“ ‘This is old Mother Jean-Jean, aged sixty-seven. She is almost blind; her face was scorched in a fire and her right leg half burnt away.’
“Finally she showed us the third, a sort of dwarf with protruding eyes rolling in every direction, round and vacant.
“ ‘This is Putois, a half-wit. She is only forty-four.’
“I had saluted the three as though they were Royal Highnesses to whom I was being presented. I turned to the priest:
“ ‘You are a treasure, your Reverence,’ I said, ‘and all of us here owe you a debt of gratitude.’
“Everyone laughed, except Marchas, who seemed in a furious temper.
“ ‘Sister Saint-Benedict is served,’ suddenly shouted Karl Massonligny.
“I sent her in front with the priest, and followed supporting old Mother Paumelle, taking her arm and leading her into the next room, not without difficulty, for her bloated body seemed heavier than iron.
“Fat Ponderel took in Mother Jean-Jean, who whined for her crutch, and little Joseph Herbon led Putois, the idiot, to the dining room, which was full of the odour of food.
“As soon as we were in our places, the Sister clapped her hands three times, and, with the precision of soldiers presenting arms, the women rapidly crossed themselves. Then the priest slowly recited the Latin words of the Benedicite.
“We all sat down, and the two fowls appeared, carried in by Marchas, who was eager to act as a waiter in order to avoid being present as a guest at the absurd meal.
“ ‘The champagne, quick!’ I shouted. A cork popped with a noise like a pistol-shot, and, despite the protests of the priest and the Sister, the three Hussars seated beside the three invalids forcibly poured their three full glasses down their neighbours’ throats.
“Massonligny, who had a gift for making himself at home anywhere and at his ease with anyone, was paying elaborate and rarely comic attentions to Mother Paumelle. The victim of dropsy was still gay at heart in spite of her misfortunes, and made lively and teasing replies in a falsetto voice that sounded as if it were artificially assumed. She laughed so violently at her neighbour’s pleasantries that her huge belly seemed on the point of flying up and rolling all over the table. Little Herbon had seriously taken in hand the business of making the half-wit drunk, and the Baron d’Étreillis, who was rather slow in the uptake, questioned Mother Jean-Jean on the life, customs, and direction of the hospital.
“ ‘Oh!’ cried the frightened nun to Massonligny. ‘You will make her ill; please don’t make her laugh like that, I beg you, sir. Oh! sir! …’
“She rose and flew at Herbon, to snatch away the full glass he was nimbly emptying into Putois’ mouth.
“The priest was almost helpless with laughter, repeating:
“ ‘Let them alone for once, Sister, it doesn’t do them any harm. Let them alone.’
“After the two fowls we had eaten the duck, flanked by the three pigeons and the blackbird; then the goose appeared, smoking and golden, spreading around a warm smell of browned, juicy meat.
“Mother Paumelle, who was growing more lively, clapped her hands; Mother Jean-Jean stopped replying to the Baron’s numerous questions, and Putois uttered little grunts of pleasure, half cries and half sighs, like the sound made by little children who are offered sweets.
“ ‘May I take charge of this animal?’ inquired the priest. ‘I am an expert in such operations.’
“ ‘Certainly, your Reverence.’
“ ‘Might we have the window open a little?’ asked the Sister. ‘They are too hot; I am sure they will be ill.’
“ ‘Open the window for a minute,’ I said, turning to Marchas.
“He opened it and the cold air from outside came in, setting the candles flickering and the smoke from the goose eddying round the room; the priest, with a napkin round his neck, was scientifically removing the bird’s wings.
“We watched him at work, without speaking, fascinated by his lovely skill, and dowered with renewed appetites at the sight of the huge golden creature whose limbs fell one after another into the brown gravy at the bottom of the dish.
“Suddenly, in the middle of our greedy, attentive silence, there entered through the open window the sound of a distant rifle shot.
“I was on my feet so quickly that my chair fell over behind me.
“ ‘To horse, all of you!’ I cried. ‘Marchas, take two men and go and get news. I shall be waiting here for you in five minutes.’
“And while the three riders galloped away into the night, I and my two other Hussars mounted at the steps of the villa. The priest, the Sister, and the three worthy women showed their scared faces at the windows.
“Nothing more was to be heard, except for the barking of a dog in the distance. The rain had stopped; it was cold, very cold. A moment later I could hear a galloping horse, a single horse returning.
“It was Marchas.
“ ‘Well?’ I shouted.
“ ‘Nothing at all,’ he replied. ‘François has wounded an old peasant who refused to answer to the “Who goes there?” and continued to advance, in spite of the order to clear off. They’re bringing him in, and we shall see who he is.’
“I ordered the horses to be put back in the stables, and sent my two men to meet the others. Then I returned to the house.
“The priest, Marchas, and I carried down a mattress into the drawing room for the wounded man; the Sister tore us a napkin and made lint of it, while the three bewildered women remained sitting in a corner.
“Soon I heard a sound of sabres clattering on the road; I took a candle to give light to the men who were returning. They came into sight, bearing the inert, slack, long, sinister shape that a human body becomes when the vigour of life has withdrawn.
“The wounded man was laid upon the mattress prepared for him, and I saw at the first glance that he was dying.
“There was a rattling in his throat, and he was spitting blood; it trickled from the corners of his lips, spurting from
