XIII
Two days later Jean was himself again and he dropped back into his old life. He stole out of the house during M. Jêrome’s siesta to carry on his old warfare against the magpies, and when the light failed he entered the church and waited until there was nothing for it but to go home. Noémi’s lately acquired radiance had already begun to fade, and Jean saw the dark rings appearing under those eyes that looked at him so sadly and with such submissive tenderness. He had hoped that his exile from the nuptial bed would enable Noémi to get used to having him at home again. She was desperately fighting down her disgust, and the mental struggle was telling on her. Sometimes she called him in the night to come to her, and when he pretended to be asleep she got up and kissed him as he lay in his narrow bed—a kiss like those given to lepers by the saints of long ago. No one can say whether the lepers were refreshed by the breath of saints upon their sores, but Jean Péloueyre had reached the point of wrenching himself free from these embraces, and it was he who cried in horror: “Let me alone!”
Tangled masses of lilac spread their disorder dark against the high garden walls; the evening air was heavy with the scent of syringas, and as the daylight faded, the may-beetles began their humming. It was the month of May and after the Litany the priest said: “Your prayers are requested for the success of the examinations of several young people; the marriages of several young women; the conversion of a father of a family; the health of a young man who is dangerously ill....” Everyone knew that he referred to Dr. Pieuchon’s son who was now past recovery. The June lilies bloomed, and Noémi wondered why Jean no longer took his gun with him when he left the house after lunch. Replying to her question, he said that the magpies had got to know him too well; the cunning devils wouldn’t let him come anywhere near them. She feared that his rambles were too much for him: he had usually come back with a trace of animation in his face, but now he was always white and dejected, pretending that the heat had taken away his colour. One night Noémi heard him cough several times and asked in a low voice: “Are you asleep, Jean?” He told her his throat was bothering him a little; it was nothing serious. But she knew that he was trying not to cough. Lighting a candle, she found him bathed in perspiration, and an agony of apprehension took possession of her. His eyes were closed, and he gave her the impression of being intent upon some mysterious process that was going on within him. Then he opened his eyes and smiled up at her tenderly, and into the confusion of her mind wrought by this unwonted show of affection came a whispered request for a drink of water.
The next morning his temperature was sub-normal and Noémi was reassured. She tried to persuade him not to go out after lunch, but her efforts were of no avail and only displeased him. He took out his watch as though afraid of being late for an appointment, and M. Jêrome remarked jokingly that Noémi would be justified in thinking he was hurrying off to some assignation. Jean said nothing, and his quick steps echoed in the hall. Storm clouds began to spread over the sky, and the leaves hung motionless as though fixed by the silence of the birds. All through the afternoon Noémi sat by the window looking on to the street, a prey to dark fears. At four o’clock a measured succession of subdued notes came from the church bell, and she crossed herself for she knew someone was at the point of death. She heard a voice in the square: “It’s for young Pieuchon; he almost died this morning.” Big raindrops fell into the hot dust, and the smell of the approaching storm came in through the window. M. Jêrome was still asleep, so she went to the kitchen to talk about Robert Pieuchon with Cadette. The old woman was deaf, and had not heard the bell tolling. She said that Monsieur Jean would tell them all about it, and, noticing Noémi’s blank look, she sighed and the tears rolled down over her cheeks. She was quite sure that her mistress did not know it or she would have stopped poor Monsieur Jean, delicate as he was, from spending so much time with young Monsieur Pieuchon; every afternoon for the last month! He had forbidden his old Cadette to mention it to anyone. Noémi pretended not to be surprised; but she left the house at once. It had stopped raining, and a dust-laden wind was dispersing the heavy storm clouds. The shutters of the Pieuchon house had already been closed, and as Noémi drew near Jean appeared at the front door. He was blinking his eyes in spite of the half-light and, without seeing her, he turned instinctively towards the church. His face was the colour of clay and there was something unearthly in his expression. Noémi went down the steps into the church after him and shivered in an earthy dampness as of a newly dug grave. It was the chill that seizes the living when they go down into churches which have been gradually sinking into the ground for centuries beneath the heavy hand of time. And again Noémi heard the cough that had waked her the night before; but this time it reverberated under the grey arches endlessly.