Lebrument murmured in his wife’s ear: “How annoying! Now I cannot smoke.”
She answered in a low tone: “I am sorry too, but not on account of your cigar.”
The engine puffed and started. The journey lasted an hour, during which they could not say anything of importance, because the two old ladies did not go to sleep.
When they were in the Saint-Lazare station, in Paris, Maître Lebrument said to his wife:
“If you wish, my dear, we will first go and breakfast on the Boulevard, then return at our leisure to find our trunk and give it to the porter of some hotel.”
She consented immediately: “Oh! yes,” said she, “let us breakfast in some restaurant. Is it far from here?”
“Yes, rather far, but we will take an omnibus.” She was astonished: “Why not a cab?” she asked.
He began smilingly to scold her: “Is that the way you economise? A cab for five minutes’ ride, at six sous per minute! You do not deprive yourself of anything!”
“That is true,” said she, a little confused.
A large omnibus was passing, with three horses at a trot. Lebrument hailed it: “Conductor! eh, conductor!”
The heavy vehicle stopped. The young notary pushed his wife inside, saying hurriedly, in a low voice:
“You get inside while I go up on top and smoke at least a cigarette before breakfast.”
She had not time for any answer. The conductor, who had seized her by the arm to aid her in mounting the steps, pushed her into the bus, where she landed, half-frightened, upon a seat, and in a sort of stupor watched the feet of her husband through the windows at the back, as he climbed to the top.
She remained motionless between a large gentleman who smelled of a pipe and an old woman who smelled of a dog. All the other travellers, in two mute lines—a grocer’s boy, a workman, a sergeant of infantry, a gentleman with gold-rimmed spectacles and a silk hat with an enormous brim, like a gutter, and two ladies with an important, mincing air, which seemed to say: We are here, although we should be in a better place. Then there were two nuns, a little girl in long hair, and an undertaker. The assemblage looked like a collection of caricatures in a freak museum, a series of expressions of the human countenance, like a row of grotesque puppets which one knocks down at a fair.
The jolts of the carriage made them toss their heads a little, and as they shook, the flesh of their cheeks trembled; and the disturbance of the rolling wheels gave them an idiotic or sleepy look.
The young woman remained inert: “Why did he not come with me?” she asked herself. A vague sadness oppressed her. He might, indeed, have deprived himself of that cigarette!
The nuns gave the signal to stop. They alighted, one after the other, leaving an odour of old and faded skirts.
Soon after they were gone another stopped the bus. A cook came in, red and out of breath. She sat down and placed her basket of provisions upon her knees. A strong odour of dishwater pervaded the omnibus.
“It is further than I thought,” said the young woman to herself.
The undertaker got out and was replaced by a coachman who smelled of a stable. The girl in long hair was succeeded by an errand-boy who exhaled the odours of his deliveries.
The notary’s wife perceived all these things, ill at ease and so disheartened that she was ready to weep without knowing why.
Some others got out, still others came in. The omnibus went on through the interminable streets, stopped at the stations, and began its route again.
“How far it is!” said Jeanne. “Especially when one has nothing to amuse oneself, and cannot sleep!” She had not been so much fatigued for many days.
Little by little all the travellers got out. She remained alone, all alone. The conductor shouted:
“Vaugirard!”
As she blushed, he again repeated: “Vaugirard!”
She looked at him, not understanding that this must be addressed to her as all her neighbours had gone. For the third time the man said: “Vaugirard!”
Then she asked: “Where are we?”
He answered in a gruff voice: “We are at Vaugirard, of course; I’ve told you twenty times already.”
“Is it far from the Boulevard?” she asked.
“What Boulevard?”
“The Boulevard des Italiens.”
“We passed that a long time ago.”
“Ah! Will you be kind enough to tell my husband?”
“Your husband? Where is he?”
“On the outside.”
“On the outside! It has been a long time since there was anybody there.”
She made a terrified gesture. Then she said:
“How can it be? It is not possible. He got up there when I entered the omnibus. Look again; he must be there.”
The conductor became rude: “Come, kid, that’s enough talk. If there is one man lost, there are ten to be found. Be off, now! You will find another in the street.”
The tears sprang to her eyes. She insisted: “But, sir, you are mistaken, I assure you that you are mistaken. He had a large pocketbook in his hand.”
The employee began to laugh: “A large pocketbook? I remember. Yes, he got out at the Madeleine. That’s right! He’s left you behind! Ha! ha!”
The carriage was standing still. She got down and looked up, in spite of herself, to the roof, with an instinctive movement of the eye. It was totally deserted.
Then she began to weep aloud, without thinking that anyone was looking at or listening to her. Finally she said:
“What is going to become of me?”
The inspector came up and inquired: “What’s the matter?”
The conductor answered in a jocose fashion:
“This lady’s husband has left her on the way.”
The other replied: “All right. It doesn’t matter. Attend to your own business.” And he turned on his heels.
Then she began to walk ahead, too much frightened, too much excited to think even where she was going. Where was she going? What should she do? How could such an error have occurred? Such an act of carelessness, of disregard, of unheard-of
