And these men sitting close to them, eye to eye and mouth to mouth, invited them, desired them, hunted them like game, coy and elusive notwithstanding that it seemed so near and so easy to capture.  This wide shore was, then, no more than a love-market where some sold, others gave themselves—­some drove a hard bargain for their kisses while others promised them for love.  All these women thought only of one thing, to make their bodies desirable—­bodies already given, sold, or promised to other men.  And he reflected that it was everywhere the same, all the world over.

His mother had done what others did—­that was all.  Others?  These women he saw about him, rich, giddy, love-seeking, belonged on the whole to the class of fashionable and showy women of the world, some indeed to the less respectable sisterhood, for on these sands, trampled by the legion of idlers, the tribe of virtuous, home-keeping women were not to be seen.

The tide was rising, driving the foremost rank of visitors gradually landward.  He saw the various groups jump up and fly, carrying their chairs with them, before the yellow waves as they rolled up edged with a lace-like frill of foam.  The bathing-machines too were being pulled up by horses, and along the planked way which formed the promenade running along the shore from end to end, there was now an increasing flow, slow and dense, of well-dressed people in two opposite streams elbowing and mingling.  Pierre, made nervous and exasperated by this bustle, made his escape into the town, and went to get his breakfast at a modest tavern on the skirts of the fields.

When he had finished with coffee, he stretched his legs on a couple of chairs under a lime-tree in front of the house, and as he had hardly slept the night before, he presently fell into a doze.  After resting for some hours he shook himself, and finding that it was time to go on board again he set out, tormented by a sudden stiffness which had come upon him during his long nap.  Now he was eager to be at home again; to know whether his mother had found the portrait of Marechal.  Would she be the first to speak of it, or would he be obliged to ask for it again?  If she waited to be questioned further it must be because she had some secret reason for not showing the miniature.

But when he was at home again, and in his room, he hesitated about going down to dinner.  He was too wretched.  His revolted soul had not yet time to calm down.  However, he made up his mind to it, and appeared in the dining-room just as they were sitting down.

All their faces were beaming.

“Well,” said Roland, “are you getting on with your purchases?  I do not want to see anything till it is all in its place.”

And his wife replied:  “Oh, yes.  We are getting on.  But it takes much consideration to avoid buying things that do not match.  The furniture question is an absorbing one.”

She had spent the day in going with Jean to cabinet-makers and upholsterers.  Her fancy was for rich materials, rather splendid to strike the eye at once.  Her son, on the contrary, wished for something simple and elegant.  So in front of everything put before them they had each repeated their arguments.  She declared that a client, a defendant, must be impressed; that as soon as he is shown into his counsel’s waiting-room he should have a sense of wealth.