“As they were going back,” continued Florent, “the wind changed, and they were driven out into the open sea.  A wave carried away one of their oars, and the water swept so furiously into the boat that their whole time was taken up in baling it out with their hands.  They tossed about in this way in sight of the coast, carried away by squalls and then brought back again by the tide, without a mouthful of bread to eat, for their scanty stock of provisions had been consumed.  This went on for three days.”

“Three days!” cried Lisa in stupefaction; “three days without food!”

“Yes, three days without food.  When the east wind at last brought them to shore, one of them was so weak that he lay on the beach the whole day.  In the evening he died.  His companion had vainly attempted to get him to chew some leaves which he gathered from the trees.”

At this point Augustine broke into a slight laugh.  Then, ashamed at having done so and not wishing to be considered heartless, she stammered out in confusion:  “Oh!  I wasn’t laughing at that.  It was Mouton.  Do just look at Mouton, madame.”

Then Lisa in her turn began to smile.  Mouton, who had been lying all this time with his nose close to the dish of sausage-meat, had probably begun to feel distressed and disgusted by the presence of all this food, for he had risen and was rapidly scratching the table with his paws as though he wanted to bury the dish and its contents.  At last, however, turning his back to it and lying down on his side, he stretched himself out, half closing his eyes and rubbing his head against the table with languid pleasure.  Then they all began to compliment Mouton.  He never stole anything, they said, and could be safely left with the meat.  Pauline related that he licked her fingers and washed her face after dinner without trying to bite her.

However, Lisa now came back to the question as to whether it were possible to live for three days without food.  In her opinion it was not.  “No,” she said, “I can’t believe it.  No one ever goes three days without food.  When people talk of a person dying of hunger, it is a mere expression.  They always get something to eat, more or less.  It is only the most abandoned wretches, people who are utterly lost——­”

She was doubtless going to add, “vagrant rogues,” but she stopped short and looked at Florent.  The scornful pout of her lips and the expression of her bright eyes plainly signified that in her belief only villains made such prolonged fasts.  It seemed to her that a man able to remain without food for three days must necessarily be a very dangerous character.  For, indeed, honest folks never placed themselves in such a position.

Florent was now almost stifling.  In front of him the stove, into which Leon had just thrown several shovelfuls of coal, was snoring like a lay clerk asleep in the sun; and the heat was very great.  Auguste, who had taken charge of the lard melting in the pots, was watching over it in a state of perspiration, and Quenu wiped his brow with his sleeve whilst waiting for the blood to mix.  A drowsiness such as follows gross feeding, an atmosphere heavy with indigestion, pervaded the kitchen.