The Works of Guy de Maupassant, Vol. 1 | Page 5

other; they were joined by a third, and they began to talk. "I am taking
my wife with me," said one. "So am I." "And I too." The first one
added: "We shall not return to Rouen, and if the Prussians come to
Havre we shall slip over to England."
They were all like-minded and all had the same project.
Meanwhile there was no sign of the horses being put in. A small lantern
carried by a hostler appeared from time to time out of one dark
doorway only to vanish instantly into another. There was a stamping of
horses' hoofs deadened by the straw of the litter, and the voice of a man
speaking to the animals and cursing sounded from the depths of the
stables. A faint sound of bells gave evidence of harnessing, and became
presently a clear and continuous jingle timed by the movement of the
beast, now stopping, now going on again with a brisk shake, and
accompanied by the dull tramp of hob-nailed sabots.
A door closed sharply. All sound ceased. The frozen travelers were
silent, standing stiff and motionless. A veil of white snow-flakes
glistened incessantly as it fell to the ground, blotting out the shape of
things, powdering everything with an icy froth; and in the utter stillness
of the town, quiet and buried under its winter pall, nothing was audible
but this faint, fluttering, and indefinable rustle of falling snow--more a
sensation than a sound--the intermingling of ethereal atoms seeming to
fill space, to cover the world.
The man reappeared with his lantern, dragging after him by a rope a
dejected and unwilling horse. He pushed it against the pole, fixed the
traces, and was occupied for a long time in buckling the harness,
having only the use of one hand as he carried the lantern in the other.
As he turned away to fetch the other horse he caught sight of the

motionless group of travelers, by this time white with snow. "Why
don't you get inside the carriage?" he said, "you would at least be under
cover."
It had never occurred to them, and they made a rush for it. The three
men packed their wives into the upper end and then got in themselves,
after which other distinct and veiled forms took the remaining seats
without exchanging a word.
The floor of the vehicle was covered with straw into which the feet
sank. The ladies at the end, who had brought little copper charcoal
foot-warmers, proceeded to light them, and for some time discussed
their merits in subdued tones, repeating to one another things which
they had known all their lives.
At last, the diligence having been furnished with six horses instead of
four on account of the difficulties of the road, a voice outside asked, "Is
everybody here?" A voice from within answered "Yes," and they
started.
The conveyance advanced slowly--slowly--the wheels sinking in the
snow; the whole vehicle groaned and creaked, the horses slipped,
wheezed, and smoked, and the driver's gigantic whip cracked
incessantly, flying from side to side, twining and untwining like a
slender snake, and cutting sharply across one or other of the six
humping backs, which would thereupon straighten up with a more
violent effort.
Imperceptibly the day grew. The airy flakes which a traveler--a
Rouennais "pur sang"--once likened to a shower of cotton, had ceased
to fall; a dirty gray light filtered through the heavy thick clouds which
served to heighten the dazzling whiteness of the landscape, where now
a long line of trees crusted with icicles would appear, now a cottage
with a hood of snow.
In the light of this melancholy dawn the occupants of the diligence
began to examine one another curiously.

Right at the end, in the best seats, opposite to one another, dozed
Madame and Monsieur Loiseau, whole-sale wine merchant of the Rue
Grand Pont.
The former salesman of a master who had become bankrupt, Loiseau
had bought up the stock and made his fortune. He sold very bad wine at
very low prices to the small country retail dealers, and enjoyed the
reputation among his friends and acquaintances of being an
unmitigated rogue, a thorough Norman full of trickery and jovial
humor.
His character for knavery was so well established that one evening at
the Prefecture, Monsieur Tournel, a man of keen and trenchant wit,
author of certain fables and songs--a local glory--seeing the ladies
growing drowsy, proposed a game of "L'oiseau vole."[1] The pun itself
flew through the prefect's reception rooms and afterwards through the
town, and for a whole month called up a grin on every face in the
province.
Loiseau was himself a noted wag and famous for his jokes both good
and bad, and nobody ever mentioned him without adding immediately,
"That Loiseau is