Le Temps des Cerises by Zillah Bethel Read Free Book Online Page B

great applause. Laurie took the opportunity to whisper in Eveline’s ear that he’d missed her terribly and wanted her to come to his rooms after the meeting; she coloured up and nodded in agreement. Then he went off to get her a drink and maybe a bite to eat if there was anything remaining on the altar table other than crumbs. She felt quite lost without him, standing in between Alphonse and Tessier. Tessier was huffing and puffing over his minutes and Alphonse was looking very earnest and attentive though at one point she could have sworn he was staring at her legs. They felt very hot and pink in the warmth of the candlelight and she wished for the second time that night she’d wrung the little urchin’s neck.
    Next up was a very serious and sober-looking gentleman who worked at the Cail engineering plant, so he said, and was a father of four. He thought that the problem was not (as Citizen X had claimed the other week) a lack of weaponry or even an old and dilapidated arsenal. After all, statistics showed – if the audience would just bear with him he had the statistics at his disposal though he could not quite say where they came from – Ah yes: 300,000 cartridges were being produced every day; 300 cannon had already been manufactured in Paris which worked out at about 21 a week; and a large number of mitrailleuse 6   – he could not say quite how many but it was a great many and they must take his word for it. And if you did not believe the statistics which were ahem perhaps a little inconclusive… well… everyone knew that the bells of St Denis cathedral had been melted down for cannon and you only had to walk down the Rue de Rivoli and hear the hammering from the basement windows to know that work was afoot. No, it was not, he felt, the weapons so much as the training that was the problem. After all, they were a nation of shopkeepers, artisans, factory workers, artists… they had not been taught how to fight. With the best will in the world they were not trained soldiers. A small point, he knew – coughing and aheming – but worth making all the same.
    â€˜That was short and sweet,’ muttered Laurie as the man climbed down, inclining his head to the muted applause.
    â€˜He’s a good sort,’ the woman behind remarked knowledgeably. ‘You can tell by the state of his breeches.’
    â€˜I’ve got a statistic for him,’ an old man growled under his breath. ‘10,000 Remingtons imported from America each week that were used in their civil war. If that’s not old and dilapidated I don’t know what is. I bet the only weapon he’s fired is his own ruddy pencil. Training? He wants potty training!’
    â€˜Why didn’t you say something,’ demanded the woman behind. ‘It’s no good blathering about back here. No one can hear you!’
    Eveline took a gulp of the fiery liquid Laurie had brought in a dirty wine glass and watched Alphonse take the floor. The church quietened down at the sight of him for he was well known and well liked and many believed he had a glittering political career before him.
    â€˜I agree with all the points that have been made so far this evening,’ he began softly, his hands resting on the lectern, his strong face calm and composed. ‘It is true that this government is at best incompetent; that our generals issue orders and counter orders and in their arrogance carry maps of Germany in their pockets when they couldn’t even find their way around the Place Vendôme. I imagine Bismarck is laughing his head off.’
    â€˜ Hear Hear !’
    â€˜We wait for Trochu’s plan, for the government to act, to be attacked. We stand at our fortifications, look through our telescopes and wait.’
    Eveline wanted to shout out that it was the women who queued for hours and hours in the snow, the rain, the mud, for a measly ration of soup; that it was the women who waited