Others are less fortunate and drift into a life of whoring, and the huge numbers of soldiers along the border provide ample business. Their lives are brutal and often short. It is remarkable how many remain human nonetheless; the spark of humanity is not so easily extinguished, even when there is often little to sustain it. The woman Lefevre took me to was one such. She was probably an illegitimate child who would one day generate more such as she was. She found herself in Nancy and was inevitably turning to soldiers for protection.
But she was still young and new and fresh, as the saying goes, and had ambitions above mere survival. Life burned in her and would not be easily quenched. The clarity of her vision was remarkable: she had a sophistication of thought far beyond her sex, or station or age. Listen:
'Do not think I do not understand what I am doing. I could become a flower girl, or a shop worker or labour in a factory. I might find some drunken soldier who would beat me and leave me. Or be forced to live with a man far more stupid than I am and defer to his obtuseness in exchange for security. What I do now may not prevail. I might sink to the bottom, and live out my days wheedling ever more disgusting men for a few sous. "Hello, dearie, want a good time?" I've seen it all. It is one future that may become mine.
'But only one, and it is not inevitable, whatever the moralists tend to think and hope. I might do better. I am prepared to gamble, and if it does not work, then I will at least end my days in the gutter knowing that I have tried.'
Lefevre made her a proposition. In exchange for any information she might provide, he would offer payment. Gold for betrayal; the most essential of human transactions, but he attempted to disguise it by subtle words and careful phrasing. She saw through them all immediately.
'What sort of information do you have in mind? We are in a border town full of troops. I imagine that is the sort of information you require.'
'Café gossip, tales of troop movements, training. Who is up and who is down in the army.'
She pursed her lips. Very well-formed lips, wide and curving, touched up by only the faintest art. 'That is all very well, I imagine, but hardly vital. What country do you come from? Or work for? I will not spy for the Germans.'
'We do not work for the Germans,' he replied.
'Probably the English, then. Or the Russians.' She considered. 'I think I could manage that. Depending on the price, of course. But I think you set your sights too low.'
'How is that?'
'The whole of the general staff is here. Would it not be better to have information from that quarter, rather than café chit-chat?'
Lefevre did not reply.
'You have made me a proposition, Monsieur. I will make you one. I do not want to spend my life in the company of soldiers. But to present myself to better society I need clothes, jewels, somewhere better to live.'
She stopped, for what she had in mind was clear enough.
'And how much would you suggest?' Lefevre said dryly.
'About a thousand francs.'
He laughed, then shook his head. 'I think not, my girl. I do not have such sums at my disposal and if I gave it to you I doubt I would ever see it again. You'd be on the next train out with a different name. Do you take me for an idiot?'
I abbreviate, and my memory does not recall the exact words, but that was the essence of the conversation. It was illuminating; I considered that Lefevre had made a mistake, and that I had seen one of his limitations. He did not think broadly and was cautious in his judgement. Perhaps he was right; experience had taught him that neither men nor women were to be trusted. But I believed I had seen something he either had not glimpsed or wished to disregard.
The girl was clever. I do not mean sly, or cunning, although life had taught her much of that when it was needed. But intelligent. She saw a chance for herself. She did not, I noted, threaten – did not say she would go to the authorities and report us, which was just as well for her. She judged the situation clearly.
And even in her situation – which was poor and could easily have been squalid – she somehow rose above circumstance. She dressed well considering the quality of her clothes; she sat and talked properly. There was an animation in her eyes and expression which made one forget that she was neither particularly beautiful nor favoured in life. Even Lefevre did not address her too roughly or rudely. She had character, in sum, and I believed it was a pity to waste it.
