STORIES FOR NINON & NEW STORIES FOR NINON. Эмиль Золя

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СКАЧАТЬ word virtue, because that was her idea at the time. So long as her needle sped on, I never knew her to have a lover. She was a good comrade to the men who came to see her; she pressed their hands, laughed with them, but bolted her door at the first pretence of a kiss. I confess I had tried to court her a bit. One day when I offered her a ring and pendants, she said:

      “My friend, take back your jewellery. When I give myself away it is only for a flower.”

      When in love she was idle and indolent. Lace and silk then took the place of calico. She carefully got rid of all traces of the needle, and the workgirl became a grand lady.

      Besides, when in love, she maintained her grisette liberty. The man she was enamoured of soon knew it; he knew quite as quickly when she loved him no more. She was not, however, one of those pretty, capricious creatures who change their sweetheart each time they wear out a pair of shoes. She had a broad intelligence and a great heart. But the poor girl often made mistakes; she placed her own hands in others that were unworthy, and rapidly withdrew them in disgust. And so she was tired of this Latin Quarter, where the young men appeared to her very old.

      At each new wreck her face became a little more sad. She told men disagreeable truths, and scolded herself for being unable to live without loving. Then she shut herself up, until her heart broke the bars.

      I had met her the previous evening. She was in great grief: a sweetheart had just thrown her over, whilst she still cared for him a little.

      “Of course I know,” she had said to me, “that in a week’s time I should have left him myself: he was an unkind fellow. But I still kissed him tenderly on both cheeks. It’s a loss of at least thirty kisses.”

      She had added, that since then she had had two suitors at her heels who overwhelmed her with bouquets. She let them do so, and sometimes held this language to them: “My friends, I love neither of you; you would be great fools to quarrel for my smiles. Be amicable, instead. I can see you are good chaps; we will amuse ourselves like old chums. But, at the first quarrel, I leave you.”

      The poor fellows, therefore, warmly shook hands, whilst wishing each other at the deuce. It was probably them whom we had just met.

      Such was Mademoiselle Antoinette: a poor loving heart gone astray in the land of debauchery; a gentle, charming girl who sprinkled her crumbs of tenderness to all the thieving sparrows on the road.

      I gave Léon these details. He listened to me without showing much interest, without encroaching on my confidence by the least question. When I was silent he said:

      “That girl is too frank; I don’t like her way of understanding love.”

      He had tried so hard to frown that he had at length succeeded in doing so.

      III

      We had at last got away from the hedges. The Seine was running at our feet; on the opposite bank a village was reflected in the river. We were in a familiar neighbourhood; we had often wandered in the islands down stream.

      After a long rest beneath a neighbouring oak, Léon announced that he was dying of hunger and thirst, just as I was about to tell him I was dying of thirst and hunger. Then we held council. The result was touching in its unanimity. We would go to the village; there, we would procure a large basket; this basket would be nicely filled with viands and bottles; finally all three, the basket and ourselves, would make for the most verdant isle.

      Twenty minutes later, it only remained for us to find a boat. I had obligingly taken charge of the basket. I say basket, and the term is modest enough. Léon walked on ahead, inquiring of each angler along the river bank for a boat. They were all engaged. I was on the point of suggesting to my companion that we should spread our table on the continent, when some one directed us to a place where he said we might perhaps find what we required.

      The man lived in a cottage standing at the corner of two streets, at the end of the village. And it happened that, on turning this corner, we again found ourselves face to face with Mademoiselle Antoinette, followed by her two lovers. One of them, like myself, was bending beneath the weight of an enormous basket; the other, like Léon, had the busy appearance of a man in search of something he could not find. I cast a look of pity on the poor fellow who was bathed in perspiration, whilst Léon seemed to be thanking me for having accepted a burden that made the young woman laugh rather wickedly.

      The man who let out the boats was smoking on the threshold of his door. For fifty years he had seen thousands of couples come and borrow his oars to reach the desert He loved those amorous blondes who set out with starched fichus and came back with them a trifle crumpled, and with their ribbons in great disorder. He smiled at them on their return, when they thanked him for his boats, which were so familiar with the isles where the grass grew highest, that they went there almost of their own accord. As soon as the worthy man caught sight of our baskets he advanced to meet us.

      “Young people,” he said, “I have only one boat left. Those who are too hungry had better sit down to table over there under the trees.”

      That remark was certainly a very clumsy one: you never own before a woman that you are too hungry. We held our tongues, hesitating, not daring after that to refuse the boat. Antoinette, who still had a mocking air about her, nevertheless took pity on us.

      “You gentlemen,” she said, addressing Léon, “made a sacrifice for us this morning; we will do the same now.”

      I looked at my philosopher. He hesitated; he stuttered like a person who is afraid to say what he thinks. When he saw me fix my eyes on him, he exclaimed:

      “But there is no question of self-sacrifice now: one boat will suffice. These gentlemen will put us ashore at the first island we come to, and will pick us up on their return. Do you agree to that arrangement, gentlemen?”

      Antoinette answered that she accepted. The baskets were carefully placed at the bottom of the boat. I took a seat close to mine, and as far away from the oars as possible. Antoinette and Léon, not being able to do otherwise no doubt, sat down side by side on the seat remaining vacant As to the two sweethearts, they continued to vie with each other in showing good humour and gallantry, and seized the oars in brotherly harmony.

      They reached the current. There, as they balanced the boat, allowing it to descend the stream, Mademoiselle Antoinette pretended that the islands up the river were more deserted and shady. The oarsmen looked at one another disappointed. They turned the boat round and pulled laboriously up stream, struggling against the current, which was very strong at that spot. There is a kind of tyranny that is very oppressive and very sweet: it is the desire of a tyrant with rosy lips, who, in one of her moments of caprice, can ask for the world and pay for it with a kiss.

      The young woman had leant over the side of the boat and dipped her hand in the water. She withdrew it full; then, dreamily, seemed to be counting the pearly drops escaping between her fingers. Léon watched her and held his tongue, apparently uncomfortable at finding himself so close to an enemy. Twice he opened his lips, no doubt to utter some stupidity; but he closed them quickly on noticing me smile. Yet neither of them seemed very pleased at being such close neighbours. They even slightly turned their backs to one another.

      Antoinette, weary of wetting her lace, talked to me about her recent bereavement. She told me she had got over it. But she was still sad; she could not live without love in summer time. She did not know what to do until autumn came round again.

      “I am looking out for a nest,” she added. “It must be al! in blue silk. One ought to love longer when furniture, carpets, and curtains are the colour of the sky. The СКАЧАТЬ