lids dropped he complained that the house was like
a ship in a tempest —such rushing about, and no
meals, if you please! 'Why? because the white muslin
dress of my niece does not fit; it is found to be much too
tight, and to-morrow she makes her First Communion/
Ah, the dear little children —the dear Mother of
God — the dear Jesus — it is all so terribly moving.
Alas, that she, unhappy Mere Melanie, has never been
granted a child by heaven — a girl child who could
wear a white muslin dress, white suede shoes and a
wreath of white cotton roses. So many years of men,
always men, and they as alike as two peas in a pod
and with only one idea in their heads . . . And they
strutting and crowing like cocks in a barnyard: €Mais,
ma cherie, if you think you have known the real thing
before you met me, only wait, I will shew you! Mais
non, you have never yet known the real thing!*
And they as alike as two peas in a pod — lascivious,
selfish and clumsy; quels salauds! But one put up
with men for the sake of a child. Ah, the dear little
children — the dear Mother of God — the dear Jesus
— it is all so terribly moving.
Mere Melanie gropes about in her bag; she finds
lipstick, a small box of soiled face-powder, the key of
the cellar, some unpaid bills, an odd curling-pin and a
piety medal; and at last, tucked away in a fold of
torn silk, her handkerchief heavily scented with
chypre, and with this she quite openly dabs her eyes
several times — it is all so terribly moving.
Christophe sits alone. He has climbed once again
to the old citadel with its garrison of lizards. The
lizards run over his feet and hands but he does not
see them for his eyes are closed. He is not asleep, he is
only very tired — too tired to think much, to feel any
emotion. To-morrow he is going to receive his Lord,
he and Jan are going to receive their Lord . . . But
Christophe is too tired to feel any emotion.
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