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Updated: May 26, 2025
The herbalist woman? asked Jory. 'Let her come in; it will be great fun. The door indeed had already been opened, and Mahoudeau's neighbour, Madame Jabouille, or Mathilde, as she was familiarly called, appeared on the threshold. She was about thirty, with a flat face horribly emaciated, and passionate eyes, the lids of which had a bluish tinge as if they were bruised.
The friends nudged each other, their eyes lighted up with bantering mirth; and then they turned the handle of Mahoudeau's door. The shop, though tolerably roomy, was almost filled by a mass of clay: a colossal Bacchante, falling back upon a rock. The wooden stays bent beneath the weight of that almost shapeless pile, of which nothing but some huge limbs could as yet be distinguished.
They continued silent, for their heads were heavy still, but the comfort of being together gradually made them more serene. Still it was only when they were opposite the Western Railway Station that Sandoz spoke. 'I say, suppose we go to Mahoudeau's, to see how he's getting on with his big machine. I know that he has given "his gods and saints" the slip to-day. 'All right, answered Claude.
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