At this she grew angry. "Why?" and she raised her voice still more, "you
don't see why? and there are Prussians in the house--in the next room
for all you know!"
He made no reply. This display of patriotic prudery evidently aroused
his failing dignity, for with a brief salute he made for his own door on
tiptoe.
Loiseau deeply thrilled and amused, executed a double shuffle in the
middle of the room, donned his nightcap, and slipped into the blankets
where the bony figure of his spouse already reposed.
The whole house sank to silence. But anon there arose from somewhere--it
might have been the cellar, it might have been the attics--impossible to
determine the direction--a rumbling--sonorous, even, regular, dull,
prolonged roar as of a boiler under high steam pressure: Monsieur
Follenvie slept.
It had been decided that they should start at eight o'clock the next
morning, so they were all assembled in the kitchen by that hour; but the
diligence, roofed with snow, stood solitary in the middle of the
courtyard without horses or driver. The latter was sought for in vain
either in the stables or the coachhouse. The men of the party then
resolved to beat the country round for him, and went out accordingly.
They found themselves in the public square with the church at one end,
and low-roofed houses down each side in which they caught sight of
Prussian soldiers. The first one they came upon was peeling potatoes;
farther on another was washing out a barber's shop; while a third,
bearded to the eyes, was soothing a crying child and rocking it to and
fro on his knee to quiet it. The big peasant woman whose men were all
"with the army in the war" were ordering about their docile conquerors
and showing them by signs what work they wanted done--chopping wood,
grinding coffee, fetching water; one of them was even doing the washing
for his hostess, a helpless old crone.
The Count, much astonished, stopped the beadle, who happened to come out
of the vestry at that moment, and asked the meaning of it all.
"Oh," replied the old church rat, "these are not at all bad. From what I
hear they are not Prussians, either; they come from farther off, but
where I can't say; and they have all left a wife and children at home. I
am very sure the women down there are crying for their men, too, and it
will all make a nice lot of misery for them as well as for us. We are
not so badly off here for the moment, because they do not harm and are
working just as if they were in their own homes. You see, Monsieur, the
poor always help one another; it is the great people who make the
wars."
Cornudet, indignant at the friendly understanding established between
the victors and the vanquished, retired from the scene, preferring to
shut himself up in the inn. Loiseau of course must have his joke. "They
are re-populating," he said. Monsieur Carré-Lamadon found a more fitting
expression. "They are repairing."
But the driver was nowhere to be found. At last he was unearthed in the
village café hobnobbing fraternally with the officer's orderly.
"Did you not have orders to have the diligence ready by eight o'clock?"
the Count asked him.
"Oh, yes, but I got another order later on."
"What?"
"Not to put the horses in at all."
"Who gave you that order?"
"Ma foi--the Prussian commandant."
"Why?"
"I don't know--you had better ask him. I am told not to harness the
horses, and so I don't harness them--there you are."
"Did he tell you so himself?"
"No, Monsieur, the innkeeper brought me the message from him."
"When was that?"
"Last night, just as I was going to bed."
The three men returned much disconcerted. They asked for Monsieur
Follenvie, but were informed by the servant that on account of his
asthma he never got up before ten o'clock--he had even positively
forbidden them to awaken him before then except in case of fire.
Then they asked to see the officer, but that was absolutely impossible,
although he lodged at the inn.
Monsieur Follenvie alone was authorized to approach him on non-military
matters. So they had to wait. The women returned to their rooms and
occupied themselves as best they could.
Cornudet installed himself in the high chimney-corner of the kitchen,
where a great fire was burning. He had one of the little coffee-room
tables brought to him and a can of beer, and puffed away placidly at his
pipe, which enjoyed among the democrats almost equal consideration with
himself, as if in serving Cornudet it served the country also. The pipe
was a superb meerschaum, admirably colored, black as the teeth of its
owner, but fragrant, curved, shining familiar to his hand, and the
natural complement to his physiognomy. He sat there motionless, his eyes
fixed alternately on the flame of the hearth and the foam on the top of
his tankard, and each time after drinking he passed his bony fingers
with a self-satisfied gesture through his long greasy hair, while he
wiped the fringe of froth from his moustache.
Under the pretext of stretching his legs, Loiseau went out and palmed
off his wines on the country retail dealers. The Count and the
manufacturer talked politics. They forecast the future of France, the
one putting his faith in the Orleans, the other in an unknown savior, a
hero who would come to the fore when things were at their very worst--a
Du Guesclin, a Joan of Arc perhaps, or even another Napoleon I. Ah, if
only the Prince Imperial were not so young! Cornudet listened to them
with the smile of a man who could solve the riddle of Fate if he would.
His pipe perfumed the whole kitchen with its balmy fragrance.
On the stroke of ten Monsieur Follenvie made his appearance. They
instantly attacked him with questions, but he had but one answer which
he repeated two or three times without variation. "The officer said to
me, 'Monsieur Follenvie, you will forbid them to harness the horses for
these travelers to-morrow morning. They are not to leave till I give my
permission. You understand?' That is all."
They demanded to see the officer; the Count sent up his card, on which
Monsieur Carré-Lamadon added his name and all his titles. The Prussian
sent word that he would admit the two men to his presence after he had
lunched, that is to say, about one o'clock.
The ladies came down and they all managed to eat a little in spite of
their anxiety. Boule de Suif looked quite ill and very much agitated.
They were just finishing coffee when the orderly arrived to fetch the
two gentlemen.
Loiseau joined them, but when they proposed to bring Cornudet along to
give more solemnity to their proceedings, he declared haughtily that
nothing would induce him to enter into any communication whatsoever with
the Germans, and he returned to his chimney-corner and ordered another
bottle of beer.
The three men therefore went upstairs without him, and were shown into
the best room of the inn, where they were received by the officer
lolling in an armchair, his heels on the chimney-piece, smoking a long
porcelain pipe, and arrayed in a flamboyant dressing-gown, taken, no
doubt, from the abandoned dwelling-house of some bourgeois of inferior
taste. He did not rise, he vouchsafed them no greeting of any
description, he did not even look at them--a brilliant sample of the
victorious military cad.