‘What's that he said? What's that dirty shit want? He'd been making my poor dear sister's life a misery long enough; but for him she wouldn't have died from her accident and she showed what she thought of him by not leaving him anything in her will. Smash him, Buteau, he'll contaminate us all if he gets in!’
Choking with rage at this savage attack, Jean still attempted to reason with them.
‘I know the house and land will be yours now, but I still own half the furniture and the animals.’
‘Half? What a bloody cheek!’ shouted Lise, cutting him short. ‘You dirty pimp, you'd have the nerve to take half of something when you'd only got the shirt on your back when you came here, you didn't even bring your own curry-comb, you lazy layabout. So you want to make your living out of women, do you, you dirty pig?’
Coming to her support, Buteau swung his arm to push Jean away from the door.
‘She's right, clear off. You had your jacket and trousers, you can keep 'em, but now get out!’
The family seemed to be giving silent approval, above all the women Fanny and La Grande, who were standing watching some thirty yards away. But now, livid with rage at so outrageous an accusation and stung to the quick at the suggestion of such a foul calculation on his part, Jean lost his temper and shouted as loudly as the rest:
‘Oh, so that's it, is it, you want a row? Well, you'll get it And first of all, I'm going in, it's my house until the property's been properly divided up. And then I'll go and fetch Monsieur Baillehache, who'll seal everything up and put me in charge. It's my house, so you just sod off!’
He stepped forward with such a terrifying air that Lise moved away from the doorway. But Buteau hurled himself on him and they grappled with each other in the middle of the kitchen. And the dispute was now resumed indoors, this time to decide which of them would be ejected, the husband or the sister and brother-in-law.
‘Show me a paper giving you the right to this house.’
‘You can wipe your arse on any paper. It's good enough just to have the right to be here.’
‘Well, bring the bailiff along and the police, like we did.’
‘The bailiff and the police can go and get stuffed! Only twisters need them, honest folk settle their accounts privately.’
Jean had taken refuge behind the table. He was desperately eager to hold his ground because he could not accept the idea of leaving the house where his wife had just breathed her last and which seemed to represent all the happiness he had known in life. But Buteau was likewise furious at the thought of having to give up the place he had just won back; and he realized that the matter must be settled. He said:
‘And that's not all: you're just a pain in the arse!’
He leapt over the table and once more hurled himself on Jean. However, the latter picked up a chair and flung it at his legs, tripping him up. As he was taking refuge in the next room, hoping to barricade himself in, Lise suddenly remembered the money, the hundred and twenty-seven francs which she had seen in the chest of drawers. Thinking that he was rushing in to take them, she slipped ahead of him, opened the drawer and gave a scream of anguish.
‘The money! That bugger stole the money last night!’
And now Jean had no chance, for he had to keep guard over his pocket. He kept shouting that the money belonged to him, that he would be glad to settle up and they would certainly be left owing him some money. But neither the man nor his wife was listening and she rushed at him, hitting harder than her husband. Fiercely they pushed him out of the bedroom into the kitchen where all three of them swirled round in a confused mass, bouncing off the furniture. He kicked himself clear of Lise but she came back at him and sunk her nails into the scruff of his neck while Buteau rammed him with his head and sent him sprawling on the road outside. They stood blocking the doorway and yelling:
‘You thief! You took our money! You thief, you thief!’
Painfully, Jean picked himself up, stammering angrily.
‘All right, I'll go and see the judge in Châteaudun and he'll make sure I can get in here and I'll sue you for damages! You've not seen the last of me!’
And shaking his fist as a parting gesture, he disappeared in the direction of the plain. The family had prudently made themselves scarce when they saw that blows were being exchanged, for fear of possible trouble with the law.
