ddenly they had no longer a single idea--just as a bird takes wing the
moment we wish to catch it.

During the winter evenings they chatted in the museum at the corner of
the fire, staring at the coals. The wind, whistling in the corridor,
shook the window-panes; the black masses of trees swayed to and fro, and
the dreariness of the night intensified the seriousness of their
thoughts.

Bouvard from time to time walked towards the further end of the
apartment and then came back. The torches and the pans on the walls
threw slanting shadows on the ground; and the St. Peter, seen in
profile, showed on the ceiling the silhouette of his nose, resembling a
monstrous hunting-horn.

They found it hard to move about amongst the various articles, and
Bouvard, by not taking precautions, often knocked against the statue.
With its big eyes, its drooping lip, and its air of a drunkard, it also
annoyed Pecuchet. For a long time he had wished to get rid of it, but
through carelessness put it off from day to day.

One evening, in the middle of a dispute on the monad, Bouvard hit his
big toe against St. Peter's thumb, and turning on him in a rage,
exclaimed:

"He plagues me, this jackanapes! Let us toss him out!"

It was difficult to do this over the staircase. They flung open the
window, and gently tried to tip St. Peter over the edge. Pecuchet, on
his knees, attempted to raise his heels, while Bouvard pressed against
his shoulders. The old codger in stone did not budge. After this they
had recourse to the halberd as a lever, and finally succeeded in
stretching him out quite straight. Then, after a see-saw motion, he
dashed into the open space, his tiara going before him. A heavy crash
reached their ears, and next day they found him broken into a dozen
pieces in the old pit for composts.

An hour afterwards the notary came in, bringing good news to them. A
lady in the neighbourhood was willing to advance a thousand crown-pieces
on the security of a mortgage of their farm, and, as they were
expressing their satisfaction at the proposal:

"Pardon me. She adds, as a condition, that you should sell her the
Ecalles meadow for fifteen hundred francs. The loan will be advanced
this very day. The money is in my office."

They were both disposed to give way.

Bouvard ended by saying: "Good God! be it so, then."

"Agreed," said Marescot. And then he mentioned the lender's name: it was
Madame Bordin.

"I suspected 'twas she!" exclai