into his veins, and that would be all right, after being so cold; and he
drank some. He found it very good, certainly, for he had grown
unaccustomed to it, and he poured himself out another glassful, which he
drank at two gulps. And then, almost immediately he felt quite merry and
light-hearted from the effect of the alcohol, just as if some great
happiness were flowing through his system.

He continued to eat, but more slowly, and dipping his bread into the
soup. His skin had become burning, and especially his forehead, where
the veins were throbbing. But suddenly the church bells began to ring;
Mass was over, and instinct rather than fear, the instinct of prudence
which guides all beings, and makes them clear-sighted in danger, made
the carpenter get up. He put the remains of the loaf into one pocket,
and the brandy bottle into the other, and he furtively went to the
window and looked out into the road. It was still deserted, so he jumped
out and set off walking again, but instead of following the highroad,
he ran across the fields towards a wood which he saw a little way off.

He felt alert, strong, light-hearted, glad of what he had done, and so
nimble that he sprang over the enclosures of the fields at a single
bound and as soon as he was under the trees, he took the bottle out of
his pocket again and began to drink once more, swallowing it down as he
walked, and then his ideas began to get confused, his eyes grew dim and
his legs as elastic as springs and he started singing the old popular
song.

_Oh! how nice, how nice it is,
To pick the sweet, wild strawberries._

He was now walking on thick, damp, cool moss and that soft carpet under