that the previous night his thoughts had been more
than a little unruly, and his conduct none too chaste
down at the port.
cjesus Christ, the Shepherd, the Lamb, and the
Victim. . . .'
And there was Mere Melanie ready to worship,
but also to weep on the least provocation; and there
was Mere Melanie's hump-backed violinist who only
last evening had grinned as he played: 'As tu vu les
fesses de ma belle Louise?5 and similar songs on his
shrill, teasing fiddle. And there was the woman who
sold cherries in the street but who did not always
give you fair measure; and the wretch who was said
to be fabulously rich, to have sacks full of gold hidden
under his bed while pretending to be a destitute
beggar. And there was the pious youth from the shop
in whose window appeared so many fine Prayer-
Books: 'This is not of real leather,' he had said many
times, 'rnais Madame, croyez moi, it is even better!5
Was it better, or would it wear out in a month?
N'importe, it was all in the good cause of business.
The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker, some
bringing their children, some coming without them;
for the most part respectable citizens enough, who
paid their just dues to the Church and State, who
married and gave their offspring in marriage; for
the most part well-soaped and appropriately garbed
in honour of this impressive occasion.
'Jesus Christ, the Shepherd, the Lamb, and the
Victim. . . .'
The bells stopped abruptly, and now in their
stead the ancient hymn was pealed out by the organ,
and at this Mere Melanie started to sniff, then to dab
at her eyes conspicuously, then to glance at her little
hump-backed violinist.
But in spite of Mere Melanie's facile tears and
thfe brandy-soaked breath of her crooked companion;
p 225