consent.

And when he had told this story, which was known all over the country,
Antoine Boitelle would always add:

"From that time forward I have had no heart for anything--for
anything at all. No trade suited me any longer, and so I became what I
am--a night scavenger."

People would say to him:

"Yet you got married."

"Yes, and I can't say that my wife didn't please me, seeing that I have
fourteen children; but she is not the other one, oh, no--certainly
not! The other one, mark you, my negress, she had only to give me one
glance, and I felt as if I were in Heaven."




A WIDOW

This story was told during the hunting season at the Chateau Baneville.
The autumn had been rainy and sad. The red leaves, instead of rustling
under the feet, were rotting under the heavy downfalls.

The forest was as damp as it could be. From it came an odor of must, of
rain, of soaked grass and wet earth; and the sportsmen, their backs
hunched under the downpour, mournful dogs, with tails between their legs