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Wireless Sensor
Networks
Wireless Sensor
Networks
Deployment Strategies for
Outdoor Monitoring
Fadi Al-Turjman
MATLAB® is a trademark of The MathWorks, Inc. and is used with permission. The MathWorks
does not warrant the accuracy of the text or exercises in this book. This book’s use or discussion of
MATLAB® software or related products does not constitute endorsement or sponsorship by The
MathWorks of a particular pedagogical approach or particular use of the MATLAB® software.
CRC Press
Taylor & Francis Group
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P r e fa c e xi
Author xiii
Chapter 1 Introduction 1
1.1 Contributions 2
1.2 Book Outline 4
References 6
Chapter 2 D e p l oy m e n t o f W i r e l e s s S e n s o r
N e t wo rks i n O u t d o o r E n vi ro n m e n t
Monitoring: A n Overvie w 7
2.1 esired Network Properties in OEM
D 8
2.1.1 Connectivity 8
2.1.2 Fault-Tolerance 9
2.1.3 Lifetime 10
2.2 R andom vs. Deterministic WSNs Deployment 11
2.2.1 R andom Deployment 12
2.2.2 Deterministic (Grid-Based) Deployment 12
2.3 Summary 16
References 18
Chapter 3 E f f i c i e n t D e p l oy m e n t o f W i r e l e s s
S e n s o r N e t w o r k s Ta r g e t i n g E n v i r o n m e n t
M o n i t o r i n g A pp l i c at i o n s 21
3.1 R
elated Work 25
3.2 S ystem Models and Problem Definition 27
3.2.1 Network Model and Placement Problem 28
vii
viii C o n t en t s
Chapter 4 O p t i m i z e d R e l ay P l a c e m e n t f o r W i r e l e s s
S e n s o r N e t w o r k s F e d e r at i o n i n
E n v i r o n m e n ta l A pp l i c at i o n s 63
4.1 R
elated Work 66
4.2 O ptimized WSN Federation 67
4.2.1 Definitions and Assumptions 67
4.2.2 Deployment Strategy 68
4.2.2.1 G
rid-Based ORP (GORP) 68
4.2.2.2 Th
e General Non-Grid (ORP) 74
4.3 Performance Evaluation 75
4.3.1 Simulation Environment 75
4.3.2 Performance Metrics and Parameters 75
4.3.3 Baseline Approaches 77
4.3.4 Simulation Model 78
4.3.5 Simulation Results 78
4.4 Conclusion 82
References 82
Chapter 5 To wa r d s A u g m e n t i n g F e d e r at e d W i r e l e s s
85
S e n s o r N e t w o r ks i n F o r e s t ry A pp l i cat i o n s
5.1 ackground and Related Work
B 87
5.2 System Model 88
5.2.1 Problem Definition 88
5.2.2 Communication Model 89
5.2.3 Network Model 90
5.2.4 Grid Model 91
5.3 Fixing Augmented Network Damage Intelligently
(FADI): The Approach92
5.4 Performance Evaluation 99
5.4.1 Performance Metrics and Parameters 100
5.4.2 Baseline Approaches 100
5.4.3 Simulation Setup and Results 101
5.5 Conclusion 104
References 105
C o n t en t s ix
Chapter 6 O p t i m i z e d H e x a g o n - B a s e d D e p l oy m e n t f o r
L a r g e -S c a l e U bi q u i t o u s S e n s o r N e t w o r k s 107
6.1 Related Work 109
6.2 System Models 111
6.2.1 N etwork Model 111
6.2.2 E nergy Consumption Model 112
6.2.3 C ommunication Model 112
6.2.4 Cost Model 113
6.2.4.1 Relay Node 113
6.2.4.2 C ognitive Node 114
6.2.5 Problem Definition 116
6.3 The O2D Deployment Strategy 117
6.4 Case Study 125
6.5 Simulation Results and Discussion 128
6.5.1 Simulation Setup 131
6.5.2 Evaluation of the Square-Based Grid 131
6.5.2.1 N ode Reliability (NR) 132
6.5.2.2 I nstantaneous Throughput (IT) 132
6.5.2.3 Delay 132
6.5.3 Evaluation of the Hexagon-Based Grid 134
6.5.3.1 I nstantaneous Throughput (IT) 135
6.5.3.2 N ode Reliability (NR) 136
6.6 Conclusions 138
References 139
Chapter 7 To wa r d s P r o l o n g e d L i f e t i m e f o r
D e p l oy e d W i r e l e s s S e n s o r N e t w o r k s in
xi
x ii P refac e
x iii
xiv Au t h o r
with Taylor & Francis Group, CRC Press, New York. Since 2007, he
has been working on international wireless sensor networks projects
related to remote monitoring, as well as Smart Cities-related deploy-
ments and data delivery protocols using integrated RFID–sensor
networks.
