been at home. When he had eaten nearly all the meat, besides a quantity
of vegetables, he felt thirsty and took one of the bottles off the
mantelpiece.

Scarcely had he poured the liquor into his glass when he saw it was
brandy. So much the better; it was warming and would instill some fire
into his veins, and that would be all right, after being so cold; and
he drank some. He certainly enjoyed it, for he had grown unaccustomed
to it, and he poured himself out another glassful, which he drank at two
gulps. And then almost immediately he felt quite merry and light-hearted
from the effects of the alcohol, just as if some great happiness filled
his heart.

He continued to eat, but more slowly, and dipping his bread into the
soup. His skin had become burning, and especially his forehead, where
the veins were throbbing. But suddenly the church bells began to ring.
Mass was over, and instinct rather than fear, the instinct of prudence,
which guides all beings and makes them clear-sighted in danger, made the
carpenter get up. He put the remains of the loaf into one pocket and the
brandy bottle into the other, and he furtively went to the window and
looked out into the road. It was still deserted, so he jumped out and
set off walking again, but instead of following the highroad he ran
across the fields toward a wood he saw a little way off.

He felt alert, strong, light-hearted, glad of what he had done, and
so nimble that he sprang over the enclosure of the fields at a single
bound, and as soon as he was under the trees he took the bottle out of
his pocket again and began to drink once more, swallowing it down as he
walked, and then his ideas began to get confused, his eyes grew dim, and
his legs as elastic as springs, and he started singing the old popular
song:

"Oh! what joy, what joy it is,
To pick the sweet, wild strawberries."

He was now walking on thick, damp, cool moss, and that soft carpet under
his feet made him feel absurdly inclined to turn head over heels as he
used to do when a child, so he took a run, turned a somersault, got up
and began over again. And between each time he began to sing again:

"Oh! what joy, what joy it is,
To pick the sweet, wild strawberries."

Suddenly he found himself above a deep road, and in the road he saw a
tall girl, a servant, who was returning to the village with two pails of
milk. He watched, stooping down, and with his eyes as bright as those of
a