l
soundings. He tapped along the foot of the walls and on the
floor-tiles.. He was hustled by the coming and going of the occupants
of the house, by callers, and by the swing of Palmyra's broom; but she
let him alone and said nothing, thinking to herself, no doubt, that the
exploitation of the national calamity is a more profitable treasure
than problematical caskets.

Two gossips are standing in a recess and exchanging confidences in low
voices, hard by an old map of Russia that is peopled with flies. "Oui,
but it's with the Picon bitters that you've got to be careful. If you
haven't got a light touch, you can't get your sixteen glasses out of a
bottle, and so you lose too much profit. I don't say but what one's all
right in one's purse, even so, but one doesn't make enough. To guard
against that, the retailers ought to agree among themselves, but the
understanding's so difficult to bring off, even when it's in the
general interest."

Outside there is torrid sunshine, riddled with flies. The little
beasts, quite scarce but a few days ago, multiply everywhere the murmur
of their minute and innumerable engines. I go out in the company of
Lamuse; we are going for a saunter. One can be at peace today--it is
complete rest, by reason of the overnight march. We might sleep, but it
suits us much better to use the rest for an extensive promenade.
To-morrow, the exercise and fatigues will get us again. There are some,
less lucky than we, who are already caught in the cogwheels of fatigue.
To Lamuse, who invites him to come and stroll with us, Corvisart
replies, screwing up the little round nose that is laid flatly on his
oblong face like a cork, "Can't--I'm on manure!" He points to the
shovel and broom by whose help he is performing his task of scavenger
and night-soil man.

We walk languidly. The afternoon lies heavy on the drowsy land and on
stomachs richly provided and embellished with food. The remarks we
exchange are infrequent.

Over there, we hear noises. Barque has fallen a victim to a menagerie
of housewives; and the scene is pointed by a pale little girl, her hair
tied behind in a pencil of tow and her mouth embroidered with fever
spots, and by women who are busy with some unsavory job of washing in
the meager shade before their doors.

Six men go by, led by a quartermaster corporal. They carry heaps of new
greatcoats and bundles of boots. Lamuse regards his bloated and horny
feet--"I must have some new sheds, a