glistened on the red tiles of the flooring,
gave a greyish glitter to the stove, and polished the edges of the
chopping-block with the transparent sheen of varnished oak. And, indeed,
amidst the ever-rising steam, the continuous evaporation from the three
big pots, in which pork was boiling and melting, there was not a single
nail from ceiling to floor from which grease did not exude.

The Quenu-Gradelles prepared nearly all their stock themselves. All that
they procured from outside were the potted meats of celebrated firms,
with jars of pickles and preserves, sardines, cheese, and edible snails.
They consequently became very busy after September in filling the
cellars which had been emptied during the summer. They continued working
even after the shop had been closed for the night. Assisted by Auguste
and Leon, Quenu would stuff sausages-skins, prepare hams, melt down
lard, and salt the different sorts of bacon. There was a tremendous
noise of cauldrons and cleavers, and the odour of cooking spread through
the whole house. All this was quite independent of the daily business
in fresh pork, _pate de fois gras_, hare patty, galantine, saveloys and
black-puddings.

That evening, at about eleven o'clock, Quenu, after placing a couple of
pots on the fire in order to melt down some lard, began to prepare the
black-puddings. Auguste assisted him. At one corner of the square table
Lisa and Augustine sat mending linen, whilst opposite to them, on the
other side, with his face turned towards the fireplace, was Florent.
Leon was mincing some sausage-meat on the oak block in a slow,
rhythmical fashion.

Auguste first of all went out into the yard to fetch a couple of
jug-like cans full of pigs' blood. It was he who stuck the animals in
the slaughter house. He himself would carry away the blood and interior
portions of the pigs, leaving the men who scalded the carcasses to bring
them home completely dressed in their carts. Quenu asserted that no
assistant in all Paris was Auguste' equal as a pig-sticker. The truth
was that Auguste was a wonderfully keen judge of the quality of the
blood; and the black-pudding proved good every time that he said such
would be the case.

"Well, will the black-pudding be good this time?" asked Lisa.

August put down the two cans and slowly answered: "I believe so, Madame
Quenu; yes, I believe so. I tell it at first by the way the blood flows.
If it spurts out very gently when I pull out the knif