On the first leave the Regimental Administrative Council had not acted on his request. Then, for two consecutive times, leave was stopped on the day before he was going to go. And despite the advice of the colonel, to whom he told his grievance, Dotan would not marry by proxy. This ceremony in partibus, entrusted to a third party, seemed to him the least bit ridiculous, and he had a well-developed desire for the whole of the wedding ceremonies.
“Shall I marry? Or, shall I not?”
While he thought over his dilemma, he read for the hundredth time the letters from his gentle fiancée, who awaited him in Provence. And he occupied the monotony of the long hours in writing her two letters a day, one in the morning and another in the evening, with sometimes a supplementary postal card in addition.
“To think that if I were married I should have already been so happy!”
“Three days,” Morin let fall cynically in his innocent voice.
“Yes, I should have been happy.”
“Three days,” insisted Morin, “the second day before, the day before, and the day of your wedding until noon. And then you wouldn’t be as you are now—free, tranquil, and without a care.”
“Free, tranquil, without a care! Oh, yes, you say. You’re always the same. Free, tranquil and happy! You must have learned that by looking out of your window, you, say....”
Morin, in accordance with his parsimonious use of words, did not want to carry on this tedious discussion. He would have answered, nevertheless, had not Dedouche announced that the table was set, and that there was a wonderful menu, a real Easter menu.