Short Fiction

leave me? Madame Langlois is not there.”

And, in spite of the disgust which came to his lips, he placed them against the wan forehead, while she, throwing her arms around him, scattered random kisses over his blue jacket.

Then she said: “You will come again? Say that you will come again⁠—Promise me that you will.”

“Yes, I promise.”

“When, now. Can you come on Thursday?”

“Yes, Thursday⁠—”

“Thursday at two o’clock?”

“Yes, Thursday at two o’clock.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“Adieu, my dearie.”

“Adieu.”

And he went away, confused by the staring glances of the dormitory, bending his tall form to make himself seem smaller. And when he was in the street he took a long breath.

---

That evening his comrades asked him: “Well, how is Irma?”

He answered in a constrained voice: “She has a trouble with the lungs; she is very ill.”

But a little lieutenant, scenting something from his manner, went to headquarters, and, the next day, when the Captain went into mess, he was welcomed by a volley of laughter and jokes. They had got vengeance at last.

It was learned further that Irma had led a very gay life with the Prussian General Staff, that she had gone through the country on horseback with the colonel of the Blue Hussars, and many others, and that, in Rouen, she was no longer called anything but the “Prussians’ woman.”

For eight days the Captain was the victim of his regiment. He received by post and by messenger, notes from those who can reveal the past and the future, circulars of specialists, and medicines, the nature of which was inscribed on the package.

And the Colonel, catching the drift of it, said in a severe tone:

“Well, the Captain had a pretty acquaintance! I send him my compliments.”

After some twelve days he was called by another letter from Irma. He tore it up in a rage, and made no reply to it.

A week later she wrote him again that she was very ill and wished to see him to say farewell.

He did not answer.

After some days more he received a note from a chaplain of the hospital.

“The girl Irma Pavolin is on her deathbed and begs you to come.”

He dared not refuse to follow the chaplain, but he entered the hospital with a heart swelling with wicked anger, with wounded vanity, and humiliation.

He found her scarcely changed at all and thought that she had deceived him. “What do you want with me?” he asked.

“I wish to say farewell. It appears that I am near the end.”

He did not believe it.

“Listen,” said he, “you have made me the laughingstock of the regiment, and I do not wish it to continue.”

She asked: “What have I done?”

He was irritated at not knowing how to answer. But he said:

“Don’t imagine I am coming back here to be joked by everybody on your account.”

She looked at him with languid eyes, where shone a pale light of anger, and answered:

“What have I done to you? I have not been nice to you, perhaps! Is it because I have sometimes asked for something? But for you, I would have remained with M. Templier-Papon, and would not have found myself here today. No, you see, if anyone has reproaches to make it is not you.”

He answered in a clear tone: “I have not made reproaches, but I cannot continue to come to see you, because your conduct with the Prussians has been the shame of the town.”

She fell back suddenly in the bed, as she replied:

“My conduct with the Prussians? But when I tell you that they took me, and when I tell you that if I took no thought of myself, it was because I wished to poison them! If I had wished to cure myself, it would not have been so difficult, I can tell you! But I wished to kill them, and I have killed them, come now! I have killed them!”

He remained standing: “In any case,” said he, “it was a shame.”

She seemed to choke, and then replied:

“Why is it a shame for me to cause them to die and try to exterminate them, tell me? You did not talk that way when you used to come to my house in the Rue Jeanne d’Arc. Ah! it is a shame! You have not done so much, with your cross of honour! I deserve more merit than you, do you understand, more than you, for I have killed more Prussians than you!”

He stood dazed before her, trembling with indignation. He stammered: “Be still⁠—you must⁠—be still⁠—because those things⁠—I cannot allow⁠—anyone to touch upon⁠—”

But she was not listening: “What harm have you done the Prussians? Would it ever have happened if you had kept them from coming to Rouen? Tell me! It is you who should stop and listen. And I have done more harm than you, I, yes, more harm to them than you, and I am going to die for it, while you are singing songs and making yourself fine to inveigle women⁠—”

Upon each bed a head was raised and all eyes looked at this man in uniform, who stammered again:

“You must be still⁠—more quiet⁠—you know⁠—”

But she would not be quiet. She cried out:

“Ah! yes, you are a pretty poser! I know you well. I know you. And I tell you that I have done them more harm than you⁠—I⁠—and that I have killed more than all your regiment together⁠—come now, you coward.”

He went away, in fact he fled, stretching his long legs as he passed between the two rows of beds where the syphilitic patients were becoming excited. And he heard the gasping, hissing voice of Irma pursuing him:

“More than you⁠—yes⁠—I have killed more than you⁠—”

He tumbled down the staircase four steps at a time, ran off and shut himself up in his room.

The next day he heard that she was dead.

Nerves

The diners slowly entered the big hotel dining room and took their places. The waiters refrained from hurrying, so as to give the latecomers a chance, and avoid the trouble of handing the dishes