The Chateau by William Maxwell Page B

looked again at the clock that straddled the roof tree of the back wing. It had stopped at quarter of twelve. But quarter of twelve how long ago? And why was there no water in the pond? Seen from the rear, the whole place cried out that there had once been money and the money was gone, frittered away.
    They noticed a gap in the hedge, and, walking through it, found themselves in a huge garden where fruit trees, rose trees, flowers, and vegetables were mingled in a way that surprised and delighted them. So did the scarecrow, which was dressed in striped morning trousers and a blue cotton smock. Under the straw hat the stuffed head had sly features painted on it. They saw old Mme Bonenfant at the far end of the garden, and walked slowly toward her. By the time they arrived at the sweet-pea trench her basket was full. She laid her garden shears across the long green stems and took the Americans on a tour of the garden, pointing out the espaliered fruit trees and telling them the French names of flowers. She did not understand their schoolroom French. They felt shy with her. But the tour did not last very long, and they understood that she was being kind, that she wanted them to feel at home. Leading them to some big fat bushes that were swathed in burlap against the birds, she told them to help themselves to the currants and gooseberries, andthen she went on down the garden path to the house.
    A few minutes later they left the garden themselves and followed the cinder drive down to the public road, where they turned left, in the opposite direction from the village. The road led them past fields on one side and the forest on the other. They came to a farmhouse and an excitable dog, detecting an odor that was not French, barked furiously at them; then to an opening in the forest, where a wagon track wound in through tall oak trees and out of sight. They left the road and followed the wagon track. The tree trunks were green with moss and there was no underbrush, which made the forest look unreal. The ground under their feet was covered with delicate ferns. Barbara kept stooping to gather acorns. These had a high polish and a beautiful shape and were smaller than the acorns she was accustomed to. Her pockets were soon full of them.
    â€œWe don’t have to stay,” she said, turning and looking at him.
    â€œNo,” he agreed doubtfully. He was relieved, now she had given voice to his own uneasiness. But at the same time, how could they leave? “Of course we don’t,” he said. “Not if we don’t want to.”
    â€œBut we said we’d stay two weeks. What if she’s counting on that, and has turned other people away?”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œSo in a way, we’re bound to do what we said we’d do.”
    â€œWe could tell her, I guess,” he said. “The trouble is, we’ll never have anywhere else as good a chance to learn to speak French.”
    â€œThat’s true.”
    â€œAnd later we may be glad we stuck it out. We may find when we get to Paris that it is possible to talk to people in a way that we haven’t been able to, so far.”
    â€œSo let’s stay,” she said.
    â€œWe’ll try it for a few days, and then if it doesn’t work, we can leave.”
    There seemed to be no end to the forest. After a short whilethey turned back, not because they were afraid of getting lost—there was only one road—but the way swimmers confronted with the immensity of the ocean swim out a little way and then, though they could easily swim farther, give way to a nameless fear and turn and head for the shore.
    As they came back up the cinder drive, they saw the Canadian pacing the terrace in front of the château and staring up at the sky. The clouds had coalesced for the first time in several days, and the sun was trying to break through.
    Away from the French, he seemed perfectly friendly, and willing to acknowledge the fact that Canada is