Along this path, completely covered by arched linden trees, the Mavettek flowed in its winding bed bordered by willows.

The gurgling of the eddies and the splashing of the little waves against the rocks lent to the walk the charming music of babbling water and the freshness of damp air.  Madame Maramballe inhaled with deep delight the humid charm of this spot and then murmured:  “Ah!  I feel better now!  But he wasn’t in a good humor to-day.”

Alexandre answered:  “No, madame.”

For thirty-five years he had been in the service of this couple, first as officer’s orderly, then as simple valet who did not wish to leave his masters; and for the last six years, every afternoon, he had been wheeling his mistress about through the narrow streets of the town.  From this long and devoted service, and then from this daily tete-a-tete, a kind of familiarity arose between the old lady and the devoted servant, affectionate on her part, deferential on his.

They talked over the affairs of the house exactly as if they were equals.  Their principal subject of conversation and of worry was the bad disposition of the captain, soured by a long career which had begun with promise, run along without promotion, end ended without glory.

Madame Maramballe continued:  “He certainly was not in a good humor today.  This happens too often since he has left the service.”

And Alexandre, with a sigh, completed his mistress’s thoughts, “Oh, madame might say that it happens every day and that it also happened before leaving the army.”

“That is true.  But the poor man has been so unfortunate.  He began with a brave deed, which obtained for him the Legion of Honor at the age of twenty; and then from twenty to fifty he was not able to rise higher than captain, whereas at the beginning he expected to retire with at least the rank of colonel.”

“Madame might also admit that it was his fault.  If he had not always been as cutting as a whip, his superiors would have loved and protected him better.  Harshness is of no use; one should try to please if one wishes to advance.  As far as his treatment of us is concerned, it is also our fault, since we are willing to remain with him, but with others it’s different.”

Madame Maramballe was thinking.  Oh, for how many years had she thus been thinking of the brutality of her husband, whom she had married long ago because he was a handsome officer, decorated quite young, and full of promise, so they said!  What mistakes one makes in life!

She murmured:  “Let us stop a while, my poor Alexandre, and you rest on that bench:” 

It was a little worm-eaten bench, placed at a turn in the alley.  Every time they came in this direction Alexandre was accustomed to making a short pause on this seat.

He sat down and with a proud and familiar gesture he took his beautiful white beard in his hand, and, closing his, fingers over it, ran them down to the point, which he held for a minute at the pit of his stomach, as if once more to verify the length of this growth.