The noise was so loud, and his cries so piercing,
that everybody in the house rushed in, the master,
mistress, servant, and the staff.
The master picked him up, but as soon as he had put
him on his legs, the peasant lost his balance again,
and then began to call out that his leg was broken,
the other leg, the sound one.
It was true, so they sent for a doctor, and it happened
to be the same one who had attended him at Le Harivan’s.
“What! Is it you again?” he said.
“Yes, M’sieu.”
“What is the matter with you?”
“Somebody has broken my other leg for me, M’sieu.”
“Who did it, old fellow?”
“Why, a female.”
Everybody was listening. The girls in their dressing
gowns, with their mouths still greasy from their interrupted
dinner, the mistress of the house furious, the master
nervous.
“This will be a bad job,” the doctor said.
“You know that the municipal authorities look
upon you with very unfavorable eyes, so we must try
and hush the matter up.”
“How can it be managed?” the master of
the place asked.
“Why the best way would be to send him back
to the hospital, from which he has just come out,
and to pay for him there.”
“I would rather do that,” the master of
the house replied, “than have any fuss made
about the matter.”
So half an hour later, Pavilly returned drunk and
groaning to the ward which he had left an hour before.
The Superior lifted up her hands in sorrow, for she
liked him, and with a smile, for she was glad to have
him back.
“Well, my good fellow, what is the matter with
you now?”
“The other leg is broken, Madame.”
“So you have been getting onto another load
of straw, you old joker?”
And Pavilly, in great confusion, but still sly, said,
with hesitation:
“No... no.... Not this time, no ... not
this time. No ... no.... It was not my fault,
not my fault ...A mattress caused this.”
She could get no other explanation out of him, and
never knew that his relapse was due to her twenty-five
francs.
Some years ago there lived in Braniza, a celebrated
Talmadist, who was renowned no less on account of
his beautiful wife, than of his wisdom, his learning,
and his fear of God. The Venus of Braniza deserved
that name thoroughly, for she deserved it for herself,
on account of her singular beauty, and even more as
the wife of a man who was deeply versed in the Talmud;
for the wives of the Jewish philosophers are, as a
rule, ugly, or even possess some bodily defect.
The Talmud explains this, in the following manner.
It is well known that marriages are made in heaven,
and at the birth of a boy a divine voice calls out
the name of his future wife, and vice versa.
But just as a good father tries to get rid of his
good wares out of doors, and only uses the damaged
stuff at home for his children, so God bestows those
women whom other men would not care to have, on the
Talmudists.
