A new loaf awaited them on the hearth, standing between two bottles that seemed full.
Raudel first attacked the loaf, tearing it with as much violence as though he were throttling a man; then he began to eat it ravenously, gulping it rapidly down in great mouthfuls. But almost at once the smell of the meat drew him to the hearth and, taking off the lid of the pot, he thrust in a fork and brought out a big piece of beef, tied up with string. Then he took cabbage, carrots and onions until his plate was full, and, putting it on the table, he sat down, cut the meat into four portions, and dined as though he were in his own home. When he had eaten almost the whole piece, in addition to a quantity of vegetables, he realised that he was thirsty, and went to fetch one of the bottles standing by the hearth.
As soon as he saw the liquor in his glass he knew it for brandy. So much the worse for it; it was hot, and would put fire into his veins; that would be good, after having been so cold; and he drank.
He found it good indeed, for he had long been unused to it; he poured out another full glass, and swallowed it in two gulps. He began to feel happy at once, heartened by the alcohol, as though a vast content had poured through his body.
He continued to eat, less hastily now, chewing slowly and soaking his bread in the broth. The whole skin of his body had become burning hot, especially his forehead, where the blood was thudding. But suddenly a distant bell rang. It was the Mass ending; and instinct rather than fear, the instinctive prudence that guides and forewarns every creature in danger, jerked the carpenter to his feet. He put the remains of the loaf in one pocket, and the bottle of brandy in the other, and with furtive steps went to the window and looked out at the road.
It was still quite empty. He leapt out and went on his way; but instead of following the high road, he fled across the fields towards a wood he noticed.
He felt alert, strong, and lighthearted, content with what he had done, and so supple that he cleared the fences between the fields at one bound, feet together.
As soon as he was under the trees, he took the bottle from his pocket and started drinking again in long draughts, while he walked. Then his thoughts became confused, his eyes misty, and his legs as elastic as springs.
He sang the old folksong:
“Ah! qu’il fait donc bon,
Qu’il fait donc bon,
Cueillir la fraise.”27
He was walking now on thick moss, damp and cool, and this pleasant carpet underfoot filled him with a wild desire to turn somersaults like a child. He took a run, went head over heels, leapt up, and began again. And between each caper, he went on singing:
“Ah! qu’il fait donc bon,
Qu’il fait donc bon,
Cueillir la fraise.”
Suddenly he found himself beside a sunken lane, and saw therein a servant girl returning to the village, carrying in her hands two pails of milk; a barrel hoop from a cask kept them from knocking against her.
He watched her, leaning forward, his eyes lighting up like those of a dog sighting a quail.
She caught sight of him, raised her head, burst out laughing, and shouted to him:
“Was it you singing like that?”
He made no answer and jumped into the gully, although the bank was a good six feet high.
“Lord, you did scare me!” she said, seeing him suddenly standing in front of her.
But he did not hear her; he was drunk, he was mad, in the grip of a passion more devastating than hunger, maddened by alcohol and the overmastering passion of a man who for two months had been deprived of everything; who is drunk, and young, and ardent, on fire with all the appetites that nature has sown in a man’s vigorous body.
The girl recoiled, frightened by his face, his eyes, his half-open mouth, and his outstretched hands.
He grasped her by the shoulders and, without saying a word, flung her down on the road. She let go of her pails; they rolled along noisily, spilling all the milk; then she screamed; then, realising that it was no use shouting in that deserted spot, and well aware now that he was not determined on her death, she yielded without making too much to-do about it, nor much resenting it, for the fellow was strong but not too rough really.
When she rose, the thought of her overturned pails filled her with sudden wrath, and, taking off one of her wooden shoes, she rushed in her turn on the man, determined to break his head if he did not pay for her milk.
But he, mistaking her violent attack, a little sobered now, and desperately frightened at what he had done, made off with all the haste his legs would let him, while she threw stones, of which some hit him in the back.
He ran for a long time; then felt wearier than ever before in his life. His legs were too slack to carry him; his brain was reeling, he had forgotten everything that had happened, and could no longer think at all.
He sat down at the foot of a tree.
At the end of five minutes he was asleep.
He woke with a terrible start, and, opening his eyes, perceived two shiny leather cocked hats bending over him, and the two policemen of the morning holding and binding his arms.
“I knew we’d catch you again,” jeered the sergeant.
Raudel rose without a word of reply. The men shook him, prepared to treat him roughly if he made a protest, for he was their prey now, fair game, prison game captured by these hunters of criminals who would not let him go again.
“Off we go!” commanded
