th do I never hear Morin's name
mentioned without his being called a pig?"

Labarbe, who is a deputy, looked at me with his owl-like eyes and said:
"Do you mean to say that you do not know Morin's story and you come from
La Rochelle?" I was obliged to declare that I did not know Morin's story,
so Labarbe rubbed his hands and began his recital.

"You knew Morin, did you not, and you remember his large linen-draper's
shop on the Quai de la Rochelle?"

"Yes, perfectly."

"Well, then. You must know that in 1862 or '63 Morin went to spend a
fortnight in Paris for pleasure; or for his pleasures, but under the
pretext of renewing his stock, and you also know what a fortnight in
Paris means to a country shopkeeper; it fires his blood. The theatre
every evening, women's dresses rustling up against you and continual
excitement; one goes almost mad with it. One sees nothing but dancers in
tights, actresses in very low dresses, round legs, fat shoulders, all
nearly within reach of one's hands, without daring, or being able, to
touch them, and one scarcely tastes food. When one leaves the city one's
heart is still all in a flutter and one's mind still exhilarated by a
sort of longing for kisses which tickles one's lips.

"Morin was in that condition when he took his ticket for La Rochelle by
the eight-forty night express. As he was walking up and down the
waiting-room at the station he stopped suddenly in front of a young lady
who was kissing an old one. She had her veil up, and Morin murmured with
delight: 'By Jove what a pretty woman!'

"When she had said 'good-by' to the old lady she went into the
waiting-room, and Morin followed her; then she went on the platform and
Morin still followed her; then she got into an empty carriage, and he
again followed her. There were very few travellers on the express. The
engine whistled and the train started. They were alone. Morin devoured
her with his eyes. She appeared to be about nineteen or twenty and was
fair, tall, with a bold look. She wrapped a railway rug round her and
stretched herself on the seat to sleep.

"Morin asked himself: 'I wonder who she is?' And a thousand conjectures,
a thousand projects went through his head. He said to himself: 'So many
adventures are told as happening on railway journeys that this may be one
that is going to present itself to me. Who knows? A piece of good luck
like that happens very suddenly, and perhaps I need only be a little
venturesome. Wa