He laughed, repeating:
“Then, then … you’ve been here a long time.”
“Six months,” replied the girl.
He appeared pleased with her, as if that were a proof of good conduct, and went on:
“Do you like this life?”
She hesitated, then spoke resignedly:
“One gets through with it. It’s no worse than anything else. Being a servant or walking the streets, they’re both dirty jobs.”
He seemed to approve this truth too.
“You’re not from these parts?” said he.
She shook her head without speaking.
“Do you come from far?”
She nodded, still silent.
“Where from?”
She seemed to search her mind, trying to collect her memories, then she murmured:
“From Perpignan.”
Again he showed great satisfaction, and said:
“Oh, yes.”
In her turn she asked him:
“You’re a sailor, aren’t you?”
“Yes, my sweet.”
“Have you come a long way?”
“Oh, yes! I’ve seen countries, ports, and all that.”
“Isuppose you sailed round the world?”
“I dare say, more like twice than once.”
Again she seemed to hesitate, searching in her mind for something forgotten, then, in a rather altered, grave voice, she said:
“You have come across a good many ships in your voyages?”
“I have that, my sweet.”
“Perhaps you’ve even come across Notre-Dame-des-Vents?”
He chuckled.
“No later than a week ago.”
She turned pale, all the blood ebbing from her cheeks, and asked:
“Is that true, really true?”
“As true as I’m telling you.”
“You’re not telling me a lie?”
He lifted his hand.
“God’s truth I’m not,” said he.
“Then do you know whether Célestin Duclos is still with her?”
He was surprised, uneasy, and wanted to know more before replying.
“Do you know him?”
She became suspicious too.
“No, not me, it’s some woman who knows him.”
“One of the women here?”
“No, outside.”
“In the street?”
“No, another.”
“What woman?”
“Oh, just a woman, a woman like me.”
“What’s this woman want with him?”
“How should I know, what d’you think?”
They stared into each other’s eyes, trying to read the thoughts behind, guessing that something serious was going to come of this.
He went on:
“Can I see this woman?”
“What would you say to her?”
“I’d say … I’d say … that I have seen Célestin Duclos.”
“Is he all right?”
“As right as you or me, he’s a lad.”
She was silent again, collecting her thoughts, then, very slowly, asked:
“Where was she bound for, the Notre-Dame-des-Vents?”
“Well, to Marseilles.”
She could not repress a start.
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“Do you know Duclos?”
“Yes. I know him.”
She hesitated again, then said softly:
“Good. That’s a good thing.”
“What d’you want with him?”
“Listen, you can tell him … nothing!”
He continued to stare at her, more and more uneasy. He must know the whole now.
“Do you know him then?”
“No,” said she.
“Then what d’you want with him?”
She came to a sudden decision, got up, ran to the bar where the proprietress sat enthroned, seized a lemon, cut it open, pouring the juice into a glass, then filled up the glass with plain water and, bringing it to him, said:
“Drink this.”
“Why?”
“To sober you up. After that I’ll talk to you.”
He drank obediently, wiped his lips with the back of his hand, and declared:
“That’s all right, I’m listening to you.”
“You must promise me not to tell him that you have seen me, nor who told you what I am just going to tell you. Swear it.”
He lifted his hand, with a knowing air.
“I swear it.”
“On the good God himself?”
“Yes, on the good God.”
“Well, you’re to tell him that his father is dead, that his mother is dead, that his brother is dead, all the three of them in the same month, of typhoid fever, in January, 1883, three and a half years ago.”
And now it was he who felt the blood rush through his body, and for some moments he sat there, so overcome that he could find nothing to say in reply; then he began to have doubts and asked:
“Are you sure?”
“I’m quite sure.”
“Who told it to you?”
She put her hands on his shoulders and, peering into his eyes, said:
“You swear you won’t give me away?”
“I swear it.”
“I’m his sister.”
Her name broke involuntarily from his mouth:
“Françoise?”
She regarded him again fixedly, then, overwhelmed by a crazy fear, by a profound feeling of horror, murmured under her breath, against his mouth:
“Oh, oh, is it you, Célestin?”
They sat rigid, eyes staring into eyes.
Round them, the sailors went on shouting. The noise of glasses, fists, and heels beating in tune to the choruses, and the shrill cries of the women, mingled with the uproarious songs.
He felt her against him, held close to him, warm and terrified, his sister! Then, in a mere whisper, afraid lest someone overhear him, so low that she herself could hardly hear:
“My God, I’ve done a fine thing!”
Her eyes filled with tears in an instant, and she stammered:
“It’s not my fault, is it?”
But he said abruptly:
“So they’re dead?”
“Yes, they’re dead.”
“Dad, and mother, and my brother?”
“All three in the same month, as I’ve just told you. I was left alone, with nothing but what I stood up in, seeing that I owed money to the chemist and the doctor and for burying the three bodies, which I paid off with the furniture.
“After that I went as servant to old Cacheux, you know him, the cripple. I was just exactly fifteen then, seeing that you went away when I was not quite fourteen. I got into trouble with him. You’re a fool when you’re young. Then I went as housemaid to a solicitor; he seduced me too and set me up in a room in Havre. It wasn’t long before he stopped coming; I spent three days without food and then, since I couldn’t get any work, I went into a house, like many another. I’ve seen the world too, I have, and a dirty world at that! Rouen, Evreux, Lille, Bordeaux,