1
I ntroducti on
1
2 WIREL E S S SENS O R NE T W O RKS
along its length (~70 m). In order to study these variations, a winch
near the top is needed to carry a set of weather monitoring instru-
ments with a very long serial cable connected to a battery powered
data logger at the tree base. However, a few small nodes constructing
the WSN were able to collect the targeted data wirelessly at different
scales and resolutions.
Measuring natural species with a WSN can also enable long term
data collection at scales and resolutions that are difficult, if not impos-
sible, to obtain otherwise. Moreover, due to the local computing and
networking capabilities of WSNs, sensor nodes can be reprogrammed
to do different tasks after deployment on site, based on changes in
the conditions of the WSN itself and the targeted phenomena [1].
Therefore, laboratories can be extended to the monitored site where
no human intervention is required, and real time interaction can be
provided remotely.
Nonetheless, deploying* WSNs in OEM is challenging and needs
further investigation due to harsh operational conditions, vast mon-
itored areas, limited energy budgets, and required 3-D setups. For
instance, most of the proposed OEM applications [2,3,6–9] are applied
in harsh and large-scale areas, such as forests and river surfaces, and
experience bad channel conditions as well as great chances of node
failures and damages. Furthermore, some applications required more
complicated deployment planning when 3-D setups [3,6,8,10], and
long lifetime periods [2,6,9] are required. Therefore, we investigate
efficient deployment plans to address these challenges and fill the lit-
erature gap in this critical research direction. In the following sub-
sections, OEM deployment challenges and motivations behind this
work are detailed. And major research contributions are reviewed in
addition to outlining the remaining contents of this book.
1.1 Contributions
1.2 Book Outline
related work in terms of the average relay node count and distribution,
the scalability of the federated WSNs in large scale applications, and
the robustness of the topologies formed. We elaborate further on this
strategy in Chapter 6 where the hexagonal virtual grid is assumed
instead of the square one. We propose the use of cognitive nodes
(CNs) in the underlying sensor network to provide intelligent infor-
mation processing and knowledge-based services to the end users. We
identify tools and techniques to implement the cognitive functionality
and formulate a strategy for the deployment of CNs in the underlying
sensor network to ensure a high probability of successful data recep-
tion among communicating nodes. From MATLAB® simulations, we
were able to verify that in a network with randomly deployed sensor
nodes, CNs can be strategically deployed at predetermined positions,
to deliver application-aware data that satisfies the end user’s qual-
ity of information requirements, even at high application payloads.
Chapter 7 proposes a 3-D grid-based deployment for heterogeneous
WSNs (consisting of SNs, RNs, and MRNs). The problem is cast
as a Mixed Integer Linear Program (MILP) optimization problem
with the objective of maximizing the network lifetime while main-
taining certain levels of fault-tolerance and cost efficiency. Moreover,
an Upper Bound (UB) on the deployed WSN lifetime, given that
there are no unexpected node/link failures, has been driven. Based on
practical/harsh experimental settings in OEM, intensive simulations
show that the proposed grid-based deployment scheme can achieve an
average of 97% of the expected UB.
Additionally, a typical scenario has been discussed and analyzed in
smart cities while considering genetic based approaches in Chapter 8.
In this chapter, we study the path planning problem for these DCs
while optimizing their counts and their total traveled distances. As
the total collected load on a given DC route cannot exceed its stor-
age capacity, it is important to decide on the size of the exchanged
data packets (images, videos, etc.) and the sequence of the targeted
data sources to be visited. We propose a hybrid heuristic approach for
public data delivery in smart city settings. In this approach, public
vehicles are utilized as DCs that read/collect data from numerously
distributed Access Points (APs) and relay it back to a central process-
ing base station in the city. We also introduce a cost-based fitness
function for DCs election in the smart city paradigm. Our cost-based
6 WIREL E S S SENS O R NE T W O RKS
References
1. I. Akyildiz, W. Su, Y. Sankarasubramaniam, and E. Cayirci, A survey
on sensor networks, IEEE Communications Magazine, vol. 40, no. 8,
pp. 102–114, 2002.
2. M. Hefeeda, Forest fire modeling and early detection uses wireless
sensor networks, School of Computing Science, Simon Fraser University,
Vancouver, BC, Technical Report TR-2007-08, August 2007.
3. F. Al-Turjman, Information-centric sensor networks for cognitive IoT:
An overview, Annals of Telecommunications, vol. 72, no. 1, pp. 3–18,
2017.
