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He looked both depraved and suspicious, a disreputable scoundrel with a gun, and that, you will find in the fullness of time, was just what he was. "Let us shut the door," said Elise. "This is not a pretty man." But the man from Stettin pushed past. "Brat;" said he, "drink." Boudru's mother had hurried up to the door as fast as her bulk and her stout legs would permit.
Some weeks later Boudru's mother was busy with odd jobs in the kitchen garden and the children were playing in the front room, there was a ring at the door and the sound of a butt-end of a rifle, as it "grounded" on the cobble stones. When Boudru on tiptoe lifted the latch, the door swung open, and a big man in a greenish uniform stood before him.
The fat sergeant had made pig-noises with multitudinous yells in at least fifteen different keys, and the little cross-eyed driver of the Engineers had dressed up in a real Hun helmet and grey coat. The grand finale in which the Engineer had turned into a pig on all fours and had been mercilessly put to death with the fat sergeant's bayonet, had filled Boudru's soul with joy.
Boudru's home was in a portion of our line in which the defence trenches were of the semi-detached type they did not join up with the other part of the line, and at times the place was distinctly unhealthy.
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