He did the same at all the other hunts; so that his comrades began to nickname him the pork-butcher.
The extraordinary thing was that where any other man than Choron would have lost his life, Choron did not get so much as a scratch!
One might have said that he cut off the only vulnerable part of his body when he cut off his finger-tip. But all this did not cause him to forget the death of Berthelin; he grew more and more melancholy, and from time to time he said to the inspector:—
"You will see, Monsieur Deviolaine, nothing will prevent some misfortune happening to me one of these days!"
Then his wife would complain of his jealousy, confidentially to her friends.
"Some fine day," she said, "the wretch will kill me as he killed uncle Berthelin!"
Ought I to finish Choron's lamentable history straight away? Shall I wait till the dénouement comes to pass in due course in its proper time and place?
No, we will clear away at once the sanguinary stain that left its mark on the early records of my youth.