“And I offered him my card.
“He took it, and repeated under his breath:
“ ‘The Comte de Garens.’
“ ‘There are eleven of us here, your Reverence,’ I continued, ‘five out on guard, and six installed in the house of some unknown resident. The six are Garens, myself here, Pierre de Marchas, Ludovic de Ponderel, the Baron d’Étreillis, Karl Massonligny, the son of the artist, and Joseph Herbon, a young musician. I have come, on their behalf and my own, to ask you to do us the honour of supping with us. It is a Twelfth Night supper, sir, and we should like to make some sort of festive occasion of it.’
“The priest smiled.
“ ‘This hardly seems an occasion for merriment,’ he murmured.
“ ‘We’re fighting every day, sir,’ I replied. ‘Fourteen of our comrades have died in the past month, and three fell only yesterday. It is war. We’re staking our lives every moment; haven’t we the right to play the game gaily? We are Frenchmen, we love to laugh, and we can laugh anywhere. Our fathers laughed on the scaffold! And this evening we want to relax a little, like gentlemen, not a vulgar orgy, you understand. Are we wrong?’
“ ‘You are right, my friend,’ he replied eagerly, ‘and I have the greatest pleasure in accepting your invitation. Hermance!’ he shouted.
“An aged peasant woman, bent, wrinkled, and hideous, appeared and asked:
“ ‘What is it?’
“ ‘I shan’t be dining here, girl.’
“ ‘Where are you dining, then?’
“ ‘With the gentlemen of the Hussars.’
“I wanted to say: ‘Bring your servant,’ for the sake of seeing Marchas’ face, but I did not dare.
“ ‘Among those of your parishioners who have stayed in the village,’ I began, ‘can you think of anyone, man or woman, whom I could invite also?’
“He paused and thought.
“ ‘No, no one,’ he replied.
“ ‘No one!’ … I persisted. ‘Come now, your Reverence, do think. It would be vastly diverting to have ladies. Married couples, I mean. Of course, I don’t know any. The baker and his wife, perhaps? The grocer, the … the … the … the watchmaker … the … the shoemaker … the … the chemist and his lady. … We’ve good food, and wine, and we should love to leave a kindly remembrance of ourselves here.’
“Again the priest reflected for some time, and finally declared with decision:
“ ‘No, no one.’
“I began to laugh.
“ ‘But, damn it, your Reverence, it’s a pity not to have a queen; we’ve got a bean. Now do think. Isn’t there a married mayor, a married deputy mayor, a married town councillor, a married schoolmaster? …’
“ ‘No, all the ladies have gone.’
“ ‘What, is there no good lady with her man in the whole place, to whom we could give this little pleasure, for it would be a great pleasure for them, in the present circumstances?’
“All of a sudden the priest burst out in a violent fit of laughter that shook his whole body.
“ ‘Ha! ha! ha!’ he exclaimed, ‘I’ve got it; by the Lord, I’ve got it! Ha! ha! ha! we’ll have a good laugh, my lads, that we will. And they’ll be awfully pleased, awfully pleased! Ha! ha! Now, where are you billeted?’
“I told him the house, and described it. He knew it.
“ ‘That’s splendid. It’s M. Bertin-Lavaille’s place. I’ll be there in half an hour with four ladies!!! Ha! ha! ha! four ladies!!! …’
“He went out with me, still laughing, and left me, repeating:
“ ‘In half an hour, then, at Bertin-Lavaille’s house.’
“I went back quickly, in great astonishment and excitement.
“ ‘How many places?’ inquired Marchas, catching sight of me.
“ ‘Eleven. Six of us Hussars, the priest, and four ladies.’
“He was overwhelmed. It was my hour of triumph.
“ ‘Four ladies! Did you say four ladies?’ he repeated.
“ ‘I said four ladies.’
“ ‘Real women?’
“ ‘Real women.’
“ ‘Good God! My congratulations!’
“ ‘I accept them. I deserve them.’
“He quitted his armchair, and opened the door. I saw a fine white cloth laid on a long table round which three Hussars in blue aprons were setting plates and glasses.
“ ‘There will be women!’ shouted Marchas, and the three men capered about and applauded mightily.
“All was ready. We were waiting. We waited for nearly an hour. A delicious smell of roasting poultry was wafted over the whole house.
“A knock upon the shutter made us all start up simultaneously. Fat Ponderel ran to open the door and, scarcely a minute later, a little nun appeared in the doorway. She was thin, wrinkled, and timid; and bowed in turn to each of the four scared Hussars who watched her come in. Behind her was a noise of sticks tapping upon the corridor tiles, and, when she had passed into the drawing room, I could see three old white-bonneted heads following behind, all swaying along with different movements, one lolling to the right, and another to the left. And three old women appeared, limping, dragging a leg, lamed with disease and deformed by old age, three pensioned-off invalids, the only three patients still capable of walking out of the hospital, directed by Sister Saint-Benedict.
“She had turned back towards her patients, full of solicitude for them; then, seeing the gold lace that marked me as a quartermaster, she addressed me:
“ ‘Thank you very much, sir, for thinking of these poor women. They have very little pleasure in their lives, and it is a great happiness and a great honour that you are bestowing on them.’
“I could see the priest, who had remained in the darkness of the passage; he was laughing uproariously. I too began to laugh, especially at sight of Marchas’ face. Then I showed the nun some chairs:
“ ‘Sit down, Sister; we are very proud and happy that you have accepted our modest invitation.’
“She took three chairs from along the wall and set them in a row before the fire. Then she led up her three charges and sat them down therein, taking away their sticks and shawls, which she laid down in a corner. Pointing to the first woman, a thin creature with an enormous stomach, obviously dropsical, she announced:
“ ‘This is old Mother Paumelle, whose husband was killed by falling off a roof and whose son died in Africa. She is sixty-two.’
“Then she indicated the second, a tall woman
