, wild
din, while above it occasionally rose a huge burst of laughter from the
sturdy lungs of a merry peasant or a prolonged bellow from a cow tied
fast to the wall of a house.

It all smelled of the stable, of milk, of hay and of perspiration,
giving off that half-human, half-animal odor which is peculiar to
country folks.

Maitre Hauchecorne, of Breaute, had just arrived at Goderville and
was making his way toward the square when he perceived on the ground a
little piece of string. Maitre Hauchecorne, economical as are all true
Normans, reflected that everything was worth picking up which could be
of any use, and he stooped down, but painfully, because he suffered
from rheumatism. He took the bit of thin string from the ground and
was carefully preparing to roll it up when he saw Maitre Malandain,
the harness maker, on his doorstep staring at him. They had once had a
quarrel about a halter, and they had borne each other malice ever since.
Maitre Hauchecorne was overcome with a sort of shame at being seen by
his enemy picking up a bit of string in the road. He quickly hid it
beneath his blouse and then slipped it into his breeches, pocket, then
pretended to be still looking for something on the ground which he did
not discover and finally went off toward the market-place, his head bent
forward and his body almost doubled in two by rheumatic pains.

He was at once lost in the crowd, which kept moving about slowly and
noisily as it chaffered and bargained. The peasants examined the cows,
went off, came back, always in doubt for fear of being cheated, never
quite daring to decide, looking the seller square in the eye in the
effort to discover the tricks of the man and the defect in the beast.

The women, having placed their great baskets at their feet, had taken
out the poultry, which lay upon the ground, their legs tied together,
with terrified eyes and scarlet combs.

They listened to propositions, maintaining their prices in a decided
manner with an impassive face or perhaps deciding to accept the smaller
price offered, suddenly calling out to the customer who was starting to
go away:

"All right, I'll let you have them, Mait' Anthime."

Then, little by little, the square became empty, and when the Angelus
struck midday those who lived at a distance poured into the inns.

At Jourdain's the great room was filled with eaters, just as the
vast court was filled with vehicles of every sort--wagons, gigs,
chars-a-