knew of a shop in Marseille where they kept all such
things — a magnificent shop, frequented by the chil-
dren of prosperous merchants. Their cut was superb,
their materials glossy, their prices enough to make a
man blink. He, Jouse, had blinked but had then
used his eyes and had seen those rows of wax figures
in the windows — lifelike they had been, they had
almost moved, boys of Christophe's age too with
real hair on their heads; yes, and actually with real
rings on their fingers! But that was not all; he had
passed there in May and had stood before one par-
ticular window — little girls in beautifully soft muslin
frocks with wreaths and long veils and white ivory
prayer books; little boys in immaculate black broad-
cloth suits, flottant ties, and with white favours worn
on their sleeves—-and especially had he observed
their shoes, so rich, so unserviceable, so useless.
Elegant black patent shoes they had worn —and
that window had been labelled: 'PREMIERE COM-
MUNION/
Bien, his Christophe was going to have one of those
suits. He should have it it the devil ran away with
the business; if Saint Loup himself stumped out of
his niche in order to counsel economy — it his name-
sake had to go without bouillon! Ah, mais non, not
that . . . le pauvre tout petit Loup! All the same
he was going to buy one of the suits trom that window
labelled: 'PREMIERE COMMUNION/
Beside Christophe, Jan would cut a mean figure, in
spite of those costly clothes sent from Paris, in spite
of his elegant nose and fine eyes, and what Germaine
described as his scholarly forehead. A mere wisp of
a boy, no physique, no strength; why, to give him a
plank to lift would be to break him, whereas to see
Christophe lifting a plank was to know that you had
not betrayed your manhood. A lovely sight, Chris-
tophe lifting a plank, with small muscles already upon
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