“Sixteen children, Monsieur le cure, fifteen of them by my husband!”

And Rabot smiled broadly, nodding his head.  He was responsible for fifteen, he alone, Rabot!  His wife said so!  Therefore there could be no doubt about it.  And he was proud!

And whose was the sixteenth?  She didn’t tell.  It was doubtless the first. 
Perhaps everybody knew, for no one was surprised.  Even Caniveau kept mum.

But Belhomme began to moan again: 

“Oh-oh-oh!  It’s scratching about in the bottom of my ear!  Oh, dear, oh, dear!”

The coach just then stopped at the Cafe Polyto.  The priest said: 

“If someone were to pour a little water into your ear, it might perhaps drive it out.  Do you want to try?”

“Sure!  I am willing.”

And everybody got out in order to witness the operation.  The priest asked for a bowl, a napkin and a glass of water, then he told the teacher to hold the patient’s head over on one side, and, as soon as the liquid should have entered the ear, to turn his head over suddenly on the other side.

But Caniveau, who was already peering into Belhomme’s ear to see if he couldn’t discover the beast, shouted: 

“Gosh!  What a mess!  You’ll have to clear that out, old man.  Your rabbit could never get through that; his feet would stick.”

The priest in turn examined the passage and saw that it was too narrow and too congested for him to attempt to expel the animal.  It was the teacher who cleared out this passage by means of a match and a bit of cloth.  Then, in the midst of the general excitement, the priest poured into the passage half a glass of water, which trickled over the face through the hair and down the neck of the patient.  Then the schoolmaster quickly twisted the head round over the bowl, as though he were trying to unscrew it.  A couple of drops dripped into the white bowl.  All the passengers rushed forward.  No insect had come out.

However, Belhomme exclaimed:  “I don’t feel anything any more.”  The priest triumphantly exclaimed:  “Certainly it has been drowned.”  Everybody was happy and got back into the coach.

But hardly had they started when Belhomme began to cry out again.  The bug had aroused itself and had become furious.  He even declared that it had now entered his head and was eating his brain.  He was howling with such contortions that Poirat’s wife, thinking him possessed by the devil, began to cry and to cross herself.  Then, the pain abating a little, the sick man began to tell how it was running round in his ear.  With his finger he imitated the movements of the body, seeming to see it, to follow it with his eyes:  “There is goes up again!  Oh—­oh—­oh—­what torture!”

Caniveau was getting impatient.  “It’s the water that is making the bug angry.  It is probably more accustomed to wine.”

Everybody laughed, and he continued:  “When we get to the Cafe Bourbeux, give it some brandy, and it won’t bother you any more, I wager.”