When she went home at the end of the day, fatigue was a satisfaction; she returned as exhausted and sweaty as after a night of love. In the evenings everyone went home to feed the children and look after the old people; it was as if a whole new day began after work. But Joséphine, alone in her big house, dined off nothing but a little bread and some cheese. She bathed for a long time and brushed her hair, which she had under a scarf in the morning; she became a woman again. Then, rather than stay at home reading, she went out for a long walk. She walked without seeing the path, in perfect darkness. As she passed near the houses, she sometimes saw through a window a group of women and old people sitting in a circle around a candle – there was no paraffin for lamps. When she saw those gatherings she knew they were rereading the latest letter received from the front, from Fernande’s husband or Léone’s brother, Simone’s son or someone’s fiancé. Letters which gave less news than they wanted, where the men gave them instructions and warnings, as if the land could not be tended without them; letters sometimes about nothing at all, but which were upsetting because of the circumstances. Joséphine did not want to take part in these intimate gatherings, but she guessed what they were like. Reading the letters they had all received forged a bond between the villagers. They resolved that from now on they would tell each other everything, and reassure those who were worried. As close as Joséphine felt to the collective of women in the fields during the day, in the evenings she felt distant from them. After walking all the way round the village she would return by the path along the river. Night was her world; she hid her desires there, and her despair. Her footsteps made a faint noise on the dry path; she was very aware of being overlooked by the mountain, which added its shadow to the darkness. She had always been attractive to men; every time she went to Limogne or Villefranche she was surprised by the look in men’s eyes, for without doing anything she charmed them, with that same charm that no doubt magicians used to make doves disappear. But there were no more men left to admire her now.