asted a thousand
titillating delights, having at last found his true element, and bathing
in it, with the voluptuous pleasure of a carp swimming in the sunshine.
Florent would sometimes go to see him at his stall. The afternoons were
still very warm. All along the narrow alleys sat women plucking
poultry. Rays of light streamed in between the awnings, and in the
warm atmosphere, in the golden dust of the sunbeams, feathers fluttered
hither and thither like dancing snowflakes. A trail of coaxing calls and
offers followed Florent as he passed along. "Can I sell you a fine duck,
monsieur?" "I've some very fine fat chickens here, monsieur; come and
see!" "Monsieur! monsieur, do just buy this pair of pigeons!" Deafened
and embarrassed he freed himself from the women, who still went on
plucking as they fought for possession of him; and the fine down flew
about and wellnigh choked him, like hot smoke reeking with the strong
odour of the poultry. At last, in the middle of the alley, near the
water-taps, he found Gavard ranting away in his shirt-sleeves, in front
of his stall, with his arms crossed over the bib of his blue apron. He
reigned there, in a gracious, condescending way, over a group of ten or
twelve women. He was the only male dealer in that part of the market.
He was so fond of wagging his tongue that he had quarrelled with five or
six girls whom he had successively engaged to attend to his stall, and
had now made up his mind to sell his goods himself, naively explaining
that the silly women spent the whole blessed day in gossiping, and that
it was beyond his power to manage them. As someone, however, was still
necessary to supply his place whenever he absented himself he took in
Marjolin, who was prowling about, after attempting in turn all the petty
market callings.

Florent sometimes remained for an hour with Gavard, amazed by his
ceaseless flow of chatter, and his calm serenity and assurance amid the
crowd of petticoats. He would interrupt one woman, pick a quarrel with
another ten stalls away, snatch a customer from a third, and make as
much noise himself as his hundred and odd garrulous neighbours, whose
incessant clamour kept the iron plates of the pavilion vibrating
sonorously like so many gongs.

The poultry dealer's only relations were a sister-in-law and a niece.
When his wife died, her eldest sister, Madame Lecoeur, who had become
a widow about a year previously, had mourned for her in an exaggerated
fa