A Simple Soul | Page 9

in the garden, read a little, and in this way
managed to fill out the emptiness of the hours.
Each morning, out of habit, Felicite entered Virginia's room and gazed
at the walls. She missed combing her hair, lacing her shoes, tucking her
in her bed, and the bright face and little hand when they used to go out
for a walk. In order to occupy herself she tried to make lace. But her
clumsy fingers broke the threads; she had no heart for anything, lost her
sleep and "wasted away," as she put it.
In order to have some distraction, she asked leave to receive the visits
of her nephew Victor.
He would come on Sunday, after church, with ruddy cheeks and bared

chest, bringing with him the scent of the country. She would set the
table and they would sit down opposite each other, and eat their dinner;
she ate as little as possible, herself, to avoid any extra expense, but
would stuff him so with food that he would finally go to sleep. At the
first stroke of vespers, she would wake him up, brush his trousers, tie
his cravat and walk to church with him, leaning on his arm with
maternal pride.
His parents always told him to get something out of her, either a
package of brown sugar, or soap, or brandy, and sometimes even
money. He brought her his clothes to mend, and she accepted the task
gladly, because it meant another visit from him.
In August, his father took him on a coasting-vessel.
It was vacation time and the arrival of the children consoled Felicite.
But Paul was capricious, and Virginia was growing too old to be
thee-and-thou'd, a fact which seemed to produce a sort of
embarrassment in their relations.
Victor went successively to Morlaix, to Dunkirk, and to Brighton;
whenever he returned from a trip he would bring her a present. The first
time it was a box of shells; the second, a coffee-cup; the third, a big
doll of ginger-bread. He was growing handsome, had a good figure, a
tiny moustache, kind eyes, and a little leather cap that sat jauntily on
the back of his head. He amused his aunt by telling her stories mingled
with nautical expressions.
One Monday, the 14th of July, 1819 (she never forgot the date), Victor
announced that he had been engaged on a merchant-vessel and that in
two days he would take the steamer at Honfleur and join his sailer,
which was going to start from Havre very soon. Perhaps he might be
away two years.
The prospect of his departure filled Felicite with despair, and in order
to bid him farewell, on Wednesday night, after Madame's dinner, she
put on her pattens and trudged the four miles that separated Pont-
l'Eveque from Honfleur.

When she reached the Calvary, instead of turning to the right, she
turned to the left and lost herself in coal-yards; she had to retrace her
steps; some people she spoke to advised her to hasten. She walked
helplessly around the harbour filled with vessels, and knocked against
hawsers. Presently the ground sloped abruptly, lights flitted to and fro,
and she thought all at once that she had gone mad when she saw some
horses in the sky.
Others, on the edge of the dock, neighed at the sight of the ocean. A
derrick pulled them up in the air, and dumped them into a boat, where
passengers were bustling about among barrels of cider, baskets of
cheese and bags of meal; chickens cackled, the captain swore and a
cabin-boy rested on the railing, apparently indifferent to his
surroundings. Felicite, who did not recognise him, kept shouting:
"Victor!" He suddenly raised his eyes, but while she was preparing to
rush up to him, they withdrew the gangplank.
The packet, towed by singing women, glided out of the harbour. Her
hull squeaked and the heavy waves beat up against her sides. The sail
had turned and nobody was visible;--and on the ocean, silvered by the
light of the moon, the vessel formed a black spot that grew dimmer and
dimmer, and finally disappeared.
When Felicite passed the Calvary again, she felt as if she must entrust
that which was dearest to her to the Lord; and for a long while she
prayed, with uplifted eyes and a face wet with tears. The city was
sleeping; some customs officials were taking the air; and the water kept
pouring through the holes of the dam with a deafening roar. The town
clock struck two.
The parlour of the convent would not open until morning, and surely a
delay would annoy Madame, so, in spite of her desire to see the other
child, she went home. The maids of the inn were just arising when