That evening Joseph was the topic of
conversation in all the households of Issoudun.
"That sister of Rouget must have seen a monkey before her son was
born," said one; "he is the image of a baboon."
"He has the face of a brigand and the eyes of a basilisk."
"All artists are like that."
"They are as wicked as the red ass, and as spiteful as monkeys."
"It is part of their business."
"I have just seen Monsieur Beaussier, and he says he would not like to
meet him in a dark wood; he saw him in the diligence."
"He has got hollows over the eyes like a horse, and he laughs like a
maniac."
"The fellow looks as though he were capable of anything; perhaps it's
his fault that his brother, a fine handsome man they tell me, has gone
to the bad. Poor Madame Bridau doesn't seem as if she were very happy
with him."
"Suppose we take advantage of his being here, and have our portraits
painted?"
The result of all these observations, scattered through the town was,
naturally, to excite curiosity. All those who had the right to visit
the Hochons resolved to call that very night and examine the
Parisians. The arrival of these two persons in the stagnant town was
like the falling of a beam into a community of frogs.
After stowing his mother's things and his own into the two attic
chambers, which he examined as he did so, Joseph took note of the
silent house, where the walls, the stair-case, the wood-work, were
devoid of decoration and humid with frost, and where there was
literally nothing beyond the merest necessaries.
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