“‘Here—­this plant—­a little more; enough—­now this one.’

“The watering pot leaked and my feet got more water than the flowers.  The bottoms of my trousers were soaking and covered with mud.  And twenty times running I kept it up, soaking my feet afresh each time, and perspiring anew as I worked the handle of the pump.  And when I was tired out and wanted to stop, Boivin, in a tone of entreaty, said as he put his hand on my arm: 

“Just one more watering pot full—­just one, and that will be all.’

“To thank me he gave me a rose, a big rose, but hardly had it touched my button-hole than it fell to pieces, leaving only a hard little green knot as a decoration.  I was surprised, but said nothing.

“Mme. Boivin’s voice was heard in the distance: 

“‘Are you ever coming?  When you know that luncheon is ready!’

“We went toward the foot stove.  If the garden was in the shade, the house, on the other hand, was in the blazing sun, and the sweating room in the Turkish bath is not as hot as was my friend’s dining room.

“Three plates at the side of which were some half-washed forks, were placed on a table of yellow wood in the middle of which stood an earthenware dish containing boiled beef and potatoes.  We began to eat.

“A large water bottle full of water lightly colored with wine attracted my attention.  Boivin, embarrassed, said to his wife: 

“’See here, my dear, just on a special occasion, are you not going to give us some plain wine?’

“She looked at him furiously.

“’So that you may both get tipsy, is that it, and stay here gabbing all day?  A fig for your special occasion!’

“He said no more.  After the stew she brought in another dish of potatoes cooked with bacon.  When this dish was finished, still in silence, she announced: 

“‘That is all!  Now get out!’

“Boivin looked at her in astonishment.

“‘But the pigeon—­the pigeon you plucked this morning?’

“She put her hands on her hips: 

“’Perhaps you have not had enough?  Because you bring people here is no reason why we should devour all that there is in the house.  What is there for me to eat this evening?’

“We rose.  Solvin whispered

“‘Wait for me a second, and we will skip.’

“He went into the kitchen where his wife had gone, and I overheard him say: 

“‘Give me twenty sous, my dear.’

“‘What do you want with twenty sons?’

“’Why, one does not know what may happen.  It is always better to have some money.’

“She yelled so that I should hear: 

“’No, I will not give it to you!  As the man has had luncheon here, the least he can do is to pay your expenses for the day.’

“Boivin came back to fetch me.  As I wished to be polite I bowed to the mistress of the house, stammering: 

“‘Madame—­many thanks—­kind welcome.’