Pierre and Jean, Guy de Maupassant [books for 6 year olds to read themselves .txt] 📗

wide, fair horizon of blue water streaked and shot with silver, thought as if in unison: “How delightful this would have been⁠—once.”

She did not venture to speak to Pierre, knowing that he would return some hard answer; and he dared not address his mother, knowing that in spite of himself he should speak violently. He sat twitching the water-worn pebbles with the end of his cane, switching them and turning them over. She, with a vague look in her eyes, had picked up three or four little stones and was slowly and mechanically dropping them from one hand into the other. Then her unsettled gaze, wandering over the scene before her, discerned, among the weedy rocks, her son Jean fishing with Mme. Rosémilly. She looked at them, watching their movements, dimly understanding, with motherly instinct, that they were talking as they did not talk every day. She saw them leaning over side by side when they looked into the water, standing face to face when they questioned their hearts, then scrambled up the rock and seated themselves to come to an understanding. Their figures stood out very sharply, looking as if they were alone in the middle of the wide horizon, and assuming a sort of symbolic dignity in that vast expanse of sky and sea and cliff.

Pierre, too, was looking at them, and a harsh laugh suddenly broke form his lips. Without turning to him Mme. Roland said:

“What is it?”

He spoke with a sneer.

“I am learning. Learning how a man lays himself out to be cozened by his wife.”

She flushed with rage, exasperated by the insinuation she believed was intended.

“In whose name do you say that?”

“In Jean’s, by Heaven! It is immensely funny to see those two.”

She murmured in a low voice, tremulous with feeling: “O Pierre, how cruel you are! That woman is honesty itself. Your brother could not find a better.”

He laughed aloud, a hard, satirical laugh:

“Ha! hah! Hah! Honesty itself! All wives are honesty itself⁠—and all husbands are⁠—betrayed.” And he shouted with laughter.

She made no reply, but rose, hastily went down the sloping beach, and at the risk of tumbling into one of the rifts hidden by the seaweed, of breaking a leg or an arm, she hastened, almost running, plunging through the pools without looking, straight to her other son.

Seeing her approach, Jean called out:

“Well, mother? So you have made the effort?”

Without a word she seized him by the arm, as if to say: “Save me, protect me!”

He saw her agitation, and greatly surprised he said:

“How pale you are! What is the matter?”

She stammered out:

“I was nearly falling; I was frightened at the rocks.”

So then Jean guided her, supported her, explained the sport to her that she might take an interest in it. But as she scarcely heeded him, and as he was bursting with the desire to confide in someone, he led her away and in a low voice said to her:

“Guess what I have done!”

“But⁠—what⁠—I don’t know.”

“Guess.”

“I cannot. I don’t know.”

“Well, I have told Mme. Rosémilly that I wish to marry her.”

She did not answer, for her brain was buzzing, her mind in such distress that she could scarcely take it in. She echoed: “Marry her?”

“Yes. Have I done well? She is charming, do not you think?”

“Yes, charming. You have done very well.”

“Then you approve?”

“Yes, I approve.”

“But how strangely you say so! I could fancy that⁠—that you were not glad.”

“Yes, indeed, I am⁠—very glad.”

“Really and truly?”

“Really and truly.”

And to prove it she threw her arms round him and kissed him heartily, with warm motherly kisses. Then, when she had wiped her eyes, which were full of tears, she observed upon the beach a man lying flat at full length like a dead body, his face hidden against the stones; it was the other one, Pierre, sunk in thought and desperation.

At this she led her little Jean farther away, quite to the edge of the waves, and there they talked for a long time of this marriage on which he had set his heart.

The rising tide drove them back to rejoin the fishers, and then they all made their way to the shore. They roused Pierre, who pretended to be sleeping; and then came a long dinner washed down with many kinds of wine.

VII

In the break, on their way home, all the men dozed excepting Jean. Beausire and Roland dropped every five minutes on to a neighbour’s shoulder which repelled them with a shove. Then they sat up, ceased to snore, opened their eyes, muttered, “A lovely evening!” and almost immediately fell over on the other side.

By the time they reached Havre their drowsiness was so heavy that they had great difficulty in shaking it off, and Beausire even refused to go to Jean’s rooms where tea was waiting for them. He had to be set down at his own door.

The young lawyer was to sleep in his new abode for the first time; and he was full of rather puerile glee which had suddenly come over him, at being able, that very evening, to show his betrothed the rooms she was so soon to inhabit.

The maid had gone to bed, Mme. Roland having declared that she herself would boil the water and make the tea, for she did not like the servants to be kept up for fear of fire.

No one had yet been into the lodgings but herself, Jean, and the workmen, that the surprise might be the greater at their being so pretty.

Jean begged them all to wait a moment in the anteroom. He wanted to light the lamps and candles, and he left Mme. Rosémilly in the dark with his father and brother; then he cried: “Come in!” opening the double door to its full width.

The glass gallery, lighted by a chandelier and little coloured lamps hidden among palms, india-rubber plants, and flowers, was first seen like a scene on the stage. There was a spasm of surprise. Roland, dazzled by such luxury, muttered an oath, and felt inclined