Simon sighed as he looked at her, shaking his head
— like J6use he had once fought against the Prussians.
When a lad he had stood on the fortifications of Paris,
so that Simon knew all about war and the way it had
of ignoring mothers, the poor souls . . . the poor,
anxious, pitiful souls . . . 'Our son's address is: La
Patrie,' he told her.

She acquiesced meekly: 'Mais oui, you are right.
I am stupid — I think I am growing old. Guillaume
sends you his love — but read for yourself. It appears
they are full of courage and hope, not at all down-
hearted, our Guillaume says. And he wants us to
know that he is quite well, that the life seems to suit
him —that he is happy.'

At la Tarasque Mere Melanie opened much wine,
and not always, these days, would she accept payment.
'Non, non, mon brave! Keep your francs for your-
self. And now give your Mere Melanie a good kiss —
yes, and write to her sometimes when you get the
chance. Alexandre! Hurry up, Pierre waits for his
wine. And be careful not to slip on the cellar stairs —
you know what I told you, a bottle of porto.5
Mere Melanie must frequently wipe her eyes, fishing
her handkerchief out of the bag that contained the
piety medal and the lip-stick. And the more they
joked and kissed her and joked, and swore to come
back, if only to please her, the more she must fish in
the untidy bag. Ah, the lovely fellows!
'Alexandre! Bring champagne, a couple of bottles.
Did you hear me, Alexandre? I said bring a couple of
bottles of champagne; and after that you can give us
some music/
So the little violinist with the hump on his back
would fetch the champagne and then begin playing.
And now he played tunes that had come with the
348 • .