"
We get up, and leave the strong odor of pipes, wine, and stale
coffee in our cave. As soon as we have crossed the threshold, a
heaviness of heat puffs in our faces, fortified by the mustiness of
frying that dwells in the kitchen and emerges every time the door is
opened. We pass through legions of flies which, massed on the walls
in black hordes, fly abroad in buzzing swarms as we pass: "It's
beginning again like last year! Flies outside, lice inside.--"
"And microbes still farther inside!"
In a corner of this dirty little house and its litter of old
rubbish, its dusty debris of last year and the relics of so many
summers gone by, among the furniture and household gear, something
is moving. It is an old simpleton with a long bald neck, pink and
rough, making you think of a fowl's neck which has prematurely
molted through disease. His profile is that of a hen, too--no chin
and a long nose. A gray overlay of beard felts his receded cheek,
and you see his heavy eyelids, rounded and horny, move up and down
like shutters on the dull beads of his eyes.
Barque has already noticed him: "Watch him--he's a treasure-seeker.
He says there's one somewhere in this hovel that he's stepfather to.
You'll see him directly go on all-fours and push his old phizog in
every corner there is. Tiens, watch him."
With the aid of his stick, the old man proceeded to take methodical
soundings. He tapped along the foot of the walls and on the
floor-tiles.
Pages:
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110