Bouvard went to look for their bathing-tub, and, when everything was ready, plunged into it, provided with a thermometer. The wreckage of the distillery, swept towards the end of the room, presented in the shadow the indistinct outlines of a hillock. Every now and then they could hear the mice nibbling; there was a stale odour of aromatic plants, and finding it rather agreeable, they chatted serenely.
However, Bouvard felt a little cool.
"Move your members about!" said Pécuchet.
He moved them, without at all changing with the thermometer. "'Tis decidedly cold."
"I am not hot either," returned Pécuchet, himself seized with a fit of shivering. "But move about your pelvic regions—move them about!"
Bouvard spread open his thighs, wriggled his sides, balanced his stomach, puffed like a whale, then looked at the thermometer, which was always falling.
"I don't understand this at all! Anyhow, I am stirring myself!"
"Not enough!"
And he continued his gymnastics.
This had gone on for three hours when once more he grasped the tube.