that afternoon they thought he must be ill, he
seemed so constrained and queer.

They started the daily game of dominoes. But Tome appeared to take no
pleasure in it, and reached forth his hand very slowly, and with great
precaution.

"What's wrong with your arm?" asked Horslaville.

"I have a sort of stiffness in the shoulder," answered Toine.

Suddenly they heard people come into the inn. The players were silent.

It was the mayor with the deputy. They ordered two glasses of
Extra-Special, and began to discuss local affairs. As they were talking
in somewhat low tones Toine wanted to put his ear to the wall, and,
forgetting all about his eggs, he made a sudden "tack to the north,"
which had the effect of plunging him into the midst of an omelette.

At the loud oath he swore his wife came hurrying into the room, and,
guessing what had happened, stripped the bedclothes from him with
lightning rapidity. She stood at first without moving or uttering a
syllable, speechless with indignation at sight of the yellow poultice
sticking to her husband's side.

Then, trembling with fury, she threw herself on the paralytic, showering
on him blows such as those with which she cleaned her linen on the
seashore. Tome's three friends were choking with laughter, coughing,
spluttering and shouting, and the fat innkeeper himself warded his
wife's attacks with all the prudence of which he was capable, that he
might not also break the five eggs at his other side.

Tome was conquered. He had to hatch eggs, he had to give up his games
of dominoes and renounce movement of any sort, for the old woman angrily
deprived him of food whenever he broke an egg.

He lay on his back, with eyes fixed on the ceiling, motionless, his arms
raised like wings, warming against his body the rudimentary chickens
enclosed in their white shells.

He spoke now only in hushed tones; as if he feared a noise as much
as motion, and he took a feverish interest in the yellow hen who was
accomplishing in the poultry-yard the same task as he.

"Has the yellow hen eaten her food all right?" he would ask his wife.

And the old woman went from her fowls to her husband and from her
husband to her fowls, devoured by anxiety as to the welfare of the
little chickens who were maturing in the bed and in the nest.

The country people who knew the story came, agog with curiosity, to
ask news of Toine. They entered his room on tiptoe, as one enters a
sick-chamber, and a