ndous eater and a heavy drinker and a gay fellow, although
he was sixty years old.

He was a big peasant of the district of Caux, with a red face, large
chest and stomach, and perched on two legs that seemed too slight for the
bulk of his body.

He was a widower and lived alone with his two men servants and a maid on
his farm, which he conducted with shrewd economy. He was careful of his
own interests, understood business and the raising of cattle, and
farming. His two sons and his three daughters, who had married well, were
living in the neighborhood and came to dine with their father once a
month. His vigor of body was famous in all the countryside. "He is as
strong as Saint Anthony," had become a kind of proverb.

At the time of the Prussian invasion Saint Anthony, at the wine shop,
promised to eat an army, for he was a braggart, like a true Norman, a bit
of a, coward and a blusterer. He banged his fist on the wooden table,
making the cups and the brandy glasses dance, and cried with the assumed
wrath of a good fellow, with a flushed face and a sly look in his eye: "I
shall have to eat some of them, nom de Dieu!" He reckoned that the
Prussians would not come as far as Tanneville, but when he heard they
were at Rautot he never went out of the house, and constantly watched the
road from the little window of his kitchen, expecting at any moment to
see the bayonets go by.

One morning as he was eating his luncheon with the servants the door
opened and the mayor of the commune, Maitre Chicot, appeared, followed by
a soldier wearing a black copper-pointed helmet. Saint Anthony bounded to
his feet and his servants all looked at him, expecting to see him slash
the Prussian. But he merely shook hands with the mayor, who said:

"Here is one for you, Saint Anthony. They came last night. Don't do
anything foolish, above all things, for they talked of shooting and
burning everything if there is the slightest unpleasantness, I have given
you warning. Give him something to eat; he looks like a good fellow.
Good-day. I am going to call on the rest. There are enough for all." And
he went out.

Father Anthony, who had turned pale, looked at the Prussian. He was a
big, young fellow with plump, white skin, blue eyes, fair hair, unshaven
to his cheek bones, who looked stupid, timid and good. The shrewd Norman
read him at once, and, reassured, he made him a sign to sit down. Then he
said: "Will you take some soup?"

The stranger d