took up the child in his lap and kissed him. And Celeste again served him
with food, poured out drink for him and appeared happy while speaking to
him. Old Amable's eyes followed them attentively, though he could not
hear what they were saying.

When he had finished supper (and he had scarcely eaten anything, there
was such a weight at his heart) he rose up, and instead of ascending to
his loft as he did every night he opened the gate of the yard and went
out into the open air.

When he had gone, Celeste, a little uneasy, asked:

"What is he going to do?"

Victor replied in an indifferent tone:

"Don't bother yourself. He'll come back when he's tired."

Then she saw after the house, washed the plates and wiped the table,
while the man quietly took off his clothes. Then he slipped into the dark
and hollow bed in which she had slept with Cesaire.

The yard gate opened and old Amable again appeared. As soon as he entered
the house he looked round on every side with the air of an old dog on the
scent. He was in search of Victor Lecoq. As he did not see him, he took
the candle off the table and approached the dark niche in which his son
had died. In the interior of it he perceived the man lying under the bed
clothes and already asleep. Then the deaf man noiselessly turned round,
put back the candle and went out into the yard.

Celeste had finished her work. She put her son into his bed, arranged
everything and waited for her father-in-law's return before lying down
herself.

She remained sitting on a chair, without moving her hands and with her
eyes fixed on vacancy.

As he did not come back, she murmured in a tone of impatience and
annoyance:

"This good-for-nothing old man will make us burn four sous' worth of
candles."

Victor answered from under the bed clothes:

"It's over an hour since he went out. We ought to see whether he fell
asleep on the bench outside the door."

"I'll go and see," she said.

She rose up, took the light and went out, shading the light with her hand
in order to see through the darkness.

She saw nothing in front of the door, nothing on the bench, nothing on
the dung heap, where the old man used sometimes to sit in hot weather.

But, just as she was on the point of going in again, she chanced to raise
her eyes toward the big apple tree, which sheltered the entrance to the
farmyard, and suddenly she saw two feet--two feet at the height of
her face belonging to a man who was ha