ing to Jouse Benedit — in great anguish and joy she
had brought forth her puppies.
§5
The next morning Christophe said to his mother:
'Here is all that is left of the ointment which I stole
from your cupboard to rub on Mireio's sores/ And
he waited, quaking a little, for her answer.
Marie was scrubbing the kitchen table. She looked
up in surprise: 'What is that, my son? But how did
you get it? The cupboard was locked.5
'I found your key and unlocked it,* said Christophe.
She dried the soap from her hands on her apron,
as was always her habit when hurried or anxious.
After which she glanced into the grimy jar that her
son was holding out for inspection. There was scarcely
a quarter of its contents left, and that quarter was
stuck thickly with stiff, yellow hairs.
'You had better throw it away,5 she told him. Then
she said, but quite gently: 'You were wrong to
deceive me. Am I so stern and unkind a mother that
you could not have asked me to give you the grease?
Is it likely that I would have refused your request?
Another time come and ask, pichounet. And now
kiss me ... I am glad that you have spoken the
truth. Eh bien, we will try to think no more about it.5
So Christophe kissed his mother on both cheeks,
realizing that she had completely forgotten her
refusal to give him the ointment in the past, and this
because she was now very weary.
Then he sought out his father: 'I have stolen,5 he
informed him: 'I stole the ointment from mother's
cupboard in order to cure Mireio's sores.*
Jouse looked up from the plank he was planing,
and his eyes were unusually soft and kind: 'Have you
told your mother?5
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