The Works of Guy de Maupassant, Vol. 1: Boule de Suif and Other StoriesMaupassant, Guy de
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The Works of Guy de Maupassant, Vol. 1: Boule de Suif and Other Stories
Maupassant, Guy de
French fiction -- Translations into English; Short stories, French -- Translations into English
No one spoke for the first little while. Boule de Suif did not venture
to raise her eyes. She felt incensed at her companions, and at the same
time deeply humiliated at having yielded to their persuasions, and let
herself be sullied by the kisses of this Prussian into whose arms they
had hypocritically thrust her.
The Countess was the first to break the uncomfortable silence. Turning
to Madame Carre-Lamadon, she said, "You know Madame d'Etrelles, I
think?"
"Oh, yes; she is a great friend of mine."
"What a charming woman!"
"Fascinating! So truly refined; very cultivated, too, and an artist to
the tips of her fingers--she sings delightfully, and draws to
perfection."
The manufacturer was talking to the Count, and through the rattle
of the crazy windowpanes one caught a word here and there;
shares--dividends--premium--settling day--and the like. Loiseau, who had
appropriated an old pack of cards from the inn, thick with the grease of
the five years' rubbing on dirty tables, started a game of bezique with
his wife. The two Sisters pulled up the long rosaries hanging at their
waists, made the sign of the cross, and suddenly began moving their lips
rapidly, faster and faster, hurrying their vague babble as if for a
wager; kissing a medal from time to time, crossing themselves again, and
then resuming their rapid and monotonous murmur.
Cornudet sat motionless--thinking.
At the end of the three hours' steady traveling Loiseau gathered up his
cards and remarked facetiously, "It's turning hungry."
His wife then produced a parcel, which she untied, and brought out a
piece of cold veal. This she cut up into thin, firm slices, and both
began to eat.
"Supposing we do the same?" said the Countess, and proceeded to unpack
the provisions prepared for both couples. In one of those oblong dishes
with a china hare upon the cover to indicate that a roast hare lies
beneath, was a succulent selection of cold viands--brown slices of juicy
venison mingled with other meats. A delicious square of gruyere cheese
wrapped in newspaper still bore imprinted on its dewy surface the words
"General News."
The two Sisters brought out a sausage smelling of garlic, and Cornudet,
plunging his hands into the vast pockets of his loose greatcoat, drew up
four hard-boiled eggs from one and a big crust of bread from the other.
He peeled off the shells and threw them into the straw under his feet,
and proceeded to bite into the egg, dropping pieces of the yolk into his
long beard, from whence they shone out like stars.
In the hurry and confusion of the morning Boule de Suif had omitted to
take thought for the future, and she looked on, furious, choking with
mortification, at these people all munching away so placidly. A storm
of rage convulsed her, and she opened her mouth to hurl at them the
torrent of abuse that rose to her lips, but she could not speak,
suffocated by her indignation.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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