And the old woman went from her fowls to her husband and from her husband to her fowls, devoured by anxiety as to the welfare of the little chickens who were maturing in the bed and in the nest. The country people who knew the story came, agog with curiosity, to ask news of Toine. They entered his room on tiptoe, as one enters a sick-chamber, and asked: “Well! how goes it?” “All right,” said Toine; “only it keeps me fearfully hot.” One morning his wife entered in a state of great excitement, and declared: “The yellow hen has seven chickens! Three of the eggs were addled.” Toine's heart beat painfully. How many would he have? “Will it soon be over?” he asked, with the anguish of a woman who is about to become a mother. “It's to be hoped so!” answered the old woman crossly, haunted by fear of failure. They waited. Friends of Toine who had got wind that his time was drawing near arrived, and filled the little room. Nothing else was talked about in the neighboring cottages. Inquirers asked one another for news as they stood at their doors. About three o'clock Toine fell asleep. He slumbered half his time nowadays. He was suddenly awakened by an unaccustomed tickling under his right arm. He put his left hand on the spot, and seized a little creature covered with yellow down, which fluttered in his hand. His emotion was so great that he cried out, and let go his hold of the chicken, which ran over his chest. The bar was full of people at the time. The customers rushed to Toine's room, and made a circle round him as they would round a travelling showman; while Madame Toine picked up the chicken, which had taken refuge under her husband's beard. No one spoke, so great was the tension. It was a warm April day. Outside the window the yellow hen could be heard calling to her newly-fledged brood. Toine, who was perspiring with emotion and anxiety, murmured: “I have another now--under the left arm.” His' wife plunged her great bony hand into the bed, and pulled out a second chicken with all the care of a midwife. The neighbors wanted to see it. It was passed from one to another, and examined as if it were a phenomenon. For twenty minutes no more hatched out, then four emerged at the same moment from their shells. There was a great commotion among the lookers-on. And Toine smiled with satisfaction, beginning to take pride in this unusual sort of paternity. There were not many like him! Truly, he was a remarkable specimen of humanity! “That makes six!” he declared. “Great heavens, what a christening we'll have!” And a loud laugh rose from all present. Newcomers filled the bar. They asked one another: “How many are there?” “Six.” Toine's wife took this new family to the hen, who clucked loudly, bristled her feathers, and spread her wings wide to shelter her growing brood of little ones. “There's one more!” cried Toine.