4. G. Guo and M. Zhou, Using MODIS land surface temperature to eval-
uate forest fire risk of Northeast China, IEEE Geoscience and Remote
Sensing Letters, vol. 1, no. 2, pp. 98–100, 2004.
5. NASA, MODIS—Moderate Resolution Imaging Spectroradiometer.
http://modis.gsfc.nasa.gov/, 2009.
6. G. Tolle, J. Polastre, R. Szewczyk, and D. Culler, A macroscope in the
redwoods, In Proceedings of the ACM Conference on Embedded Networked
Sensor Systems (SenSys), San Diego, CA, 2005, pp. 51–63.
7. J. Cox, MIT’s tree-powered wireless network, Network World. www.
networkworld.com/community/node/33278, 2009.
8. A. Singh, M. Batalin, V. Chen, M. Stealey, B. Jordan, J. Fisher,
T. Harmon, M. Hansen, and W. Kaiser, Autonomous robotic sensing
experiments at San Joaquin river. In Proceedings of the IEEE International
Conference on Robotics and Automation (ICRA), Rome, Italy, 2007,
pp. 4987–4993.
9. B. Son, Y. Her, and J. Kim, A design and implementation of forest-
fires surveillance system based on wireless sensor networks for South
Korea mountains, International Journal of Computer Science and Network
Security (IJCSNS), vol. 6, no. 9, pp. 124–130, 2006.
10. J. Thelen, D. Goense, and K. Langendoen, Radio wave propagation
in potato fields, In Proceedings of the Workshop on Wireless Network
Measurements, Riva del Garda, Italy, April 2005.
2
D eployment o f W ireles s
S enso r N e t works in
O utd o o r E n v ironment
M onitorin g
An Overview
7
8 WIREL E S S SENS O R NE T W O RKS
2.1.1 Connectivity
2.1.2 Fault-Tolerance
interference, etc. Thus, it is crucial to ensure that WSNs are also fault-
tolerant. As mentioned before, the sources of failure in OEM can
occur because of either node or link failures. These failures are char-
acterized by the Probability of Node Failure (PNF) and Probability
of Disconnected Nodes (PDN) to indicate the harshness level of the
monitored environment.
Three scenarios are considered in the deployed networks to be fault-
tolerant: fault detection, fault diagnosis, and fault recovery [15]. There
are many techniques for fault detection and diagnosis in the literature;
they are classified into self-diagnosis, group detection, and hierar-
chal detection [16]. On the other hand, few fault recovery techniques
are addressed in the literature. They can be classified into node and
link recovery techniques. These recovery techniques assure the ability
of the deployed network to stay operational and fulfill the assigned
task in the presence of a set of nonfunctional nodes/links, so that
sensed and carried data can be recovered. Although both node and
link failures are important to be tolerated together, some deployments
have considered only node failure recovery such as [9], while others
have considered only the link failure recovery as in Reference [17],
which weakens the deployed network performance. Compared to the
complexity of considering a single type of these recovery techniques,
it is trivial to consider both of them in one deployment technique
by employing redundant nodes and maximizing the communication
connectivity.
2.1.3 Lifetime
2.2.1 Random Deployment
Proposals described above are suitable for applications which are not
interested in the exact node positioning. In contrast, some propos-
als have advocated deploying nodes exactly on specific predefined
locations, called grid vertices. These locations are optimized in
terms of the aforementioned network properties and the feasibil-
ity of the location itself in reality (e.g., non-reachable locations are
D E P L OY M EN T O F WIREL E S S SENS O R NE T W O RKS 13
It was not until nearly the middle of July that Brockett took Stephen
to Valérie Seymour’s. Valérie had been away for some time, and was
even now only passing through Paris en route for her villa at St.
Tropez.
As they drove to her apartment on the Quai Voltaire, Brockett
began to extol their hostess, praising her wit, her literary talent. She
wrote delicate satires and charming sketches of Greek mœurs—the
latter were very outspoken, but then Valérie’s life was very
outspoken—she was, said Brockett, a kind of pioneer who would
probably go down to history. Most of her sketches were written in
French, for among other things Valérie was bilingual; she was also
quite rich, an American uncle had had the foresight to leave her his
fortune; she was also quite young, being just over thirty, and
according to Brockett, good-looking. She lived her life in great
calmness of spirit, for nothing worried and few things distressed her.
She was firmly convinced that in this ugly age one should strive to
the top of one’s bent after beauty. But Stephen might find her a bit
of a free lance, she was libre penseuse when it came to the heart;
her love affairs would fill quite three volumes, even after they had
been expurgated. Great men had loved her, great writers had written
about her, one had died, it was said, because she refused him, but
Valérie was not attracted to men—yet as Stephen would see if she
went to her parties, she had many devoted friends among men. In
this respect she was almost unique, being what she was, for men
did not resent her. But then of course all intelligent people realized
that she was a creature apart, as would Stephen the moment she
met her.
