“He suddenly said:  ’Oh, I have a beautiful specimen in the next room.  I’ll go and get it.’

“He ran to the door quickly, and both sides opened as though for a theatrical effect.

“In a large room, all in disorder, in the midst of skirts, collars, waists lying around on the floor, stood a tall, dried-up creature.  The lower part of her body was covered with an old, worn-out silk petticoat, which was hanging limply on her shapeless form, and she was standing in front of a mirror brushing some short, sparse blond hairs.  Her arms formed two acute angles, and as she turned around in astonishment I saw under a common cotton chemise a regular cemetery of ribs, which were hidden from the public gaze by well-arranged pads.

“The husband uttered a natural exclamation and came back, closing the doors, and said:  ’Gracious! how stupid I am!  Oh, how thoughtless!  My wife will never forgive me for that!’

“I already felt like thanking him.  I left three days later, after cordially shaking hands with the two men and kissing the lady’s fingers.  She bade me a cold good-by.”

Karl Massouligny was silent.  Some one asked:  “But what was the friend?”

“I don’t know—­however—­however he looked greatly distressed to see me leaving so soon.”

A SALE

The defendants, Cesaire-Isidore Brument and Prosper-Napoleon Cornu, appeared before the Court of Assizes of the Seine-Inferieure, on a charge of attempted murder, by drowning, of Mme. Brument, lawful wife of the first of the aforenamed.

The two prisoners sat side by side on the traditional bench.  They were two peasants; the first was small and stout, with short arms, short legs, and a round head with a red pimply face, planted directly on his trunk, which was also round and short, and with apparently no neck.  He was a raiser of pigs and lived at Cacheville-la-Goupil, in the district of Criquetot.

Cornu (Prosper-Napoleon) was thin, of medium height, with enormously long arms.  His head was on crooked, his jaw awry, and he squinted.  A blue blouse, as long as a shirt, hung down to his knees, and his yellow hair, which was scanty and plastered down on his head, gave his face a worn-out, dirty look, a dilapidated look that was frightful.  He had been nicknamed “the cure” because he could imitate to perfection the chanting in church, and even the sound of the serpent.  This talent attracted to his cafe—­for he was a saloon keeper at Criquetot—­a great many customers who preferred the “mass at Cornu” to the mass in church.

Mme. Brument, seated on the witness bench, was a thin peasant woman who seemed to be always asleep.  She sat there motionless, her hands crossed on her knees, gazing fixedly before her with a stupid expression.

The judge continued his interrogation.

“Well, then, Mme. Brument, they came into your house and threw you into a barrel full of water.  Tell us the details.  Stand up.”