lain there for months and no one had troubled to take a spade and bury it.'
'They have no sense of public responsibility. They're individualists to a man. Even when they seem to have acquired it—in the big towns—it's only because an energetic mayor, with his eye on the Chambre des Députés, dragoons them into efficiency. I like it, as I say, if it doesn't leave too many dead dogs about.'
Monsieur Michon, in the stuffy little dining-room that smelt of beeswax and sour wine, was waiting to serve them himself and, as usual, the dinner was excellent. Monsieur Michon hovered near while they ate, eager to impart the history of each dish he found appreciated. The fish came from the river—and came that very afternoon; it was a fine fish, n'est-ce-pas;—and could he give Madame a little more of the sauce piquante? The chicken had been fattened in their own basse-cour and he brought the crisp salad and dressed it on the table before them so that they should observe his dexterous minglings and turnings.
'Do you know whether Madame de Lamouderie is well?' Jill asked, realizing that Monsieur Michon might find her silence unsympathetic, and feeling better, after the chicken.
'Ah, la vieille dame. I have not seen her all winter,' said Monsieur Michon, standing beside them ready for conversation over the pastry and wine. 'She is there, I know; but she never comes down into the village. Only Monsieur Trumier—the old servant. Madame
