A Selection from the Writings of Guy De Maupassant, Vol. IMaupassant, Guy de
General
A Selection from the Writings of Guy De Maupassant, Vol. I
Maupassant, Guy de
France -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Short stories, French -- Translations into English
Seized at last with terror, I succeeded in dragging myself out of the
main avenue, and in concealing myself again among the shrubbery, so as
to watch the disappearance of the most cherished objects, the smallest,
the least striking, the least unknown which had once belonged to me.
I then heard, in the distance, noises which came from my apartments,
which sounded now as if the house were empty, a loud noise of shutting
of doors. They were being slammed from top to bottom of my dwelling,
even the door which I had just opened myself unconsciously, and which
had closed of itself, when the last thing had taken its departure. I
took flight also, running toward the city, and only regained my
self-composure, on reaching the boulevards, where I met belated people.
I rang the bell of a hotel were I was known. I had knocked the dust off
my clothes with my hands, and I told the porter that I had lost my
bunch of keys, which included also that to the kitchen garden, where my
servants slept in a house standing by itself, on the other side of the
wall of the inclosure which protected my fruits and vegetables from the
raids of marauders.
I covered myself up to the eyes in the bed which was assigned to me,
but could not sleep; and I waited for the dawn listening to the
throbbing of my heart. I had given orders that my servants were to be
summoned to the hotel at daybreak, and my valet de chambre knocked at
my door at seven o'clock in the morning.
His countenance bore a woeful look.
"A great misfortune has happened during the night, Monsieur," said he.
"What is it?"
"Somebody has stolen the whole of Monsieur's furniture, all,
everything, even to the smallest articles."
This news pleased me. Why? Who knows? I was complete master of myself,
bent on dissimulating, on telling no one of anything I had seen;
determined on concealing and in burying in my heart of hearts a
terrible secret. I responded:
"They must then be the same people who have stolen my keys. The police
must be informed immediately. I am going to get up, and I will join you
in a few moments."
The investigation into the circumstances under which the robbery might
have been committed lasted for five months. Nothing was found, not even
the smallest of my knickknacks, nor the least trace of the thieves.
Good gracious! If I had only told them what I knew--If I had said--I
should have been locked up--I, not the thieves--for I was the only
person who had seen everything from the first.
Yes! but I knew how to keep silence. I shall never refurnish my house.
That were indeed useless. The same thing would happen again. I had no
desire even to re-enter the house, and I did not re-enter it; I never
visited it again. I moved to Paris, to the hotel, and consulted doctors
in regard to the condition of my nerves, which had disquieted me a good
deal ever since that awful night.
They advised me to travel, and I followed their counsel.
II.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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