And now the Buteaus could utter a cry of triumph. At last they had succeeded in throwing this outsider, this usurper, out into the street! They'd got their house back, as they'd always said they would. Their house! Their own house! The thought that they would now be back in their old family home, built by one of their ancestors, filled them with a sudden mad joy, as they raced through the rooms, yelling at the tops of their voices for the sheer pleasure of shouting in their own home. Laure and Jules ran in, drumming on an old frying-pan. Only old Fouan remained sitting on the stone bench, showing no sign of elation as he followed their antics through his dim eyes.
Suddenly Buteau stopped still.
‘Christ! He went off up the hill, suppose he tried to do something to our land?’
It was absurd, but this impassioned cry threw him into a turmoil as his mind suddenly came back to his land, in a frenzy of joy and apprehension. Ah, that land was even closer to his heart than the house; that spit of land up there which filled the gap between his own two plots and gave him back his seven and a half acre field, such a splendid field, even Delhomme hadn't got one like it. His whole body started quivering with pleasure as though a woman you loved and whom you thought lost had suddenly come back to you.
He was seized with a wild urge to see his land straight away, together with the mad fear that the other man might make off with it. He set off at a run, grunting that he'd have no peace until he was sure.
Jean had in fact gone up onto the plain to avoid the village and was making his way towards La Borderie through force of habit. When Buteau caught sight of him he was just walking past the Cornailles field, but he did not stop and the only glance he gave this piece of land which had been such a bone of contention was one of sorrow and distrust, as though accusing it of having brought him bad luck. His eyes had filled with tears at the memory of the first time he had spoken to Françoise: wasn't it at Cornailles that the cow Coliche had dragged her into the field of lucerne when she was little more than a child? He walked slowly away, hanging his head, and Buteau, who was spying on him, still uncertain whether he might be up to some trick or other, followed behind him up to the field and stood for a long time contemplating it: it was still there and it seemed to be in good heart, nobody had harmed it. His heart overflowed with joy at the thought that it was his again, and forever. He stooped and picked up a lump of earth in both hands, crumbled it, sniffed it and let it trickle through his fingers. It was his own good earth, and he went home humming a tune, as though intoxicated by its smell.
Meanwhile, Jean was walking vacantly on without knowing where his feet were leading him. At first he had intended to hurry over to Cloyes to see Monsieur Baillehache in order to regain possession of his house. Then his anger had subsided. If he were to gain possession today, he'd only have to leave tomorrow. So why not swallow the bitter pill straight away, since it had already happened? Anyway, those swine were right: he was going off as poor as when he'd come. But the thing which took away his will to fight and made him decide to accept this situation was, above all, the thought that Françoise must have wanted things that way since she hadn't left him her property. So he abandoned the idea of doing anything straight away and as he strode along, if his anger boiled up again, it was directed against the Buteaus, whom he swore to bring to justice in order to claim his rightful share of the inheritance, which belonged to him as Françoise's husband. They'd see if he would let himself be plucked like a chicken!
He raised his eyes and was surprised to find himself at La Borderie. A half-conscious impulse must have brought him back to the farm for shelter. And indeed, if he didn't want to leave the district, wouldn't he
find work and bed and board here to enable him to stay on? Hourdequin had always thought well of him and he had no doubt that he would take him on, then and there.
But he was disturbed to see Jacqueline crossing the farmyard in great distress. It was just striking eleven o'clock and he had arrived in the middle of a terrible catastrophe. That morning the young woman had got up before the maid and found the trap-door of the cellar, the one situated so dangerously at the foot of the stairs, left wide open; and Hourdequin was lying down below, dead, his back broken by the edge of one of the steps. She had screamed, people had come running in; and now the farm was in a state of turmoil, the farmer's body was lying on a mattress in the dining-room while Jacqueline, in despair, was in the kitchen, dry-eyed, but looking completely distraught.
As soon as Jean came in, she unburdened herself in a voice choking with emotion.
‘I'd always said something would happen. I wanted them to put the trap-door somewhere else! But who on earth can have left it open? I'm sure it was closed last night when I went upstairs. I've spent the whole morning trying to work it out.’
