Boule de Suif, in the haste and confusion of her departure, had not
thought of taking provisions; and exasperated, suffocating with
rage, she was looking on all those people who ate heartily. At
first a tumultuous anger shook her, and she opened her mouth to
tell them what she thought of them in a wave of insults that surged
to her lips; but she could not speak, so exasperated was she with
indignation.

Nobody looked at her, took notice of her. She felt drowned in the
scorn of those honest rascals who had first sacrificed her and then
cast her away like something unclean and of no further use. Then
she thought of her large basket full of good things, which they
had devoured greedily, of her two chickens shining in jelly, her
pastry, her pears, her four bottles of claret; and suddenly, her
furor having died out, like an over strung cord, she felt like
crying. She made terrible efforts; stiffened herself up, swallowed
her sobs like children, but the tears were surging, shining at the
border of her eyelids, and soon two big tears breaking away from
her eyes coursed slowly down her cheeks. Others followed them
more swiftly, running like drops of water filtering through rocks
and fell regularly on the rounded curve of her bosom. She remained
upright, her eyes motionless, her face rigid and pale, hoping that
the others would not notice her.

But the Countess noticed it and called her husband's attention
with a sign. He shrugged his shoulders, as if to say:--"What can
I do? It is not my fault!"--Madame Loiseau had a silent laugh of
triumph and muttered: "She is weeping for shame!"--