“What do you want?”
“Only to say good-morning, because I am going to spend the day at Trouville with some friends.”
“But I am still in bed.”
“Very well, do not disturb yourself. I shall see you this evening, when I come in.”
He hoped to get off without seeing her, without pressing on her cheek the false kiss which it made his heart sick to think of. But she replied:
“No. Wait a moment. I will let you in. Wait till I get into bed again.”
He heard her bare feet on the floor and the sound of the bolt drawn back. Then she called out:
“Come in.”
He went in. She was sitting up in bed, while, by her side, Roland, with a silk handkerchief by way of night-cap and his face to the wall, still lay sleeping. Nothing ever woke him but a shaking hard enough to pull his arm off. On the days when he went fishing it was Joséphine, rung up by Papagris at the hour fixed, who roused her master from his stubborn slumbers.
Pierre, as he went towards his mother, looked at her with a sudden sense of never having seen her before. She held up her face, he kissed each cheek, and then sat down in a low chair.