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Updated: May 17, 2025
If they happened to get separated, they sought one another behind the petticoats of every stallkeeper in the markets, amongst the boxes and under the cabbages. If was, indeed, chiefly under the cabbages that they grew up and learned to love each other. Marjolin was nearly eight years old, and Cadine six, when old Madame Chantemesse began to reproach them for their idleness.
Marjolin had not even taken the trouble to wipe the block, near which the rabbit's feet were still lying. He reclined there with his eyes half closed, encompassed by other piles of dead poultry which crowded the shelves of the stall, poultry in paper wrappers like bouquets, rows upon rows of protuberant breasts and bent legs showing confusedly.
The rising fires of the sun illumined their faces with a ruddy glow. Cadine laughed with pleasure at being so high up in the air, and her neck shone with iridescent tints like a dove's; while Marjolin bent down to look at the street still wrapped in gloom, with his hands clutching hold of the leads like the feet of a wood-pigeon.
Then Marjolin proposed to take her on to the line; but she refused, saying that it was not worth while, as she could see things well enough where she was. As they returned to the poultry cellars they found old Madame Palette in front of her storeroom, removing the cords of a large square hamper, in which a furious fluttering of wings and scraping of feet could be heard.
I question if one here, unless some contemporary of my own has strayed into the amphitheatre, knows anything about Marjolin. I remember two things about his lectures on surgery, the deep tones of his voice as he referred to his oracle, the earlier writer, Jean Louis Petit, and his formidable snuffbox.
In thus amusing themselves, however, they managed to break a couple of windows, and filled the drains with stones, so that Mother Chantemesse, who had lived in the house for three and forty years, narrowly escaped being turned out of it. Cadine and Marjolin then directed their attention to the vans and drays and tumbrels which were drawn up in the quiet street.
But he never felt their elbows; he stood in a sort of ecstatic trance before the huge hanging lights, and often told Cadine and Marjolin that there was no finer sight to be seen.
Muche was crawling along on all-fours, while Pauline sat on his back, and clung to his hair to keep herself from falling. However, a moving shadow which fell from the eaves of the market roof made Claude look up; and he then espied Cadine and Marjolin aloft, kissing and warming themselves in the sunshine, parading their loves before the whole neighbourhood like a pair of light-hearted animals.
"They have found that scamp of a Marjolin in the cellar, with his head split open," exclaimed the old maid. "Won't you come to see him, Madame Quenu?" Lisa crossed the road to look at him. The young fellow was lying on his back on the stretcher, looking very pale. His eyes were closed, and a stiff wisp of his fair hair was clotted with blood.
At last Marjolin nominally took service under Gavard, happy in having nothing to do except to listen to his master's flow of talk, while Cadine still continued to sell violets, quite accustomed by this time to old Mother Chantemesse's scoldings.
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