Then she remembered her
big basket full of the good things they had so greedily devoured: the two
chickens coated in jelly, the pies, the pears, the four bottles of
claret; and her fury broke forth like a cord that is overstrained, and
she was on the verge of tears. She made terrible efforts at self-control,
drew herself up, swallowed the sobs which choked her; but the tears rose
nevertheless, shone at the brink of her eyelids, and soon two heavy drops
coursed slowly down her cheeks. Others followed more quickly, like water
filtering from a rock, and fell, one after another, on her rounded bosom.
She sat upright, with a fixed expression, her face pale and rigid, hoping
desperately that no one saw her give way.

But the countess noticed that she was weeping, and with a sign drew her
husband's attention to the fact. He shrugged his shoulders, as if to say:
"Well, what of it? It's not my fault." Madame Loiseau chuckled
triumphantly, and murmured:

"She's weeping for shame."

The two nuns had betaken themselves once more to their prayers, first
wrapping the remainder of their sausage in paper:

Then Cornudet, who was digesting his eggs, stretched his long legs under
the opposite seat, threw himself back, folded his arms, smiled like a man
who had just thought of a good joke, and began to whistle the
Marseillaise.

The faces of his neighbors clouded; the popular air evidently did not
find favor with them; they grew nervous and irritable, and seemed ready
to howl as a dog does at the sound of a barrel-organ. Cornudet saw the
discomfort he was creating, and whistled the louder; sometimes he even
hummed the words:

Amour sacre de la patrie,
Conduis, soutiens, nos bras vengeurs,
Liberte, liberte cherie,
Combats avec tes defenseurs!

The coach progressed more swiftly, the snow being harder now; and all the
way to Dieppe, during the long, dreary hours of the journey, first in the
gathering dusk, then in the thick darkness, raising his voice above the
rumbling of the vehicle, Cornudet continued with fierce obstinacy his
vengeful and monotonous whistling, forcing his weary and
exasperated-hearers to follow the song from end to end, to recall every
word of every line, as each was repeated over and over again with
untiring persistency.

And Boule de Suif still wept, and sometimes a sob she could not restrain
was heard in the darkness between two verses of the song.

TWO FRIENDS

Besieged Paris