Brockett babbled away, and as he did so his voice took on the
effeminate timbre that Stephen always hated and dreaded: ‘Oh, my
dear!’ he exclaimed with a high little laugh, ‘I’m so excited about this
meeting of yours, I’ve a feeling it may be momentous. What fun!’
And his soft, white hands grew restless, making their foolish
gestures.
She looked at him coldly, wondering the while how she could
tolerate this young man—why indeed, she chose to endure him.
The first thing that struck Stephen about Valérie’s flat was its large
and rather splendid disorder. There was something blissfully
unkempt about it, as though its mistress were too much engrossed
in other affairs to control its behaviour. Nothing was quite where it
ought to have been, and much was where it ought not to have been,
while over the whole lay a faint layer of dust—even over the
spacious salon. The odour of somebody’s Oriental scent was
mingling with the odour of tuberoses in a sixteenth century chalice.
On a divan, whose truly regal proportions occupied the best part of a
shadowy alcove, lay a box of Fuller’s peppermint creams and a lute,
but the strings of the lute were broken.
Valérie came forward with a smile of welcome. She was not
beautiful nor was she imposing, but her limbs were very perfectly
proportioned, which gave her a fictitious look of tallness. She moved
well, with the quiet and unconscious grace that sprang from those
perfect proportions. Her face was humorous, placid and worldly; her
eyes very kind, very blue, very lustrous. She was dressed all in
white, and a large white fox skin was clasped round her slender and
shapely shoulders. For the rest she had masses of thick fair hair,
which was busily ridding itself of its hairpins; one could see at a
glance that it hated restraint, like the flat it was in rather splendid
disorder.
She said: ‘I’m so delighted to meet you at last, Miss Gordon, do
come and sit down. And please smoke if you want to,’ she added
quickly, glancing at Stephen’s tell-tale fingers.
Brockett said: ‘Positively, this is too splendid! I feel that you’re
going to be wonderful friends.’
Stephen thought: ‘So this is Valérie Seymour.’
No sooner were they seated than Brockett began to ply their
hostess with personal questions. The mood that had incubated in
the motor was now becoming extremely aggressive, so that he
fidgeted about on his chair, making his little inadequate gestures.
‘Darling, you’re looking perfectly lovely! But do tell me, what have
you done with Polinska? Have you drowned her in the blue grotto at
Capri? I hope so, my dear, she was such a bore and so dirty! Do tell
me about Polinska. How did she behave when you got her to Capri?
Did she bite anybody before you drowned her? I always felt
frightened; I loathe being bitten!’
Valérie frowned: ‘I believe she’s quite well.’
‘Then you have drowned her, darling!’ shrilled Brockett.
And now he was launched on a torrent of gossip about people of
whom Stephen had never even heard: ‘Pat’s been deserted—have
you heard that, darling? Do you think she’ll take the veil or cocaine
or something? One never quite knows what may happen next with
such an emotional temperament, does one? Arabella’s skipped off to
the Lido with Jane Grigg. The Grigg’s just come into pots and pots of
money, so I hope they’ll be deliriously happy and silly while it lasts—
I mean the money. . . . Oh, and have you heard about Rachel
Morris? They say. . . .’ He flowed on and on like a brook in spring
flood, while Valérie yawned and looked bored, making monosyllabic
answers.
And Stephen as she sat there and smoked in silence, thought
grimly: ‘This is all being said because of me. Brockett wants to let
me see that he knows what I am, and he wants to let Valérie
Seymour know too—I suppose this is making me welcome.’ She
hardly knew whether to feel outraged or relieved that here, at least,
was no need for pretences.
But after a while she began to fancy that Valérie’s eyes had
become appraising. They were weighing her up and secretly
approving the result, she fancied. A slow anger possessed her.
Valérie Seymour was secretly approving, not because her guest was
a decent human being with a will to work, with a well-trained brain,
with what might some day become a fine talent, but rather because
she was seeing before her all the outward stigmata of the abnormal
—verily the wounds of One nailed to a cross—that was why Valérie
sat there approving.
And then, as though these bitter thoughts had reached her,
Valérie suddenly smiled at Stephen. Turning her back on the
chattering Brockett, she started to talk to her guest quite gravely
about her work, about books in general, about life in general; and as
she did so Stephen began to understand better the charm that many
had found in this woman; a charm that lay less in physical attraction
than in a great courtesy and understanding, a great will to please, a
great impulse towards beauty in all its forms—yes, therein lay her
charm. And as they talked on it dawned upon Stephen that here was
no mere libertine in love’s garden, but rather a creature born out of
her epoch, a pagan chained to an age that was Christian, one who
would surely say with Pierre Louÿs: ‘Le monde moderne succombe
sous un envahissement de laideur.’ And she thought that she
discerned in those luminous eyes, the pale yet ardent light of the
fanatic.
