on into May, and the cloud did not lift until one May
morning when Christophe was once again plunged
into sin, this time through losing control of his
temper.
There were boys at the school who took pleasure in
baiting, and although they liked Christophe well
enough on the whole, they must now ape their parents*
resentment ofjouse by repeating remarks they had
overheard, and which they embellished in the repeat-
ing; all of which Christophe treated with the large
disdain he accorded to the buzzing of flies and
mosquitoes. But the day came when someone went a
step too far; it was Andre, the eldest son of the chemist,
a pimply, bullying lout of a boy who started to gibe
during recreation.
Said Andre, speaking unusually loudly: 'Your
father owes us a very large bill, and yet he is too lazy
to work and earn money, without doubt because he
now drinks so much wine! Eh bien, I say that your
father is a thief. When people do not pay what they
owe, it is thieving!3
The blood sang in Christophers flaming ears, his
scalp pricked, his muscles tightened for action, and
he felt enormously, joyfully strong — strong with
rage, a most uplifting sensation: Tieu de baudreio!
Panto! Gusas! Malavalisco a vous!' he shouted.
*Liar, you who call my father a thief! Take that!3
and he suddenly shot out his fist, striking his enemy
full on the mouth, 'And now that!5 and he struck
him full on the nose, so that Andre gave a loud yell of
pain, lost his footing and promptly fell over backwards.
And never did a boy produce quite so much gore as
this pubescent, full-blooded son of the chemist.
What a hubbub. Loup frisked about like a lap-dog:
'Kick him! Kick him hard in the stomach!3 he kept
yapping, while Jan fell upon a couple of other
youngsters who had recently been making themselves
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