Complete Original Short Stories of Guy De Maupassant. Guy de Maupassant

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      "All right! How's everything with you?"

      Then she started to talk of simple things which might interest them; of the weather, of the crops, of her masters.

      They didn't dare to offer their candies, which were slowly melting in Jean's pocket. Finally Luc, growing bolder, murmured:

      "We have brought you something."

      She asked: "Let's see it."

      Then Jean, blushing to the tips of his ears, reached in his pocket, and drawing out the little paper bag, handed it to her.

      She began to eat the little sweet dainties. The two soldiers sat in front of her, moved and delighted.

      At last she went to do her milking, and when she came back she again gave them some milk.

      They thought of her all through the week and often spoke of her: The following Sunday she sat beside them for a longer time.

      The three of them sat there, side by side, their eyes looking far away in the distance, their hands clasped over their knees, and they told each other little incidents and little details of the villages where they were born, while the cow, waiting to be milked, stretched her heavy head toward the girl and mooed.

      Soon the girl consented to eat with them and to take a sip of wine. Often she brought them plums pocket for plums were now ripe. Her presence enlivened the little Breton soldiers, who chattered away like two birds.

      One Tuesday something unusual happened to Luc Le Ganidec; he asked for leave and did not return until ten o'clock at night.

      Jean, worried and racked his brain to account for his friend's having obtained leave.

      The following Friday, Luc borrowed ten sons from one of his friends, and once more asked and obtained leave for several hours.

      When he started out with Jean on Sunday he seemed queer, disturbed, changed. Kerderen did not understand; he vaguely suspected something, but he could not guess what it might be.

      They went straight to the usual place, and lunched slowly. Neither was hungry.

      Soon the girl appeared. They watched her approach as they always did. When she was near, Luc arose and went towards her. She placed her pail on the ground and kissed him. She kissed him passionately, throwing her arms around his neck, without paying attention to Jean, without even noticing that he was there.

      Poor Jean was dazed, so dazed that he could not understand. His mind was upset and his heart broken, without his even realizing why.

      Then the girl sat down beside Luc, and they started to chat.

      Jean was not looking at them. He understood now why his friend had gone out twice during the week. He felt the pain and the sting which treachery and deceit leave in their wake.

      Luc and the girl went together to attend to the cow.

      Jean followed them with his eyes. He saw them disappear side by side, the red trousers of his friend making a scarlet spot against the white road. It was Luc who sank the stake to which the cow was tethered. The girl stooped down to milk the cow, while he absent-mindedly stroked the animal's glossy neck. Then they left the pail in the grass and disappeared in the woods.

      Jean could no longer see anything but the wall of leaves through which they had passed. He was unmanned so that he did not have strength to stand. He stayed there, motionless, bewildered and grieving-simple, passionate grief. He wanted to weep, to run away, to hide somewhere, never to see anyone again.

      Then he saw them coming back again. They were walking slowly, hand in hand, as village lovers do. Luc was carrying the pail.

      After kissing him again, the girl went on, nodding carelessly to Jean. She did not offer him any milk that day.

      The two little soldiers sat side by side, motionless as always, silent and quiet, their calm faces in no way betraying the trouble in their hearts. The sun shone down on them. From time to time they could hear the plaintive lowing of the cow. At the usual time they arose to return.

      Luc was whittling a stick. Jean carried the empty bottle. He left it at the wine merchant's in Bezons. Then they stopped on the bridge, as they did every Sunday, and watched the water flowing by.

      Jean leaned over the railing, farther and farther, as though he had seen something in the stream which hypnotized him. Luc said to him:

      "What's the matter? Do you want a drink?"

      He had hardly said the last word when Jean's head carried away the rest of his body, and the little blue and red soldier fell like a shot and disappeared in the water.

      Luc, paralyzed with horror, tried vainly to shout for help. In the distance he saw something move; then his friend's head bobbed up out of the water only to disappear again.

      Farther down he again noticed a hand, just one hand, which appeared and again went out of sight. That was all.

      The boatmen who had rushed to the scene found the body that day.

      Luc ran back to the barracks, crazed, and with eyes and voice full of tears, he related the accident: "He leaned—he—he was leaning —so far over—that his head carried him away—and—he—fell —he fell——"

      Emotion choked him so that he could say no more. If he had only known.

      FATHER MILON

      For a month the hot sun has been parching the fields. Nature is expanding beneath its rays; the fields are green as far as the eye can see. The big azure dome of the sky is unclouded. The farms of Normandy, scattered over the plains and surrounded by a belt of tall beeches, look, from a distance, like little woods. On closer view, after lowering the worm-eaten wooden bars, you imagine yourself in an immense garden, for all the ancient apple-trees, as gnarled as the peasants themselves, are in bloom. The sweet scent of their blossoms mingles with the heavy smell of the earth and the penetrating odor of the stables. It is noon. The family is eating under the shade of a pear tree planted in front of the door; father, mother, the four children, and the help—two women and three men are all there. All are silent. The soup is eaten and then a dish of potatoes fried with bacon is brought on.

      From time to time one of the women gets up and takes a pitcher down to the cellar to fetch more cider.

      The man, a big fellow about forty years old, is watching a grape vine, still bare, which is winding and twisting like a snake along the side of the house.

      At last he says: "Father's vine is budding early this year. Perhaps we may get something from it."

      The woman then turns round and looks, without saying a word.

      This vine is planted on the spot where their father had been shot.

      It was during the war of 1870. The Prussians were occupying the whole country. General Faidherbe, with the Northern Division of the army, was opposing them.

      The СКАЧАТЬ