Jupillon smoked and let his mother do the talking. When she had finished, he said: “That’ll do for talk, mamma!—all that’s nothing but words. You’ll spoil your digestion and it ain’t worth while. You needn’t sell anything—you needn’t strain yourself at all—I’ll buy my substitute and it shan’t cost you a sou;—do you want to bet on it?”
“Jesus!” ejaculated Madame Jupillon.
“I have an idea.”
After a pause, Jupillon continued: “I didn’t want to make trouble with you on account of Germinie—you know, at the time the stories about us were going round; you thought it was time for me to break with her—that she would be in our way—and you kicked her out of the house, stiff. That wasn’t my idea—I didn’t think she was so bad as all that for the family butter. But, however, you thought best to do it. And perhaps, after all, you did the best thing; instead of cooling her off, you warmed her up for me—yes, warmed her up—I’ve met her once or twice—and she’s changed, I tell you. Gad! how she’s drying up!”
“But you know very well she hasn’t got a sou.”
“I don’t say she has, of her own. But what’s that got to do with it? She’ll find it somewhere. She’s good for twenty-three hundred shiners yet!”
“But suppose you get mixed up in it?”
“Oh! she won’t steal ’em—”
“The deuce she won’t!”
“Well! if she does, it won’t be from anyone but her mistress. Do you suppose her mademoiselle would have her pinched for that? She’ll turn her off, and that’ll be the end of it. We’ll advise her to try the air in another quarter—off she goes!—and we shan’t see her again. But it would be too stupid for her to steal. She’ll arrange it somehow, she’ll hunt round and turn things over. I don’t know how, not I! but that’s her affair, you understand. This is the time for her to show her talents. By the way, perhaps you don’t know, they say her old woman’s sick. If the dear lady should happen to step out and leave her all the stuff, as the story goes in the quarter—why, it wouldn’t be a bad thing to have played seesaw with her, eh, mamma? We must put on gloves, you see, mamma, when we’re dealing with people who may have four or five thousand a year come tumbling into their aprons.”
“Oh! my God! what are you talking about? But after the way I treated her—oh! no, she’ll never come back here.”
“Well! I tell you I’ll bring her back—and tonight at the latest,” said Jupillon, rising, and rolling a cigarette between his fingers. “No excuses, you know,” he said to his mother, “they won’t do any good—and be cold to her. Act as if you received her only on my account, because you are weak. No one knows what may happen, we must always keep an anchor to windward.”
XXX
Jupillon was walking back and forth on the sidewalk in front of Germinie’s house when she came out.
“Good evening, Germinie,” he said, behind her.
She turned as if she had been struck, and, without answering his greeting, instinctively moved on a few steps as if to fly from him.
“Germinie!”
Jupillon said nothing more than that; he did not follow her, he did not move. She came back to him like a trained beast when his rope is taken off.
“What is it?” said she. “Do you want more money? or do you want to tell me some of your mother’s foolish remarks?”
“No, but I am going away,” said Jupillon, with a serious face. “I am drafted—and I am going away.”
“You are going away?” said she. She seemed as if her mind was not awake.
“Look here, Germinie,” Jupillon continued. “I have made you unhappy. I haven’t been very kind to you, I know. My cousin’s been a little to blame. What do you want?”
“You’re going away?” rejoined Germinie, taking his arm. “Don’t lie to me—are you going away?”
“I tell you, yes—and it’s true. I’m only waiting for marching orders. You have to pay more than two thousand francs for a substitute this year. They say there’s going to be a war: however, there’s a chance.”
As he spoke he was leading Germinie down the street.
“Where are you taking me?” said she.
“To mother’s, of course—so that you two can make up and put an end to all this nonsense.”
“After what she said to me? Never!”
And Germinie pushed Jupillon’s arm away.
“Well, if that’s the way it is, goodbye.”
And Jupillon raised his cap.
“Shall I write to you from the regiment?”
Germinie was silent, hesitating, for a moment. Then she said, abruptly: “Come on!” and, motioning to Jupillon to walk beside her, she turned back up the street.
And so they walked along, side by side, without a word. They reached a paved road that stretched out as far as the eye could see, between two lines of lanterns, between two rows of gnarled trees that held aloft handfuls of bare branches and cast their slender, motionless shadows on high blank walls. There, in the keen air, chilled
