all here, the six of them. Now make them testify, make them testify. They’ll tell—
The Justice: Collect yourself, Madame Luneau, collect yourself and reply calmly to my questions. What reasons have you to doubt that this man is the father of the child you are carrying?
Madame Luneau: What reasons? I have a hundred to one, a hundred? No, two hundred, five hundred, ten thousand, a million and more reasons to believe he isn’t. After the proposal I made to him, with the promise of one hundred francs, didn’t I learn that he wasn’t the father of his own children, your Honour, not the father of one of ’em?
Hippolyte (calmly): That’s a lie.
Madame Luneau (exasperated): A lie! A lie, is it? I think his wife has been around with everybody around here. Call my witnesses, your Honour, and make them testify?
Hippolyte (calmly): It’s a lie.
Madame Luneau: It’s a lie, is it? How about the red-haired ones, then? I suppose they’re yours, too?
The Justice: Kindly refrain from personal attacks, or I shall be obliged to call you to order.
Madame Luneau: Well, your Honour, I had my doubts about him, and said I to myself, two precautions are better than one, so I explained my position to Césaire Lepic, the witness who is present. Says he to me, “At your disposal, Madame Luneau,” and he lent me his assistance in case Hippolyte should turn out to be unreliable. But as soon as the other witnesses heard that I wanted to make sure against any disappointment, I could have had more than a hundred, your Honour, if I had wanted them. That tall one over there, Lucas Chandelier, swore at the time that I oughn’t to give Hippolyte Lacour a cent, for he hadn’t done more than the rest of them who had obliged me for nothing.
Hippolyte: What did you promise for? I expected the money, your Honour. No mistake with me—a promise given, a promise kept.
Madame Luneau (beside herself): One hundred francs! One hundred francs! One hundred francs for that, you liar! The others there didn’t ask a red cent! Look at ’em, all six of ’em! Make them testify, your Honour, they’ll tell you. (To Hippolyte.) Look at ’em, you liar! they’re as good as you. They’re only six, but I could have had one, two, three, five hundred of ’em for nothing, too, you robber!
Hippolyte: Well, even if you’d had a hundred thousand—
Madame Luneau: I could, if I’d wanted them.
Hippolyte: I did my duty, so it doesn’t change our agreement.
Madame Luneau (slapping her protuberant form with both hands): Then prove that it’s you that did it, prove it, you robber! I defy you to prove it!
Hippolyte (calmly): Maybe I didn’t do any more than anybody else. But you promised me a hundred francs for it. What did you ask the others for, afterwards? You had no right to. I could have done it alone.
Madame Luneau: It is not true, robber! Call my witnesses, your Honour; they’ll answer, for certain.
The Justice calls the witnesses in behalf of the defense. Six individuals appeared blushing, awkward looking, with their arms swinging at their sides.
The Justice: Lucas Chandelier, have you any reason to suppose that you are the father of the child Madame Luneau is carrying.
Lucas Chandelier: Yes, sir.
The Justice: Célestin-Pierre Sidoine, have you any reason to suppose that you are the father of the child Madame Luneau is carrying?
Célestin-Pierre Sidoine: Yes, sir.
The four other witnesses testified to the same effect.
The Justice, after having thought for awhile pronounced judgment: Whereas the plaintiff has reasons to believe himself the father of the child which Madame Luneau desired, Lucas Chandelier, Célestin-Pierre Sidoine, and others, have similar, if not conclusive reasons to lay claim to the child.
But whereas Mme. Luneau had previously asked the assistance of Hippolyte Lacour for a duly stated consideration of one hundred francs:
And whereas one may not question the absolute good faith of Hippolyte Lacour, though it is questionable whether he had a perfect right to enter into such an agreement, seeing that the plaintiff is married, and compelled by the law to remain faithful to his lawful spouse: Whereas, farther, etc., etc.
Therefore the Court condemns Madame Luneau to pay an indemnity of twenty-five francs to Hippolyte Lacour for loss of time and seduction.
Friend Patience
“Do you know what ever became of Leremy?”
“He is captain in the Sixth Dragoons.”
“And Pinson?”
“He’s a Subprefect.”
“And Racollet?”
“Dead.”
We were trying to remember other names which would remind us of youthful faces under the caps of young officers. Later in life we had met some of these old comrades, bearded, bald, married, fathers of several children, and the realization of these changes had given us an unpleasant shudder, reminding us how short life is, how everything passes away, how everything changes. My friend asked me:
“And Patience, fat Patience?”
I almost howled:
“Oh! as for him, just listen to this. Four or five years ago I was in Limoges, on a tour of inspection, and I was waiting for dinner time. I was seated before the big café in the Place du Théâtre, bored to tears. The tradespeople were coming by twos, threes or fours, to take their absinthe or vermouth, talking all the time of their own or other people’s business, laughing loudly, or lowering their voices in order to impart some important or delicate piece of news.
“I was saying to myself: ‘What am I going to do after dinner?’ And I thought of the long evening in this provincial town, of the slow, uninteresting walk through unknown streets, of the overwhelming sadness inspired in the solitary traveller by the people who pass, strangers in all things, the cut of their provincial coats, their hats, their trousers, their customs, local accent, their houses, shops, and carriages of singular shape. And then the ordinary sounds to which one is not accustomed; the harassing sadness which makes you hasten your step gradually, until you feel as if you were lost in a dangerous country, which oppresses you and you
