French fiction -- Translations into English; Paris (France) -- Fiction
How about buying a country house? They had not the means. To be sure,
there was the lover, who would have asked nothing better than to
gratify this latest whim; but a country house cannot be concealed like a
bracelet or a shawl. The husband must be induced to accept it. That was
not an easy matter; however, they might venture to try it with Risler.
To pave the way, she talked to him incessantly about a little nook in
the country, not too expensive, very near Paris. Risler listened with
a smile. He thought of the high grass, of the orchard filled with fine
fruit-trees, being already tormented by the longing to possess which
comes with wealth; but, as he was prudent, he said:
“We will see, we will see. Let us wait till the end of the year.”
The end of the year, that is to say, the striking of the balance-sheet.
The balance-sheet! That is the magic word. All through the year we go
on and on in the eddying whirl of business. Money comes and goes,
circulates, attracts other money, vanishes; and the fortune of the firm,
like a slippery, gleaming snake, always in motion, expands, contracts,
diminishes, or increases, and it is impossible to know our condition
until there comes a moment of rest. Not until the inventory shall
we know the truth, and whether the year, which seems to have been
prosperous, has really been so.
The account of stock is usually taken late in December, between
Christmas and New Year’s Day. As it requires much extra labor to prepare
it, everybody works far into the night. The whole establishment is
alert. The lamps remain lighted in the offices long after the doors are
closed, and seem to share in the festal atmosphere peculiar to that
last week of the year, when so many windows are illuminated for family
gatherings. Every one, even to the least important ‘employe’ of the
firm, is interested in the results of the inventory. The increases of
salary, the New Year’s presents, depend upon those blessed figures. And
so, while the vast interests of a wealthy house are trembling in the
balance, the wives and children and aged parents of the clerks, in their
fifth-floor tenements or poor apartments in the suburbs, talk of nothing
but the inventory, the results of which will make themselves felt
either by a greatly increased need of economy or by some purchase, long
postponed, which the New Year’s gift will make possible at last.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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