The increasing laughter left the grinder unmoved except for a whisper, his eyes still downcast:
—Hush, baker.
But there was no stopping this interfering baker, and he warmed to his theme:
—He's an idiot! No man of the world would complain about having wife like that. There's never a dull moment when she's around! Think about it! A really gorgeous girl, who every six months or so, ups sticks and runs away, and, believe me, always has a pretty tale to tell when she gets back … that's the way it is … a funny old menagerie, that one. Work it out, monsieur, they hadn't even been hitched a year when she breezed off to Spain with a chocolate merchant.
—The husband was inconsolable after that, sitting alone and drinking and crying all the time like a man possessed. After a while, she drifted back into the area, dressed like a Spaniard, complete with tambourine. We all warned her:
—You'd better get lost, he'll kill you.
—Kill her indeed … Oh yes, I should say so, they made it up beautifully, she even taught him how to play the tambourine like a Basque!
Once again the coach rocked with laughter. Once again, the grinder still didn't budge, just murmured again:
—Hush, baker.
The baker ignored this plea and went on: