Why did my father impose upon me this long walk with him, the mere prospect of which chilled me? Hadn’t Martinod’s revelations showed me what his preferences were? He was proud of Bernard and Stephen, he was always thinking of Mélanie. I had sometimes seen him looking at her with a strange earnestness, as if he had never seen her before, or as if he were imprinting her upon his memory; as for me, I didn’t count. With all the power of my will I was determined to be a misunderstood son, an unhappy, unjustly neglected child. It was necessary that I should play this rôle, to keep alive the love-sadness in which I found my chief pleasure.
Therefore I set out reluctantly, and let him see that I did. He on the contrary made every effort to be gay. Perceiving that he desired to put me at my ease, I became all the more reserved, in a spirit of opposition.
We were off at last, not with the slow pace of idlers who have no particular point in view, as grandfather and I were in the habit of walking, but with a light, quick step as if to military music.
“If we walk fast,” he said, “we can do it in two or three hours.”
Desiring him to understand that I was not in the least interested in the walk, I did not inquire where we were going. It would surely not be that secluded place where the ferns grew thick, where furze clung to the rocks, where, apart from the rest of the world, far from houses and cultivated fields, I had been introduced to wild nature by the soft music of a cascade.
I remember that as we were passing through a village I gave a great kick to a fragment of an old drain tile that lay in the road. In an instant all the dogs were howling at our heels. Somewhat terrified by their wide open mouths and the great hubbub that I had aroused, I drew near to my companion.
“Let them bark,” he said reassuringly. “You will see that it is just so in life. As soon as one makes a little noise in the world all the dogs rush upon you. If you turn against them you make yourself ridiculous. The best way is to take no notice, and just let the dogs bark.”
Somehow I knew that he was thinking of Martinod and the slap he had given him. As soon as we were beyond reach of the dogs I was vexed with my father for having noticed my movement of fear.
We began to climb a hill by a good mule path. By degrees as we went up into a purer air, he recovered his fine spirits. It was a lovely day in late May or early June, warm but with a good breeze. Spring comes slowly in my country, and vegetation starts suddenly into life. It might have begun the day before, or the day before that, so bright were the leaves, so rich the grass, so gay the flowers. We crossed a grove of oaks, beeches and birches; the ruddy brown oaks formed the pillars of an immense vaulted temple, hiding the sky.
“Ah,” said father, pausing for breath, and taking off his hat, the better to feel the coolness that fell from the trees, “how good it is to be here, and what a beautiful day!”