Trembling and vanquished, he got out of bed, and began to put on his trousers, but she stopped him:
“It is not worth while to dress yourself; your underclothes are quite enough; I mean to go as I am.”
They both left the room in their nightclothes, went upstairs quite noiselessly, opened the door, and went into the room where the four lighted tapers and the plate with the sprig of box alone seemed to be watching the old woman in her rigid repose; for Rosalie, who was lying back in the easy-chair with her legs stretched out, her hands folded in her lap, and her head on one side, was also quite motionless, and snoring with her mouth wide open.
Caravan took the clock, which was one of those grotesque objects that were produced so plentifully under the Empire. A girl in gilt bronze was holding a cup and ball, and the ball formed the pendulum.
“Give that to me,” his wife said, “and take the marble top off the chest of drawers.”
He put the marble on his shoulder with a considerable effort, and they left the room. Caravan had to stoop in the doorway, and trembled as he went downstairs, while his wife walked backward, so as to light him, holding the candlestick in one hand and the clock under her other arm.
When they were in their own room, she heaved a sigh.
“We have got over the worst part of the job,” she said; “so now let us go and fetch the other things.”
But the drawers were full of the old woman’s wearing apparel which they must manage to hide somewhere, and Madame Caravan soon thought of a plan.
“Go and get that wooden box in the passage; it is hardly worth anything and we may just as well put it here.”
And when he had brought it upstairs, the change began. One by one, she took out all the collars, cuffs, chemises, caps, all the well-worn things that had belonged to the poor woman lying there behind them, and arranged them methodically in the wooden box, in such a manner as to deceive Madame Braux, the deceased woman’s other child, who would be coming the next day.
When they had finished, they first of all carried the drawers downstairs, and the remaining portion afterward, each of them holding an end. It was some time before they could make up their minds where it would stand best; but at last they settled upon their own room, opposite the bed, between the two windows. As soon as it was in its place, Madame Caravan filled it with her own things. The clock was placed on the chimneypiece in the dining room. They looked to see what the effect was, and were both delighted with it, agreeing that nothing could be better. Then they got into bed, she blew out the candle, and soon everybody in the house was asleep.
It was broad daylight when Caravan opened his eyes again. His mind was rather confused when he woke up, and he did not clearly remember what had happened for a few minutes; when he did, he felt it painfully, and jumped out of bed, almost ready to cry again.
He very soon went to the room overhead, where Rosalie was still sleeping in the same position as the night before, for she did not wake up once during the whole time. He sent her to do her work, put fresh tapers in the place of those that had burned out, and then he looked at his mother, revolving in his mind those apparently profound thoughts, those religious and philosophical commonplaces, which trouble people of mediocre minds in the face of death.
But he went downstairs as soon as his wife called him. She had written out a list of what had to be done during the morning, which rather frightened him when he saw it.
Lodge a declaration of death at the Town Hall.
See the coroner.
Order the coffin.
Give notice to the church.
Go to the undertaker.
Order the notices of her death at the printer’s.
Go to the lawyer.
Telegraph the news to all the family.
Besides all this, there were a number of small commissions; so he took his hat and went out. As the news had got abroad, Madame Caravan’s female friends and neighbours soon began to come in, and begged to be allowed to see the body. There had been a scene at the hairdresser’s, on the ground floor, about the matter, between husband and wife, while he was shaving a customer. While busily knitting the woman had said: “Well, there is one less, and one as great a miser as one ever meets with. I certainly was not very fond of her; but, nevertheless, I must go and have a look at her.”
The husband, while lathering his customer’s chin, said:
“That is another queer fancy! Nobody but a woman would think of such a thing. It is not enough for them to worry you during life, but they cannot even leave you in peace when you are dead.”
But his wife, not put out in the least, replied: “I can’t help it; I must go. It has been on me since the morning. If I were not to see her, I should think about it all my life, but when I have had a good look at her, I shall be satisfied.”
The knight of the razor shrugged his shoulders, and remarked in a low voice to the gentleman whose cheek he was scraping:
“Now, what sort of ideas do you think these confounded females have? I should not amuse myself by inspecting a corpse!”
But his wife heard him, and replied very quietly:
“But I do, I do.” And then, putting her knitting down on the counter, she went upstairs, to the first floor, where she met two other neighbours. These had just come, and were discussing the
