“I was three hours longer walking to Rouen. It was seven o’clock in the evening when I arrived. At first I was dazzled by all the lights. And then I didn’t know where to sit down. On the roads there’s ditches and grass where you can even lie down to sleep. But in towns there’s nothing.
“My legs were giving way under me, and I had such fits of giddiness I thought I was going to fall. And then it began to rain, small fine rain, like this evening, that soaks through you without your noticing it. I have no luck on rainy days. Well, I began to walk in the streets. I stared at all the houses, and said to myself: ‘All those beds and all that bread in those houses, and I couldn’t find even a crust and a mattress.’ I went along the streets, where there were women speaking to passing men. In times like those you do what you can. I started to speak to everyone, as they were doing. But no one answered me. I wished I was dead. I went on like that till midnight. I didn’t even know what I was doing now. At last, a man listens to me. ‘Where do you live?’ he asks. Necessity makes you sharp. I answered: ‘I can’t take you home, because I live with mamma. But aren’t there houses where we can go?’
“ ‘It’s not often I spend a franc on a room,’ he answered.
“Then he reflected and added: ‘Come on. I know a quiet spot where we shan’t be interrupted.’
“He took me over a bridge and then he led me to the end of the town, in a meadow near the river. I couldn’t follow him any farther.
“He made me sit down, and then he began to busy himself with what we’d come for. But he was so long about his business that I was overcome with weariness and fell asleep.
“He went away without giving me anything. I didn’t hardly notice it. It was raining, as I told you. Ever since that day I’ve had pains I can’t get rid of, because I slept in the mud all the night.
“I was wakened by two cops, who took me to the police station and then, from there, to prison, where I stayed a week while they tried to find out what I could be or where I came from. I wouldn’t say anything for fear of consequences.
“They found out, however, and they let me go, after pronouncing me not guilty.
“I had to begin looking for work again. I tried to get a place, but I couldn’t, because of coming out of prison.
“Then I remembered an old judge who had rolled his eyes at me when he was trying me, just like old Lerable at Yvetot did. And I went to see him. I wasn’t mistaken. He gave me five francs when I came away, and said: ‘You shall have the same every time, but don’t come oftener than twice a week.’
“I understood that all right, seeing his age. But that gave me an idea. I said to myself: ‘Young men are all right for a bit of fun, and they’re jolly and all that, but there’s no fat living to be got there, while with old men it’s another thing.’ And then I’d got to know them, the old apes, with their sheep’s eyes and their wretched semblance of a head.
“Do you know what I did? I dressed myself like a servant girl coming from market, and I ran about the streets, looking for my foster-fathers. Oh, I caught them at the first shot. I used to say to myself: ‘Here’s one’ll bite.’
“He came up. He began:
“ ‘Good day, miss.’
“ ‘Good day, sir.’
“ ‘Where are you off like this?’
“ ‘I’m going back to my employers’ house.’
“ ‘Do they live a long way off, your employers?’
“ ‘So so.’
“Then he didn’t know what to say next. I used to slacken step to let him explain himself.
“Then he paid me a few compliments in a low voice, and then he asked me to come home with him. I took some pressing, you understand, then I gave in. I used to have two or three of that sort every morning, and all my afternoons free. That was the best time of my life. I didn’t worry.
“But there. One’s not left in peace long. Ill luck had it that I got to know a wealthy old devil in society. A former president, who was at least seventy-five years old.
“One evening he took me to dine in a restaurant in the suburbs. And then, you see, he hadn’t the sense to go carefully. He died during the dessert.
“I got three months in prison, because I wasn’t registered.
“It was then I came to Paris.
“Oh, it’s a hard life here, sir. You don’t eat every day. There’s too many of us. Ah, well, so much the worse, everyone has their own troubles, haven’t they?”
She was silent. I was walking beside her, sick at heart. Suddenly she began to talk familiarly again.
“So you’re not coming home with me, dearie?”
“No. I told you so before.”
“Well, goodbye, thanks all the same, and no offence taken. But I’m sure you’re making a mistake.”
And she went off, losing herself in the fine rain. I saw her passing under a gas jet, and then disappear in the shadows. Poor wretch!
Paris had just learnt of the disaster of Sedan. The Republic was proclaimed. All France was panting at the outset of a delirium that lasted until after the Commune. Everybody was playing soldiers from one end of the country to the other.
Hatters became colonels, assuming the duties of generals; revolvers and daggers were displayed on large rotund paunches, enveloped in red sashes;
