Short stories, French -- Translations into English
The next morning a bright winter sunshine made the snow dazzling.
The coach, finally harnessed, was waiting at the door, while
an army of white pigeons, ensconced in their white feathers, with
their pink eyes spotted in the middle with small black dots, were
walking leisurely between the legs of the six horses and picking
their food from the steaming manure which they were scattering.
The driver, wrapped up in his sheepskin cloak, was up on his seat,
smoking a pipe, and all the travelers, looking radiant, were having
provisions packed up for the rest of the trip.
Boule de Suif only had not come down. She appeared.
She seemed to be rather confused, bashful; shyly, she walked up to
her companions who, all with the same movement, turned away from
her as if they had not seen her. The Count, dignified, took his
wife by the arm and removed her from this impure contact.
The girl stood still, stupefied; then picking up all her courage
she accosted the manufacturer's wife with a--"Good morning,
Madame!"--humbly muttered. The other answered only with a short
and impertinent nod accompanied by a look of outraged virtue.
Everybody seemed to be busy and kept away from her as if she were
carrying some infectious germs in her skirt. Then they rushed up
to the coach, in which she entered last, without being helped by
anyone, and silently she took the seat she had occupied during the
final part of the journey.
They feigned not to see her, not to know her; but Mme. Loiseau,
looking at her indignantly from a distance, told her husband half
aloud:--"Fortunately I am not sitting next to her."--
The heavy coach started and the journey was resumed.
First nobody spoke. Boule de Suif did not dare raise her eyes.
At the same time she felt indignant at all her companions, and
humiliated for having yielded to the Prussian Officer into whose
arms she had been hypocritically forced by them.
But the Countess, turning to Madame Carré-Lamadon, broke soon this
painful silence.
--"I think you knew Madame d'Estrelles."
--"Yes, she is one of my friends."
--"What a charming woman!"
--"Fascinating! Really a select nature, besides highly educated,
and an artist to the tips of her fingers. She sings delightfully
and paints to perfection."
The manufacturer was talking with the Count, and in the middle of
the clatter of the window-panes, one could catch here and there a
word:--"Coupon--maturity--premium--term--"
Loiseau, who had stolen from the inn the old pack of cards, greasy
after five years friction on dirty tables, started a game of
"bezigue" with his wife.
The good sisters took from their belts the long rosaries, made
simultaneously the sign of the cross and suddenly their lips began
to move rapidly, becoming more and more accelerated, precipitating
their vague murmur as if in a race of "orisons;" and now and then
they kissed a medal, crossed themselves again, and resumed their
swift and continuous mutterings.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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