“She got out at Saint-Cloud, and I followed her. She went and delivered her parcel, and when she returned, the boat had just started. I walked by her side, and the warmth of the air made us both sigh. ‘It would be very nice in the woods,’ I said. ‘Indeed, it would,’ she replied. ‘Shall we go there for a walk, Mademoiselle?’
“She gave me a quick, upward look, as if to see exactly what I was like, and then, after a little hesitation, she accepted my proposal, and soon we were there, walking side by side. Under the foliage, which was still rather thin, the tall, thick, bright, green grass was inundated by the sun, and full of small insects that also made love to one another, and birds were singing everywhere. My companion began to jump and to run, intoxicated by the air, and the smell of the country, and I ran and jumped behind her. How stupid we are at times, Monsieur!
“Then she wildly sang a thousand things; opera airs, and the song of Musette! The song of Musette! How poetical it seemed to me, then! I almost cried over it. Ah! Those silly songs make us lose our heads; and, believe me, never marry a woman who sings in the country, especially if she sings the song of Musette!
“She soon grew tired, and sat down on a grassy slope, and I sat down at her feet, and took her hands, her little hands, that were so marked with the needle, and that moved me. I said to myself: ‘These are the sacred marks of toil.’ Oh! Monsieur, do you know what those sacred marks of labour mean? They mean all the gossip of the workroom, the whispered blackguardism, the mind soiled by all the filth that is talked; they mean lost chastity, foolish chatter, all the wretchedness of daily bad habits, all the narrowness of ideas which belongs to women of the lower orders, united in the girl whose sacred fingers bear the sacred marks of toil.
“Then we looked into each other’s eyes for a long while. Oh! What power a woman’s eye has! How it agitates us, how it invades our very being, takes possession of us, and dominates us. How profound it seems, how full of infinite promises! People call that looking into each other’s souls! Oh! Monsieur, what humbug! If we could see into each other’s souls, we should be more careful of what we did. However, I was enthusiastic, mad. I tried to take her into my arms, but she said: ‘Paws off!’ Then I knelt down, and opened my heart to her, and poured out all the affection that was suffocating me, on her knees. She seemed surprised at my change of manner, and gave me a sidelong glance, as if to say: ‘Ah! So that is the way women make a fool of you, old fellow! Very well, we will see.’ In love, Monsieur, we are all boobies at a fair, and the women are the dealers.
“No doubt I could have had her, and I saw my own stupidity later, but what I wanted was not a woman’s body; it was love, it was the ideal. I was sentimental, when I ought to have been using my time to a better purpose.
“As soon as she had had enough of my protestations of love, she got up, and we returned to Saint-Cloud, and I did not leave her until we got to Paris; but she looked so sad as we were returning, that at last I asked her what was the matter. ‘I am thinking,’ she replied, ‘that this has been one of those days of which we have but few in life.’ And my heart beat so that it felt as if it would break my ribs.
“I saw her on the following Sunday, and the next Sunday, and every Sunday. I took her to Bougival, Saint-Germain, Maisons-Lafitte, Poissy; to every suburban resort of lovers.
“The little jade, in turn, pretended to love me, until, at last, I altogether lost my head, and three months later I married her.
“What can you expect, Monsieur, when a man is a clerk, living alone, without any relations, or anyone to advise him? One says to oneself: ‘How sweet life would be with a wife!’
“And so one gets married, and she calls you names from morning till night, understands nothing, knows nothing, chatters continually, sings the song of Musette at the top of her voice (oh! that song of Musette, how tired one gets of it!); quarrels with the coal dealer, tells the concierge all her domestic details, confides all the secrets of her bedroom to the neighbour’s servant, discusses her husband with the tradespeople, and has her head so stuffed with stupid stories, idiotic superstitions, extraordinary ideas and monstrous prejudices, that I shed tears of discouragement every time I talk to her.”
He stopped, as he was rather out of breath, and very much moved, and I looked at him, for I felt pity for this poor, artless devil, and I was just going to give him some sort of answer, when the boat stopped. We were at Saint-Cloud.
The little woman who had so taken my fancy, got up in order to land. She passed close to me, and gave me a side glance and a furtive smile; one of those smiles that drive you mad; then she jumped on the landing-stage. I sprang forward to follow her, but my neighbour laid hold of my arm. I shook myself loose, however, whereupon he seized the skirt of my coat, and pulled me back, exclaiming:
“You shall not go! You shall not go!” in such a loud voice, that everybody turned round and laughed, and I remained standing motionless and furious, but without venturing to face scandal and ridicule, and the steamboat started.
The little woman on the landing-stage looked at me as I went off with an air of disappointment, while my persecutor
