i had not seen much of de valpic during the last few days. our platoons had relieved each other, and his presence always weighed on me a little like a vague remorse.
that afternoon i found him lying, with closed eyes, in the shed i had gone into, meaning to take a nap. he raised his eyelids:
"halloa!"
i had to go up to him, and asked him:
"not so bad the other night, was it?"
"for me it was."
i joked.
"for you particularly?"
"yes, i've got a cold already."
he coughed.
"pooh!" i said rather abruptly. "as long as you've nothing worse than that the matter with you."
i suddenly thought of him as a soft flabby creature, this tall fellow brought up by women. i think he guessed my thoughts.
"if only i had not got such a high temperature!" he said.
i shrugged my shoulders.
[pg 273]
"high temperature! who said you'd got a high temperature?"
i stretched myself on the straw, without much desire to continue conversation. he seemed to be searching in his pocket. i saw a sort of metallic tube between his fingers, which he unscrewed; then holding the thing out to me, said:
"here you are, just look at this will you?"
he explained:
"it's a mouth thermometer. i always carry it on me."
"what an idea!"
i did not know that the instrument existed in this form. the graduated glass tube only measured a few centimetres. i mechanically turned it round and round until i saw the little column of mercury shining.
"102.2°!" i exclaimed. "is that your temperature?"
"yes."
"you ought to take some ... quinine."
he shook his head.
"you see ... it's the same nearly every day."
i did not understand.
"what?"
"i'm ill," he murmured. "it's rotten, oh heavens, how rotten it is!"
i looked at him interrogatively. turned towards me he unburdened himself of his secret, in a broken voice. it was months, years now since he had been well. last spring his mother—"maman" he said (the word moved me and made me dream of mine)—his mother had implored him to consult a doctor.... he had resisted a long time afraid to hear that he was ill.... how alarming it had been when the[pg 274] doctor, after sounding him, had knitted his eyebrows and told him he must be careful. it was not so very long since his father, a few months after a warning of this kind, had been taken from them.
while he talked i seized the opportunity of watching him unobserved. now that my eyes were opened i immediately became aware of the well-known signs: this narrow, hollow chest, the sallow complexion, the pink patches on the cheek-bones, down to the tapering fingers.
"i realised that i could not take any risks and i wanted to live.... i wanted to. two days later mother and i took the train to switzerland. do you know chateau d'oex?"
i made a sign of assent.
"i stayed there for four months, april to july, resting on a long chair in the sun."
"did you get better?"
"much better, yes. no perspiring at night. i put on weight, and at the same time my temperature, oh! the thermometer, you know, is the surest sign of all! i had seen my father, getting so terribly feverish every afternoon! as for me, when i saw that it already rose quite easily to 101.1°, 101.3° i had not the slightest doubt about it. well, i repeat, everything was improving. they told me that if i continued to take great care all the winter...."
he paused for a few seconds:
"but on the 2nd of august, you see ... i had to leave."
"what did your mother say to it?"
he avoided that subject, but from a chance word he let slip i guessed the anguish and the resistance of his people—the sustained struggle.
[pg 275]
"you ought to have got discharged!"
"how could i at such a moment! and then...."
his voice was muffled:
"our family have always fought well!"
i silently evoked the de valpics whose names shine in our annals: the lord high constable, the admiral....
"i hoped it would turn out all right. at f—— i managed fairly well; i kept watch, you see, with my little thermometer!"
"and now?"
"ah, now! i've caught cold again. i was told: 'whatever you do, don't get cold.'"
he coughed, and said very softly:
"this morning i spat some blood."
with a touching gesture he sought my hand and squeezed it.
"dreher, i tell you all that because you've been good to me. yes, yes, i shall never forget it. the other day you didn't let me thank you. dreher, will you believe that ... i'm your friend?"
not wishing to show how much touched i was, i continued in a decided tone:
"in the state you are in, old fellow, you have no alternative but to get discharged."
he shook his head. i insisted. i pleaded the cause of reason. he had been courageous, more than courageous, heroic. that was enough. he would only aggravate the harm, by going on! and what use could he be? i pretended to be convinced—the idea was not at all a startling one at that time—that the war was drawing to a close. a few weeks more, one or two more successes, and there would be nothing astonishing in talking about peace.
[pg 276]
i displayed real warmth. i felt a growing sympathy and admiration for him, and his superb moral energy. and he was no superhuman hero. how near to us that sign of weakness brought him—that thermometer consulted each hour on the progress of his illness!
my pleading seemed to have shaken his resolution, but his eyes were lowered.
"dreher, tell me candidly. you're a good soldier—what would you do in my place?"
i a good soldier! the irony of it! was i fated to wear this halo? i who, i swear, would not have hesitated to make use of the slightest pretext for adjournment! i had to assure de valpic that i might have acted like he had.... yes, at the beginning i should have left in a burst of generosity. but, at this point i should realise the folly of persisting in it.
he was silent, and looked serious, his gaze fixed on the ground, his fingers twisting some pieces of straw.
"you must think that i set great store by my skin," he said.
he dreaded, with the susceptibility of a proud heart, of having gone down in my estimation.
"oh, rot!" i said. "who doesn't? and i bet it's chiefly on your people's account, your mother's...."
"poor mother! she had already bought the thank-offering which we were to take to st. peter's at rome next spring."
oh! so they were devout believers. an old roman catholic family of course! it was not surprising.
"and then ..." he continued.
he reddened.
"i was engaged to be married, when i fell ill ... and she would not let me set her free, she was waiting for me...."
[pg 277]
that was all he said. why did this last confidence stir me more than all the rest? why did i get up and put an end to the conversation?
"well, my dear chap, that's only an added reason for getting fit again. it would be stupid to make a mess of your whole future. look here, i shall be on duty to-morrow. i'll put you on the sick report, and you can be off back to your home, with the esteem of every one of us, and ... my friendship."
i went out, and wandered about round the farm for a long time. i was moved by a profound pity. i could not shake off the thought of this poor unfortunate. to have nothing left to learn about his illness, at his age, which was my age, to go in terror of death, to feel oneself being drawn towards it!... then i was moved to pity for myself, for us all. were we not all under the shadow of death, faced with tragic ends? alas! when life was sweet and smiled on us with her store of fresh beauties....
