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Selected Writings-Part41_Guy De Maupassant(1850-1893)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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day or good evening, I had myself driven to the Moulin Rouge.

* * * * * * *



"Well," Florise d'Anglet exclaimed, "I shall never take mamma to

the theater with me again, for the men are really going crazy!"



A COUNTRY EXCURSION

For five months they had been talking of going to lunch at some



country restaurant in the neighborhood of Paris, on Madame

Dufour's birthday, and as they were looking forward very



impatiently to the outing, they had risen very early that

morning. Monsieur Dufour had borrowed the milkman's tilted cart,



and drove himself. It was a very neat, two wheeled conveyance,

with a hood, and in it Madame Dufour, resplendent in a wonderful,



sherry-colored silk dress, sat by the side of her husband.

The old grandmother and the daughter were accommodated with two



chairs, and a yellow-haired youth, of whom, however, nothing was

to be seen except his head, lay at the bottom of the trap.



When they got to the bridge of Neuilly, Monsieur Dufour said:

"Here we are in the country at last!" At that warning, his wife



grew sentimental about the beauties of nature. When they got to

the crossroads at Courbevoie, they were seized with admiration



for the tremendous view down there: on the right was the spire of

Argenteuil church, above it rose the hills of Sannois and the



mill of Orgemont, while on the left, the aqueduct of Marly stood

out against the clear morning sky. In the distance they could see



the terrace of Saint-Germain, and opposite to them, at the end of

a low chain of hills, the new fort of Cormeilles. Afar--a very



long way off, beyond the plains and villages--one could see the

somber green of the forests.



The sun was beginning to shine in their faces, the dust got into

their eyes, and on either side of the road there stretched an



interminable tract of bare, ugly country, which smelled

unpleasantly. You would have thought that it had been ravaged by



a pestilence which had even attacked the buildings, for skeletons

of dilapidated and deserted houses; or small cottages left in an



unfinished state, as if the contractors had not been paid, reared

their four roofless walls on each side.



Here and there tall factory-chimneys rose up from the barren

soil, the only vegetation on that putrid land, where the spring



breezes wafted an odor of petroleum and soot, mingled with

another smell that was even still less agreeable. At last,



however, they crossed the Seine a second time. It was delightful

on the bridge; the river sparkled in the sun, and they had a



feeling of quiet satisfaction and enjoyment in drinking in purer

air, not impregnated by the black smoke of factories, nor by the



miasma from the deposits of night-soil. A man whom they met told

them that the name of the place was Bezons; so Monsieur Dufour



pulled up, and read the attractiveannouncement outside an

eating-house:



"Restaurant Poulin, stews and fried fish, private rooms, arbors,

and swings."



"Well! Madame Dufour, will this suit you? Will you make up your

mind at last?"



She read the announcement in her turn, and then looked at the

house for a time.



It was a white country inn, built by the road-side, and through

the open door she could see the bright zinc of the counter, at



which two workmen out for the day were sitting. At last she made

up her mind, and said:



"Yes, this will do; and, besides, there is a view."

So they drove into a large yard studded with trees, behind the



inn, which was only separated from the river by the towing-path,

and got out. The husband sprang out first, and held out his arms



for his wife. As the step was very high, Madame Dufour, in order

to reach him, had to show the lower part of her limbs, whose



former slenderness had disappeared in fat. Monsieur Dufour, who

was already getting excited by the country air, pinched her calf,



and then, taking her in his arms, set her on to the ground, as if

she had been some enormousbundle. She shook the dust out of the



silk dress, and then looked round, to see in what sort of a place

she was.



She was a stout woman, of about thirty-six, full-blown and

delightful to look at. She could hardly breathe, as she was laced



too tightly, which forced the heaving mass of her superabundant

bosom up to her double chin. Next, the girl put her hand on to






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