Presently Valérie Seymour asked her how long she would be
remaining in Paris.
And Stephen answered: ‘I’m going to live here,’ feeling surprised
at the words as she said them, for not until now had she made this
decision.
Valérie seemed pleased: ‘If you want a house, I know of one in
the Rue Jacob; it’s a tumbledown place, but it’s got a fine garden.
Why not go and see it? You might go to-morrow. Of course you’ll
have to live on this side, the Rive Gauche is the only possible Paris.’
‘I should like to see the old house,’ said Stephen.
So Valérie went to the telephone there and then and proceeded
to call up the landlord. The appointment was made for eleven the
next morning. ‘It’s rather a sad old house,’ she warned, ‘no one has
troubled to make it a home for some time, but you’ll alter all that if
you take it, because I suppose you’ll make it your home.’
Stephen flushed: ‘My home’s in England,’ she said quickly, for her
thoughts had instantly flown back to Morton.
But Valérie answered: ‘One may have two homes—many homes.
Be courteous to our lovely Paris and give it the privilege of being
your second home—it will feel very honoured, Miss Gordon.’ She
sometimes made little ceremonious speeches like this, and coming
from her, they sounded strangely old-fashioned.
Brockett, rather subdued and distinctly pensive as sometimes
happened if Valérie had snubbed him, complained of a pain above
his right eye: ‘I must take some phenacetin,’ he said sadly, ‘I’m
always getting this curious pain above my right eye—do you think
it’s the sinus?’ He was very intolerant of all pain.
His hostess sent for the phenacetin, and Brockett gulped down a
couple of tablets: ‘Valérie doesn’t love me any more,’ he sighed, with
a woebegone look at Stephen. ‘I do call it hard, but it’s always what
happens when I introduce my best friends to each other—they
foregather at once and leave me in the cold; but then, thank
heaven, I’m very forgiving.’
They laughed and Valérie made him get on to the divan where he
promptly lay down on the lute.
‘Oh God!’ he moaned, ‘now I’ve injured my spine—I’m so badly
upholstered.’ Then he started to strum on the one sound string of
the lute.
Valérie went over to her untidy desk and began to write out a list
of addresses: ‘These may be useful to you, Miss Gordon.’
‘Stephen!’ exclaimed Brockett, ‘Call the poor woman Stephen!’
‘May I?’
Stephen acquiesced: ‘Yes, please do.’
‘Very well then, I’m Valérie. Is that a bargain?’
‘The bargain is sealed,’ announced Brockett. With extraordinary
skill he was managing to strum ‘O Sole Mio’ on the single string,
when he suddenly stopped: ‘I knew there was something—your
fencing, Stephen, you’ve forgotten your fencing. We meant to ask
Valérie for Buisson’s address; they say he’s the finest master in
Europe.’
Valérie looked up: ‘Does Stephen fence, then?’
‘Does she fence! She’s a marvellous, champion fencer.’
‘He’s never seen me fence,’ explained Stephen, ‘and I’m never
likely to be a champion.’
‘Don’t you believe her, she’s trying to be modest. I’ve heard that
she fences quite as finely as she writes,’ he insisted. And somehow
Stephen felt touched, Brockett was trying to show off her talents.
Presently she offered him a lift in the car, but he shook his head:
‘No, thank you, dear one, I’m staying.’ So she wished them good-
bye; but as she left them she heard Brockett murmuring to Valérie
Seymour, and she felt pretty sure that she caught her own name.
6
‘Well, what did you think of Miss Seymour?’ inquired Puddle, when
Stephen got back about twenty minutes later.
Stephen hesitated: ‘I’m not perfectly certain. She was very
friendly, but I couldn’t help feeling that she liked me because she
thought me—oh, well, because she thought me what I am, Puddle.
But I may have been wrong—she was awfully friendly. Brockett was
at his very worst though, poor devil! His environment seemed to go
to his head.’ She sank down wearily on to a chair: ‘Oh, Puddle,
Puddle, it’s a hell of a business.’
Puddle nodded.
Then Stephen said rather abruptly: ‘All the same, we’re going to
live here in Paris. We’re going to look at a house to-morrow, an old
house with a garden in the Rue Jacob.’
For a moment Puddle hesitated, then she said: ‘There’s only one
thing against it. Do you think you’ll ever be happy in a city? You’re
so fond of the life that belongs to the country.’
