lking about
their embarrassments when Maitre Gouy entered the laboratory, escorted
by his wife, who remained timidly in the background.

Thanks to all the dressings they had got, the lands were improved, and
he had come to take up the farm again. He ran it down. In spite of all
their toils, the profits were uncertain; in short, if he wanted it, that
was because of his love for the country, and his regret for such good
masters.

They dismissed him coldly. He came back the same evening.

Pecuchet had preached at Bouvard; they were on the point of giving way.
Gouy asked for a reduction of rent; and when the others protested, he
began to bellow rather than speak, invoking the name of God, enumerating
his labours, and extolling his merits. When they called on him to state
his terms, he hung down his head instead of answering. Then his wife,
seated near the door, with a big basket on her knees, made similar
protestations, screeching in a sharp voice, like a hen that has been
hurt.

At last the lease was agreed on, the rent being fixed at three thousand
francs a year--a third less than it had been formerly.

Before they had separated, Maitre Gouy offered to buy up the stock, and
the bargaining was renewed.

The valuation of the chattels occupied fifteen days. Bouvard was dying
of fatigue. He let everything go for a sum so contemptible that Gouy at
first opened his eyes wide, and exclaiming, "Agreed!" slapped his palm.

After which the proprietors, following the old custom, proposed that
they should take a "nip" at the house, and Pecuchet opened a bottle of
his Malaga, less through generosity than in the hope of eliciting
eulogies on the wine.

But the husbandman said, with a sour look, "It's like liquorice syrup."
And his wife, "in order to get rid of the taste," asked for a glass of
brandy.

A graver matter engaged their attention. All the ingredients of the
"Bouvarine" were now collected. They heaped them together in the
cucurbit, with the alcohol, lighted the fire, and waited. However,
Pecuchet, annoyed by the misadventure about the Malaga, took the tin
boxes out of the cupboard and pulled the lid off the first, then off the
second, and then off the third. He angrily flung them down, and called
out to Bouvard. The latter had fastened the cock of the worm in order to
try the effect on the preserves.

The disillusion was complete. The slices of veal were like boiled
boot-soles; a muddy fluid had taken the place o