Read Ebook: The Conquest of Plassans (La Conquête de Plassans) by Zola Mile Vizetelly Ernest Alfred Translator

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Ebook has 2562 lines and 137398 words, and 52 pages

'Aren't you tired?' asked Octave, looking at his father's boots, which were white with dust.

'Yes, indeed, a little,' Mouret replied, without, however, saying anything more about the long journey which he had just made on foot.

Then in the middle of the garden he caught sight of a spade and a rake, which the children had forgotten there.

'Why are the tools not put away?' he cried. 'I have spoken about it a hundred times. If it should come on to rain they would be completely rusted and spoilt.'

He said no more on the subject, but stepped down into the garden, picked up the spade and rake himself, and put them carefully away inside the little conservatory. As he came up to the terrace again his eyes searched every corner of the walks to see if things were tidy there.

'Are you learning your lessons?' he asked, as he passed Serge, who was still poring over his book.

'No, father,' the boy replied; 'this is a book that Abb? Bourrette has lent me. It is an account of the missions in China.'

Mouret stopped short in front of his wife.

'No, no one, my dear,' replied Marthe with an appearance of surprise.

He seemed on the point of saying something further, but appeared to change his mind, and continued pacing up and down in silence. Then, going to the steps, he cried out:

'Well, Rose, what about this dinner of yours which is getting burnt to cinders?'

'Oh, indeed! there is nothing ready for you now!' shouted the cook in an angry voice from the other end of the passage. 'Everything is cold. You will have to wait, sir.'

Mouret smiled in silence and winked with his left eye, as he glanced at his wife and children. He seemed to be very much amused by Rose's anger. Then he occupied himself in examining his neighbour's fruit-trees.

'It is surprising what splendid pears Monsieur Rastoil has got this year,' he remarked.

Marthe, who had appeared a little uneasy for the last few minutes, seemed as though she wanted to say something. At last she made up her mind to speak, and timidly inquired:

'Were you expecting someone to-day, my dear?'

'Yes and no,' he replied, beginning to pace the terrace again.

'Perhaps you have let the second floor?'

'Yes, indeed, I have let it.'

Then, as the silence became a little embarrassing, he added, in his quiet way:

'We were so free and comfortable, all alone in our own house,' Marthe ventured to say, in a low tone.

'Oh, well!' replied Mouret, 'we shan't find a priest in our way. He will keep to himself, and we shall keep to ourselves. Those black-gowned gentlemen hide themselves when they want to swallow even a glass of water. You know that I'm not very partial to them myself. A set of lazybones for the most part! And yet what chiefly decided me to let the floor was that I had found a priest for a tenant. One is quite sure of one's money with them, and they are so quiet that one can't even hear them go in and out.'

Marthe still appeared distressed. She looked round her at the happy home basking in the sun's farewell, at the garden which was now growing greyer with shadows, and at her three children. And she thought of all the happiness which this little spot held for her.

'And do you know anything about this priest?'she asked.

'No; but Abb? Bourrette has taken the floor in his own name, and that is quite sufficient. Abb? Bourrette is an honourable man. I know that our tenant is called Faujas, Abb? Faujas, and that he comes from the diocese of Besan?on. He didn't get on very well with his vicar there, and so he has been appointed curate here at Saint-Saturnin's. Perhaps he knows our bishop, Monseigneur Rousselot. But all this is no business of ours, you know; and it is to Abb? Bourrette that I am trusting in the whole matter.'

Marthe, however, did not seem to share her husband's confidence, but continued to stand out against him, a thing which seldom happened.

'You are right,' she said, after a moment's silence, 'Abb? Bourrette is a worthy man. But I recollect that when he came to look at the rooms he told me that he did not know the name of the person on whose behalf he was commissioned to rent them. It was one of those commissions which are undertaken by priests in one town for those in another. I really think that you ought to write to Besan?on and make some inquiries as to what sort of a person it is that you are about to introduce into your house.'

Mouret was anxious to avoid losing his temper; he smiled complacently.

'Well, it isn't the devil, anyhow. Why, you're trembling all over! I didn't think you were so superstitious. You surely don't believe that priests bring ill luck, as folks say. Neither, of course, do they bring good luck. They are just like other men. But, when we get this Abb? here, you'll see if I'm afraid of his cassock!'

