their dyed hair, and wore dark-coloured dresses and pink stockings.
‘You’ll be happier in Saint-Elme,’ said Agnès.
‘In Saint-Elme? Impossible. You would have to be accepted by Grandfather as …’
She interrupted with a laugh. ‘How silly you are. Why would I care about that? As long as we’re together, why would that even matter?’ She touched his arm gently. ‘I love you and nothing matters but you.’
‘That may be how it seems because we were apart for so long,’ he whispered.
‘No. I’ll feel the same way in twenty years.’
‘So, we must be very happy, then?’ he said with a teasing smile.
‘You mean you don’t think so, you ungrateful thing?’
‘The past four years have been so long,’ he said, ‘so difficult.’
‘Yes, but surely we have used up all our bad luck in one go.’
‘No doubt about that,’ replied Pierre. ‘No one should have to pay such a price twice.’
He stopped, placed his hand over his chest. ‘I’m out of breath. I can’t walk any more.’
‘I’ll get a taxi. We’ll go home.’
They returned quickly to their flat. There weren’t a lot of people left on the dark streets, beneath the moonlight. Families turned on their lamps and ate their dinner, without a thought for the rest of the world. The foreigners crowded into the dance halls and restaurants. Suddenly, Paris seemed half empty. Paris seemed bled dry.
15
Pierre’s and Agnès’s second child, a girl, was born in Saint-Elme in 1920. The young Hardelots were living with Marthe. The new house had the same proportions and was in the same position as the old one. Its solid walls stood between the main street and the garden, in the shadow of the factory; it proudly displayed its glass awning above its three stone steps. But the bower was no longer there and the trees had all been felled. Beneath the sunlight, the bare garden made Madame Hardelot sigh. ‘It’s scorching out … We have no shade any more,’ she said.
That summer was particularly hot. After lunch, Agnès took her two children, Guy, who was seven, and Colette, whom she was still breastfeeding, to the Coudre Woods. The baby was asleep in the pram, under a gauze cover to protect her from the flies. Guy was playing with the pine cones, wiping his dirty hands on his mother’s skirt.Agnès was sewing. After an hour, Madame Hardelot appeared, with Madame Florent at her heels.
‘Agnès, this child doesn’t have a hat on,’ Marthe remarked.
‘It doesn’t matter, Mother, there’s no sun here.’
‘There may be no sun but there’s a storm brewing.’
‘Look at this little girl; she laughs whenever she sees me,’ said Madame Florent.
The two grandmothers looked at the baby who was waking up, waving her arms about and crying shrilly. Each of them wanted to pick her up and rock her. The same scene took place ten times a day. Agnès waved a branch to shoo away the flies and mosquitoes that were stinging her bare arms and neck. After the two grandmothers had sufficiently upset the baby, they handed her over to her mother.
‘Poor little thing, she wants her mother. Don’t you, my darling, my little sweetie? Calm your daughter down. You don’t know what you’re doing. What’s wrong with her?’
‘She was happily sleeping and you woke her up.’
‘Me? But I didn’t touch her. It’s always the same. I won’t go near these children any more,’ said Madame Florent.
The pine needles were slippery. There was a sweet smell of decay. It was stiflingly hot. Earlier, Agnès had found a little silver ring in the Coudre Woods.
‘What’s that, Mama?’ her son asked.
‘It’s mine, my darling,’ she replied. ‘I lost it here ten years ago. I was going for a walk with your papa …’
She fell silent. She smiled. It was the first time they’d met here. She was listening to him talk and was unconsciously playing with the ring; it was too big and she’d dropped it; it rolled under some leaves. They tried to find it, but
‘You’ll be happier in Saint-Elme,’ said Agnès.
‘In Saint-Elme? Impossible. You would have to be accepted by Grandfather as …’
She interrupted with a laugh. ‘How silly you are. Why would I care about that? As long as we’re together, why would that even matter?’ She touched his arm gently. ‘I love you and nothing matters but you.’
‘That may be how it seems because we were apart for so long,’ he whispered.
‘No. I’ll feel the same way in twenty years.’
‘So, we must be very happy, then?’ he said with a teasing smile.
‘You mean you don’t think so, you ungrateful thing?’
‘The past four years have been so long,’ he said, ‘so difficult.’
‘Yes, but surely we have used up all our bad luck in one go.’
‘No doubt about that,’ replied Pierre. ‘No one should have to pay such a price twice.’
He stopped, placed his hand over his chest. ‘I’m out of breath. I can’t walk any more.’
‘I’ll get a taxi. We’ll go home.’
They returned quickly to their flat. There weren’t a lot of people left on the dark streets, beneath the moonlight. Families turned on their lamps and ate their dinner, without a thought for the rest of the world. The foreigners crowded into the dance halls and restaurants. Suddenly, Paris seemed half empty. Paris seemed bled dry.
15
Pierre’s and Agnès’s second child, a girl, was born in Saint-Elme in 1920. The young Hardelots were living with Marthe. The new house had the same proportions and was in the same position as the old one. Its solid walls stood between the main street and the garden, in the shadow of the factory; it proudly displayed its glass awning above its three stone steps. But the bower was no longer there and the trees had all been felled. Beneath the sunlight, the bare garden made Madame Hardelot sigh. ‘It’s scorching out … We have no shade any more,’ she said.
That summer was particularly hot. After lunch, Agnès took her two children, Guy, who was seven, and Colette, whom she was still breastfeeding, to the Coudre Woods. The baby was asleep in the pram, under a gauze cover to protect her from the flies. Guy was playing with the pine cones, wiping his dirty hands on his mother’s skirt.Agnès was sewing. After an hour, Madame Hardelot appeared, with Madame Florent at her heels.
‘Agnès, this child doesn’t have a hat on,’ Marthe remarked.
‘It doesn’t matter, Mother, there’s no sun here.’
‘There may be no sun but there’s a storm brewing.’
‘Look at this little girl; she laughs whenever she sees me,’ said Madame Florent.
The two grandmothers looked at the baby who was waking up, waving her arms about and crying shrilly. Each of them wanted to pick her up and rock her. The same scene took place ten times a day. Agnès waved a branch to shoo away the flies and mosquitoes that were stinging her bare arms and neck. After the two grandmothers had sufficiently upset the baby, they handed her over to her mother.
‘Poor little thing, she wants her mother. Don’t you, my darling, my little sweetie? Calm your daughter down. You don’t know what you’re doing. What’s wrong with her?’
‘She was happily sleeping and you woke her up.’
‘Me? But I didn’t touch her. It’s always the same. I won’t go near these children any more,’ said Madame Florent.
The pine needles were slippery. There was a sweet smell of decay. It was stiflingly hot. Earlier, Agnès had found a little silver ring in the Coudre Woods.
‘What’s that, Mama?’ her son asked.
‘It’s mine, my darling,’ she replied. ‘I lost it here ten years ago. I was going for a walk with your papa …’
She fell silent. She smiled. It was the first time they’d met here. She was listening to him talk and was unconsciously playing with the ring; it was too big and she’d dropped it; it rolled under some leaves. They tried to find it, but
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