the dirt . . . people all but choked with the thick
clouds of dust if they chanced to be passing. A grand-
daughter, his sole surviving relation, was being
brought up by the sisters at Aries — a town that he
proudly claimed as his birthplace.. She was three years
old but she never came home, which the Cure
considered was all to her advantage.
Of course^ Bacchus alone had attracted Eusebe to
the christening feast on this hot afternoon; still, he
need not have become so exceedingly drunk, nor
splashed quite so much wine on the clean table linen:
'Boudieu,9 he was gurgling, now deep in his cups,
'Boudieu, what a balm to the stomach is good wine;
surely a most proper balm to the stomach . . .' And
he tipped his chair backward, upsetting his glass;
indeed Goundran's quick hand alone saved him from
falling.
Christophe woke up and started to cry. Unfastening
her bodice, Marie gave him her breast which he
clutched at blindly, beginning to suck, and making
small, animal sounds in the process.
The heat of the room grew intolerable, for the sun
took quite a long time about setting, and the air was
hesfcvy with the fumes of wine, with the fumes of tobacco
and sweating bodies. The sweat trickled down Jouse's
beaming face and clung like dew to the hair on his
chest which showed wiry and red where his shirt fell
open. Tongues were loosened; now everyone talked
at once. The men had begun to discard their coats,
sighing and spitting with relief in the process. Jouse,
whose clothes felt increasingly tight, unfastened the
top button of his linen trousers. They had more than
done justice to the excellent fare, eating their fill of
the aioli, that mysterious and well-nigh sacred dish
compounded of garlic pods, yolk of egg, olive oil,
pepper and vinegar; of potatoes boiled (skins and all)
in salt water together with artichokes, carrots,
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