8.
Monsieur Bertrand has been here several days, with his wife, known to everyone as Madame Thérèse, to distinguish her from my mistress, Madame de Grand-Air. Madame (my one) permitted me to enter the salon while Monsieur Bertrand recounted all that had happened to him and to Zidore on their return to the Front, after the marriage. It was as moving as the motion pictures.
It seems their injuries were still causing them trouble. And on top of that the Boches had launched their dirty pharmacy of gasses. That left them somewhat incoliqués (I'm not certain if that's the word Monsieur Bertrand said*). Then the colonel came to see him in the hospital. The colonel told him: "You can't return to the Front. Go recuperate at home. I'll work on getting you a staff position."
As Monsieur Bertrand was finishing his story, there came a knock at the door. It was a military courier with an envelope. I went to take it, but he wouldn't hand it over. He said, "No, it's for your master. I must hand it to him directly." I nearly got angry, because I don't enjoy people inplying that I have dirty hands.
But I respect the army too much to argue with someone in uniform. I showed him in. Monsieur Bertrand signed a receipt for the letter, and after he had read it he explained that he was to go on a series of missions to the staffs of the government's allies, and that he was authorized to take Zidore along as his orderly. It moved me to think that little Zidore, whom I practically brought up, would be hobnobbing with all those great generals, kings, and emperors. That made me fearful that he would forget and despise me. I mentioned this when we were having our dinner.
He replied, "Don't you worry, mam'zelle. Once you've see Verdun or the Somme, nothing can surprise you. Aside from the pleasure of being beside my officer, the place I most want to be is in the trenches with my comrades." What a brave boy! And to think that there are millions like him! I was unable to keep myself from kissing him.
*The word might have been incolore.
9.
The next day, while I was tidying the salon, Madame la Marquise and Madame Thérèse were chatting in the next room. Without meaning to, I heard Madame say, "You are wrong, my dear Thérèse, she will be nothing but an embarrassment to you. It will be foolishness upon foolishness." I well understood that it was me they were talking about.
Madame Thérèse replied in a light, playful voice, "It's possible, auntie, but she is so good and so devoted!" And then they came in and asked me whether I would consider accompanying the young Madame, who was to follow, as much as it was possible, her husband on his journeys.
Me, I wished my good mistresses could remain together forever, because I love them both, and to leave one or the other would break my heart in two. Then I began to cry like a big idiot, and I said I would go along with whatever they wanted.
"Well, then, Bécassine," said Madame Thérèse, "Since my aunt gives her consent, you'll come with us. We must pack your trunk for our long journey. Let's go look together at what you will need to buy." We climbed up to my room.
I was ashamed to lead her up the back staircase. But, though she is a countess, she is straightforward and not proud. She played at hunting for cobwebs, which that lazy concierge never sweeps! Young people are amused by anything.
We went through the clothes in my trunk and my chest of drawers. Once she had seen everything, Madame Thérèse wrote out what I would need to buy. It was an endless list. She handed me the paper and some money.
She told me that after my shopping I was to go to the Ministry, where she would be collecting the safe-conducts and other necessary paperwork, and to be sure to arrive no later than five o'clock. It was already two, so it was essential to get moving. I was so hurried that I fell on my behind on the stairs.
10.
In times of war it's not easy to do your shopping. There's a crowd in every store! And not enough employees. You have to queue up almost like at Potin for sugar. I ran from Bon Marché to Printemps, and from there to the Louvre. I hadn't bought half the things on my list when I spotted a clock marking four hours and a half. And Madame Thérèse expected me by five! I fired a hearty thank you at the clerk who had been serving me and galloped for the Ministry.
I was about to go in when I remembered what Madame had said: "We must take your portrait. Go to Rapid Photography. I've warned them to watch out for you. In a quarter of an hour it will be done." I had forgotten all about it.
A happy idea came to me. I jumped into a taxi. (It was lucky to find one without a customer.) I returned to the house and climbed the stairs four at a time to my room. I grabbed the portrait that my godchild Boudou painted of me, which I told you all about in my book Bécassine in Time of War. I wrapped it. As quickly as I had climbed the stairs, I descended. I jumped into my taxi and returned to the Ministry.
You have to be as crafty as a Parisian to find your way in that place. There are kilometres of hallways, tons of doors, and you don't see a soul. After ten minutes of trooping around, I arrived in front of a door that said:
11.
"INFORMATION. Enter without knocking."
I went in, and found a man, or rather, two legs, a pair of hands, and a newspaper. I hadn't even opened my mouth when he shouted, "What do you want?"
Then, another, hidden by the first because he was poking the fire, stood up. He had an agreeable face, and he said in a genteel voice, "See here, Grinchard, don't be so miserable! What would you like, Mademoiselle?"
I explained that I had come to find my mistress, who was here for our safe-conducts. He rubbed his nose with an embarrassed air, and said, "We have a lot of offices for safe-conducts. You don't know which one your lady went to?"
I replied that I only knew that it was the office of a very kindly gentleman, because I had heard Monsieur Bertrand tell Madame, "Please give my best wishes to the amiable Maurice."
Then Grinchard said, "The amiable Maurice, that's Monsieur Maurice Croissant, and it's always him that the ladies ask for." He instructed me on where to find him. He's not really mean, Grinchard, he just has a big voice. We parted good friends as the two of them shook my hand.
I located the office easily, where I found Madame, who was chatting with the amiable Monsieur Maurice in a salon. On seeing me he said, "Ah! Here's our young girl. Here, my child, sign your safe-conduct right there." I did as he told me. He pounded it all over with his rubber stamp, so that you hardly knew how to pick it up, it was so moist with ink.
Then Madame said, "Bécassine, give him the portrait from Rapid Photography."
"I didn't have time to go there," I said, "but I brought a much nicer one." And I unwrapped and showed them the painting my godson had made. I was proud of my quick thinking. Without a doubt it was funny, because Madame and Monsieur laughed until the tears came. My idea was drole, but it made no difference. What was needed was a very tiny portrait, not much bigger than a postage stamp, to stick on the safe-conduct. So it was arranged. They took my picture the next morning at the Rapid studio.
I delivered it to Monsieur Croissant. Not only is he very amiable, he's also clever. He found a way to add more stamps to the safe-conduct that was already covered in them. Now I'm cleared to go to England. We leave tomorrow.
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