I was so ashamed of myself, so mortified, that my stomach — which had always been delicate — was actually quite upset by the shock I had received, therefore no sooner had the train started than I began to be, first uncomfortable, then to feel a rumbling pain, and at last a pressing want, so much so that I could hardly sit down on my seat, squeeze as much as I could, and I dared not move for fear of the consequences.
After some time the train stopped for a few minutes, no guard came to open the carriage door, I managed to get up, no guard was to be seen, no place where I could ease myself. I was debating what to do when the train started off.
The only occupant of the carriage was an old gentleman, who — having told me to make myself comfortable, or rather to put myself at my ease — went off to sleep and snored like a top; I might as well have been alone.
I formed several plans for unburdening my stomach, which was growing more unruly every moment, but only one or two seemed the answer; and yet I could not put them into execution, for my lady-love, only a few carriages off, was every now and then looking out of the window, so it would never have done if, instead of my face, she all at once saw — my full moon. I could not for the same reason use my hat as what the Italians call — a comodina, especially as the wind was blowing strongly towards her.
The train stopped again, but only for three minutes. What could one do in three minutes, especially with a stomach-ache like mine? Another stoppage; two minutes. By dint of squeezing I now felt that I could wait a little longer. The train moved and then once more came to a standstill. Six minutes. Now was my chance, or never. I jumped out.
It was a kind of country station, apparently a junction, and everybody was getting out.
The guard bawled out: ‘Les voyageurs pour — en voiture.’
‘Where is the lavatory?’ I enquired of him. He attempted to shove me into the train. I broke loose, and asked the same question of another official.
‘There,’ said he, pointing to the water-closet, ‘but be quick.’
I ran towards it, I rushed into it without looking where I went. I violently pushed open the door.
I heard first a groan of ease and of comfort, followed by a splash and a waterfall, then a screech, and I saw my English damsel, not sitting, but perched upon the closet seat.
The engine whistled, the bell rang, the guard blew his horn, the train was moving.
I ran back as fast as I could, regardless of consequences, holding my falling trousers in my hands, and followed by the wrathful, screeching English old maid, very much like a wee chicken running away from an old hen.
— And —
— Everyone was at the carriage windows laughing at my misadventure.
A few days afterwards I was with my parents at the Pension Bellevue, at the baths of N — , when, on going down to the table d’hote dinner, I was surprised to find the young lady in question seated with her mother, almost opposite to the place usually occupied by my parents. Upon seeing her, I, of course, blushed scarlet, I sat down, and she and the elderly lady exchanged glances and smiled. I wriggled on my chair in a most uncomfortable way, and I dropped the spoon which I had taken up.
‘What is the matter with you, Camille?’ asked my mother, seeing me grow red and pale.
‘Oh, nothing! Only I — I — that is to say, my — my stomach is rather out of order,’ said I, in a whisper, finding no better excuse on the spur of the moment.
‘Your stomach again?’ said my mother, in an undertone.
‘What, Camille! have you the belly-ache?’ said my father, in his offhand way, and with his stentorian voice.
I was so ashamed of myself and so upset, that, hungry as I was, my stomach began to make the most fearful rumbling noises.
Everyone at table, I think, was giggling, when all at once I heard a well-known, snarling, barking, shrill voice say —
‘Gaason, demandez that monseer not to parler cochonneries at table.’
I cast a glance towards the side whence the voice proceeded, and, sure enough, that horrible, wandering English old maid was there.
I felt as if I could have sunk under the table for shame, seeing everyone stare at me. Anyhow, I had to bear it; and at last the lengthy meal came to an end. I went up to my room, and, for that, I saw nothing more of my acquaintances.
On the morrow I met the young girl out with her mother. When she saw me, her laughing eyes had a merrier twinkle than ever. I durst not look at her, much less follow her about as I was wont to do.
There were several other girls at the pension, and she soon got to be on friendly terms with them, for she was in fact a universal favorite. I, on the contrary, kept aloof from everyone, feeling sure that my mishap was not only known but had become a general topic of conversation.
One afternoon, a few days afterwards, I was in the vast garden of the pension, hidden behind some ilex shrubs, brooding over my ill luck, when all at once I saw Rita — for her name was Marguerite — walking in a neighboring alley, together with several other girls.
I had no sooner perceived her when she told her friends to go on, whilst she began to lag behind.
She stopped, turned her back upon her companions, lifted up her dress far above her knee, and displayed a very pretty though rather thin leg encased in a close-fitting, black silk stocking. The string which attached the stocking to her unmentionables had got undone, and she began to tie it.
By bending low I might quietly have peeped between her legs, and seen what the slit of her pantaloons afforded to the view; but it never came into my head to do so. The fact is, I had really never cared for her or for any other woman. I only thought, now is my time to find her alone and to bow to her, without having all the other girls to giggle at me. So I quietly got out of my hiding-place, and advanced towards the next alley.
As I turned the corner, what a sight did I see! There was the object of my sentimental admiration, squatted on the ground, her legs widely opened apart, her skirts all carefully tucked up.
— So at last you saw — — A faint glimpse of pinkish flesh, and a stream of yellow liquid pouring down and flowing on the gravel, bubbling with much froth, accompanied by the rushing sound of many waters, while, as if to greet my appearance, a rumbling noise like that of an unctuous cannonade came from behind. — And what did you do? — Don’t you know we always do the things which ought not to be done, and leave undone the things which ought to be done, as I think the Prayer Book says? So, instead of slipping away unperceived, and hiding behind a bush to try and have a glimpse at the mouth from which the rill escaped, I foolishly remained stock still, speechless, dumbfounded. It was only when she lifted up her eyes that I recovered the use of my tongue.
‘Oh, mademoiselle! pardon!’said I; ‘but really I did not know that you were here — that is to say that — ‘
Sot — stupide — imbecile — bete — animal!’quoth she, with quite a French volubility, rising and getting as red as a peony. Then she turned her back on me, but only to face the wandering old maid, who appeared at the other end of the avenue, and who greeted her with a prolonged ‘Oh!’ that sounded like the blast of a fog-trumpet.
— And —
— And the only love I ever had for a woman thus came to an end.
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