Twice, he put out his hand to take back the photo.
'Have you any others?'
He had, but he hid them, pushed them quickly into an envelope, left nothing on the table except the pocketbook with the rubber band round it. The auburn fluff on the back of Alice's neck was very close to his eyes as he suddenly said:
'I've been thinking. There's only one way out: will you go away with me?'
At this she turned her head slowly, and stared at him, speechless, in stupefaction. And he, with agitated fingers, pulled off the rubber band, opened the pocketbook, and spread the Government Bonds out on the table.
'There are eighty thousand francs' worth here. I shall keep on earning more . . .'
It had come out so simply, so unexpectedly, that even he felt taken aback, for this was the most extraordinary moment of his life, its culminating point. Yet everything was happening unemotionally, unimpressively. Alice was sitting down on the edge of the table and putting her hands on his shoulders.
'My poor dear!'
'What?'
'Nothing! I only wish we could. It's not much fun living here. But. . .'
'But what?'
'Everything!'
And she walked across the room, picked up the alarm-clock, put it down in another place.
'To begin with, Émiie wouldn't let us get away. He'd be sure to find us in the end, and he'd make no bones about. . .'
'I've thought of that. We needn't be afraid of him.'
She opened her eyes wide, waited motionless for what would come next. And Mr. Hire, putting the Bonds into the pocketbook again, explained hesitatingly.
'Suppose we began by going to Switzerland, travelling separately. As soon as we were across the frontier, we'd send a telegram.'
'To the police?' she cried with a start.
And he answered simply:
'Yes. They arrest him. After the trial we come back and . ..'
Alice kept a grip on herself. She stared fiercely at the floor, struggling to get her breathing under control. She found herself looking at Mr. Hire's slippers and the turn-ups of his trousers. She swallowed twice, and at last managed to raise her head and produce something resembling a smile.
'I don't quite know . . .' she whispered.
'It's the only way. I've been thinking it over. Now it's your turn to think.'
He came a step closer and took her hand in both his, which were hot and moist.
'Will you trust me? I think I could make you happy.'
She could not manage to speak. Her hand lay like a dead weight, her eyes were staring.
'We could live in the country . . .'
His hands travelled up her bare arm as far as the elbow. Mr. Hire moved much closer.
'Let me know to-morrow . . .'
And he suddenly laid his cheek on the dairy-maid's shoulder. She could see him in the mirror, his eyes closed, his lips parted in a faint smile.
'Don't say no straight away!'
It was the warmest part of his cheek, the round rosy patch, that was touching Alice's skin.
VIII
W HILE she was undressing, with those few movements which custom had turned into a ritual, and which brought the lines of her body gradually into dearer evidence, until the moment when the white nightdress was pulled over it, the dairy-maid avoided turning her face towards the blank stare of the three sheets of brown paper. She could display her breasts and hips. She could press her thighs and stomach against Mr. Hire, and she would not have shrunk away if he had responded to the invitation, instead of closing his eyes in tender emotion.
What she could not do was to let him see her face, which was merely sullen and preoccupied.
As soon as her nightdress was on she switched off the light and, to be on the safe side, got into bed for a moment, while the light in the room opposite went out in its turn. She had been thinking so hard that her forehead felt as though barred with iron. She got up noiselessly, groped for her shoes, slipped her bare feet into them, then put on her green coat over her nightdress. She had already opened the door when she turned back and picked up off her dressing-table a bottle which
'Have you any others?'
He had, but he hid them, pushed them quickly into an envelope, left nothing on the table except the pocketbook with the rubber band round it. The auburn fluff on the back of Alice's neck was very close to his eyes as he suddenly said:
'I've been thinking. There's only one way out: will you go away with me?'
At this she turned her head slowly, and stared at him, speechless, in stupefaction. And he, with agitated fingers, pulled off the rubber band, opened the pocketbook, and spread the Government Bonds out on the table.
'There are eighty thousand francs' worth here. I shall keep on earning more . . .'
It had come out so simply, so unexpectedly, that even he felt taken aback, for this was the most extraordinary moment of his life, its culminating point. Yet everything was happening unemotionally, unimpressively. Alice was sitting down on the edge of the table and putting her hands on his shoulders.
'My poor dear!'
'What?'
'Nothing! I only wish we could. It's not much fun living here. But. . .'
'But what?'
'Everything!'
And she walked across the room, picked up the alarm-clock, put it down in another place.
'To begin with, Émiie wouldn't let us get away. He'd be sure to find us in the end, and he'd make no bones about. . .'
'I've thought of that. We needn't be afraid of him.'
She opened her eyes wide, waited motionless for what would come next. And Mr. Hire, putting the Bonds into the pocketbook again, explained hesitatingly.
'Suppose we began by going to Switzerland, travelling separately. As soon as we were across the frontier, we'd send a telegram.'
'To the police?' she cried with a start.
And he answered simply:
'Yes. They arrest him. After the trial we come back and . ..'
Alice kept a grip on herself. She stared fiercely at the floor, struggling to get her breathing under control. She found herself looking at Mr. Hire's slippers and the turn-ups of his trousers. She swallowed twice, and at last managed to raise her head and produce something resembling a smile.
'I don't quite know . . .' she whispered.
'It's the only way. I've been thinking it over. Now it's your turn to think.'
He came a step closer and took her hand in both his, which were hot and moist.
'Will you trust me? I think I could make you happy.'
She could not manage to speak. Her hand lay like a dead weight, her eyes were staring.
'We could live in the country . . .'
His hands travelled up her bare arm as far as the elbow. Mr. Hire moved much closer.
'Let me know to-morrow . . .'
And he suddenly laid his cheek on the dairy-maid's shoulder. She could see him in the mirror, his eyes closed, his lips parted in a faint smile.
'Don't say no straight away!'
It was the warmest part of his cheek, the round rosy patch, that was touching Alice's skin.
VIII
W HILE she was undressing, with those few movements which custom had turned into a ritual, and which brought the lines of her body gradually into dearer evidence, until the moment when the white nightdress was pulled over it, the dairy-maid avoided turning her face towards the blank stare of the three sheets of brown paper. She could display her breasts and hips. She could press her thighs and stomach against Mr. Hire, and she would not have shrunk away if he had responded to the invitation, instead of closing his eyes in tender emotion.
What she could not do was to let him see her face, which was merely sullen and preoccupied.
As soon as her nightdress was on she switched off the light and, to be on the safe side, got into bed for a moment, while the light in the room opposite went out in its turn. She had been thinking so hard that her forehead felt as though barred with iron. She got up noiselessly, groped for her shoes, slipped her bare feet into them, then put on her green coat over her nightdress. She had already opened the door when she turned back and picked up off her dressing-table a bottle which
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