quarrelled over things that in prosperous days would
have seemed to them both the merest trifles: the lamp
would gutter, die down and go out because Marie
had felt too tired to refill it; or the kitchen door
would refuse to close because Jouse had felt too
disheartened to mend it, or the sink would prove to
be stopped up with grease because Anfos had sailed a
boat in the sink instead of using his rod to cleanse it.
And such happenings would get themselves all out
of focus, appearing as veritable disasters, so that
Jouse would turn and reproach his wife and Marie
would turn and reproach her husband. For their
love must submit to their nerves these days, to the
tyrannous sway of their ailing flesh, and the quarrels
might grow very angry and loud to the great pertur-
bation and wonder of Anfos.
On one such occasion he covered his ears and was
off before any of them could catch him; and so wild
did he look as he rushed from the room, that Jouse
stopped shouting to drink more wine — a fresh tum-
bler of wine because he felt anxious: Tecaire, now
where has that imbecile gone? He ought to be in his
bed;3 he scowled, 'Christophe, go after him, go at once
and bring him back here — he deserves a good hiding!5
Christophe got up and fetched a light, and sighing
he went in search of the half-wit.
He found Anfos crouching down in the workshop
among the odds and ends of old carving; utterly limp
and dejected he looked: *He resembles a suffering
dog,5 thought Christophe. Then he suddenly felt his
eyes stinging with tears, for seeing him there the crea-
ture crept forward and rubbed a gaunt cheek against
his hand, making inarticulate, animal sounds of love
and distress — it was like Mireio*
Christophe said: "Tell me what you are doing here,
Anfos, you seem so unhappy—come back to the kitchen.
We were worried about you, that is why I have come.