The woman, without answering, would shrug her shoulders, while the husband, divining the gesture without seeing it, would cry:
“Anybody must be stupid to watch those fellows parade up and down.”
Nevertheless, Captain Épivent’s reputation for conquests was well established in the whole French army.
Now, in 1868, his regiment, the One Hundred and Second Hussars came into garrison at Rouen.
He soon became known in the town. He came every evening, towards five o’clock, to Boïeldieu Mall, to take his absinthe and coffee at the Comedy; and, before entering the establishment, he would always take a turn upon the promenade, to show his leg, his figure, and his moustaches.
The merchants of Rouen who also promenaded there with their hands behind their backs, preoccupied with business affairs, speaking of the ups and downs of the market, would sometimes throw him a glance and murmur:
“Egad! that’s a handsome fellow!”
But when they knew him, they remarked:
“Look! Captain Épivent! A fine chap, say what you will!”
The women on meeting him had a very queer little movement of the head, a kind of shiver of modesty, as if they felt weak or unclothed in his presence. They would lower their heads a little, with a smile upon their lips, as if they had a desire to be found charming and have a look from him. When he walked with a comrade the comrade never failed to murmur with jealous envy, each time that he saw the same byplay:
“This rascal Épivent has all the luck!”
Among the kept ladies of the town it was a struggle, a race, to see who would carry him off. They all came at five o’clock, the officers’ hour, to Boïeldieu Mall, and dragged their skirts, in couples up and down the length of the walk, while the lieutenants, captains, and majors, two by two, dragged their swords along the ground before entering the café.
One evening the beautiful Irma, the mistress, it was said, of M. Templier-Papon, the rich manufacturer, stopped her carriage in front of the Comedy and, getting out, made a pretence of buying some paper or some visiting cards at M. Paulard’s, the engraver’s, in order to pass before the officers’ tables and cast a look at Captain Épivent, which seemed to say: “When you will,” so clearly that Colonel Prune, who was drinking the green liquor with his lieutenant-colonel, could not help muttering:
“Confound that fellow! He is lucky, that scamp!”
The remark of the Colonel was repeated, and Captain Épivent, moved by this approbation of his superior, passed the next day and many times after that under the windows of the beauty, in full uniform.
She saw him, showed herself, and smiled.
That same evening he was her lover.
They attracted attention, made an exhibition of their attachment, and mutually compromised themselves, both of them proud of their adventure.
Nothing was talked of in town except the amours of the beautiful Irma and the officer. M. Templier-Papon alone was ignorant of their relation.
Captain Épivent beamed with glory; every instant he would say:
“Irma happened to say to me—Irma told me tonight—or, yesterday at dinner Irma said—”
For a whole year they walked about and displayed in Rouen this love like a flag taken from the enemy. He felt his stature increased by this conquest, he was envied, more sure of his future, surer of the decoration so much desired, for the eyes of all were upon him, and it is sufficient to be well in the public eye in order not to be forgotten.
But war was declared, and the Captain’s regiment was one of the first to be sent to the front. Their farewells were lamentable, lasting the whole night long.
Sword, red breeches, cap, and jacket were all overturned from the back of a chair upon the floor; robes, skirts, silk stockings, also fallen down, were spread around and mingled with the uniform abandoned on the carpet; the room upside down as if there had been a battle; Irma, wild, her hair unbound, threw her despairing arms around the officer’s neck, straining him to her; then, leaving him, rolled upon the floor, overturning the furniture, catching the fringes of the armchairs, biting their feet, while the Captain, much moved, but not skilful at consolation, repeated:
“Irma, my little Irma, do not cry so, it is necessary.”
He occasionally wiped a tear from the corner of his eye with the tip of his finger. They separated at daybreak. She followed her lover in her carriage as far as the first stopping-place. Then she kissed him before the whole regiment at the moment of separation. People even found this very pretty, worthy, and very romantic; and the comrades pressed the Captain’s hand and said to him:
“You lucky dog. She had a heart, that kid.”
They seemed to see something patriotic in it.
The regiment was sorely proved during the campaign. The Captain conducted himself heroically and finally received the cross of honour. Then, the war ended, he returned to Rouen and the garrison.
Immediately upon his return he asked news of Irma, but no one was able to give him anything exact. Some said she was married to a Prussian major. Others, that she had gone to her parents, who were farmers in the suburbs of Yvetot.
He even sent his orderly to the mayor’s office to consult the registry of deaths. The name of his mistress was not to be found.
He cherished a great sorrow, and was not at pains to conceal it. He even took the enemy to task for his unhappiness, attributing to the Prussians, who had occupied Rouen, the disappearance of the young girl, declaring:
“In the next war, they shall pay well for it, the beggars!”
Then, one morning as he entered the mess at lunch time, an old porter, in a blouse and oilcloth cap, gave
