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Then she pointed to another, a tall woman, whose head trembled unceasingly: "This is Mother Jean-Jean, who is sixty-seven. She is nearly blind, for her face was terribly singed in a fire, and her right leg was half burned off." Then she pointed to the third, a sort of dwarf, with protruding, round, stupid eyes, which she rolled incessantly in all directions, "This is La Putois, an idiot.
He was conceived by minds too reasonable, among people who knew how to read and write, and who had not that delightful imagination in which fables take root. I think, Messieurs, that I have said enough to show you the real nature of Putois." "I understand it," said Monsieur Goubin. And Monsieur Bergeret continued his discourse. "Putois was. I can affirm it. He was.
Close by, Madame Putois, wrapped up in flannel muffled up to her ears, was ironing a petticoat which she turned round the skirt-board, the narrow end of which rested on the back of a chair; whilst a sheet laid on the floor prevented the petticoat from getting dirty as it trailed along the tiles.
He called it 'The Anatomy of Putois. And he used to say that he preferred, in certain respects, the anatomy of Putois to the anatomy of Quaresmeprenant.
Mme Putois offered to leave because, she said, no one should fly in the face of Destiny; besides, she was not hungry. As to Boche, he laughed, and said it was all nonsense. "Wait!" cried Gervaise. "I will arrange it." And rushing out on the sidewalk, she called to Father Bru, who was crossing the street, and the old man followed her into the room. "Sit there," said the clearstarcher.
The goose was even already bought. Mother Coupeau went and fetched it to let Clemence and Madame Putois feel its weight. And they uttered all kinds of exclamations; it looked such an enormous bird, with its rough skin all swelled out with yellow fat. "Before that there will be the pot-au-feu," said Gervaise, "the soup and just a small piece of boiled beef, it's always good.
There were limits even to her capacities, and she looked at the lettuce with regret. Clemence told how she had once eaten three quarts of water cresses at her breakfast. Mme Putois declared that she enjoyed lettuce with a pinch of salt and no dressing, and as they talked the ladies emptied the salad bowl. None of the guests were dismayed at the dessert, although they had eaten so enormously.
Because of the flogging at the wash-house it annoyed her whenever anyone spoke before her and Virginie of kicks with wooden shoes and of slaps in the face. It so happened, too, that Virginie was looking at her and smiling. "By the way," she said quietly, "yesterday I saw some hair-pulling. They almost tore each other to pieces." "Who were they?" Madame Putois inquired.
Finally, he professed faith in the existence of a Putois, to be a good citizen; and he eliminated Putois in his explanations of the events that took place in the town. By doing so in this instance, as in all others, he was an honorable and a sensible man. "As for our mother, she reproached herself somewhat for the birth of Putois, and not without reason.
He seemed determined to fascinate the whole house, even the Quartier, and he began by ingratiating himself with Clemence and Mme Putois, showing them both the greatest possible attention. These two women adored him at the end of a month. Mme Boche, whom he flattered by calling on her in her loge, had all sorts of pleasant things to say about him.
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