A white-haired old man begged us for alms. My companion, Joseph Davranche, gave him
five francs. Noticing my surprised look, he said:
"That poor unfortunate reminds me of a story which I shall tell you, the memory of which
continually pursues me. Here it is:
"My family, which came originally from Havre, was not rich. We just managed to make
both ends meet. My father worked hard, came home late from the office, and earned very
little. I had two sisters.
"My mother suffered a good deal from our reduced circumstances, and she often had
harsh words for her husband, veiled and sly reproaches. The poor man then made a
gesture which used to distress me. He would pass his open hand over his forehead, as if
to wipe away perspiration which did not exist, and he would answer nothing. I felt his
helpless suffering. We economized on everything, and never would accept an invitation
to dinner, so as not to have to return the courtesy. All our provisions were bought at
bargain sales. My sisters made their own gowns, and long discussions would arise on the
price of a piece of braid worth fifteen centimes a yard. Our meals usually consisted cf
soup and beef, prepared with every kind of sauce.
They say it is wholesome and nourishing, but I should have preferred a change.
"I used to go through terrible scenes on account of lost buttons and torn trousers.
"Every Sunday, dressed in our best, we would take our walk along the breakwater. My
father, in a frock coat, high hat and kid gloves, would offer his arm to my mother, decked
out and beribboned like a ship on a holiday. My sisters, who were always ready first,
would await the signal for leaving; but at the last minute some one always found a spot
on my father's frock coat, and it had to be wiped away quickly with a rag moistened with
benzine.
"My father, in his shirt sleeves, his silk hat on his head, would await the completion of
the operation, while my mother, putting on her spectacles, and taking off her gloves in
order not to spoil them, would make haste.
"Then we set out ceremoniously. My sisters marched on ahead, arm in arm. They were of
marriageable age and had to be displayed. I walked on the left of my mother and my
father on her right. I remember the pompous air of my poor parents in these Sunday
walks, their stern expression, their stiff walk. They moved slowly, with a serious
expression, their bodies straight, their legs stiff, as if something of extreme importance
depended upon their appearance.
