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Updated: May 2, 2025
I don't know what it is! but it's there. I'll give you back your money if you find nothing!" And he disappeared in the darkness. Maillochon, who was following him, kept punching him in the back to express his joy. As we were still talking about Pranzini, M. Maloureau, who had been attorney general under the Empire, said: "Oh!
She went away, threatening to call the police. They could hear her protesting indignantly and cursing as she went her way. Maillochon held out the gun to his comrade, saying: "It's your turn, Chicot." Labouise aimed and fired.
Maillochon asked: "Well, what are we going to do now?" Labouise answered: "Don't worry, sister. Get the thing on the boat; we're going to have some fun when night comes." They went and got the boat. The animal's body was placed on the bottom, covered with fresh grass, and the two men stretched out on it and went to sleep.
Rowing about on the river day and night, watching for any prey, dead or alive, poachers on the water and nocturnal hunters, sometimes ambushing venison in the Saint-Germain forests, sometimes looking for drowned people and searching their clothes, picking up floating rags and empty bottles; thus did Labouise and Maillochon live easily.
The ass, feeling itself free, was trying to get a little of the tall grass, but it was so exhausted that it swayed on its legs as if it were about to fall. Maillochon aimed slowly and said: "A little pepper for the ears; watch, Ghicot!" And he fired. The tiny shot struck the donkey's long ears and he began to shake them in order to get rid of the stinging sensation.
Both men darted after the beast, Maillochon with a long stride, Labouise with the short, breathless trot of a little man. But the donkey, tired out, had stopped, and, with a bewildered look, was watching his two murderers approach. Suddenly he stretched his neck and began to bray. Labouise, out of breath, had taken the gun.
His name was Labouise, but he was called Chicot, and was in partnership with Maillochon, commonly called Mailloche, to practice the doubtful and undefined profession of junk-gatherers along the shore. They were a low order of sailors and they navigated regularly only in the months of famine. The rest of the time they acted as junk-gatherers.
Toward noon Labouise drew a bottle of wine, some bread and butter and raw onions from a hiding place in their muddy, worm-eaten boat, and they began to eat. When the meal was over they once more stretched out on the dead donkey and slept. At nightfall Labouise awoke and shook his comrade, who was snoring like a buzzsaw. "Come on, sister," he ordered. Maillochon began to row.
This bank belongs to the Saint-Germain forest and is the boundary line for rabbit hunting. It is covered with burrows hidden under the roots of trees, and the creatures at daybreak frisk about, running in and out of the holes. Maillochon was kneeling in the bow, watching, his gun hidden on the floor. Suddenly he seized it, aimed, and the report echoed for some time throughout the quiet country.
Then Labouise, in great humor, got the gun and held it out to Maillochon, saying: "Each one in turn; we're going after big game, sister. Don't get so near or you'll kill it right away! You must make the pleasure last a little." He placed his companion about forty paces from the victim.
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