And yet, we insist upon the word, people were always welcome there.
This oddity had attracted customers to his shop, and brought him young men, who said to each other:
"Come hear Father Hucheloup growl."
He had been a fencing-master. All of a sudden, he would burst out laughing. A big voice, a good fellow.
He had a comic foundation under a tragic exterior, he asked nothing better than to frighten you, very much like those snuff-boxes which are in the shape of a pistol. The detonation makes one sneeze.
Mother Hucheloup, his wife, was a bearded and a very homely creature.
About 1830, Father Hucheloup died.
With him disappeared the secret of stuffed carps.
His inconsolable widow continued to keep the wine-shop. But the cooking deteriorated, and became execrable; the wine, which had always been bad, became fearfully bad. Nevertheless, Courfeyrac and his friends continued to go to Corinthe,-- out of pity, as Bossuet said.
The Widow Hucheloup was breathless and misshapen and given to rustic recollections.
She deprived them of their flatness by her pronunciation.
She had a way of her own of saying things, which spiced her reminiscences of the village and of her springtime. It had formerly been her delight, so she affirmed, to hear the loups-de-gorge (rouges-gorges) chanter dans les ogrepines (aubepines)--to hear the redbreasts sing in the hawthorn-trees.⊙本⊙作⊙品⊙由⊙思⊙兔⊙在⊙線⊙閱⊙讀⊙網⊙友⊙整⊙理⊙上⊙傳⊙