, which descended very low. His legs, confined in tight
wrappings of lasting, were entirely out of proportion with the length of
his bust. His voice was loud and hollow.

This exclamation escaped him:

"How pleasant it would be in the country!"

But, according to Bouvard, the suburbs were unendurable on account of
the noise of the public-houses outside the city. Pecuchet was of the
same opinion. Nevertheless, he was beginning to feel tired of the
capital, and so was Bouvard.

And their eyes wandered over heaps of stones for building, over the
hideous water in which a truss of straw was floating, over a factory
chimney rising towards the horizon. Sewers sent forth their poisonous
exhalations. They turned to the opposite side; and they had in front of
them the walls of the Public Granary.

Decidedly (and Pecuchet was surprised at the fact), it was still warmer
in the street than in his own house. Bouvard persuaded him to put down
his overcoat. As for him, he laughed at what people might say about him.

Suddenly, a drunken man staggered along the footpath; and the pair began
a political discussion on the subject of working-men. Their opinions
were similar, though perhaps Bouvard was rather more liberal in his
views.

A noise of wheels sounded on the pavement amid a whirlpool of dust. It
turned out to be three hired carriages which were going towards Bercy,
carrying a bride with her bouquet, citizens in white cravats, ladies
with their petticoats huddled up so as almost to touch their armpits,
two or three little girls, and a student.

The sight of this wedding-party led Bouvard and Pecuchet to talk about
women, whom they declared to be frivolous, waspish, obstinate. In spite
of this, they were often better than men; but at other times they were
worse. In short, it was better to live without them. For his part,
Pecuchet was a bachelor.

"As for me, I'm a widower," said Bouvard, "and I have no children."

"Perhaps you are lucky there. But, in the long run, solitude is very
sad."

Then, on the edge of the wharf, appeared a girl of the town with a
soldier,--sallow, with black hair, and marked with smallpox. She leaned
on the soldier's arm, dragging her feet along, and swaying on her hips.

When she was a short distance from them, Bouvard indulged in a coarse
remark. Pecuchet became very red in the face, and, no doubt to avoid
answering, gave him a look to indicate the fact that a priest was coming
in their direc