So they drove into a large yard with trees in it, behind the inn, which was only separated from the river by the towing-path, and got out.  The husband sprang out first, and then held out his arms for his wife, and as the step was very high, Madame Dufour, in order to reach him, had to show the lower part of her limbs, whose former slenderness had disappeared in fat, the Monsieur Dufour, who was already getting excited by the country air, pinched her calf, and then taking her in his arms, he set her onto the ground, as if she had been some enormous bundle.  She shook the dust out of the silk dress, and then looked round, to see in what sort of a place she was.

She was a stout woman, of about thirty-six, full-blown and delightful to look at.  She could hardly breathe, as her stays were laced too tightly, and their pressure forced the heaving mass of her superabundant bosom up to her double chin.  Next, the girl put her hand onto her father’s shoulder, and jumped lightly out.  The boy with the yellow hair had got down by stepping on the wheel, and he helped Monsieur Dufour to get his grandmother out.  Then they unharnessed the horse, which they tied up to a tree, and the carriage fell back, with both shafts in the air.  The men took off their coats, and washed their hands in a pail of water, and then went and joined their ladies who had already taken possession of the swings.

Mademoiselle Dufour was trying to swing herself standing up, but she could not succeed in getting a start.  She was a pretty girl of about eighteen; one of those women who suddenly excite your desire when you meet them in the street, and who leave you with a vague feeling of uneasiness, and of excited senses.  She was tall, had a small waist and large hips, with a dark skin, very large eyes, and very black hair.  Her dress clearly marked the outlines of her firm, full figure, which was accentuated by the motion of her hips as she tried to swing herself higher.  Her arms were stretched over her head to hold the rope, so that her bosom rose at every movement she made.  Her hat, which a gust of wind had blown off, was hanging behind her, and as the swing gradually rose higher and higher, she showed her delicate limbs up to the knees each time, and the wind from the petticoats, which was more heady than the fumes of wine, blew into the faces of the two men, who were looking at her and smiling.

Sitting in the other swing, Madame Dufour kept saying in a monotonous voice: 

“Cyprian, come and swing me; do come and swing me, Cyprian!”

At last he went, and turning up his shirt sleeves as if he intended to work very hard, he, with much difficulty set his wife in motion.  She clutched the two ropes, and held her legs out straight, so as not to touch the ground.  She enjoyed feeling giddy at the motion of the swing, and her whole figure shook like a jelly on a dish, but as she went higher and higher, she grew too giddy and got frightened.  Every time she was coming back she uttered a piercing scream which made all the little urchins come round, and, down below, beneath the garden hedge, she vaguely saw a row of mischievous heads, who made various grimaces as they laughed.