Although she was still trembling, she managed, by holding on to the chairs along the aisle, to begin her journey back. The shadows cast by the stained glass windows swirled before her on the floor in dizzying patterns. She steadied herself at the door leading into the vestibule before pulling it open. The entryway no longer seemed so dark, and the more she pushed at the outside door against the resisting snow, the stronger she became.
Panting, her breath preceding her in wispy little clouds, she began the walk back to the center of the city. A light hopeful blue had pushed away the gray in the sky. The snow had stopped. Instinctively she knew that she must keep her vision a secret. She did not want Bernard to think that she had gone mad.
M
ADELEINE DRIBBLED THE LAST TEPID
drops from the pewter teapot. She hoped the waiter would not notice and ask if she wanted more. Reaching her hand under the table, she pressed and pinched the brown satin sack on her lap, feeling for coins. She had barely enough to pay for the tea and the biscuits that lay in waiting upon a little silver platter in the middle of the table. She was saving them for Clarie. Where was she?
Madeleine frowned as she opened the watch that hung on a gold chain around her neck. Three-thirty. It was unlike Clarie to be late. Or to forget. Unless? Madeleine shook her head slowly as she remembered their last conversation. Clarie couldn’t have gone to Notre-Dame. Not today. The poor girl wasn’t well enough to trudge through a storm.
Well, Madeleine thought, as she pretended to sip from her cup, if Clarie had gone all the way out there, she should be happy that they were meeting in the Café Stanislas. It was warmer than either of their apartments. And more festive. Madeleine replaced her cup in the saucer with a sigh. Except for today. The tables were almost all empty. In the late afternoon they were usually filled with fashionable women in threes and fours, chattering away, their feathery hats bobbing with each bon mot. Madeleine missed the hubbub and the fun of grading them on their taste and imagining what they were saying to each other. Even the great steel coffee machine behind the bar was mute, for there was no need for anyone to pull down its levers and hiss its delicious, exotic vapors into the air. All because of the snow.
Madeleine shrank back into the warm corner she had chosen for her observations and glanced to her side. Three tables away a man in a drab suit sat, like her, with his back to the mirrored wall, nursing his lonely glass of beer with the same care she was taking with her tea. She clucked disapprovingly. He hadn’t even bothered to take off his bowler. He seemed to be staring at the soldiers who stood at the bar, talking and laughing. Undoubtedly the poor little man was envying their easy camaraderie and obvious gallantry. He was not worthy of her attention, but the officers, downing their little glasses of whiskey and cognac with manly briskness, certainly were. They did make a handsome trio in their blue jackets, aglitter with gold buttons and braiding and epaulettes.
Our protectors
. Her chest swelled with pride. They’d show the Huns one of these days. She was sure of it.
Without warning, an unbeckoned image sent a rush of blood throttling through her veins from head to toe. What if the tallest of them decided to take her in his arms and sweep her away? What would his pointed black goatee and hot breath feel like against her cheeks and neck? Her hand flew to her mouth as if it was about to blurt out these ridiculous, sinful thoughts. She slunk back again, deflated, and stared at the cuffs of the ready-made dark blue jacket that covered her prim shirtwaist. Anyone with eyes in his head would take her for a spinster schoolteacher or, worse, a worn-out shopgirl. Oh, how she wished Clarie would get here. Full or empty, cafés weren’t festive when you were alone.
Suddenly Madeleine felt a burst of cold air and watched with relief as Clarie spread apart the heavy black velvet curtain that separated the interior from the outside door. Immediately a white-shirted waiter, carrying a tray of glasses, came to greet her. “Madame, you would like?” he asked. Before Clarie was able to answer, one of the officers had bounded toward them. “May I take your coat, Madame?”
Madeleine twisted herself around to get a better look. Was Clarie blushing? Or flirting? Even from across the room Madeleine detected the lowering of Clarie’s almond-shaped brown eyes. Surely she must know these were her best feature. Madeleine heard her demur, “No, I’d like to keep it with me. Thank you. I’m looking for—”
“I believe she is there, Madame.” The waiter gestured with his free hand toward Madeleine.
“Yes, yes. Thank you.” Clarie gave the waiter and the soldier a wan smile as she moved between them toward Madeleine.
Two men at her feet. The handsome, mustachioed officer, whom Madeleine had picked out as the youngest of them all, followed Clarie with his gaze. Clarie had no idea how easy life had been for her. Until two weeks ago. Madeleine bowed her head remembering Clarie’s tragedy. That’s why she had to find ways to help Clarie, to get her to accept and understand what had happened to her. And, of course, to cheer her up.
