"I wish you good luck!"

Then, without further delay, they climbed into the carryall, the two
women at the back, on seats which made them jump up and down as the
vehicle went jolting along the road, and the two men in front on the
front seat.

Nobody spoke. Antoine, ill at ease, whistled a barrack-room air; his
father whipped the nag; and his mother, from where she sat in the corner,
kept casting sly glances at the negress, whose forehead and cheekbones
shone in the sunlight like well-polished shoes.

Wishing to break the ice, Antoine turned round.

"Well," said he, "we don't seem inclined to talk."

"We must have time," replied the old woman.

He went on:

"Come! Tell us the little story about that hen of yours that laid eight
eggs."

It was a funny anecdote of long standing in the family. But, as his
mother still remained silent, paralyzed by her emotion, he undertook
himself to tell the story, laughing as he did so at the memorable
incident. The father, who knew it by heart brightened at the opening
words of the narrative; his wife soon followed his example; and the
negress herself, when he reached the drollest part of it, suddenly gave
vent to a laugh, such a loud, rolling torrent of laughter that the horse,