And so the days quietly passed by. The third week of Lazare's visit was already commencing. He still stayed on, though he had received several letters from Louise, who felt very lonely, but whom her sister-in-law wished to keep with her some time longer. In his replies he had strongly advised her to stay where she was, even telling her that Doctor Cazenove, whom he had consulted on the matter, recommended her to do so. Gradually he fell again into the quiet routine of the house, accustoming himself once more to the old times for meals, for getting up and going to bed, which he had changed in Paris, as well as to Véronique's grumpy humour and the incessant suffering of his father, who remained immutable, ever racked by pain, while everything around him altered. Lazare was confronted, too, by the Saturday dinners, and the familiar faces of the Doctor and the Abbé, with their eternal talk of the last gale or the visitors at Arromanches. Minouche still jumped upon the table at dessert as lightly as a feather, or rubbed her head caressingly against his chin, and the gentle scratching of her teeth seemed to carry him back long years. There was nothing new amongst all those old familiar things save Loulou, who lay rolled up under the table, looking mournful and hideous, and growling at everyone who came near him. It was in vain that Lazare gave him sugar; when he had swallowed it, the wretched beast only showed his teeth more surlily than before. They were obliged to leave him entirely to himself; he led quite a lonely life in the house, like an unsociable being who only asks of men and gods to be allowed to spend his time in quiet boredom.
However, Pauline and Lazare sometimes had adventures when they were out walking. One day, when they had quitted the path along the cliffs to avoid passing the works at Golden Bay, they came across Boutigny at a bend of the road. He was now a person of some importance, for he had grown rich by the manufacture of soda. He had married the woman who had shown herself so devoted as to follow him into that deserted region, and she had recently given birth to her third child. The whole family, attended by a manservant and a nurse, were driving in a handsome break, drawn by a pair of big white horses, and the two pedestrians had to squeeze themselves against the bank to escape being caught by the wheels. Boutigny, who was driving, checked the horses into a walking pace. There was a moment's embarrassment. They had not spoken for years, and the presence of the woman and the children made the embarrassment still more painful. At last, as their eyes met, they just bowed to each other, without a word.
When the carriage had passed on, Lazare, who had turned pale, said with an effort:
'So he's living like a prince now!'
Pauline, whom the sight of the children had affected, answered gently:
'Yes; it seems he has made some enormous profits lately. He has begun to try your old experiments again.'
That, indeed, was the sore point with Lazare. The Bonneville fishermen, who with their pertinacious banter seemed bent on making themselves disagreeable to him, had informed him of what had taken place. Boutigny, assisted by a young chemist in his employment, was again applying the freezing treatment to seaweed ashes, and, by practical and prudent perseverance, had obtained marvellous results.
'Of course!' Lazare growled, in a low voice; 'every time that science takes a step forward, it is some fool that helps her on through sheer accident.'
Their walk was spoilt by that meeting, and they went on in silence, gazing into the distance and watching the grey vapour rise from the sea and spread palely over the sky. When they returned home at nightfall, they were shivering; however, the cheerful light of the hanging-lamp streaming down upon the white cloth warmed them again.
Another day, as they were following a path through a field of beet in the neighbourhood of Verchemont, they stopped in surprise at seeing some smoke rising from a thatched roof. The place was on fire, but the brilliance of the sun's rays streaming from overhead prevented the blaze from being seen. The house, which had its doors and windows closed, was apparently deserted, its peasant owners doubtless being at work in the neighbourhood. Pauline and Lazare at once left the path, and ran up shouting, but with no other effect than that of disturbing some magpies who were chattering in the apple-trees. At last a woman with a handkerchief round her head appeared from a distant field of carrots, glanced about her for a moment, and then rushed on over the ploughed land as fast as her legs could carry her. She gesticulated and shouted something which the others could not catch, for flight interfered with her utterance. After tripping and falling she got up, then fell again, and started off once more, with her hands torn and bleeding. Her kerchief had slipped off her head, and her hair streamed in the sunlight.