Short Fiction

off with a woman. Who knows?⁠—it would be a trial, an experience, practice perhaps. At all events it would be revenge. And if I were ever deceived by my wife, I should at least have deceived her first.

“I did not hesitate. I knew of a house not far from my own house; I ran there and went in like a man who throws himself into deep water to see if he can still swim.

“Well, I could swim; I swam very well. I stayed there a long time, enjoying my secret and subtle revenge. Then I found myself in the street once more, at the cool hour before dawn. I now felt calm and sure of myself, contented, tranquil, and still ready, I thought, for deeds of valour.

“I went slowly home, and quietly opened the door of my room.

“Gabrielle was reading, her elbow propped up on the pillow. She raised her head and asked in a frightened voice: ‘Ah, there you are; where have you been?’

“I made no answer. I undressed with an air of assurance. I returned like a victorious lord to the place whence I had abjectly fled.

“She was amazed, and was convinced that I had made use of some mysterious secret.

“And now on every occasion she speaks of ‘Roger’s method’ as though she were referring to some infallible scientific device.

“Well, well, it’s ten years ago now, and I’m afraid the same attempt would not have much chance of success today, for me at any rate.

“But if any friend of yours is nervous about his wedding-night, tell him of my stratagem, and tell him, too, that from twenty to thirty-five there’s nothing like it for loosening the shoulders, as the squire of Brantôme would have said.”

In a Railway Carriage

The sun was vanishing behind the vast chains of hills whose loftiest peak is the Puy de Dôme, and the shadow of the crests filled the deep valley of Royat.

Several people were strolling in the park, round the bandstand. Others were still sitting together in groups, in spite of the sharp evening air.

In one of these groups an animated discussion was in progress, for a grave problem had arisen, and one which seriously perturbed Mesdames de Sarcagnes, de Vaulacelles, and de Bridoie. In a few days the holidays would begin, and the discussion centred round the means of bringing home their sons, now at Jesuit and Dominican colleges.

Now, these ladies had not the least desire to undertake a journey to bring back their offspring, and they did not know exactly who could be entrusted with this delicate task. The last days of July were already on them. Paris was empty. They tried in vain to recall any name which offered the necessary guarantees.

Their concern was the greater because an unsavoury episode had occurred in a railway carriage some few days before. And these ladies were firmly convinced that all the women of the town spent their whole time in the express trains between Auvergne and the Gare de Lyon in Paris. According to Madame de Bridoie, the columns of personal gossip in Gil Blas, moreover, announced the presence at Vichy, at Mont Dore, and La Bourboule of every known and unknown pretty lady. The fact that they were there, was proof that they must have come in a railway carriage; and they would assuredly return in a railway carriage; they must indeed be compelled to go on returning in order to come back again every day. It was a continual coming and going of damaged goods on this abominable line. The ladies lamented that access to the stations was not forbidden to disreputable women.

Besides, Roger de Sarcagnes was fifteen years old, Gontran de Vaulacelles thirteen, and Roland de Bridoie eleven years. What was to be done? They could not, under any circumstances, expose their darlings to the risk of meeting such creatures. What might they hear, what might they see, and what might they find out if they were to spend a whole day, or a night, in a compartment which held also one or two of these vicious women with one or two of their companions!

There seemed no way out of the difficulty, and then Madame de Martinsec happened to come past. She stopped to greet her friends, who poured their woes into her ears.

“But what could be easier?” she cried. “I’ll lend you the abbé. I can quite well spare him for forty-eight hours. Rodolphe’s education will not suffer during that short time. He will go for your children and bring them home.”

So it was arranged that Father Lecuir, a young and cultured priest, and Rodolphe de Martinsec’s tutor, should go to Paris the following week to take charge of the young people.

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So the priest set out on Friday; and on Sunday morning he was at the Gare de Lyon, ready, with his three youngsters, to take the eight o’clock express, the new through express which had started to run only a few days before, in response to the unanimous demands of all the people taking the waters in Auvergne.

He walked down the platform, followed by his schoolboys, like a hen and her chicks, in search of a compartment either empty or occupied by people whose appearance was quite irreproachable, for his mind retained a lively sense of all the meticulous commands laid upon him by Mesdames de Sarcagnes, de Vaulacelles, and de Bridoie.

Suddenly he saw, standing outside the door of one compartment, an old gentleman and an old white-haired lady talking to another lady seated inside the carriage. The old gentleman was an officer of the Legion of Honour, and they were all unmistakably gentlefolk. “This is the place for me,” thought the abbé. He helped his three pupils in and followed them.

The old lady was saying:

“Be sure to take the greatest care of yourself, my child.”

The younger lady answered:

“Oh, yes, mamma, don’t be anxious.”

“Call in the doctor as soon as ever you feel yourself in pain.”

“Yes, yes, mamma.”

“Then goodbye,