might to coax it round her finger: 'Enfantounet, do
not cry, do not cry, paure pichounet. There, there,
all goes well and you are not hurt — though that is
no thanks to your foolish father.5
'Bigre! I am foolish indeed/ murmured Jouse.
Then he wheedled: 'Marioun, do not scold any more.
Listen, Marioun, I am but a man, and all men are
foolish by comparison with women, especially when
they must look after babies!'
She nodded slowly, but now she was smiling. And
because he had called her Marioun — which might
mean that she was exceedingly small, or again, that
she was exceedingly old, but which always meant that
her husband loved her — because he had called her
Marioun, she must suddenly stroke his thick, ageing
back to which the coarse shirt clung closely with
sweat, for the autumn days were as hot as the summer.
And then she must turn kind eyes upon Anfos.
"Do not be late for dinner;' she warned them,
'Goundran has just brought us some magnificent
fish with which I am making the bouillabaisse
blanche.3 For she knew that her Jouse liked good
things to eat, setting great store by the lusts of the
stomach.