Jeanne must have felt very keenly to have written such a letter, and Jean, who spoke the same, simple language, recognised all the firmness and love that underlay it. The fervent loyalty of his betrothed inspired him with confidence and hope; he put into his reply all the tenderness and gratitude that he was able to express. He addressed to his Uncle Méry a formal request for Jeanne’s hand, accompanied by very sincere promises of steadiness and good conduct, and then he awaited, without undue anxiety, the return mail from France....
M. Prosper Suirot was a young attorney, narrow-chested and round-shouldered; moreover, a rabid free-thinker, bespattering with atheistic nonsense all the holy things of old; a short-sighted scribbler, whose small, red eyes were protected by smoked glasses. This rival would have appeared an object of pity to Jean, who felt an instinctive repugnance for persons who were plain and of poor physique.
Attracted by Jeanne’s dowry and beauty, the little attorney imagined in his foolish conceit that he was doing the peasant girl an honour by the offer of his ugly person and infinitesimal social position. He had even made up his mind that after their marriage, in order to rise to his height, Jeanne, having become a lady, should wear a hat.
III
Six months had passed. The mails from France had brought poor Jean no very bad news, certainly, but on the other hand none that were very good.
Uncle Méry remained inflexible, but Jeanne no less so, and she always slipped into old Françoise’s letter a few loyal and loving words to her betrothed.
Jean himself was full of hope, and never doubted but that everything would be settled without difficulty as soon as he arrived home.
He lost himself more and more in delicious imaginings.... After these five years of exile his return to the village glowed with all the colours of an apotheosis. All the dreams of the poor, forlorn soldier centred around that radiant moment. He would take his seat in the village diligence, wearing the big burnoose of his spahi’s uniform, and watch the Cevennes coming into sight once more, the familiar skyline of his mountains, the well-known road, the dear old clock-tower, and at last his father’s cottage by the roadside. With what rapture would he embrace his beloved old parents!
Then the three of them would go together to see the Mérys. The good people of the village, all the girls, would come running out of their houses to watch him go past. They would admire him in his foreign dress, with the glamour of Africa upon him. He would show Uncle Méry his quartermaster’s stripes, which had at last been awarded him, and they would have an irresistible effect. After all, Uncle Méry was kind. True, he had often scolded Jean in former days, but he had been fond of him, too; Jean had a very plain recollection of this now; he was very sure of it. (To the exile, far away, those who remain at home are always painted in softer colours; they are remembered as affectionate and kind; their defects, their hardness and rancour, are forgotten.)