Chapter 2

           AFEWWEEKSlater,thewetnurseJeanneBussiestood,marketbasketinhand,atthegatesofthecloisterofSaint-Merri,andtheminutetheywereopenedbyabaldmonkofaboutfiftywithalightodorofvinegarabouthim-FatherTerrier-shesaid“There!”andsethermarketbasketdownonthethreshold.“What’sthat?”askedTerrier,bendingdownoverthebasketandsniffingatit,inthehopethatitwassomethingedible.“ThebastardofthatwomanfromtherueauxFerswhokilledherbabies!”Themonkpokedaboutinthebasketwithhisfingertillhehadexposedthefaceofthesleepinginfant.“Helooksgood.Rosypinkandwellnourished.”“Becausehe’sstuffedhimselfonme.Becausehe’spumpedmedrydowntothebones.ButI’veputastoptothat.Nowyoucanfeedhimyourselveswithgoat’smilk,withpap,withbeetjuice.He’llgobbleupanything,thatbastardwill.”FatherTerrierwasaneasygoingman.Amonghisdutieswastheadministrationofthecloister’scharities,thedistributionofitsmoneystothepoorandneedy.Andforthatheexpectedathank-youandthathenotbebotheredfurther.Hedespisedtechnicaldetails,becausedetailsmeantdifficultiesanddifficultiesmeantrufflinghiscomposure,andhesimplywouldnotputupwiththat.Hewasupsetthathehadevenopenedthegate.Hewishedthatthisfemalewouldtakehermarketbasketandgohomeandlethimalonewithhersucklingproblems.Slowlyhestraightenedup,andashedidhebreathedthescentofmilkandcheesywoolexudedbythewetnurse.Itwasapleasantaroma.