father; yes, and always have we been honest workmen*
But now honesty counts for nothing, it seems, the
honest can starve so that Kahn may prosper. "Bene-
dit," that swine says to me in the street, "Benedit, I
hope that you find yourself well. How is your wife,
Benedit?" he says, "I hope that your wife is well,
and your children. Remember, my friend, that I
bear you no grudge. . . ." Besti! I could batter the
mouth off his face! I could batter until there was
nothing left, no mouth and no treacherous soft brown
eyes . . . when I look at those treacherous soft brown
eyes I feel as though I were treading in cow-dung!5
And the flush would spread up until it reached
Jouse's brow, the veins standing out like cords on his
temples.
Marie would do what she could to calm him, as
she strove to recapture her own faltering courage:
'Listen, my Jouse, we are not starving yet, nor do I
think God will permit us to starve/
But her husband would seem not to grasp her
words: 'Starving! Yes, yes, we shall soon be starving!'
Le tout petit Loup would begin to wheeze, for
fear never failed to react on his asthma, and his
father's heavy, congested face with the beard stained
by wine that had spilled from the glass, would throw
him into a kind of panic: cMaman —oh, maman
. . . * the boy would gasp, unnerved by that fear
and the pain in his chest. Then Marie would gather
him into her arms, while her sorrowful eyes turned
slowly to Christophe.
And sitting there speechless yet acutely attentive
as though being forced to rivet his mind, nay his very
soul on this ruin and suffering, Christophe would find
himself seeking for words which although familiar
would always elude him — words that he seemed to
divine had a power to heal not only the flesh but the
spirit. Torn by pity, by his terrible comprehension