OU_214051 UNIVERSA - Osmania University

THE LODGER 119
It was a fine, warm autumn morning and the villages were bathed
in sunlight. People came to their doorsteps to watch the grey,
windowless vans, with armed warders posted beside the drivers,
streaming past.
As the long procession slowed down on its way through La
Rochelle the camera-men stood up in their car and took shots of
it. Then came La Pallice, and the cars halted on the North Quay,
to the right of the harbour, across which fishing-boats were gliding.
The crowd was kept back by a police cordon, which only those
with special permits were allowed to cross. So there were few
except pressmen and photographers actually on the quay, where
a tug was made fast in readiness to convey the prisoners to the He
de Rd, the first stage of their journey to the convict settlement.
"Where are the star-turns? " one of the press-photographers
asked a policeman posted at the gangway.
" The what? Oh, yes, of course... . Delpierre's in the second
van, I think."
Delpierre was a locksmith who had slaughtered his wife and his
five children with an axe.
" And Nagear? "
" Fourth or fifth van. You've seen his sister, haven't you? That's
her, over there." He pointed to a tall girl in grey, who was standing
in the front row of onlookers. The photographer ran across the
open space towards her, but before he could level his camera she
had hidden her face with her gloved hand.
Her neighbours in the crowd began to eye her with interest, and
noticed that she was carrying field-glasses. The word was passed
round that she was a relation of one of the prisoners.
The door of the first van opened. From each cell a man in
ordinary clothes stepped out, hampered by shackles and handcuffs
which constrained the movement of his arms. A kitbag on his
shoulder, a loaf of black bread under his arm, he slowly walked
between the rows of journalists and was led by a warder to the back
of the boat. There he squatted on the deck, blinking at the glare
off the water.
Most of the convicts were in rags and advanced timidly, as if
afraid of making some blunder and being reprimanded, perhaps
struck. Some, however, faced the pressmen with defiant eyes, a
scornful curl of the lips.
"Look! That's him!"
Elie had on his grey suit, a black felt hat, and a well*cut mackin-