THE TWO TRAVELLERS, sheltering beneath a chestnut tree, are startled by a crashing, a harried thrashing, from above. It is Mme. Cochon, struggling to free herself from the embrace of an amorous upper branch. Her dainty wings churn the air, her stout legs kick furiously, and from a neighboring tree, a wild cloud of sparrows rises up in sisterly agitation.
Mme. Cochon! cries Madeleine, whose earthbound perspective grants her insight into the situation. Your skirts! They are caught!
The enormous woman heaves herself over so that she can unlatch her hem from the tree. Oh, bother, she gasps, this is always happening.
Madeleine, in her excitement, treads upon the photographer's toes. A face from home! It has been so long. She trots backwards and beams up at the woman, whose buttocks bob among the leaves like the hull of a capsized ship. With a crackling of twigs and a fluttering of wings, Mme. Cochon pulls herself upright.
She calls down to Madeleine, Your mother doesn't know what to make of you!
The girl grins back at her: She never did!
Adrien tugs at Madeleine's sleeve: he hopes to take advantage of the fat woman's surprising appendages. From up there, she can see the entire world, or at least a sizeable portion of it.
Mme. Cochon! Madeleine hurls her voice at the sky. Have you seen a tall and pale-faced man pass this way? Carrying a porcelain basin, a length of rubber tubing, a silver candlestick, and a small family of flutes? You would have noticed his elegant costume; he dresses beautifully, no matter what time of day.
The fat woman sails upward, always happy to oblige.
The two travellers wait below, his hand clasping her paw.
A black tailcoat? Mme. Cochon hollers. Satin breeches ruched at the knee?
Oh yes! That's him!
The woman, high above them, points towards the horizon: He is headed for the hospital at Maréville.