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remaining alone in the house。
He asked：
〃Any one might think that you had made a bet to get me drunk every night。
Say； what good is it doing you； since it's always you that's treating？〃
Nevertheless he was smiling at the idea of all this brandy drunk at the
expense of another。 He was smiling the contented smirk of an avaricious
Norman。
Mathurin； his friend； kept pulling him by the sleeve。
〃Come on； Jeremie。 This isn't the kind of a night to go home without
anything to warm you up。 What are you afraid of？ Isn't your wife going
to warm your bed for you？〃
Jeremie answered：
〃The other night I couldn't find the doorI had to be fished out of the
ditch in front of the house！〃
He was still laughing at this drunkard's recollection； and he was
unconsciously going toward Paumelle's Cafe； where a light was shining in
the window； he was going； pulled by Mathurin and pushed by the wind；
unable to resist these combined forces。
The low room was full of sailors； smoke and noise。 All these men； clad
in woolens； their elbows on the tables； were shouting to make themselves
heard。 The more people came in； the more one had to shout in order to
overcome the noise of voices and the rattling of dominoes on the marble
tables。
Jeremie and Mathurin sat down in a corner and began a game； and the
glasses were emptied in rapid succession into their thirsty throats。
Then they played more games and drank more glasses。 Mathurin kept
pouring and winking to the saloon keeper； a big； red…faced man； who
chuckled as though at the thought of some fine joke； and Jeremie kept
absorbing alcohol and wagging his head； giving vent to a roar of laughter
and looking at his comrade with a stupid and contented expression。
All the customers were going away。 Every time that one of them would
open the door to leave a gust of wind would blow into the cafe； making
the tobacco smoke swirl around； swinging the lamps at the end of their
chains and making their flames flicker； and suddenly one could hear the
deep booming of a breaking wave and the moaning of the wind。
Jeremie； his collar unbuttoned； was taking drunkard's poses； one leg
outstretched； one arm hanging down and in the other hand holding a
domino。
They were alone now with the owner； who had come up to them； interested。
He asked：
〃Well； Jeremie； how goes it inside？ Feel less thirsty after wetting your
throat？〃
Jeremie muttered：
〃The more I wet it； the drier it gets inside。〃
The innkeeper cast a sly glance at Mathurin。 He said：
〃And your brother； Mathurin； where's he now？〃
The sailor laughed silently：
〃Don't worry； he's warm； all right。〃
And both of them looked toward Jeremie； who was triumphantly putting down
the double six and announcing：
〃Game！〃
Then the owner declared：
〃Well； boys； I'm goin' to bed。 I will leave you the lamp and the bottle；
there's twenty cents' worth in it。 Lock the door when you go； Mathurin；
and slip the key under the mat the way you did the other night。〃
Mathurin answered：
〃Don't worry； it'll be all right。〃
Paumelle shook hands with his two customers and slowly went up the wooden
stairs。 For several minutes his heavy step echoed through the little
house。 Then a loud creaking announced that he had got into bed。
The two men continued to play。 From time to time a more violent gust of
wind would shake the whole house； and the two drinkers would look up； as
though some one were about to enter。 Then Mathurin would take the bottle
and fill Jeremie's glass。 But suddenly the clock over the bar struck
twelve。 Its hoarse clang sounded like the rattling of saucepans。 Then
Mathurin got up like a sailor whose watch is over。
〃Come on； Jeremie； we've got to get out。〃
The other man rose to his feet with difficulty； got his balance by
leaning on the table； reached the door and opened it while his companion
was putting out the light。
As soon as they were in the street Mathurin locked the door and then
said：
〃Well； so long。 See you to…morrow night！〃
And he disappeared in the darkness。
Jeremie took a few steps； staggered； stretched out his hands； met a wall
which supported him and began to stumble along。 From time to time a gust
of wind would sweep through the street； pushing him forward； making him
run for a few steps； then； when the wind would die down； he would stop
short； having lost his impetus； and once more he would begin to stagger
on his unsteady drunkard's legs。
He went instinctively toward his home； just as birds go to their nests。
