Original Short Stories — Volume 04Maupassant, Guy de
General
Original Short Stories — Volume 04
Maupassant, Guy de
Short stories, French -- Translations into English
“The man was up in a second. He tried to run after the wretch, but,
seeing that he could not catch him, and maddened by an irresistible
anger, yielding to one of those thoughtless impulses which we cannot
foresee or prevent, he picked up my gun, which was lying on the ground.
near him, put it to his shoulder, and, before I could make a motion, he
pulled the trigger without even noticing whether or not the weapon was
loaded.
“One of the cartridges which I had put in to announce the fire was still
intact, and the charge caught the fugitive right in the back,--throwing
him forward on the ground, bleeding profusely. He immediately began to
claw the earth with his hands and with his knees, as though trying to
run on all fours like a rabbit who has been mortally wounded, and sees
the hunter approaching.
“I rushed forward to the boy, but I could already hear the death-rattle.
He passed away before the fire was extinguished, without having said a
word.
“Cavalier, still in his shirt, his legs bare, was standing near us,
motionless, dazed.
“When the people from the village arrived, my gamekeeper was taken away,
like an insane man.
“I appeared at the trial as witness, and related the facts in detail,
without changing a thing. Cavalier was acquitted. He disappeared that
very day, leaving the country.
“I have never seen him since.
“There, gentlemen, that is my story.”
THE STORY OF A FARM GIRL
PART I
As the weather was very fine, the people on the farm had hurried through
their dinner and had returned to the fields.
The servant, Rose, remained alone in the large kitchen, where the fire
was dying out on the hearth beneath the large boiler of hot water. From
time to time she dipped out some water and slowly washed her dishes,
stopping occasionally to look at the two streaks of light which the sun
threw across the long table through the window, and which showed the
defects in the glass.
Three venturesome hens were picking up the crumbs under the chairs,
while the smell of the poultry yard and the warmth from the cow stall
came in through the half-open door, and a cock was heard crowing in the
distance.
When she had finished her work, wiped down the table, dusted the
mantelpiece and put the plates on the high dresser close to the wooden
clock with its loud tick-tock, she drew a long breath, as she felt
rather oppressed, without exactly knowing why. She looked at the black
clay walls, the rafters that were blackened with smoke and from which
hung spiders' webs, smoked herrings and strings of onions, and then she
sat down, rather overcome by the stale odor from the earthen floor, on
which so many things had been continually spilled and which the heat
brought out. With this there was mingled the sour smell of the pans of
milk which were set out to raise the cream in the adjoining dairy.
She wanted to sew, as usual, but she did not feel strong enough, and so
she went to the door to get a mouthful of fresh air, which seemed to do
her good.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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