"Not drunk?"
"No, I am not."
"Not drunk? Why, you could not even stand straight;" and she looked at him angrily, thinking that all this time her companions were having their dinner.
"I ... I could dance a polka," he replied, getting up, and to prove his stability he got onto the chair, made a pirouette and jumped onto the bed, where his thick, muddy shoes made two great marks.
"Oh! you dirty brute!" the girl cried, and rushing at him, she struck him a blow with her fist in the stomach, such a blow that Pavilly lost his balance, fell and struck the foot of the bed, and making a complete somersault tumbled onto the night-table, dragging the jug and basin with him, and then rolled onto the ground, roaring.
The noise was so loud, and his cries so piercing, that everybody in the house rushed in, the master, mistress, servant, and the staff.
The master picked him up, but as soon as he had put him on his legs, the peasant lost his balance again, and then began to call out that his leg was broken, the other leg, the sound one.
It was true, so they sent for a doctor, and it happened to be the same one who had attended him at Le Harivan's.
"What! Is it you again?" he said.
"Yes, M'sieu."