m, flung a brilliant light on the wainscotings, the
only ornament of which was a barometer.

Bouvard placed the two ladies beside him, while Pecuchet had the mayor
on his left and the cure on his right.

They began with the oysters. They had the taste of mud. Bouvard was
annoyed, and was prodigal of excuses, and Pecuchet got up in order to
go into the kitchen and make a scene with Beljambe.

During the whole of the first course, which consisted of a brill with a
vol-au-vent and stewed pigeons, the conversation turned on the mode of
manufacturing cider; after which they discussed what meats were
digestible or indigestible. Naturally, the doctor was consulted. He
looked at matters sceptically, like a man who had dived into the depths
of science, and yet did not brook the slightest contradiction.

At the same time, with the sirloin of beef, Burgundy was supplied. It
was muddy. Bouvard, attributing this accident to the rinsing of the
bottles, got them to try three others without more success; then he
poured out some St. Julien, manifestly not long enough in bottle, and
all the guests were mute. Hurel smiled without discontinuing; the heavy
steps of the waiters resounded over the flooring.

Madame Vaucorbeil, who was dumpy and waddling in her gait (she was near
her confinement), had maintained absolute silence. Bouvard, not knowing
what to talk to her about, spoke of the theatre at Caen.

"My wife never goes to the play," interposed the doctor.

M. Marescot observed that, when he lived in Paris, he used to go only to
the Italian operas.

"For my part," said Bouvard, "I used to pay for a seat in the pit
sometimes at the Vaudeville to hear farces."

Foureau asked Madame Bordin whether she liked farces.

"That depends on what kind they are," she said.

The mayor rallied her. She made sharp rejoinders to his pleasantries.
Then she mentioned a recipe for preparing gherkins. However, her talents
for housekeeping were well known, and she had a little farm, which was
admirably looked after.

Foureau asked Bouvard, "Is it your intention to sell yours?"

"Upon my word, up to this I don't know what to do exactly."

"What! not even the Escalles piece?" interposed the notary. "That would
suit you, Madame Bordin."

The widow replied in an affected manner:

"The demands of M. Bouvard would be too high."

"Perhaps someone could soften him."

"I will not try."

"Bah! if you embraced him?"

"Let us try, all the same,"