She was Bargemont's mistress! The thought was torture to Jean
Servien, the more atrocious from the unexpectedness of the discovery.
He both hated and despised the coarse ruffian whose sham good-nature
did not impose on him, and whom he knew for a brutal, dull-witted,
mean-spirited bully. That pimply face, those goggle eyes, that
forehead with the swollen black vein running across it, that heavy
hand, that ugly, vulgar soul, could it be---- It sickened him to
think of it! And disgust was the thing of all others Servien's
delicately balanced nature felt most keenly. His morality was
shaky, and he could have found excuse for elegant vices, refined
perversions, romantic crimes. But Bargemont and his pot of butter!...
Never to possess the most adorable of women, never to see her more,
he was quite willing for the sacrifice still, but to know her in
the arms of that coarse brute staggered the mind and rendered
life impossible.
Absorbed in such thoughts, he found his way back instinctively
to his own quarter of the city. Shells whistled over his head
and burst with terrific reports. Flying figures passed him, their
heads enveloped in handkerchiefs and carrying mattresses on their
backs. At the corner of the _Rue de Rennes_ he tripped over a
lamp-post lying across the pavement beside a half-demolished
wall. In front of his father's shop he saw a huge hole. He went
to open the door; a shell had burst it in and he could see the
work-bench capsized in a dark corner.
Then he remembered that the Germans were bombarding the left
bank, and he felt a sudden impulse to roam the streets under the
rain of iron.
A voice hailed him, issuing from underground:
"Is it you, my lad? Come in quick; you've given me a fine fright.
Come down here; we are settled in the cellars."
He followed his father and found beds arranged in the underground
chambers, while the main cellar served as kitchen and sitting-room.
The bookbinder had a map, and was pointing out to the _concierge_
and tenants the position of the relieving armies. Aunt Servien
sat in a dim corner, her eyes fixed in a dull stare, mumbling
bits of biscuit soaked in wine. She had no notion of what was
happening, but maintained an attitude of suspicion.
The little assemblage, which had been living this subterranean
life since the evening of the day before, asked what news young
Servien brought. Then the bookbinder resumed the explanations
which as an old soldier and a responsible man he had been asked
to give the company.
"The thing to do is," he continued, "to join hands with the Army
of the Loire, piercing the circle of iron that shuts us in. Admiral
La Roncière has carried the positions at Épinay away beyond
Longjumeau----"
Then turning to Jean:
"My lad, just find me Longjumeau on the map; my eyes are not
what they were at twenty, and these tallow candles give a very
poor light."
At that moment a tremendous explosion shook the solid walls and
filled the cellar with dust. The women screamed; the porter went
off to make his round of inspection, tapping the walls with his
heavy keys; an enormous spider scampered across the vaulted roof.
Then the conversation was resumed as if nothing had happened,
and two of the lodgers started a game of cards on an upturned
cask.
Jean was dog-tired and fell asleep on the floor--a nightmare sleep.
"Has the little lad come home?" asked Aunt Servien, still sucking
at her biscuit.