The story begins in 1945 in a train bringing French prisoners back from Germany. They were exhausted but excited and happy because they knew that at last, after five years‘ absence they were again going to see their own country, their homes, their families.
Mirrored in the minds of most of them was the face of a woman. They thought-of-her, wife-or-sweetheart, lovingly, hopefully, some anxiously. Would they find her still the same, faithful? What had she been doing during that long solitude? Would it be possible to start the old life over with her?
In one corner of the compartment sat a tall, thin man, with a passionate face and flashing eyes. He was Renaud Leymarie, a native of a town in Perigord we shall call Chardeuil. As the train rolled through the night he talked with his neighbour:
"Are you married,Saturnin?"
"Why, certainly I’m married. Two years before the war. Her name is Marthe. Want to see her?"
Saturnin drew from his inside pocket a worn, greasy wallet and proudly displayed a torn photograph.
"She‘s magnificent," said Leymarie. "Aren’t you worried about coming back?"
"Worried? I‘m tickled to death. Why be worried?"
"Because she’s pretty, because she was alone, because there are so many other men...."
"Aren‘t you sure of your wife?"
"Yes -- at least, I was, perhaps more than anyone. Why, we’d been married six years and there was never a word between us."
"Well, then...?"
"It‘s a matter of temperament, I guess," Leymarie said. " I’m one of those fellows who can never quite believe their own good luck. Always I‘ve felt that Helene was too good for me, too pretty, too intelligent. She’s an educated girl. She can do anything. So I‘ve thought to myself, during the war there were a lot of refugees at our house and, among them, there would be better fellows than I. Perhaps foreigners, Allies. The best-looking girl in the village would certainly have caught their eye."
"Well, so that? If she loves you...."
"Oh, sure. But can you imagine what it’s like to be alone for five years? Chardeuil isn‘t her home, it’s mine. She has no people there. So temptation must have been strong."
"No, I‘m sure you’re wrong," said Saturnin."And suppose something did happen? What difference does that make -- if she has forgotten it? If it‘s only you that matters? Look, they might tell me that Marthe....Well, I’d just answer,‘Not one more word! She’s my wife; it was wartime, she was alone; now there is peace.‘ We’d pick up where we left off."
" I‘m not like that," said Leymarie." If I were to find out, when I get back, that there was the least little thing." " What would you do...Kill her?" " No, I wouldn’t do anything. Not a single reproach. I would disappear. I would go somewhere else to live, under an assumed name. I would leave her my money, my house -- I don‘t need anything, I have a trade. I would make a new life. Perhaps that’s stupid, but that‘s the way I am: all or nothing."
The locomotive whistled, there was the click of steel wheels passing over switches. The men fell silent.
When the mayor of Chardeuil, fatherly and wise, received the official announcement that Renaud Leymarie would return on August 20, he decided to go himself to inform Renaud’s wife ahead of time. He found her working in her garden.
" Everyone loves you, Madame Leymarie. And it makes me very happy to be the first to tell you of your husband‘s return. I know you will want to give him a royal welcome. Like the rest of us, you don’t eat well every day, but on such an occasion at this...."
"You are right. Mr Mayor. I‘ll give Renaud a fine welcome. You said the 20th? What time do you think he will get here?"
"About noon, at the earliest."
"I assure you, he’ll have a fine dinner, Mr Mayor -- and I am grateful for your visit."
On the morning of the 20th Helene Leymarie arose at six o‘clock. She hadn’t slept at all. The day before she had cleaned the whole house, scrubbed the tile floor, made the boards shine, put fresh ribbons around the window curtains. She had looked over her underwear and lovingly chosen the silk, which she had never worn during her long solitude. What dress should she wear? The one he liked best in the old days was a blue-and-white print. But when she tried it on she saw with distress that the waist hung loose, so thin had her body become from the years of privation. No, she would wear a black dress which she had made herself, and brighten it with a gay collar and belt.
Before preparing the dinner, she thought of all the things he used to like. But in France in 1945 so many things could not be had. Luckily she had some fresh eggs, thanks to her chickens, and he always used to say that she made omelets better than anyone else. A chocolate dessert? Yes, that was what he liked best, but where could one get chocolate? Then a friend had told her of a grocer in the next town who sold chocolate " under the counter".
"If I leave at eight, I can perhaps be back by nine. I‘ll get everything ready before I go, so that when I return I will only have to do the cooking."
She was gay and excited. It was a beautiful day. Never had the morning sun over the valley been so bright. Singing, she set the table: "the red-and-white-checked table-cloth that was the one we had at our first dinner in our own home. The pink plates with the pictures that used to make him laugh. A bottle of sparkling wine -- and above all, some flowers. He always loved flowers on the table and he used to say that I arranged them better than anyone else."
