Part 18 (1/2)

--h.e.l.lo, landlady!

She turned round slowly and revealed a pitiful peasant's face, wrinkled, cracked, earth coloured, and framed in long strands of brownish lace, like old women wear hereabouts. And yet, she wasn't an old woman, perhaps the tears had wilted her.

--What can I do for you? She asked me, drying her eyes.

--Just a sit down and a drink....

She looked at me, utterly astonished, and didn't move as if she hadn't understood.

--This is an inn, isn't it?

The woman sighed:

--Yes ... it's an inn, in a manner of speaking.... But why aren't you over the road like everybody else? It's a much livelier place....

--It's a bit too lively for my liking.... I'd rather stay here.

And without waiting for her reply, I sat down at a table. Once she had satisfied herself that I was genuine, she began to flit to and fro busily, opening drawers, moving bottles, wiping gla.s.ses, and flicking the flies away.... You could see that a customer was quite an event for her. Now and then the unfortunate woman would hold her head as if she was despairing of getting to the end of it.

Then she disappeared into a back room; I heard her take up some keys, fiddle with the locks, rummage in the bread bin, huff and puff, do some dusting, wash some plates. And from time to time ... a m.u.f.fled sob....

After a quarter of an hour of this performance, a plate of dried raisins, an old Beaucaire loaf as hard as the dish it came on, and a bottle of cheap wine, were placed before me.

--There you are, said the strange creature, and rushed back to her place at the window.

I tried to engage her in conversation as I was drinking up.

--You don't often get people here do you, madam?

-- Oh, no, monsieur, never, no one.... It was very different at the time when we were the only the coaching inn around here. We did the lunches for the hunt during the soter bird season, as well as coaches all the year round.... But since the other place has opened up, we've lost everything.... The world and his wife prefer to go across the way.

They find it just too miserable here.... The simple fact is that this place doesn't interest them. I'm not beautiful, I have p.r.i.c.kly heat, and my two little girls are dead.... Over there it's very different, there is laughter all the time. A woman from Arles, a beautiful woman with lots of lace and three gold chains round her neck, keeps the place. The driver, her lover, brings in customers for her in the coach.

She also has a number of attractive girls for chamber maids.... This also brings lots of business in! She gets all the young people from Bezouces, from Redessan and from Jonquieres. The coachmen go out of their way to call in at her place.... As for me, I'm stuck in here all day, all alone, eating my heart out.

She said all that with a distracted, vacant way, forehead still pressed against the window pane. Obviously, there was something in the inn opposite that really interested her.... Suddenly, over the road, a lot started to happen. The coach edged forward in the dust. The sounds of cracking whips and a horn was heard. The young girls squeezed together in the doorway and shouted:

--Goodbye!... Goodbye!... And above all that, the wonderful voice, singing, as before, most beautifully,

Took her little silver can, To the river made her way, She didn't notice by the water, Three young cavaliers, quite near.

The woman's whole body shook on hearing that voice; and she turned towards me and whispered:

--Do you hear that? That's my husband.... Don't you think he has a beautiful voice?

I looked at her, stupefied.