engine whistled, the bell rang, the guard blew his horn, the train was moving.
I ran back as fast as I could, regardless of consequences, holding my falling trousers in my hands, and followed by the wrathful, screeching English old maid, very much like a wee chicken running away from an old hen.
— And —
— Everyone was at the carriage windows laughing at my misadventure.
A few days afterwards I was with my parents at the Pension Bellevue, at the baths of N — , when, on going down to the table d’hote dinner, I was surprised to find the young lady in question seated with her mother, almost opposite to the place usually occupied by my parents. Upon seeing her, I, of course, blushed scarlet, I sat down, and she and the elderly lady exchanged glances and smiled. I wriggled on my chair in a most uncomfortable way, and I dropped the spoon which I had taken up.
‘What is the matter with you, Camille?’ asked my mother, seeing me grow red and pale.
‘Oh, nothing! Only I — I — that is to say, my — my stomach is rather out of order,’ said I, in a whisper, finding no better excuse on the spur of the moment.
‘Your stomach again?’ said my mother, in an undertone.
‘What, Camille! have you the belly-ache?’ said my father, in his offhand way, and with his stentorian voice.
I was so ashamed of myself and so upset, that, hungry as I was, my stomach began to make the most fearful rumbling noises.
Everyone at table, I think, was giggling, when all at once I heard a well-known, snarling, barking, shrill voice say —
‘Gaason, demandez that monseer not to parler cochonneries at table.’
I cast a glance towards the side whence the voice proceeded, and, sure enough, that horrible, wandering English old maid was there.
I felt as if I could have sunk under the table for shame, seeing everyone stare at me. Anyhow, I had to bear it; and at last the lengthy meal came to an end. I went up to my room, and, for that, I saw nothing more of my acquaintances.
On the morrow I met the young girl out with her mother. When she saw me, her laughing eyes had a merrier twinkle than ever. I durst not look at her, much less follow her about as I was wont to do.
There were several other girls at the pension, and she soon got to be on friendly terms with them, for she was in fact a universal favorite. I, on the contrary, kept aloof from everyone, feeling sure that my mishap was not only known but had become a general topic of conversation.
One afternoon, a few days afterwards, I was in the vast garden of the pension, hidden behind some ilex shrubs, brooding over my ill luck, when all at once I saw Rita — for her name was Marguerite — walking in a neighboring alley, together with several other girls.
I had no sooner perceived her when she told her friends to go on, whilst she began to lag behind.
She stopped, turned her back upon her companions, lifted up her dress far above her knee, and displayed a very pretty though rather thin leg encased in a close-fitting, black silk stocking. The string which attached the stocking to her unmentionables had got undone, and she began to tie it.
By bending low I might quietly have peeped between her legs, and seen what the slit of her pantaloons afforded to the view; but it never came into my head to do so. The fact is, I had really never cared for her or for any other woman. I only thought, now is my time to find her alone and to bow to her, without having all the other girls to giggle at me. So I quietly got out of my hiding-place, and advanced towards the next alley.
As I turned the corner, what a sight did I see! There was the object of my sentimental admiration, squatted on the ground, her legs widely opened apart, her skirts all carefully tucked up.
— So at last you saw — — A faint glimpse of pinkish flesh, and a stream of yellow liquid pouring down and flowing on the gravel, bubbling with much froth, accompanied by the rushing sound of many waters, while, as if to greet my appearance, a rumbling noise like that of an unctuous cannonade came from behind. — And what did you do? — Don’t you know we always do the things which ought not to be done, and leave undone the things which ought to be done, as I think the Prayer Book says? So, instead of slipping away unperceived, and hiding behind a bush to try and have a glimpse at the mouth from which the rill escaped, I foolishly remained stock still, speechless, dumbfounded. It was only when she lifted up her eyes that I recovered the use of my tongue.
‘Oh, mademoiselle! pardon!’said I; ‘but really I did not know that you were here — that is to say that — ‘
Sot — stupide — imbecile — bete — animal!’quoth she, with quite a French volubility, rising and getting as red as a peony. Then she turned her back on me, but only to face the wandering old maid, who appeared at the other end of the avenue, and who greeted her with a prolonged ‘Oh!’ that sounded like the blast of a fog-trumpet.
— And —
— And the only love I ever had for a woman thus came to an end.
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