thoughts, but on the spur of the moment he could find no others. Similarly, in a fight, one does not always strike where one intends to strike.
'And if I told everything to Pascali?'
He looked at her, a hard look, with his teeth clenched, for she had found a threat which carried weight.
'I should leave just the same.'
'Without her?'
'With or without her.'
'You would abandon La Bastide?'
Viciously, she was casting about for arguments to wound him.
She sneered:
'Would you get yourself a job again as a hotel cook?'
'Why not?'
Something was slipping somewhere. There was no longer any point of contact.
'Think carefully, Emile.'
'No.'
'And if I killed myself?'
'I should be a widower.'
'Would you marry her?'
He preferred not to reply. Already he regretted his unintended cruelty. It was Berthe who had started it. He had felt no tremor in her which could be attributed to love.
Nothing but disappointment, the fury of outraged ownership.
They were walking in silence now, and when they crossed a patch of sunlight, some grasshoppers chirped at their feet.
'You're sure you don't want to wait until tomorrow?'
'I'm sure.'
He was obdurate. Even as a small boy his mother used to claim that sometimes he made people want to give him a good slap on account of his pigheadedness.
They covered another hundred yards without a word.
'There is one thing, at least, which I have the right to insist on.'
'What is that?'
'For the others, even for Madame Lavaud and the Maubis, there must be no change.'
He was not sure he had understood.
'We shall go on living to all appearances as we have done in the past, and we shall continue to share the same bedroom.'
He just stopped himself from putting in:
'And the same bed?'
But he didn't want to take too much advantage of her.
'As for this girl, she has ceased to exist as far as I am concerned, and I shall not address another word to her except to give her essential orders.'
He had to restrain a smile of contentment. After all, it was a victory he had won, thanks to Berthe's pride.
'Your dirty little tricks have nothing to do with me, but I don't want everybody to know about them, and if you're lucky enough to give her a child, I forbid you to recognize it.'
He had never considered the problem from this angle and he knew nothing of the law.
'Is that settled?'
They had come to a halt, face to face, and this time they were now definitely nothing more to each other than strangers.
Was Berthe tempted, as he feared for a few seconds, to throw herself into his arms?
'It's settled!' he said quietly.
Without waiting for her, he headed with long strides towards La Bastide, and in the kitchen doorway found Ada helping Madame La-vaud to peel potatoes as if nothing had happened.
He simply gave her a wink, to let her know that everything was all right.
He was satisfied and bewildered. In a ridiculously short time everything had changed, and yet life was going to go on as it had in the past. He didn't know yet how he would face it. He had never asked himself whether he loved Ada, nor with what sort of love, and he was still incapable of answering the question.
For the moment, she was only playing a subsidiary role in the drama. What counted was the rupture between Berthe and himself, a rupture accepted on both sides.
If, a few hours before, they were still husband and wife, they were from now onwards no more than strangers, colleagues to be more accurate, for there remained La Bastide, and it was doubtless on account of this that Berthe had proposed her strange status quo.
La Bastide held them both, love or no love, hate or no hate.
Berthe had bought him, just as Big Louis had bought the old farmhouse, he was more acutely aware of it than ever, and she had just dictated her terms.
He went to play bowls at Mouans-Sartoux. The hardest thing, that night, was undressing in front of her, for it seemed suddenly indecent to show her his naked body. Nor did he know whether he ought to say
'And if I told everything to Pascali?'
He looked at her, a hard look, with his teeth clenched, for she had found a threat which carried weight.
'I should leave just the same.'
'Without her?'
'With or without her.'
'You would abandon La Bastide?'
Viciously, she was casting about for arguments to wound him.
She sneered:
'Would you get yourself a job again as a hotel cook?'
'Why not?'
Something was slipping somewhere. There was no longer any point of contact.
'Think carefully, Emile.'
'No.'
'And if I killed myself?'
'I should be a widower.'
'Would you marry her?'
He preferred not to reply. Already he regretted his unintended cruelty. It was Berthe who had started it. He had felt no tremor in her which could be attributed to love.
Nothing but disappointment, the fury of outraged ownership.
They were walking in silence now, and when they crossed a patch of sunlight, some grasshoppers chirped at their feet.
'You're sure you don't want to wait until tomorrow?'
'I'm sure.'
He was obdurate. Even as a small boy his mother used to claim that sometimes he made people want to give him a good slap on account of his pigheadedness.
They covered another hundred yards without a word.
'There is one thing, at least, which I have the right to insist on.'
'What is that?'
'For the others, even for Madame Lavaud and the Maubis, there must be no change.'
He was not sure he had understood.
'We shall go on living to all appearances as we have done in the past, and we shall continue to share the same bedroom.'
He just stopped himself from putting in:
'And the same bed?'
But he didn't want to take too much advantage of her.
'As for this girl, she has ceased to exist as far as I am concerned, and I shall not address another word to her except to give her essential orders.'
He had to restrain a smile of contentment. After all, it was a victory he had won, thanks to Berthe's pride.
'Your dirty little tricks have nothing to do with me, but I don't want everybody to know about them, and if you're lucky enough to give her a child, I forbid you to recognize it.'
He had never considered the problem from this angle and he knew nothing of the law.
'Is that settled?'
They had come to a halt, face to face, and this time they were now definitely nothing more to each other than strangers.
Was Berthe tempted, as he feared for a few seconds, to throw herself into his arms?
'It's settled!' he said quietly.
Without waiting for her, he headed with long strides towards La Bastide, and in the kitchen doorway found Ada helping Madame La-vaud to peel potatoes as if nothing had happened.
He simply gave her a wink, to let her know that everything was all right.
He was satisfied and bewildered. In a ridiculously short time everything had changed, and yet life was going to go on as it had in the past. He didn't know yet how he would face it. He had never asked himself whether he loved Ada, nor with what sort of love, and he was still incapable of answering the question.
For the moment, she was only playing a subsidiary role in the drama. What counted was the rupture between Berthe and himself, a rupture accepted on both sides.
If, a few hours before, they were still husband and wife, they were from now onwards no more than strangers, colleagues to be more accurate, for there remained La Bastide, and it was doubtless on account of this that Berthe had proposed her strange status quo.
La Bastide held them both, love or no love, hate or no hate.
Berthe had bought him, just as Big Louis had bought the old farmhouse, he was more acutely aware of it than ever, and she had just dictated her terms.
He went to play bowls at Mouans-Sartoux. The hardest thing, that night, was undressing in front of her, for it seemed suddenly indecent to show her his naked body. Nor did he know whether he ought to say
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