently stood still; Boule de Suif
apparently defending the entrance of her room with much energy.
Unfortunately Loiseau was unable to hear what they said till, at the
last, as they raised their voices somewhat, he caught a word or two.
Cornudet was insisting eagerly. "Look here," he said, "you are really
very ridiculous--what difference can it make to you?"
And she with an offended air retorted, "No!--let me tell you there are
moments when that sort of thing won't do; and besides--here--it would be
a crying shame."