Finally he recognized his door； and began to feel about for the keyhole
and tried to put the key in it。 Not finding the hole； he began to swear。
Then he began to beat on the door with his fists； calling for his wife to
come and help him：
〃Melina！ Oh； Melina！〃
As he leaned against the door for support； it gave way and opened； and
Jeremie； losing his prop； fell inside； rolling on his face into the
middle of his room； and he felt something heavy pass over him and escape
in the night。
He was no longer moving； dazed by fright； bewildered； fearing the devil；
ghosts； all the mysterious beings of darkness； and he waited a long time
without daring to move。 But when he found out that nothing else was
moving； a little reason returned to him； the reason of a drunkard。
Gently he sat up。 Again he waited a long time； and at last； growing
bolder； he called：
〃Melina！〃
His wife did not answer。
Then； suddenly； a suspicion crossed his darkened mind； an indistinct；
vague suspicion。 He was not moving； he was sitting there in the dark；
trying to gather together his scattered wits； his mind stumbling over
incomplete ideas； just as his feet stumbled along。
Once more he asked：
〃Who was it； Melina？ Tell me who it was。 I won't hurt you！〃
He waited； no voice was raised in the darkness。 He was now reasoning
with himself out loud。
〃I'm drunk； all right！ I'm drunk！ And he filled me up； the dog； he did
it； to stop my goin' home。 I'm drunk！〃
And he would continue：
〃Tell me who it was； Melina； or somethin'll happen to you。〃
After having waited again； he went on with the slow and obstinate logic
of a drunkard：
〃He's been keeping me at that loafer Paumelle's place every night； so as
to stop my going home。 It's some trick。 Oh； you damned carrion！〃
Slowly he got on his knees。 A blind fury was gaining possession of him；
mingling with the fumes of alcohol。
He continued：
〃Tell me who it was； Melina； or you'll get a lickingI warn you！〃
He was now standing； trembling with a wild fury； as though the alcohol
had set his blood on fire。 He took a step； knocked against a chair；
seized it； went on； reached the bed； ran his hands over it and felt the
warm body of his wife。
Then； maddened； he roared：
〃So！ You were there； you piece of dirt； and you wouldn't answer！〃
And； lifting the chair； which he was holding in his strong sailor's grip；
he swung it down before him with an exasperated fury。 A cry burst from
the bed； an agonizing； piercing cry。 Then he began to thrash around like
a thresher in a barn。 And soon nothing more moved。 The chair was broken
to pieces； but he still held one leg and beat away with it； panting。
At last he stopped to ask：
〃Well； are you ready to tell me who it was？〃
Melina did not answer。
Then tired out； stupefied from his exertion； he stretched himself out on
the ground and slept。
When day came a neighbor； seeing the door open； entered。 He saw Jeremie
snoring on the floor； amid the broken pieces of a chair； and on the bed a
pulp of flesh and blood。
THE WARDROBE
As we sat chatting after dinner； a party of men； the conversation turned
on women； for lack of something else。
One of us said：
〃Here's a funny thing that happened to me on； that very subject。〃 And he
told us the following story：
One evening last winter I suddenly felt overcome by that overpowering
sense of misery and languor that takes possession of one from time to
time。 I was in my own apartment； all alone； and I was convinced that if
I gave in to my feelings I should have a terrible attack of melancholia；
one of those attacks that lead to suicide when they recur too often。
I put on my overcoat and went out without the slightest idea of what I
was going to do。 Having gone as far as the boulevards； I began to wander
along by the almost empty cafes。 It was raining； a fine rain that
affects your mind as it does your clothing； not one of those good
downpours which come down in torrents； driving breathless passers…by into
doorways； but a rain without drops that deposits on your clothing an
imperceptible spray and soon covers you with a sort of iced foam that
chills you through。
What should I do？ I walked in one direction and then came back； looking
for some place where I could spend two hours； and discovering for the
first time that there is no place of amusement in Paris in the evening。
At last I decided to go to the Folies…Bergere； that entertaining resort
for gay women。
There were very few people in the main hall。 In the long horseshoe curve
there were only a few ordinary looking people； whose plebeian origin