before turning toward home. Unnoticed by Anthime, his big book went sailing off the bicycle after a stiff bump, opening as it fell to lie forever alone at the roadside, facedown on the chapter entitled âAures Habet et non Audiet.â 2
Entering the town, Anthime began to see people leaving their houses to gather in groups before converging on the Place Royale. The men seemed excited, on edge in the heat, turning to call to one another, gesturing broadly but with seeming confidence. Anthime dropped off his bicycle at home before joining the general movement now flowing in from every direction toward the main square, where a smiling crowd milled around waving bottles and flags, gesticulating, dashing about, leaving barely enough space for the horse-drawn vehicles already arriving laden with passengers. Everyone appeared well pleased with the mobilization in a hubbub of feverish debates, hearty laughter, hymns, fanfares, and patriotic exclamations punctuated by the neighing of horses.
Across the square and beyond that animated throng red-faced with sweat and fervor, Anthime spotted Charles on the corner of the Rue Crébillon, by a silk merchantâs shop, and tried at a distance to catch his eye. Unsuccessful in this, he began making his way toward him through the crowd. Apparently remaining aloof from events, dressed as in his office at the factory in a close-fitting suit and a narrow, light-colored tie, Charles considered the crush of people without any visible emotion, wearing his Rêve Idéal camera from Girard &Boitte slung around his neck, as usual. Advancing toward him, Anthime had to steel and calm himself at the same time, a paradoxical yet necessary procedure he followed to master the intimidating uneasiness he felt in the presence of Charles, no matter what the occasion. The other man faced him for barely a second before looking down at the signet ring Anthime wore on his pinkie.
Hmm, said Charles, thatâs new. And youâre wearing it on your right hand, well, well. Theyâre usually worn on the left. I know, agreed Anthime, but it isnât a question of style, itâs because my wrist hurts. Indeed, said Charles condescendingly, and it doesnât bother you when you shake someoneâs hand. I shake so few hands, observed Anthime, and as I told you, itâs for those pains I get in my right wrist, it relieves them. The ringâs a bit heavy but it seems to work. Itâs a magnetic thing, if you like. Magnetic, repeated Charles with a trace of a smile, puffing a trace of a humph out his nose, shaking his head while shrugging one shoulder and looking awayâand completing these five actions in a single second, leaving Anthime feeling once again humiliated.
So, began Anthime, trying to carry on by jerkinghis thumb toward a group waving signs, what do you think of this. It was inevitable, replied Charles, closing one of his cold eyes to clap the other one to his view-finder, but it wonât last longer than two weeks at the most. Of that, Anthime ventured to remark, Iâm not so sure. Well, said Charles, tomorrow weâll see.
3
O N S UNDAY MORNING , Blanche awoke in her bedroom on the second floor of an imposing residence of the kind belonging to notaries, deputies, public officials, or plant managers: the Borne family runs the Borne-Sèze factory, and Blanche is their only daughter.
A strangely discordant atmosphere reigns in this albeit peaceful and orderly room. Framed local scenesâ barges on the Loire, fishermenâs lives on the island of Noirmoutierâadorn the slightly off-center flowered wallpaper, and the furniture bespeaks an effort toward woodlands diversity worthy of an arboretum: a mirrored walnut bonnetière , 5 a writing desk of oak, a mahogany chest of drawers with fruitwood veneer, while the bed is of wild cherry, the armoire of yellow pine. So, an unusual ambience, and one ponders whether itarises from the mismatched
Entering the town, Anthime began to see people leaving their houses to gather in groups before converging on the Place Royale. The men seemed excited, on edge in the heat, turning to call to one another, gesturing broadly but with seeming confidence. Anthime dropped off his bicycle at home before joining the general movement now flowing in from every direction toward the main square, where a smiling crowd milled around waving bottles and flags, gesticulating, dashing about, leaving barely enough space for the horse-drawn vehicles already arriving laden with passengers. Everyone appeared well pleased with the mobilization in a hubbub of feverish debates, hearty laughter, hymns, fanfares, and patriotic exclamations punctuated by the neighing of horses.
Across the square and beyond that animated throng red-faced with sweat and fervor, Anthime spotted Charles on the corner of the Rue Crébillon, by a silk merchantâs shop, and tried at a distance to catch his eye. Unsuccessful in this, he began making his way toward him through the crowd. Apparently remaining aloof from events, dressed as in his office at the factory in a close-fitting suit and a narrow, light-colored tie, Charles considered the crush of people without any visible emotion, wearing his Rêve Idéal camera from Girard &Boitte slung around his neck, as usual. Advancing toward him, Anthime had to steel and calm himself at the same time, a paradoxical yet necessary procedure he followed to master the intimidating uneasiness he felt in the presence of Charles, no matter what the occasion. The other man faced him for barely a second before looking down at the signet ring Anthime wore on his pinkie.
Hmm, said Charles, thatâs new. And youâre wearing it on your right hand, well, well. Theyâre usually worn on the left. I know, agreed Anthime, but it isnât a question of style, itâs because my wrist hurts. Indeed, said Charles condescendingly, and it doesnât bother you when you shake someoneâs hand. I shake so few hands, observed Anthime, and as I told you, itâs for those pains I get in my right wrist, it relieves them. The ringâs a bit heavy but it seems to work. Itâs a magnetic thing, if you like. Magnetic, repeated Charles with a trace of a smile, puffing a trace of a humph out his nose, shaking his head while shrugging one shoulder and looking awayâand completing these five actions in a single second, leaving Anthime feeling once again humiliated.
So, began Anthime, trying to carry on by jerkinghis thumb toward a group waving signs, what do you think of this. It was inevitable, replied Charles, closing one of his cold eyes to clap the other one to his view-finder, but it wonât last longer than two weeks at the most. Of that, Anthime ventured to remark, Iâm not so sure. Well, said Charles, tomorrow weâll see.
3
O N S UNDAY MORNING , Blanche awoke in her bedroom on the second floor of an imposing residence of the kind belonging to notaries, deputies, public officials, or plant managers: the Borne family runs the Borne-Sèze factory, and Blanche is their only daughter.
A strangely discordant atmosphere reigns in this albeit peaceful and orderly room. Framed local scenesâ barges on the Loire, fishermenâs lives on the island of Noirmoutierâadorn the slightly off-center flowered wallpaper, and the furniture bespeaks an effort toward woodlands diversity worthy of an arboretum: a mirrored walnut bonnetière , 5 a writing desk of oak, a mahogany chest of drawers with fruitwood veneer, while the bed is of wild cherry, the armoire of yellow pine. So, an unusual ambience, and one ponders whether itarises from the mismatched
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