The Aspirations of Jean Servien | Page 9

arm of the "human torpedo."
But Madame Ewans could not help returning again and again to stand
before the booth of a hypnotist from Paris, a clairvoyante boasting a
certificate signed by the Minster of Agriculture and Commerce and by
three Doctors of the Faculty. She gazed enviously at the servant-girls as
they trooped up blushing into the van meagrely furnished with a bed
and a couple of chairs; but she could not pluck up courage to follow
their example.
She recalled to mind how a hypnotist had once helped a friend of hers
to recover some stolen forks and spoons. She had even gone so far as to
consult a fortune-teller shortly before Edgar's birth, and the cards had
foretold a boy.
All three were tired out and overloaded with crockery, glass, reed-pipes,
sticks of sugar-candy, cakes of ginger-bread and macaroons. For all
that, they paid a visit to the wax-works, where they saw Monseigneur
Sibour's body lying in state at the Archbishop's Palace, the execution of
Mary Queen of Scots, models of people's legs and arms disfigured by
various hideous diseases, and a Circassian maiden stepping out of the
bath--"the purest type of female beauty," as a placard duly informed the
public. Madame Ewans examined this last exhibit with a curiosity that
very soon became critical.
"People may say what they please," she muttered; "if you offered me

the whole world, I wouldn't have such big feet and such a thick waist.
And then, your regular features aren't one bit attractive. Men like a face
that says something."
When they left the tent, the sun was low and the dust hovered in golden
clouds over the throng of women, working-men, and soldiers.
It was time for dinner; but as they passed the monkey-cage, Madame
Ewans noticed such a crush of eager spectators squeezing in between
the baize curtains on the platform in front that she could not resist the
temptation to follow suit. Besides which, she was drawn by a motive of
curiosity, having been told that monkeys were not insensible to female
charms. But the performance diverted her thoughts in another direction.
She saw an unhappy poodle in red breeches shot as a deserter in spite
of his honest looks. Tears rose to her eyes, she was so sensitive, so
susceptible to the glamour of the stage!
"Yes, it's quite true," she sobbed; "yes, poor soldiers have been shot
before now just for going off without leave to stand by their mother's
death-bed or for smacking a bullying officer's face."
Some old refrain of Béranger she had heard working folks sing in her
plebeian childhood rose to her memory and intensified her emotion.
She told the children the lamentable tale of the canine deserter's pitiful
doom, and made them feel quite sad.
No sooner were they outside the place, however, than an itinerant
toy-seller with a paper helmet on his head set them splitting with
laughter.
Dinner must be thought of. She knew of a tavern by the river-side
where you could eat a fry of fish in the arbour, and thither they betook
themselves.
The lady from Paris and the landlady of the inn greeted each other with
a wink of the eye. It was a long time since she had seen Madame; she
had no idea who the two young gentlemen were, but anyway they were
dear little angels. Madame Ewans ordered the meal like a connoisseur,

with a knowing air and all the proper restaurant tricks of phrase. All
three sat silent, agreeably tired and enjoying the sensation, she with her
bonnet-strings flying loose, the boys leaning back against the trellis.
They could see the river and its grassy banks through an archway of
wild vine. Their thoughts flowed softly on like the current before their
eyes, while the dusk and cool of the evening wrapped them in a soft
caress. For the first time Jean Servien, as he gazed at Madame Ewans,
felt the thrill of a woman's sweet proximity.
Presently, warmed by a trifle of wine and water he had drunk, he
became wholly lost in his dreams--visions of all sorts of elegant,
preposterous, chivalrous things. His head was still full of these fancies
when he was dragged back to the fair-ground by Madame Ewans, who
could never have enough of sight-seeing and noise. Illuminated arches
spanned at regular intervals the broad-walk, lined on either side by
stalls and trestle-tables, but the lateral avenues gloomed dark and
deserted under the tall black trees. Loving couples paced them slowly,
while the music from the shows sounded muffled by the distance. They
were still there when a band of fifes, trombones, and trumpets struck up
close by, playing a popular polka tune. The very first bar put Madame
Ewans on her mettle. She drew Jean to