“Madeleine, I am so sorry I’m late. I didn’t know how long it would take to walk through the snow.”
The troubled look on Clarie’s face and the urgent sincerity in her voice forced a smile to Madeleine’s lips. How could she be angry with the dear girl? They both fell silent as the waiter, who had come up from behind, helped Clarie into her seat.
“So, you went to Notre-Dame?” Madeleine raised her eyebrows. She didn’t know whether to be disapproving of Clarie’s foolishness at venturing out into the storm or happy that her friend had sought out the miraculous Virgin.
Clarie nodded as she took off her gloves and laid them on the table. Her face was red from the cold and she was panting a little. She rubbed her hands together.
“Some hot tea, Madame?” the waiter asked.
“Yes, please.” Clarie began to unbutton her coat.
The waiter flipped open the top of Madeleine’s teapot and saw that it was empty. He swept the pot away, leaving them alone.
“You went on a day like today?”
Clarie kept nodding as she pulled off her coat.
“And?”
Clarie bit her lip, as if thinking of what to say. “The church was lovely inside,” she offered. “A little florid for my taste. Baroque, I guess, and the statue was very moving, just as you told me.”
“And the tombs.”
Clarie hesitated. “The tombs, yes, impressive.”
Obviously she hadn’t taken any time to study them, even though the tombs of Duke Stanislas and his consort were famous. But that was neither here nor there, Madeleine thought as she straightened up eager to hear all. The important things were spiritual.
She put her hand on top of Clarie’s. “And you prayed.”
“Yes,” Clarie whispered, “I prayed.” She withdrew her hand. Clarie took one of the tea biscuits from the plate and began to chew, avoiding Madeleine’s eyes.
“Is there something wrong, my dear?”
“No.” Clarie shook her head. “I’m really feeling better. Every day. Thank you for suggesting this. It’s nice to be out.”
“Even though the place is half-full.”
She shrugged.
Madeleine sighed. Half the time she tried to talk to Clarie, she seemed to be in some other place.
“Your infusion, Madame.” The waiter again. “Anything else?”
“Yes,” Clarie sounded eager for the first time since she had entered the café. “Some more of those,” she said, pointing to the silver plate in the center of their table. After the waiter left them, Clarie actually did brighten up. “I’m starving. Madeleine, I’m actually hungry!”
“Then the walk did you good.” Madeleine hoped that Clarie would remember that it was she who had suggested this pilgrimage.
“Yes, I wanted to walk back too, but by the time I got to Saint Pierre, I realized how late I was, and I hopped on a tram. I was the only one.” For just an instant Clarie seemed like her old self, but then the tumble of words slowed to a trickle. “What a strange day this is.” She paused and reached for Madeleine’s hand. “I really am sorry. Bernard gets so irritated with me when I’m late.”
Him again. How was she going to save Clarie’s soul if everything was about her husband the judge and his godless Republic? Still, Madeleine found it in herself to return Clarie’s grasp. “It’s all right, dear, I was only worried about you. But you’re here all in one piece.”
“Yes, I suppose.” They let go of each other and Clarie flipped the lid on the pot to see if the tea was ready. “How was school?” she murmured.
“The same. Every day the same.” Madeleine was searching for some amusing anecdote to relate about the students or the headmistress when a flash of fear shot up her spine. “Are you thinking of coming back?” She had counted on staying the rest of the year.
“No, no.” Clarie poured a little tea in each of their cups. “I don’t know if I’ll ever go back.” She acted as if pouring the tea took all of her concentration.
Despite her relief, Madeleine was puzzled. Clarie loved teaching, and her students loved her. Surely Clarie did not think that is why Henri-Joseph had been taken from her, that her teaching was some kind of sin. Or, if it was, it didn’t have to be. As long as she did not fill her students’ minds with radical ideas, as long as she understood that it was her mission to raise the wives, mothers, and teachers of a God-fearing France. This is what Madeleine had always done, and would do until the end of her days.
Eyes downcast, Clarie sipped the hot tea.
“And Paris. You may never be asked to go there again. It’s such an opportunity, especially at your age.”
At any age
. Paris was the most coveted assignment, if only because it was the one place where a female teacher could make more than a pittance. The thought of it made Madeleine’s pulse race.
Clarie had the nerve to shrug, and then mumble, “I don’t know.”
