A Simple Soul | Page 7

end of the dock, they entered the yard of
the Golden Lamb, an inn kept by Mother David.
During the first few days, Virginia felt stronger, owing to the change of
air and the action of the sea-baths. She took them in her little chemise,
as she had no bathing suit, and afterwards her nurse dressed her in the
cabin of a customs officer, which was used for that purpose by other
bathers.
In the afternoon, they would take the donkey and go to the Roches-
Noires, near Hennequeville. The path led at first through undulating
grounds, and thence to a plateau, where pastures and tilled fields
alternated. At the edge of the road, mingling with the brambles, grew
holly bushes, and here and there stood large dead trees whose branches
traced zigzags upon the blue sky.
Ordinarily, they rested in a field facing the ocean, with Deauville on
their left, and Havre on their right. The sea glittered brightly in the sun
and was as smooth as a mirror, and so calm that they could scarcely
distinguish its murmur; sparrows chirped joyfully and the immense
canopy of heaven spread over it all. Madame Aubain brought out her
sewing, and Virginia amused herself by braiding reeds; Felicite wove
lavender blossoms, while Paul was bored and wished to go home.
Sometimes they crossed the Toucques in a boat, and started to hunt for
sea-shells. The outgoing tide exposed star-fish and sea-urchins, and the
children tried to catch the flakes of foam which the wind blew away.
The sleepy waves lapping the sand unfurled themselves along the shore
that extended as far as the eye could see, but where land began, it was
limited by the downs which separated it from the "Swamp," a large
meadow shaped like a hippodrome. When they went home that way,
Trouville, on the slope of a hill below, grew larger and larger as they
advanced, and, with all its houses of unequal height, seemed to spread
out before them in a sort of giddy confusion.
When the heat was too oppressive, they remained in their rooms. The

dazzling sunlight cast bars of light between the shutters. Not a sound in
the village, not a soul on the sidewalk. This silence intensified the
tranquility of everything. In the distance, the hammers of some calkers
pounded the hull of a ship, and the sultry breeze brought them an odour
of tar.
The principal diversion consisted in watching the return of the
fishing-smacks. As soon as they passed the beacons, they began to ply
to windward. The sails were lowered to one third of the masts, and with
their fore-sails swelled up like balloons they glided over the waves and
anchored in the middle of the harbour. Then they crept up alongside of
the dock and the sailors threw the quivering fish over the side of the
boat; a line of carts was waiting for them, and women with white caps
sprang forward to receive the baskets and embrace their men-folk.
One day, one of them spoke to Felicite, who, after a little while,
returned to the house gleefully. She had found one of her sisters, and
presently Nastasie Barette, wife of Leroux, made her appearance,
holding an infant in her arms, another child by the hand, while on her
left was a little cabin-boy with his hands in his pockets and his cap on
his ear.
At the end of fifteen minutes, Madame Aubain bade her go.
They always hung around the kitchen, or approached Felicite when she
and the children were out walking. The husband, however, did not
show himself.
Felicite developed a great fondness for them; she bought them a stove,
some shirts and a blanket; it was evident that they exploited her. Her
foolishness annoyed Madame Aubain, who, moreover did not like the
nephew's familiarity, for he called her son "thou";--and, as Virginia
began to cough and the season was over, she decided to return to Pont-
l'Eveque.
Monsieur Bourais assisted her in the choice of a college. The one at
Caen was considered the best. So Paul was sent away and bravely said
good-bye to them all, for he was glad to go to live in a house where he

would have boy companions.
Madame Aubain resigned herself to the separation from her son
because it was unavoidable. Virginia brooded less and less over it.
Felicite regretted the noise he made, but soon a new occupation
diverted her mind; beginning from Christmas, she accompanied the
little girl to her catechism lesson every day.


CHAPTER III
After she had made a curtsey at the threshold, she would walk up the
aisle between the double lines of chairs, open Madame Aubain's pew,
sit down and look around.
Girls and boys, the former on the right, the