'No, I'm not superstitious; you know that quite well,' replied Marthe. 'I only feel unhappy about it, that's all.'

He took his stand in front of her, and interrupted her with a sharp motion of his hand.

'There! there! that will do,' said he. 'I have let the rooms; don't let us say anything more about the matter.'

'At any rate one thing is certain, and that is that I am to get a hundred and fifty francs rent; and we shall have those additional hundred and fifty francs to spend on the house every year.'

Marthe bent her head and made no further protestations except by vaguely swinging her hands and gently closing her eyes as though to prevent the escape of the tears which were already swelling beneath her eyelids. Then she cast a furtive glance at her children, who had not appeared to hear anything of her discussion with their father. They were, indeed, accustomed to scenes of this sort in which Mouret, with his bantering nature, delighted to indulge.

'You can come in now, if you would like something to eat,' said Rose in her crabby voice, as she came to the steps.

'Ah, that's right! Come along, children, to your soup!' cried Mouret gaily, without appearing to retain any trace of temper.

The whole family rose. But D?sir?e's grief seemed to revive at the sight of everyone stirring. She threw her arms round her father's neck and stammered:

'Oh, papa, one of my birds has flown away!'

'One of your birds, my dear? Well, we'll catch it again.'

Then he began to caress and fondle her, but she insisted that he, also, should go and look at the cage. When he brought her back again Marthe and her two sons were already in the dining-room. The rays of the setting sun, streaming in through the window, lighted up the porcelain plates, the children's plated mugs, and the white cloth. The room was warm and peaceful with its green background of garden.

But just as Marthe, upon whom the tranquillity of the scene had had a soothing effect, was smilingly removing the cover from the soup-tureen, a noise was heard in the passage.

Then Rose rushed into the room with a scared look and stammered:

'Monsieur l'Abb? Faujas has come!'

An expression of annoyance passed over Mouret's face. He had not expected his tenant till the following morning at the earliest. He was just rising hastily from his seat when Abb? Faujas himself appeared at the door. He was a tall big man, with a square face, broad features, and a cadaverous complexion. Behind him, in the shadow, stood an elderly woman, who bore an astonishing resemblance to him, only that she was of smaller build and wore a less refined expression. When they saw the table laid for a meal, they both hesitated and stepped back discreetly, though without going away. The priest's tall black figure contrasted mournfully with the cheerfulness of the whitewashed walls.

'We must ask your pardon for disturbing you,' he said to Mouret. 'We have just left Abb? Bourrette's; he, no doubt, gave you notice of our coming!'

'Not at all!' Mouret exclaimed. 'The Abb? never behaves like other people. He always seems as though he had just come down from paradise. Only this morning, sir, he told me that you would not be here for another couple of days. Well, we must put you in possession of your rooms all the same.'

Abb? Faujas apologised. He spoke in a deep voice which fell very softly at the end of each sentence. He was extremely distressed, said he, to have arrived at such a moment. And when he had expressed his regret in a very few well-chosen words, he turned round to pay the porter who had brought his trunk. His large well-shaped hands drew from the folds of his cassock a purse of which only the steel rings could be seen. Keeping his head bent, he cautiously fumbled in it for a moment. Then, without anyone having seen the piece of money which he had received, the porter went away, and the priest resumed in his refined way:

'I beg you, sir, sit down again. Your servant will show us the rooms, and will help me to carry this.'

As he spoke, he stooped to grasp one of the handles of his trunk. It was a small wooden trunk, bound at the edges with iron bands, and one of its sides seemed to have been repaired with a cross-piece of deal. Mouret looked surprised, and his eyes wandered off in search of other luggage, but he could see nothing excepting a big basket, which the elderly lady carried with both hands, holding it in front of her, and despite her fatigue obstinately determined not to put it down. From underneath the lid, which was a little raised, there peeped, amongst some bundles of linen, the end of a comb wrapped in paper and the neck of a clumsily corked bottle.

'Oh! don't trouble yourself with that,' said Mouret, just touching the trunk with his foot; 'it can't be very heavy, and Rose will be able to carry it up by herself.'

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