Autumn Glory; Or, The Toilers of the FieldBazin, René
General
Autumn Glory; Or, The Toilers of the Field
Bazin, René
Peasants -- France -- Fiction; Vendée (France) -- Fiction
"Oh, he went off like François; is conductor on the tramway to
Nantes."
"And Dominique Perrocheau of Levrelles?"
The farmer shrugged his shoulders with annoyance, for, in
truth, it was aggravating to be obliged constantly to answer
"Gone--left--deserted the Marais." However he had to say:
"You heard, doubtless, that he gained his gold stripes at the end of
his first leave; then he obtained further promotion, and was given
some post, I don't know where, as Government clerk. A set of stupid
fellows, all of them--not worth much, my Driot!"
"Ah, now I see Terre d'Aymont," cried Driot. "It seems nearer than it
used to be; I can distinguish their wind-mill. Tell me, father, there
were two of my playfellows there, sons of Massonneau le Glorieux, one
older, the other younger than me. What are they doing?"
Radiant, Toussaint Lumineau made reply:
"Both on the farm. The eldest exempted his brother. They are fine
fellows who do not mind hard work; you will see them to-morrow at mass
in Sallertaine."
With a light, happy laugh the young soldier said:
"Ah, by-the-bye, one must get into the way of attending mass again, I
suppose. In the army devotion did not trouble us much. Sundays were
rather a favourite day for our chiefs to hold reviews ... they don't
look at things as you do. But you see, father, I will soon accustom
myself to going to mass again--even to high mass--it is not that that
will be the difficulty."
"What then, my lad?"
They were both silent for a moment. Another turn in the road had
revealed La Fromentière on their left. With a simultaneous movement
father and son had risen and were standing almost upright, one hand on
the front of the carriage, contemplating the property, La Rousse
trotting along, unheeded by the driver.
A great, tender rush of feeling, cruel withal, paled André's face. The
land was welcoming a son of its soil; all the scattered recollections
of his childhood awoke and called aloud to him; there was not a
hillock that did not greet him, not a furze-bush, not a lopped elm but
had a friendly look for him. But one and all, too, recalled the
brother and sister he would find there no more.
Without turning his eyes from La Fromentière Driot replied, after a
silence, and without naming those of whom he was thinking:
"I will go and see them at La Roche ... of course I will ... but
brotherhood is not altogether the same when one has broken from the
old place...."
An instant later he was holding Rousille, who had run out into the
courtyard to meet him, high in his arms, looking her full in the face,
into the very depth of her eyes, with the gaze of a brother whose
military experience has made him somewhat suspicious of maidenly
virtue; but seeing that her eyes met his in all frankness, but with
something of a sad expression, he kissed her, and set her down on
terra firma again.
"Always the same, little sister! That's good; but a little sorry at
having lost Lionore, eh?"
"You can see that?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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