Stephen shook her head: ‘That’s all past now, my dear; there’s
no country for me away from Morton. But in Paris I might make
some sort of a home, I could work here—and then of course there
are people. . . .’
Something started to hammer in Puddle’s brain: ‘Like to like! Like
to like! Like to like!’ it hammered.
CHAPTER 32
All alone in the brown and white salle à manger, Stephen and Puddle
ate their Christmas dinner. And Puddle had bought a small Christmas
tree and had trimmed it, then hung it with coloured candles. A little
wax Christ-child bent downwards and sideways from His branch, as
though He were looking for His presents—only now there were not
any presents. Rather clumsily Stephen lit the candles as soon as the
daylight had almost faded. Then she and Puddle stood and stared at
the tree, but in silence, because they must both remember. But
Pierre, who like all who have known the sea, was a child at heart,
broke into loud exclamations. ‘Oh, comme c’est beau, l’arbre de
Noël!’ he exclaimed, and he fetched the dour Pauline along from the
kitchen, and she too exclaimed; then they both fetched Adèle and
they all three exclaimed: ‘Comme c’est beau, l’arbre de Noël!’ So,
that after all the little wax Christ-child did not very much miss His
presents.
That evening Pauline’s two brothers arrived—they were Poilus
stationed just outside Paris—and they brought along with them
another young man, one Jean, who was ardently courting Adèle.
Very soon came the sound of singing and laughter from the kitchen,
and when Stephen went up to her bedroom to look for a book, there
was Adèle quite flushed and with very bright eyes because of this
Jean—in great haste she turned down the bed and then flew on the
wings of love back to the kitchen.
But Stephen went slowly downstairs to her study where Puddle
was sitting in front of the fire, and she thought that Puddle sat there
as though tired; her hands were quite idle, and after a moment
Stephen noticed that she was dozing. Very quietly Stephen opened
her book, unwilling to rouse the little grey woman who looked so
small in the huge leather chair, and whose head kept guiltily
nodding. But the book seemed scarcely worth troubling to read, so
that presently Stephen laid it aside and sat staring into the flickering
logs that hummed and burnt blue because it was frosty. On the
Malvern Hills there would probably be snow; deep snow might be
capping the Worcestershire Beacon. The air up at British Camp
would be sweet with the smell of winter and open spaces—little
lights would be glinting far down in the valley. At Morton the lakes
would be still and frozen, so Peter the swan would be feeling friendly
—in winter he had always fed from her hand—he must be old now,
the swan called Peter. Coup! C-o-u-p! and Peter waddling towards
her. He, who was all gliding grace on the water, would come
awkwardly waddling towards her hand for the chunk of dry bread
that she held in her fingers. Jean with his Adèle along in the kitchen
—a nice-looking boy he was, Stephen had seen him—they were
young, and both were exceedingly happy, for their parents
approved, so some day they would marry. Then children would
come, too many, no doubt, for Jean’s slender purse, and yet in this
life one must pay for one’s pleasures—they would pay with their
children, and this appeared perfectly fair to Stephen. She thought
that it seemed a long time ago since she herself had been a small
child, romping about on the floor with her father, bothering Williams
down at the stables, dressing up as young Nelson and posing for
Collins who had sometimes been cross to young Nelson. She was
nearly thirty, and what had she done? Written one good novel and
one very bad one, with few mediocre short stories thrown in. Oh,
well, she was going to start writing again quite soon—she had an
idea for a novel. But she sighed, and Puddle woke up with a start.
‘Is that you, my dear? Have I been asleep?’
‘Only for a very few minutes, Puddle.’
Puddle glanced at the new gold watch on her wrist; it had been a
Christmas present from Stephen. ‘It’s past ten o’clock—I think I’ll
turn in.’
‘Do. Why not? I hope Adèle’s filled your hot water bottle; she’s
rather light-headed over her Jean.’
‘Never mind, I can fill it myself,’ smiled Puddle.
She went, and Stephen sat on by the fire with her eyes half
closed and her lips set firmly. She must put away all these thoughts
of the past and compel herself to think of the future. This brooding
over things that were past was all wrong; it was futile, weak-kneed
and morbid. She had her work, work that cried out to be done, but
no more unworthy books must be written. She must show that being
the thing she was, she could climb to success over all opposition,
could climb to success in spite of a world that was trying its best to
get her under. Her mouth grew hard; her sensitive lips that belonged
by rights to the dreamer, the lover, took on a resentful and bitter line
which changed her whole face and made it less comely. At that
moment the striking likeness of her father appeared to have faded
out of her face.
