‘So that’ll be five francs.’
She said simply and firmly:
‘No, I only want four francs’ worth. Take a bit off it.’
She was holding the two two-franc coins in her hand. She paid, let her eyes slide over Jean, and went off towards the canal, her clogs clopping.
‘And for you, young man?’
‘A steak.’
‘For how many?’
‘Just for one.’
‘I expect you’d like a thick one?’
‘Yes, quite thick.’
He was in a hurry. He watched Félicie go away, unaware that the women in the queue were staring at him as if he were some kind of exotic beast.
‘Eight francs.’
That made an impression on him. Eight francs for his steak, and only four for the stew that they would be eating at Félicie’s, where there were four people, herself, her parents and old Couderc.
‘You’ve forgotten your change!’
‘Ah, yes, sorry.’
‘’S all right.’
As he did not dare run, he caught up with Félicie only when she was halfway home. A barge towed by a donkey was coming in the other direction and a very tiny girl, not much more than a toddler, was leading the donkey.
The tiller must have been tied, since no one could be seen on the bridge. The canal lay straight ahead, with just above it a band of sky between the two rows of trees. And there was no one at all about, apart from the little girl and the donkey.
‘Why did you run?’ asked Félicie without turning her head, as he slowed his pace to hers, his heavy breathing audible.
‘I didn’t run.’
He had nothing to say to her. He was desperately anxious to be near her but had never thought about saying this or that to her. As they walked, he gazed at her profile and noticed that she had very full lips, as if bee-stung, which made her look thoughtful or sulky. She also had very white skin, delicate, like all redheads, and tiny ears.
It did not trouble her to be gazed at like that. She walked at the same pace, and they had covered about two hundred metres in silence when she asked, as if coming to some conclusion in her thoughts:
‘What’s keeping you staying over at my aunt’s?’
He did not hesitate for a second. The promptness of his answer surprised him most of all, since he had never asked himself this question so clearly.
‘I think it’s the house.’
To which she said, after another silence:
‘I wonder what’s so wonderful about that house. Everyone wants it. My mother, my Aunt Amélie.’
‘What about you?’
‘Me? Oh, I don’t care.’
And as they approached the lock, she said:
‘Ah, there’s someone at my aunt’s place.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I can see the shadow of a car on the path. You’d better hurry.’
Yes, there was a car there, indeed. Jean did not recognize it and was worried. As he entered the kitchen, he bumped into a man drying his hands and recognized him. It was the doctor from Saint-Amand.
‘I didn’t know you were coming this morning,’ he said, to excuse himself.
‘I didn’t come here to see you.’
‘How is Tati?’
‘Not good.’
He must treat all his patients the same way. He seemed to take pleasure in giving bad news, and his eyes glinted behind his gold-rimmed spectacles.
‘She’s in bad shape?’
