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By Root 1356 0

This whole business with the cousin, the Méhudins, Gavard, Quenu, and their stories, which no one understood, was all going to end badly. Madame Lecœur asked what they did to people who were arrested for their politics. All Mademoiselle Saget knew was that they were never seen again, never. This led La Sarriette to say that they were probably thrown into the Seine, just as Jules had told her. At the charcuterie, during both lunch and dinner, Lisa avoided any reference to the matter. In the evening, when Florent and Quenu started off for Monsieur Lebigre's, she seemed to have lost the hard look in her eyes. It happened that this same evening, the question of the new constitution was being discussed, and it was one in the morning before the debaters managed to leave the little room. The shutters were already in place, and they had to exit by a small door, ducking down one at a time to clear the door frame.

Quenu returned home with a troubled conscience. He opened the three or four doors on the way to his bedroom as quietly as he could. He tiptoed across the living room with his arms stretched out to avoid bumping into furniture.

Everyone was asleep. When he reached the bedroom, he was annoyed to find that Lisa had left the candle burning. It burned in silence, with a tall, sullen flame. As Quenu slipped off his shoes and placed them on a corner of the rug, the clock struck half past one with such a clear ring that he turned in panic, almost afraid to move, and saw, glaring with a look of reproach, the gilded Gutenberg standing there with his finger on a book.

He could see only Lisa's back. Her head was buried in a pillow. But he could sense that she was not asleep, and her eyes were probably wide open, staring at the wall. Her broad back, chubby at the shoulders, was pale and smooth. He exhaled and remained motionless, aware of the accusation for which he had no response.

Unnerved by the back that seemed to accuse him with the somber face of a judge, he slipped under the covers, blew out the candle, and lay motionless. He lay at the edge of the bed to avoid touching his wife. He could have sworn that she was awake. Then he slipped into sleep, in despair over her silence and not even daring to say “good night.” He was pinned helplessly against this massive back, which blocked his apologies from crossing to the other side of the bed.

He slept late the next morning. When he woke up, he was spread across the middle of the bed, the eiderdown comforter pulled up to his chin. He saw Lisa sitting at the desk, putting papers in order. In the deep sleep brought on by the previous night's debauch, he had not stirred when she got up. He mustered the courage to speak from the depth of the alcove. “Well! Why didn't you wake me up? What are you doing?”

“I'm organizing these drawers,” she said calmly in her ordinary voice.

He felt relieved. But Lisa added, “You never know what will happen. If the police were to come …”

“The police? Why the police?”

“Why not, since you have become political.”

He sat straight up in bed, completely thrown by this harsh, unforeseen attack.

“I've become political? All right, I've become political. But it doesn't have anything to do with the police. I'm not in any trouble.”

“Oh no,” Lisa answered, shrugging her shoulders. “You just talk about having everyone shot.”

“Me! Me!”

“And you shout this at a wine shop … Mademoiselle Saget heard you. Now the whole neighborhood knows you're a red.”

He lay back in the bed. He was not yet awake. Lisa's words echoed back from the door of the bedroom, as though he were already hearing the stamping of policemen's boots. He studied her, enclosed in her corset, her hair done, her usual circumspect self, and was even more thrown by finding her so carefully composed for such a dramatic moment.

“You know,” she said, “I leave you free to do what you want.” She went on arranging her papers and, after a pause, continued, “I don't want to wear the pants, as the saying goes. You're the master of your household. You can put us in danger, damage our credit, ruin us … As for