Le silence de la mer : corrigé
For a long time, well over a month, the same scene took place every day. The officer would knock, and come in. He would utter a few words about the weather, the temperature, or some other subject of equal unimportance, all having in common the fact that they needn’t be answered. He would always tarry a while on the threshold of the little door. He would look around him, a small smile giving away the pleasure he seemed to feel at this inspection, the same inspection each day, and the same pleasure. His eyes would linger on my niece’s downturned face, serious and indifferent without fail, and when he would finally look away I would be sure to see a kind of smiling approval in his eyes. And then, bowing, he would say, “I bid you goodnight”, before leaving.
One evening, things changed suddenly. Outside, a fine snow mingled with rain was falling, glacially cold and wet. On the hearth, I was burning thick logs, which I kept especially for those kinds of days. I couldn’t help but imagine the officer outside, and the dusting of snow he would have on him when he entered. But he didn’t come/turn up/arrive. His usual hour of arrival had been and gone some time previously, and seeing how often my thoughts turned to him / how my thoughts were occupied by him was beginning to annoy me. My niece was knitting with a very busy/intent air.
Finally, we heard some footsteps, but they came from inside the house. From their irregular fall I could recognise the officer’s walk. I realised that he had come in through the other door, and that the footsteps came from his bedroom. No doubt he had not wanted to be seen by us in a soaking and crumpled uniform. He had first gone to change.
The steps, one strong/heavy, one weak/light, came down the stairs. The door opened and the officer appeared. He was dressed in civilian clothes, in a pair of thick grey flannel trousers and a tweed jacket of a steel blue herringbone mixed with a warm brown colour. The jacket was big and loose, and fell with a kind of elegant negligence. Under his jacket he wore a thick, off-white jumper which hugged his slim, muscular torso.