Yes, it was trying to get her under, this world with its mighty self-
satisfaction, with its smug rules of conduct, all made to be broken by
those who strutted and preened themselves on being what they
considered normal. They trod on the necks of those thousands of
others who, for God knew what reason, were not made as they
were; they prided themselves on their indignation, on what they
proclaimed as their righteous judgments. They sinned grossly; even
vilely at times, like lustful beasts—but yet they were normal! And the
vilest of them could point a finger of scorn at her, and be loudly
applauded.
‘God damn them to hell!’ she muttered.
Along in the kitchen there was singing again. The young men’s
voices rose tuneful and happy, and with them blended Adèle’s young
voice, very sexless as yet, like the voice of a choirboy. Stephen got
up and opened the door, then she stood quite still and listened
intently. The singing soothed her over-strained nerves as it flowed
from the hearts of these simple people. For she did not begrudge
them their happiness; she did not resent young Jean with his Adèle,
or Pierre who had done a man’s work in his time, or Pauline who
was often aggressively female. Bitter she had grown in these years
since Morton, but not bitter enough to resent the simple. And then
as she listened they suddenly stopped for a little before they
resumed their singing, and when they resumed it the tune was sad
with the sadness that dwells in the souls of most men, above all in
the patient soul of the peasant.
‘Mais comment ferez vous, l’Abbé,
Ma Doué?’
CHAPTER 33
W ith the New Year came flowers from Valérie Seymour, and a
little letter of New Year’s greeting. Then she paid a rather
ceremonious call and was entertained by Puddle and Stephen.
Before leaving she invited them both to luncheon, but Stephen
refused on the plea of her work.
‘I’m hard at it again.’
At this Valérie smiled. ‘Very well then, à bientôt. You know where
to find me, ring up when you’re free, which I hope will be soon.’
After which she took her departure.
But Stephen was not to see her again for a very considerable
time, as it happened. Valérie was also a busy woman—there are
other affairs beside the writing of novels.
Brockett was in London on account of his plays. He wrote
seldom, though when he did so he was cordial, affectionate even;
but now he was busy with success, and with gathering in the
shekels. He had not lost interest in Stephen again, only just at the
moment she did not fit in with his brilliant and affluent scheme of
existence.
So once more she and Puddle settled down together to a life that
was strangely devoid of people, a life of almost complete isolation,
and Puddle could not make up her mind whether she felt relieved or
regretful. For herself she cared nothing, her anxious thoughts were
as always centred in Stephen. However, Stephen appeared quite
contented—she was launched on her book and was pleased with her
writing. Paris inspired her to do good work, and as recreation she
now had her fencing—twice every week she now fenced with
Buisson, that severe but incomparable master.
Buisson had been very rude at first: ‘Hideous, affreux,
horriblement English!’ he had shouted, quite outraged by Stephen’s
style. All the same he took a great interest in her. ‘You write books;
what a pity! I could make you a fine fencer. You have the man’s
muscles, and the long, graceful lunge when you do not remember
that you are a Briton and become—what you say? ah, mais oui, self-
conscious. I wish that I had find you out sooner—however, your
muscles are young still, pliant.’ And one day he said: ‘Let me feel the
muscles,’ then proceeded to pass his hand down her thighs and
across her strong loins: ‘Tiens, tiens!’ he murmured.
After this he would sometimes look at her gravely with a puzzled
expression; but she did not resent him, nor his rudeness, nor his
technical interest in her muscles. Indeed, she liked the cross little
man with his bristling black beard and his peppery temper, and when
he remarked à propos of nothing: ‘We are all great imbeciles about
nature. We make our own rules and call them la nature; we say she
do this, she do that—imbeciles! She do what she please and then
make the long nose.’ Stephen felt neither shy nor resentful.
These lessons were a great relaxation from work, and thanks to
them her health grew much better. Her body, accustomed to severe
exercise, had resented the sedentary life in London. Now, however,
she began to take care of her health, walking for a couple of hours
in the Bois every day, or exploring the tall, narrow streets that lay
near her home in the Quarter. The sky would look bright at the end
of such streets by contrast, as though it were seen through a tunnel.
Sometimes she would stand gazing into the shops of the wider and
more prosperous Rue des Saints Pères; the old furniture shops; the
crucifix shop with its dozens of crucified Christs in the window—so
many crucified ivory Christs! She would think that one must surely
exist for every sin committed in Paris. Or perhaps she would make
her way over the river, crossing by the Pont des Arts. And one
morning, arrived at the Rue des Petits Champs, what must she
suddenly do but discover the Passage Choiseul, by just stepping
inside for shelter, because it had started raining.
