This making of sandals had been taught him, it was
said, by an artist who had stayed for a while in the
town, but whom no one had ever again seen or heard
of. And now many of the peasants as well as the towns-
folk had discarded the wearing of boots and shoes in
favour of what Madame Roustan declared to be
clearly a pagan snare of the devil. For Eusebe's
sandals were both durable and cheap, and were made
from a pliant and excellent leather, so that they clung
to the instep and heel without galling or causing the
slightest restriction. He could make two patterns, the
Pompeian and the Spartan, the former requiring the
minutest adjustment, since no buckles or fastenings
must mar the line which was of an extreme simplicity,
yet tricky enough when it came to the fitting. These
sandals paid less well than boots and shoes, but
Eusebe never seemed short of money.
His dead wife had owned vineyards beyond the
town, and these he very knowingly tended. He
possessed an uncanny intuition about vines so that
many a farmer would come to consult him. It was
said that Eusebe could squeeze gold from the soil,
and certain it was that his excellent grapes always
clustered more richly than other people's. But did he
give so much as a sou to the Cure? He did not,
the unregenerate old sinner. And did he attend
Holy Mass on Sundays? He did not; on Sundays he
walked in his vineyards — small wonder that such
behaviour caused scandal. And again, he lived by
himself above his shop and would let no one in to
attend to the housework. His rooms went unswept
and his bed unmade except when a species of frenzy
would seize him; then, grasping a broom he would
sweep and sweep as though the devil were hard at his
heels, after which he would drag off his old feather
bed and hang it to air from an upper window. This
decayed feather bed was a local disgrace, while as for
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