Pernod.â
Everyone laughed. A woman muttered:
âHeâs got a nerve, that James.â
But James wasnât bothered. He dragged Maigret back to the Vieux-Garçon.
âTwo large Pernods!â
He was laughing at his own little joke as they were served two glasses full to the brim.
2. The Ladyâs Husband
By the time they got to the Two-Penny Bar, things hadnât yet clicked for Maigret, as he liked to say. He hadnât had any high hopes in following Monsieur Basso. At the Vieux-Garçon he had looked on gloomily as the people milled about.
But he hadnât felt that nibble, that little shift, the âclickâ that told him he was on to something.
While James was forcing him to have a drink with him, he had seen customers come and go, helping each other to try on their ridiculous costumes, laughing, shouting. The Bassos had turned up, and their son, whom they had made up as a carrot-headed
village idiot, had gone down a storm.
âDonât mind them,â said James each time Maigret turned round to look at the group. âTheyâre having a good time and theyâre not even drunk â¦â
Two carriages had drawn up. More shouting. More laughing and jostling. Maigret sat next to James, while the landlord, his wife and the staff of the Vieux-Garçon lined up on the terrace to see them off.
The sun had given way to a blue-tinted twilight. The lights from the windows of the quiet villas on the far bank of the Seine glimmered in the dusk.
The carriages trundled onwards. The inspector took in the scene around him: the coachman, whom everyone teased and who responded with a laugh through grittedteeth; a young girl who had made herself up as the simple country lass,
and who was trying to put on a peasant accent; a grey-haired man dressed like a granny â¦
It was all very confusing. Such an unexpected mix of people that Maigret could scarcely work out who went with whom. He needed to get things in focus.
âSee her over there? Thatâs my wife â¦â James told him, pointing out the plumpest of the women, who was wearing leg-of-mutton sleeves. He said this in a cheerless tone, with a glint in his eyes.
They sang. They passed through Seine-Port, and people came out on to their doorsteps to watch the procession go by. Little boys ran after the carriages for some distance, whooping with delight.
The horses slowed to walking pace. They crossed a bridge. A sign could just about be made out in the half-light:
Eugène Rougier â Licensee
A tiny little whitewashed house squeezed in between the towpath and the hillside. The lettering on the sign was crude. As they approached, they could hear snatches of music, interspersed with a grinding noise.
What was it that finally clicked? Maigret couldnât put his finger on it. Perhaps the mildness of the evening, the little white house with its two lighted windows and the contrast with this invading circus troupe?
Perhaps the couple who came forward to see the âwedding partyâ â the man a young factory worker, the womanin a pink silk dress, standing with her hands on her hips â¦?
The house had only two rooms. In the one on the right, an old woman was busy at her stove. In the one on the left could be seen a bed, some family portraits.
The bistro was at the back. It was a large lean-to with one wall completely open to the garden. Tables and benches, a bar, a mechanical piano and some Chinese lanterns. Some bargees were drinking at the bar. A girl of about twelve was keeping an
eye on the piano, occasionally rewinding it and slipping two sous into the slot.
The evening got going very quickly. No sooner had the new arrivals climbed down from the carriages than they cleared away the tables and started dancing, calling for drinks. Maigret had lost sight of James and found him again at the bar, lost in
thought over a Pernod. The waiters were laying the tables outside under the trees.
One of the
Everyone laughed. A woman muttered:
âHeâs got a nerve, that James.â
But James wasnât bothered. He dragged Maigret back to the Vieux-Garçon.
âTwo large Pernods!â
He was laughing at his own little joke as they were served two glasses full to the brim.
2. The Ladyâs Husband
By the time they got to the Two-Penny Bar, things hadnât yet clicked for Maigret, as he liked to say. He hadnât had any high hopes in following Monsieur Basso. At the Vieux-Garçon he had looked on gloomily as the people milled about.
But he hadnât felt that nibble, that little shift, the âclickâ that told him he was on to something.
While James was forcing him to have a drink with him, he had seen customers come and go, helping each other to try on their ridiculous costumes, laughing, shouting. The Bassos had turned up, and their son, whom they had made up as a carrot-headed
village idiot, had gone down a storm.
âDonât mind them,â said James each time Maigret turned round to look at the group. âTheyâre having a good time and theyâre not even drunk â¦â
Two carriages had drawn up. More shouting. More laughing and jostling. Maigret sat next to James, while the landlord, his wife and the staff of the Vieux-Garçon lined up on the terrace to see them off.
The sun had given way to a blue-tinted twilight. The lights from the windows of the quiet villas on the far bank of the Seine glimmered in the dusk.
The carriages trundled onwards. The inspector took in the scene around him: the coachman, whom everyone teased and who responded with a laugh through grittedteeth; a young girl who had made herself up as the simple country lass,
and who was trying to put on a peasant accent; a grey-haired man dressed like a granny â¦
It was all very confusing. Such an unexpected mix of people that Maigret could scarcely work out who went with whom. He needed to get things in focus.
âSee her over there? Thatâs my wife â¦â James told him, pointing out the plumpest of the women, who was wearing leg-of-mutton sleeves. He said this in a cheerless tone, with a glint in his eyes.
They sang. They passed through Seine-Port, and people came out on to their doorsteps to watch the procession go by. Little boys ran after the carriages for some distance, whooping with delight.
The horses slowed to walking pace. They crossed a bridge. A sign could just about be made out in the half-light:
Eugène Rougier â Licensee
A tiny little whitewashed house squeezed in between the towpath and the hillside. The lettering on the sign was crude. As they approached, they could hear snatches of music, interspersed with a grinding noise.
What was it that finally clicked? Maigret couldnât put his finger on it. Perhaps the mildness of the evening, the little white house with its two lighted windows and the contrast with this invading circus troupe?
Perhaps the couple who came forward to see the âwedding partyâ â the man a young factory worker, the womanin a pink silk dress, standing with her hands on her hips â¦?
The house had only two rooms. In the one on the right, an old woman was busy at her stove. In the one on the left could be seen a bed, some family portraits.
The bistro was at the back. It was a large lean-to with one wall completely open to the garden. Tables and benches, a bar, a mechanical piano and some Chinese lanterns. Some bargees were drinking at the bar. A girl of about twelve was keeping an
eye on the piano, occasionally rewinding it and slipping two sous into the slot.
The evening got going very quickly. No sooner had the new arrivals climbed down from the carriages than they cleared away the tables and started dancing, calling for drinks. Maigret had lost sight of James and found him again at the bar, lost in
thought over a Pernod. The waiters were laying the tables outside under the trees.
One of the
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