Madeleine slumped back in her chair. They were at an impasse. Another one of those lapses in conversations that used to be so lively. Clarie must be thinking about the baby again. It was so hard to get her to concentrate on anything. Madeleine’s gaze wandered around the room hoping to find something to remark upon, when a chill wind blew into the café. Two portly men, dressed very smartly in coats with mink collars and beaver tophats came into the café and, each taking a side, held the velvet curtain wide open for their women. The first pranced in wearing a coat adorned with rings of expensive black sable, one around the collar, two around her cuffs, and three rows of the exquisite, expensive fur rimming the bottom of her outfit. The other wore a garish hat spiked with what looked like peacock feathers. Madeleine was about to comment on how inconsiderate it was of these couples to keep letting the cold air in, when she realized who they were: Jews, rich ones.
She bent toward Clarie and whispered, “Look who’s coming. Don’t turn around. Watch in the mirror.” She tilted her head so that Clarie could observe the foursome.
Clarie peered into the mirror, but did not react.
“You can’t tell?”
Clarie shook her head. The man in the bowler barely moved. He didn’t seem to know either.
“They can.” Madeleine caught a glimpse of the young officer with the curled mustache as he turned from the bar to face the two couples. He stood, legs apart, as if ready for a fight. “The soldiers,” she whispered.
Clarie shifted her gaze in the mirror.
“Give them the best seats, why don’t you,” the officer growled as the waiter went up to greet the newcomers.
The two couples froze. The women looked to their men apprehensively.
“Messieurs, mesdames,” the waiter, trying to ignore the soldier, started toward a table.
“Ask them about Dreyfus. Ask them if they speak German. Ask them if they just got here from across the border.”
“I think he’s drunk,” Clarie said. Her mouth fell half open and her brow furrowed with worry or fear.
One of the other officers put a hand on the combatant’s shoulder. “Come on, now. We need to finish our drinks and get back to the barracks.”
This attempt to mollify him only made the young officer more aggressive, for he shoved his companion’s arm away and took a step toward the four newcomers. Squinting hard, Madeleine saw that the women were tightening their grip on the men’s arms. Afraid and, Madeleine hoped, ashamed. She straightened up to catch every word and every gesture. This could be a thrilling confrontation.
“It’s enough you ruin all the little people with your banks and financial schemes, but now you think you can take over the army,” the officer said as he took another step toward the two couples.
Suddenly Clarie, still staring into the mirror, rose out of her seat. “This isn’t right.”
Madeleine grabbed her arm. A young matron had no part to play in such a confrontation. Besides, how could Clarie dream of turning against a man who had been so chivalrous to her?
Fortunately, no one noticed Clarie’s reaction, because at that very moment the two men, with their fur-collared coats and leather gloves and expensive hats, escorted their women back through the velvet curtain and out the door.
“Dreyfus!” the officer shouted, “Dreyfus!” and his two companions laughed. “All right. You told them. Let’s drink to that,” one of them said as he pounded on the bar and asked for one more round.
Clarie stopped peering into the mirror and slumped back in her seat. “That was terrible.”
Terrible
? “Terrible is when they ruin your life.”
Clarie did not respond. Madeleine knew why. She didn’t want to argue. She undoubtedly thought Madeleine was wrong to hate the Jews, to believe that they had no place in a truly Christian country. What with Clarie’s immigrant father and her republican husband and the teachers at Sèvres—Protestant, most of them—she would never understand, never. Madeleine reached down into her sack and took out a lacy handkerchief to dab her eyes. Her best friend, and she had forgotten why Madeleine was a spinster, condemned to be forever alone and penniless.
Clarie stared as Madeleine dabbed her eyes. “Didn’t you think it was terrible,” Clarie said quietly, “making them leave like that?”
“They didn’t have to leave, you know. The two of them could have stood up like…like men.” Madeleine blew her nose defiantly. She didn’t know whether to feel hurt or angry.
“Against three soldiers?”
Madeleine shrugged. “Please don’t let it upset you; it’s all over,” she said, hoping it was all over and done with as she jammed her damp handkerchief back into her sack.
But Clarie persisted. “How did they even know?”
Sometimes Clarie was so naive. “The noses, I suppose, or the ostentatious clothing, or maybe they just knew who they were.”
“And you, you knew.”
“Yes. As I told you.” Why did she even have to explain?
Clarie stared down at her lap and shook her head. “I never look at people that way.”