All looks were directed toward her.  An odor of food filled the air, causing nostrils to dilate, mouths to water, and jaws to contract painfully.  The scorn of the ladies for this disreputable female grew positively ferocious; they would have liked to kill her, or throw, her and her drinking cup, her basket, and her provisions, out of the coach into the snow of the road below.

But Loiseau’s gaze was fixed greedily on the dish of chicken.  He said: 

“Well, well, this lady had more forethought than the rest of us.  Some people think of everything.”

She looked up at him.

“Would you like some, sir?  It is hard to go on fasting all day.”

He bowed.

“Upon my soul, I can’t refuse; I cannot hold out another minute.  All is fair in war time, is it not, madame?” And, casting a glance on those around, he added: 

“At times like this it is very pleasant to meet with obliging people.”

He spread a newspaper over his knees to avoid soiling his trousers, and, with a pocketknife he always carried, helped himself to a chicken leg coated with jelly, which he thereupon proceeded to devour.

Then Boule le Suif, in low, humble tones, invited the nuns to partake of her repast.  They both accepted the offer unhesitatingly, and after a few stammered words of thanks began to eat quickly, without raising their eyes.  Neither did Cornudet refuse his neighbor’s offer, and, in combination with the nuns, a sort of table was formed by opening out the newspaper over the four pairs of knees.

Mouths kept opening and shutting, ferociously masticating and devouring the food.  Loiseau, in his corner, was hard at work, and in low tones urged his wife to follow his example.  She held out for a long time, but overstrained Nature gave way at last.  Her husband, assuming his politest manner, asked their “charming companion” if he might be allowed to offer Madame Loiseau a small helping.

“Why, certainly, sir,” she replied, with an amiable smile, holding out the dish.

When the first bottle of claret was opened some embarrassment was caused by the fact that there was only one drinking cup, but this was passed from one to another, after being wiped.  Cornudet alone, doubtless in a spirit of gallantry, raised to his own lips that part of the rim which was still moist from those of his fair neighbor.

Then, surrounded by people who were eating, and well-nigh suffocated by the odor of food, the Comte and Comtesse de Breville and Monsieur and Madame Carre-Lamadon endured that hateful form of torture which has perpetuated the name of Tantalus.  All at once the manufacturer’s young wife heaved a sigh which made every one turn and look at her; she was white as the snow without; her eyes closed, her head fell forward; she had fainted.  Her husband, beside himself, implored the help of his neighbors.  No one seemed to know what to do until the elder of the two nuns, raising the patient’s head, placed Boule de Suif’s drinking cup to her lips, and made her swallow a few drops of wine.  The pretty invalid moved, opened her eyes, smiled, and declared in a feeble voice that she was all right again.  But, to prevent a recurrence of the catastrophe, the nun made her drink a cupful of claret, adding:  “It’s just hunger —­that’s what is wrong with you.”