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evening, with everyone able to stare at her. But for the past forty-eight hours, the world had seemed as shaky and vulnerable to collapse as the scenery in a theatre; even Saint-Elme was in a state. It was the end of July 1914. No one wanted to believe there would be war, but everyone could feel the hot breath of its approach. Pierre Hardelot was bringing his wife and son back from Spain before going to join his regiment. He was an engineer and, since his marriage, he had been sent by his company to work in Budapest for a while,then in Madrid. His parents hadn’t seen him in thirty months; they had never met his child, who had been born in Spain.
    ‘To see him again!’ thought Madame Hardelot in despair. ‘To see him and lose him again at the same time. But there can’t be a war; it isn’t possible. It simply isn’t possible for such a thing to happen.’ That evening, millions of people were saying the same thing. Even though they knew that every century and every country had had its share of war and misery, it seemed that, by special decree of divine Providence,
this
century,
this
country would be spared.
    ‘Of course, Alsace and Lorraine … Of course, the Emperor of Germany, and the Tsar, and Serbia,’ murmured Madame Hardelot. ‘Of course, there’s all that. But my God, we’re talking about Pierre, my own son. It isn’t possible. This is a nightmare.’
    ‘Why didn’t we go and meet them at the station?’ she cried out reproachfully, turning towards Charles.
    ‘But you know very well, my dear, that my father would have found out.’
    ‘So what?’ she exclaimed bitterly. ‘He has the nerve to forbid me to see my son,
my own son
who’s being sent to die?’
    ‘Don’t get so worked up, Marthe. Being called up is not the same as going to war. And besides, it is my profound conviction that a world war would be fought almost without any blood being spilled. Just imagine if that weren’t the case, if every country sent all its forcesinto battle, with the terrifying progress that the arms manufacturers are making … Where was I? Well, yes, there would be such terrible carnage that all of civilisation would be destroyed. You can understand why no state would wish to answer to posterity for such a crime. No, all everyone will do is try to intimidate each other, I’m sure of it. In a few days the embassies will start negotiations and the cannon fire will cease.’
    ‘Why didn’t you let me go to the station?’ repeated Marthe, who hadn’t been listening to a word he said.
    ‘Listen to me now; we simply cannot openly take sides with our son against our father in front of the whole town. Of course people will find it natural if your daughter-in-law and grandson pay a visit to you, but it would be unacceptable for them to stay with us. My father said so very explicitly and in front of many people (it was at cousin Adèle’s birthday party), all of Saint-Elme was there … When someone asked him if he had any news of Pierre, he said, “He disobeyed me. He doesn’t exist for me any more.” What can we do, Marthe? He’s in charge. They’ll stay with Gabrielle Florent. You can see him as much as you like and we’ll still keep up appearances. Society relies entirely on nuances.’
    ‘And stupidity. Besides, he’s leaving tomorrow.’
    ‘My dear, you do upset me. Sometimes you say things that make you sound like … like an anarchist, if you’ll pardon the expression.’
    ‘Look, just leave me alone,’ she shouted, then leaned against the door and started to cry. Crying in the street!How could she let herself behave like that? She didn’t give a thought to what the neighbours would think, and the other busybodies. In every house that night a woman was crying and none of them cared what was happening outside her own home. Madame Hardelot stood on her doorstep, sobbing uncontrollably into her handkerchief. But a car was coming; inside were Pierre, Agnès, a child, the luggage. She could