The Age of Reason by Jean-Paul Sartre

Author:Jean-Paul Sartre [Sartre, Jean-Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Tags: General, Biography & Autobiography, Fiction, Literary, War & Military, Philosophy
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 10

THE little clock struck ten. Madame Duffet did not seem to hear. She looked intently at Daniel: but her eyes had reddened. ‘It won’t be long before she goes,’ he thought. She threw him a wry smile, but little drifts of air still filtered through her half-closed lips. She was yawning beneath her smile. Suddenly she flung her head back and seemed to make up her mind: and she said with an air of arch vivacity: ‘Well, my children, it’s time for me to go to bed. Don’t keep her up too late, Daniel, I rely on you. If she stays up late, she sleeps next day till twelve o’clock.’

She got up, and tapped Marcelle on the shoulder with a small, brisk hand. Marcelle was sitting on the bed.

‘You hear, ginger-cat,’ she said, amusing herself by speaking between clenched teeth: ‘You sleep too late, my girl, you sleep till midday, and you’re getting fat.’

‘I promise faithfully to go away before midnight,’ said Daniel.

Marcelle smiled: ‘If I want you to.’

He turned towards Madame Duffet with an elaborately helpless air. ‘What can I do?’

‘Well, be sensible,’ said Madame Duffet. ‘And thank you for the delicious sweets.’

She lifted the ribboned box to the level of her eyes, with a rather menacing gesture: ‘You are too kind, you spoil me, I shall have to scold you soon.’

‘Nothing could give me greater pleasure than your appreciation of them,’ said Daniel gravely.

He leaned over Madame Duffet’s hand and kissed it. Seen from near-by, the skin was a network of mauve patches.

‘Archangel!’ said Madame Duffet with a melting look. ‘And now I’m off,’ she added, kissing Marcelle on the forehead.

Marcelle put an arm round her waist, and held her close for a moment; Madame Duffet ruffled her hair, and slipped quickly out of her embrace.

‘I’ll come and tuck you up later on,’ said Marcelle.

‘No you won’t, you bad girl: I leave you to your archangel.’

She fled with the agility of a child, and Daniel followed her slim back with a cold eye: he had thought she would never go. The door closed, but he did not feel relieved: he was a little afraid of staying alone with Marcelle. He turned towards her and saw that she was smiling at him.

‘What are you smiling at?’ he asked.

‘It always amuses me to see you with Mother,’ said Marcelle. ‘What a flatterer you are, my poor archangel! It’s a shame, you simply can’t help trying to fascinate people.’

She eyed him with a proprietary affection, apparently well content to have him to herself. ‘She already has the mask of pregnancy,’ thought Daniel maliciously. He disliked her for looking so happy. He always felt a little apprehensive when he found himself on the brink of those long, whispered interviews, but he had to take the plunge. He cleared his throat: ‘I’m in for an attack of asthma,’ he thought. Marcelle was just a solid, dreary smell, deposited on the bed; a huddle of flesh that would disintegrate at the slightest movement.

She got up: ‘I have something to show you.

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