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comfortably, without her corset, her arms and legs bare and relaxed, out in the fresh air, in the sunshine, she felt extremely peaceful; she felt happy, as if she had everything she could wish for. She had a husband she loved, the best son in the world. The paper factory was flourishing. Her mother-in-law was dead. Pierre was making an excellent marriage. She thanked divine Providence with all her heart for having scattered roses on her path while giving her the fortitude to bear their thorns in a Christian way: her father-in-law’s nature, the bad conduct of Josephine, the new maid. She was feeling charitable.
    She looked at Madame Florent with indulgence. The poor woman, widowed, alone in the world … ‘But what are you waiting for?’ she asked.
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘Well … shouldn’t it be Agnès’s turn to get married soon?’
    The two women looked at each other. Madame Florent’s eyes said, ‘Are you just saying that?… Or do you have someone in mind?’ and Madame Hardelot’s smile replied, ‘Why not make someone else happy as long as my own happiness is not at stake?’
    She nodded kindly several times. ‘I’ve been thinking …’
    At that very moment a wave, more powerful than the others, broke at the foot of the caravan, crashing loudly over the running board. With cries and laughter, the two women hopped about and then, finally, clambered down into the water.
    ‘Oh my goodness! It’s so cold. My back’s all wet.’
    ‘Jump in. Just jump right in!’
    ‘You first.’
    ‘No, you first — show me how it’s done.’
    Even though they were enjoying themselves, they didn’t lose their train of thought.
    ‘Who does she have in mind?’ Madame Florent wondered, splashing water on to her back and shivering with both fear and pleasure at the feel of the fresh, cold sea. ‘Who could it be?’ She knew all the eligible young men in Saint-Elme.
    Meanwhile, Madame Hardelot gently bobbed up and down with the waves; she flailed her arms about and imagined she was swimming. The current brought the women together, then pushed them apart again.
    ‘Is it someone I know?’ Madame Florent finally shouted out, her patience wearing thin.
    Madame Hardelot nodded yes, smiling.
    ‘A decent man?’
    ‘Of course, my dear, would I even suggest him otherwise?’ replied Madame Hardelot, pausing a moment to spit out a mouthful of salty water.
    ‘Is he the right age; does he have a good job and some money?’
    ‘There’s a slight difference in age.’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘He’s about forty …’
    ‘I don’t know if Agnès …’
    ‘It’s up to you to make her see reason. He’s Lumbres’s son.’
    ‘Lumbres?’ said Madame Florent, disappointed, ‘but they’re shopkeepers.’
    The Lumbres were watchmakers in Saint-Omer.
    ‘Shopkeepers who bled themselves dry to educate their son. He’s a doctor now with a good position.’
    She waited for a moment and then called out over the crest of a wave, ‘In Paris …’
    ‘Oh, so now we’ve come to the bottom of it,’ thought Madame Florent, smiling to herself. ‘Agnès, married and living in Paris, far away from the newlyweds. That would really suit the Hardelots. But why not, by God, why not?’ she murmured, imagining a house in Paris. She could live with her daughter …
    ‘You say he’s about forty?’
    ‘Yes, but he doesn’t look it.’
    ‘Is he in good health?’
    ‘You know old Mr Lumbres, don’t you? He’s about the same age as my father-in-law. Strong as an ox.’
    ‘We’ll have to see,’ murmured Madame Florent, deep in thought. ‘We’ll have to see.’
    Some light clouds covered the sun. The ladies felt cold.
    ‘Shall we head back? That swim was so refreshing.’
    ‘Extremely invigorating,’ replied Madame Hardelot, her teeth chattering.
    They came out of the water. Their black wool swimming costumes had been designed to hide a woman’s natural shape as much as possible. Both ladies seemed to be wearing sacks, but the