Then before she left the house she leaned on her bicycle and gazed through the open window at the little room. Yes, everything looked just perfect. After so much misery, Renaud would be surprised and delighted to find his home and his wife so little changed. Through the window she looked at herself in the big mirror. A little too thin, perhaps， but still fair and young. She was bursting with happiness.
The little Leymaire house was set apart at the very end of the village, so that an hour later only a neighbor saw the thin soldier with burning eyes when he slipped into the garden. He stood there a moment, dazzled by the light and his happiness, intoxicated by the beauty of the flowers listening to the buzzing of the honeybees. Then he called softly:
"Helene!"
No answer.
"Helene! -- Helene!"
Frightened by the silence, he came closer. Then through the window he saw the table set for two, the flowers, the bottles of wine. He felt mortally wounded and had to lean against the wall.
"Good Lord!" he must have thought." She is not alone!"
When Helene returned, a short time later, the neighbor called to her:" I’d seen your Renaud. He was running along the road; I called to him, but he wouldn‘t come back."
"He was running?Which direction?"
"Toward Thiviers."
She rushed to the mayor’s house, but he knew nothing.
" I‘m so afraid, Mr Mayor. Renaud, with all his hardboiled appearance, it is a jealous, sensitive man. He saw the table set for two. He couldn’t have known it was for him that I had set it. We must find him again at once. My Mayor, we must! He might never come back, and I love him so much!"
The Mayor sent a man to the Thiviers station and alerted the police. But Renaud Leymarie had disappeared. Helene sat all night long by the table, where the flowers were drooping in the heat.
[参考译文]这个故事发生在1945年一列从德国运载法国俘虏回国的火车上。这些俘虏虽然精疲力竭，但心情激动，喜形于色，因为他们知道，经过5年的离别，他们终于又将见到自己的祖国、他们的家园、他们的亲人。
大多数俘虏心中映出的形象是一位女人的脸，带着些许不安的情绪，他们亲切而满怀希望地想念着各自的妻子或恋人。他们即将见到的她还是同样的忠诚吗?在那漫长的孤独生活中，她一直在干些什么呢?有没有可能同她重新过以往那种情投意合的生活呢?
在车厢的一角，坐着一个清瘦的高个子，一张易激动的脸上眼睛里闪着亮光。他叫雷诺·莱马里，家在佩里戈德城夏德尔镇。列车通宵滚滚向前，他跟邻座交谈着：
"萨特宁，你结婚了吗?"
"怎么啦，我当然结婚了。那是大战前两年的事了。我爱人的名字叫玛莎。想见见她吗?"
萨特宁从衣服内面口袋掏出一只破旧不堪、油渍斑斑的皮夹子，骄傲地拿出一张破照片。
"她真漂亮，"莱马里说，"难道你现在回去不担心吗?"
"担心?我都要高兴死了。为什么要担心呢?"
"因为她标致，因为她孤独，因为还有那么多别的男人……"
"难道你不相信你自己的妻子吗?"
"不，至少我大概比任何人更相信自己的妻子。哎，结婚6年了，我们之间从没有发生过一次口角。"
"哦，这么好?"
"我猜想这是一个个性问题，"莱马里说。"我同某些人一样，不大相信自己会交好运。对我来说，我总觉得海伦是太好了，太漂亮了，太聪明了。她是个受过教育的人，什么事都能干。因此，我自己总是这么想：战争期间，我们家乡会有许许多多难民，他们当中一定有比我强的人，也许是外国人，是盟军人员。村里最好看的姑娘，当然会引起他们的注意?quot;
"嘿，那又怎么啦?如果她爱你……"
"哦，当然是这样。但是你能想象5年的孤独生活是什么样的滋味呢?夏德尔不是她的家乡，而是我的家乡。在那儿她无亲无故，所以外界的诱惑力一定是很强的。"
"不，你这话不对，"萨特宁说，"假设确实有事发生，只要她把它忘啦--那有什么关系呢?只是你才是问题所在呢。瞧，别人可能对我说玛莎如何如何，那我便回答说‘少说废话!她是我的妻子；过去是战争年代，她孤独一人，现在和平啦。’过去丢失的东西我们现在该拾回来了。"
"我可不那么想，"莱马里说。"我回去后，要是发现了哪怕是最微不足道的事……""你会怎么办--杀死她吗?""不，我什么也不干。连一句指责的话都不说。我将远走高飞，隐姓埋名到别处去过日子。我把金钱、房屋全部留给她--我什么也不要。我会一种手艺，我将开始新的生活。或许那是愚蠢的，但这是我的为人之道：要么拥有一切，要么一无所有。"
火车呜呜地鸣着汽笛，钢轮擦过铁轨的转辙器时，发出了卡嗒卡嗒的响声。两人不作声了。
贤明而慈祥的夏德尔市长接到了雷诺·莱马里将于8月20日回来的官方报告后，决定亲自去提前通知雷诺的妻子。他发现她正在花园里干活。
"莱马里太太，大家都喜欢你。作为第一个通知你丈夫回来的人，我感到万分高兴。我知道你准会给他一个隆重的欢迎。跟我们其他人一样，你天天省吃俭用，可是像这样的盛事……"
"你说得对，市长先生。我一定给雷诺一个喜出望外的欢迎。你说20日吗?你认为他什么时候到这儿呢?"
