ed its
rate of motion as they drew near Yvetot, Antoine felt: ill at ease, as
he would have done at a review when; he did not know his drill practice.
Then, as he; leaned his head out, he recognized in the distance: his
father, holding the bridle of the horse harnessed to a carryall, and his
mother, who had come forward to the grating, behind which stood those
who were expecting friends.

He alighted first, gave his hand to his sweetheart, and holding himself
erect, as if he were escorting a general, he went to meet his family.

The mother, on seeing this black lady in variegated costume in her son's
company, remained so stupefied that she could not open her mouth; and
the father found it hard to hold the horse, which the engine or the
negress caused to rear continuously. But Antoine, suddenly filled with
unmixed joy at seeing once more the old people, rushed forward with open
arms, embraced his mother, embraced his father, in spite of the nag's
fright, and then turning toward his companion, at whom the passengers on
the platform stopped to stare with amazement, he proceeded to explain:

"Here she is! I told you that, at first sight, she is not attractive;
but as soon as you know her, I can assure you there's not a better sort
in the whole world. Say good-morning to her so that she may not feel
badly."

Thereupon Mere Boitelle, almost frightened out of her wits, made a sort
of curtsy, while the father took off his cap, murmuring:

"I wish you good luck!"

Then, without further delay, they climbed into the carryall, the two
women at the back, on seats which made them jump up and down as the
vehicle went jolting along the road, and the two men in front on the
front seat.

Nobody spoke. Antoine, ill at ease, whistled a barrack-room air; his
father whipped the nag; and his mother, from where she sat in the
corner, kept casting sly glances at the negress, whose forehead and
cheekbones shone in the sunlight like well-polished shoes.

Wishing to break the ice, Antoine turned round.

"Well," said he, "we don't seem inclined to talk."

"We must have time," replied the old woman.

He went on:

"Come! Tell us the little story about that hen of yours that laid eight
eggs."

It was a funny anecdote of long standing in the family. But, as his
mother still remained silent, paralyzed by her emotion, he undertook
himself to tell the story, laughing as he did so at the memorable
incident. The father, who knew it by heart