‘The master came down before you, did he?’ Jean asked, stunned by the accident.
‘Yes, the sun was just coming up. I was asleep. I thought I heard a voice calling him from downstairs. I must have been dreaming. He'd often get up like that and always went down without a light, to catch the farm-hands just when they were getting out of bed. He can't have seen the hole and he must have fallen into it. But who can have left the trap-door open? Oh, it'll be the death of me!’
A suspicion flashed into Jean's mind which he immediately rejected. She had no advantage to gain by his death; her despair was quite genuine.
‘What terrible bad luck,’ he muttered.
‘Yes, it is terrible bad luck, terrible bad luck for me!’
She sank into a chair, prostrate with grief, as though the house were collapsing all around her. And she'd been relying on at last marrying her master! And her master had sworn to leave everything to her in his will and now he'd died without having had time to sign anything. And she wouldn't even get her wages, his son would be coming back and he'd boot her out, just like he'd promised. Nothing at all! A few trinkets and clothes, only what she'd got on her back! It was a crushing blow, a real disaster.
Something that Jacqueline had not mentioned, for she had forgotten about it, was that the day before she had succeeded in having the shepherd Soulas dismissed. Enraged at finding him always spying on her behind her back, she had accused him of being too old and no longer competent; and although Hourdequin did not share her view he had given in to her, by now cowed and cravenly submissive and ready to accept any humiliation in return for the pleasures of her bed. He had dismissed Soulas with kind words and promises while the shepherd stared at his master through his pale eyes. Then, slowly, he had started to tell the whole truth about the slut who was the cause of his misfortune: a whole string of randy males, with Tron bringing up the rear, together with all the details about him, so shameless and arrogant and lustful that everyone knew about it and everybody in the district used to say that the master must like his farm-hands' leftovers. In vain the farmer tried, desperately, to interrupt him, because he valued his ignorance and was so terrified at the thought that he might have to get rid of her that he no longer wanted to know the truth: but the shepherd had gone steadily on to the bitter end, not leaving out one single occasion when he had caught them together and relieving himself of some of his resentment by being able at last to unburden his heart. Jacqueline knew nothing of the shepherd's denunciation of her. Hourdequin had rushed away into the fields, fearing that he might strangle her if he were to meet her; when he came back later on, he had merely dismissed Tron on the pretext that he had been leaving the farmyard in a state of indescribable filth. At that she had begun to suspect something and, while not daring to defend the cowherd, she had persuaded Hourdequin to let him stay one more night, relying on being able to find some way of keeping him on next day. And now everything was in the balance as a result of this fatal blow which had destroyed ten years of laborious calculation.
Jean was alone in the kitchen with her when Tron appeared. She had not seen him since the previous day, while the other farm-hands had been wandering anxiously around the farm with nothing to do. When she caught sight of this giant, childlike, stupid animal from the Perche and saw how furtively he came in, she gave a cry:
‘It's you who opened the trap-door!’
Suddenly everything became clear as he stood there aghast, pale and trembling.
‘It's you who opened the trap-door and called out to him so that he'd stumble into it.’
Jean recoiled, horrified at what he saw, although the other two in their emotion and confusion seemed not to notice his presence. Hanging his head, Tron mumbled a confession.
‘Yes, I did it. He'd sacked me and I wouldn't have been able to see you any more. I couldn't bear it, and then I'd been thinking that if he died we'd be free for each other.’
She listened coldly, with every nerve strung to breaking-point as he mumbled blissfully on, disclosing all the feelings which he had been harbouring in his thick skull, the humble, savage jealousy of a servant towards the master whom he had been forced to obey and his sly plot to commit this crime in order that he alone would have complete possession of the woman he desired.
‘I thought you would be pleased once it'd happened. If I didn't tell you anything about it, it was so's not to embarrass you. And now he's gone, I want you to come away with me so we can get married.’