"最早大约中午吧。"
"我向您保证，市长先生，他准会吃到丰盛的午餐--对于您的光临，我非常感激。"
20日早晨，海伦·莱马里6点就起床了。这一夜她根本就没有睡。前一天，她将整个屋子打扫干净，擦洗了花砖地板，把家俱擦得闪闪发亮，窗帘的四周都挂上了彩绸。她翻遍了内衣，爱不释手地挑了那件丝的，在漫长的独居生活中，她从没有穿过。她应该穿什么衣服呢?那时候他最喜欢的一件是白兰印花布做的，但是她试穿后，痛苦地发现裙子腰身太宽大了。多年的贫困使她的身体早变得很瘦小了。不，她还是穿自己做的黑衣裙，配上艳丽的领子和腰带，倒也显得很好看。
准备午餐前，凡是他平时喜欢的一切，她都考虑到了。但是在1945年的法国，还有那么多的东西是无法得到的。多亏了她那几只鸡，还有一些新鲜的鸡蛋。他过去总是说她做的煎蛋饼比谁做得都好。巧克力甜点心呢?是的，那是他最喜爱吃的，但是哪里能买到巧克力呢?后来，一个朋友告诉她邻城里有杂货商以黑市形式出售巧克力。
"如果我8点动身，大概9点就能赶回来。我走前把什么都准备好，回来后再开始做就行了。"
她快乐而激动，那是一个美丽的日子，晨曦的阳光从没有那么明媚地照在山谷上。她一边哼着歌，一边铺桌子："红白格子的桌布--这是我们在自己家初次吃饭用的那一块。桃红色的碟子，上面印的图案常使他发笑。一瓶冒着气泡的好酒--尤其是一些花。他总喜欢桌上有花。他常常说我理的花比谁理的都要好看。"
然后在离开家前，她靠在自行车上，通过敞开的窗户，凝视那小房间，是的，一切都显得完美无缺。经过那么多的苦难，雷诺将会惊喜交集地发现自己的家和妻子竟变化那么少。她通过窗户，在那面大镜子中打量着自己。恐怕有点太瘦了，但依然年轻、美丽。她兴奋得心花怒放了。
莱马里的小屋子正好座落在村子的尽头，所以当那个目光炯炯的瘦兵一小时以后溜进花园时，只有一个邻居看见他。他在那儿站了一会儿，谛听着蜜蜂嘤嘤的叫声，光亮和幸福使他眼花缭乱，美丽的鲜花令他陶醉。然后，他轻轻地呼唤道：
"海伦!"
没有回答。
"海伦!--海伦!"
四周的静默让他害怕，走近一看，通过窗户他看见了为两人设了座位的餐桌、花朵和美酒。他觉得自己受了致命伤，只好倚靠在墙上。
"老天爷!"他一定会想。"她不是孤独一个人啊。"
没过多久，海伦回来了。邻居向她喊道："我已经看见你的雷诺了。他沿着马路跑啦，我喊他，可是他不回来。"
"他跑了吗?往哪个方向?"
"往特维埃跑了。"
她冲到市长的家里，但是他什么都不知道。
"我很害怕，市长先生，雷诺虽然外表强硬，却是个妒嫉、敏感的人。他看见为两人设了座位的餐桌。他哪里会知道我正是为他才这样摆设的。我们必须立刻重新找到他，市长先生，我们一定要找到他!他可能一去不复返了。我是那么一往情深地爱着他。"
市长派人去特维埃车站，向警察局报了警。但是雷诺·莱马里失踪了。海伦整夜坐在桌旁，桌上的鲜花渐渐在暑气中枯萎了。
By Andr‘e Maurois(安徽省 蚌埠第二中学 许文龙 摘译)