الفصل الفصل 196 · THE VETERANS THEMSELVES CAN BE HAPPY

Since we have pronounced the word modesty, and since we conceal

nothing, we ought to say that once, nevertheless, in spite of his

ecstasies, “his Ursule” caused him very serious grief. It was on one of

the days when she persuaded M. Leblanc to leave the bench and stroll

along the walk. A brisk May breeze was blowing, which swayed the crests

of the plaintain-trees. The father and daughter, arm in arm, had just

passed Marius’ bench. Marius had risen to his feet behind them, and was

following them with his eyes, as was fitting in the desperate situation

of his soul.

All at once, a gust of wind, more merry than the rest, and probably

charged with performing the affairs of Springtime, swept down from the

nursery, flung itself on the alley, enveloped the young girl in a

delicious shiver, worthy of Virgil’s nymphs, and the fawns of

Theocritus, and lifted her dress, the robe more sacred than that of

Isis, almost to the height of her garter. A leg of exquisite shape

appeared. Marius saw it. He was exasperated and furious.

The young girl had hastily thrust down her dress, with a divinely

troubled motion, but he was nonetheless angry for all that. He was

alone in the alley, it is true. But there might have been some one

there. And what if there had been some one there! Can any one

comprehend such a thing? What she had just done is horrible!—Alas, the

poor child had done nothing; there had been but one culprit, the wind;

but Marius, in whom quivered the Bartholo who exists in Cherubin, was

determined to be vexed, and was jealous of his own shadow. It is thus,

in fact, that the harsh and capricious jealousy of the flesh awakens in

the human heart, and takes possession of it, even without any right.

Moreover, setting aside even that jealousy, the sight of that charming

leg had contained nothing agreeable for him; the white stocking of the

first woman he chanced to meet would have afforded him more pleasure.

When “his Ursule,” after having reached the end of the walk, retraced

her steps with M. Leblanc, and passed in front of the bench on which

Marius had seated himself once more, Marius darted a sullen and

ferocious glance at her. The young girl gave way to that slight

straightening up with a backward movement, accompanied by a raising of

the eyelids, which signifies: “Well, what is the matter?”

This was “their first quarrel.”

Marius had hardly made this scene at her with his eyes, when some one

crossed the walk. It was a veteran, very much bent, extremely wrinkled,

and pale, in a uniform of the Louis XV. pattern, bearing on his breast

the little oval plaque of red cloth, with the crossed swords, the

soldier’s cross of Saint-Louis, and adorned, in addition, with a

coat-sleeve, which had no arm within it, with a silver chin and a

wooden leg. Marius thought he perceived that this man had an extremely

well satisfied air. It even struck him that the aged cynic, as he

hobbled along past him, addressed to him a very fraternal and very

merry wink, as though some chance had created an understanding between

them, and as though they had shared some piece of good luck together.

What did that relic of Mars mean by being so contented? What had passed

between that wooden leg and the other? Marius reached a paroxysm of

jealousy.—“Perhaps he was there!” he said to himself; “perhaps he

saw!”—And he felt a desire to exterminate the veteran.

With the aid of time, all points grow dull. Marius’ wrath against

“Ursule,” just and legitimate as it was, passed off. He finally

pardoned her; but this cost him a great effort; he sulked for three

days.

Nevertheless, in spite of all this, and because of all this, his

passion augmented and grew to madness.