Jacqueline burst out harshly:
‘Marry you? But I don't love you and I don't want to! So you killed him so as to have me? You must be even more stupid than I thought. What a crazy thing to do, when he hadn't married me and made his will You've ruined me, you've taken the bread out of my mouth. It's my back you've broken, do you understand, you bloody idiot? And so you think I'll go off with you? Just look me in the face, do you take me for a complete imbecile?’
Now it was his turn to listen, open-mouthed, at this unexpected reaction.
‘Because we'd had fun and games together, do you imagine I could put up with a crass idiot like you forever? Marry you? Oh no, I'd pick someone a bit sharper than you if I wanted a husband. Look, clear off, will you, you make me sick. I don't love you and I don't want anything to do with you. Clear off!’
Tron was shaken by anger. What was wrong? Had he committed his murder for nothing? She belonged to him, he'd take her by the scruff of the neck and carry her off.
‘You're a first-class slut,’ he growled. ‘All the same, you're coming with me or else I'll settle your hash like I did his.’
Jacqueline strode up to him with clenched fists:
‘Just try!’
He was a powerfully built, tall, thickset man, and she was very weak, as slim and graceful as a girl. But so frightening was her attitude, with her teeth ready to snap, her eyes sharp and glinting like daggers, that it was he who stepped back.
‘It's all over, clear off. I'd sooner never have anything to do with a man again than go away with you. Clear off, clear off, clear off!’
Like a cowardly, savage beast, Tron retreated, cowed but already secretly thinking how to take his revenge later. He looked at her and said once again:
‘I'll get you, dead or alive.’
When he had left the farm, Jacqueline gave a sigh of relief: good riddance! Then, still trembling, she turned round and, unsurprised to see Jean still there, she exclaimed in a sudden burst of frankness:
‘How I'd like to set the police on that swine if I wasn't afraid of being picked up as well!’
Jean was still standing there chilled to the marrow. Moreover, the young woman was now seized by a nervous reaction: fighting for breath, she flung herself sobbing into his arms, saying how unhappy she was, so unhappy! Her tears flowed on and on, she wanted to be pitied and loved, she kept clinging to him as if she wished he would carry her off and look after her. And
he was beginning to become very irritated with her when a gig drove into the farmyard and the dead man's brother-in-law, the lawyer Baillehache, who had been fetched by one of the farm-hands, sprang down. Jacqueline ran over to him to pour out her troubles.
Jean slipped out of the kitchen and once more found himself on the bare, flat land under a rainy March sky. But he was too upset by everything he had just learnt and by the shock he had received, on top of his own sorrow, to notice anything. He had had his full measure of bad luck and, despite his sadness at his former master's fate, he selfishly quickened his pace and hurried away. It was hardly up to him to denounce the Cognet girl and her lover, it was for the law to keep its eyes skinned. Twice he looked round, imagining that someone was calling him and feeling almost like an accomplice. He did not breathe freely until he had reached the first houses of Rognes. By then, he was saying to himself that the farmer had suffered for his sins and he was turning over in his mind that great truth that men would be much better off if women didn't exist. He had started thinking of Françoise once again and he was choking with emotion.
When he reached the outskirts of the village, Jean remembered that he had gone to the farm in search of work. He immediately started worrying and wondering whom he could approach at such a time. The thought occurred to him that the Charles had been looking for a gardener for the last few days. Why not go and offer his services? After all, he was still a sort of member of the family and that might be a recommendation. He set off for Roseblanche straight away.
It was one o'clock and the Charles were just finishing lunch when the maid showed him in. Élodie was serving the coffee and Monsieur Charles made his cousin sit down and offered him a cup. He accepted, although he had eaten nothing all day; his stomach felt all contracted, the coffee might help to relieve him. But when he found himself seated at the table with these middle-class people, he did not feel like asking for the gardening job then and there: perhaps later on, when he could think of a way to introduce the subject. Madame Charles had started condoling with him and mentioning her own grief at poor Françoise's death, and he was feeling emotional. The family must have thought that he had come to take his leave.