Oh, the lure of the Passage Choiseul, the queer, rather gawky
attraction of it. Surely the most hideous place in all Paris, with its
roof of stark wooden ribs and glass panes—the roof that looks like
the vertebral column of some prehistoric monster. The chocolate
smell of the patisserie—the big one where people go who have
money. The humbler, student smell of Lavrut, where one’s grey
rubber bands are sold by the gramme and are known as: ‘Bracelets
de caoutchouc.’ Where one buys première qualité blotting paper of a
deep ruddy tint and the stiffness of cardboard, and thin but inspiring
manuscript books bound in black, with mottled, shiny blue borders.
Where pencils and pens are found in their legions, of all makes, all
shapes, all colours, all prices; while outside on the trustful trays in
the Passage, lives Gomme Onyx, masquerading as marble, and as
likely to rub a hole in your paper. For those who prefer the reading
of books to the writing of them, there is always Lemerre with his
splendid display of yellow bindings. And for those undisturbed by
imagination, the taxidermist’s shop is quite near the corner—they
can stare at a sad and moth-eaten flamingo, two squirrels, three
parrots and a dusty canary. Some are tempted by the cheap
corduroy at the draper’s, where it stands in great rolls as though it
were carpet. Some pass on to the little stamp merchant, while a few
dauntless souls even enter the chemist’s—that shamelessly
anatomical chemist’s, whose wares do not figure in school manuals
on the practical uses of rubber.
And up and down this Passage Choiseul, pass innumerable idle or
busy people, bringing in mud and rain in the winter, bringing in dust
and heat in the summer, bringing in God knows how many thoughts,
some part of which cannot escape with their owners. The very air of
the Passage seems heavy with all these imprisoned thoughts.
Stephen’s thoughts got themselves entrapped with the others,
but hers, at the moment, were those of a schoolgirl, for her eye had
suddenly lit on Lavrut, drawn thereto by the trays of ornate india-
rubber. And once inside, she could not resist the ‘Bracelets de
caoutchouc,’ or the blotting paper as red as a rose, or the
manuscript books with the mottled blue borders. Growing reckless,
she gave an enormous order for the simple reason that these things
looked different. In the end she actually carried away one of those
inspiring manuscript books, and then got herself driven home by a
taxi, in order the sooner to fill it.
Mademoiselle Duphot admired the house in the Rue Jacob, and she ate
very largely of the rich and excellent dinner. Quite regardless of her
increasing proportions, she seemed drawn to all those things that
were fattening.
‘I cannot resist,’ she remarked with a smile, as she reached for
her fifth marron glacé.
They talked of Paris, of its beauty, its charm. Then Mademoiselle
spoke yet again of her Maman and of Aunt Clothilde who had left
them the money, and of Julie, her blind sister.
But after the meal she quite suddenly blushed. ‘Oh, Stévenne, I
have never inquired for your parents! What must you think of such
great impoliteness? I lose my head the moment I see you and grow
selfish—I want you to know about me and my Maman; I babble
about my affairs. What must you think of such great impoliteness?
How is that kind and handsome Sir Philip? And your mother, my
dear, how is Lady Anna?’
And now it was Stephen’s turn to grow red. ‘My father died. . . .’
She hesitated, then finished abruptly, ‘I don’t live with my mother
any more, I don’t live at Morton.’
Mademoiselle gasped. ‘You no longer live . . .’ she began, then
something in Stephen’s face warned her kind but bewildered guest
not to question. ‘I am deeply grieved to hear of your father’s death,
my dear,’ she said very gently.
Stephen answered: ‘Yes—I shall always miss him.’
There ensued a long, rather painful silence, during which
Mademoiselle Duphot felt awkward. What had happened between
the mother and daughter? It was all very strange, very
disconcerting. And Stephen, why was she exiled from Morton? But
Mademoiselle could not cope with these problems, she knew only
that she wanted Stephen to be happy, and her kind brown eyes
grew anxious, for she did not feel certain that Stephen was happy.
Yet she dared not ask for an explanation, so instead she clumsily
changed the subject.
‘When will you both come to tea with me, Stévenne?’
‘We’ll come to-morrow if you like.’ Stephen told her.
Mademoiselle Duphot left rather early; and all the way home to
her apartment her mind felt exercised about Stephen.
She thought: ‘She was always a strange little child, but so dear. I
remember her when she was little, riding her pony astride like a boy;
and how proud he would seem, that handsome Sir Philip—they
would look more like father and son, those two. And now—is she not
still a little bit strange?’
But these thoughts led her nowhere, for Mademoiselle Duphot
was quite unacquainted with the bypaths of nature. Her innocent
mind was untutored and trustful; she believed in the legend of Adam
and Eve, and no careless mistakes had been made in their garden!
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