disappeared behind some farm buildings; the women who were making up the
sheaves stood up to make the sign of the cross; the frightened black hens
ran away along the ditch until they reached a well-known hole, through
which they suddenly disappeared, while a foal which was tied in a meadow
took fright at the sight of the surplice and began to gallop round and
round, kicking cut every now and then. The acolyte, in his red cassock,
walked quickly, and the priest, with his head inclined toward one
shoulder and his square biretta on his head, followed him, muttering some
prayers; while last of all came La Rapet, bent almost double as if she
wished to prostrate herself, as she walked with folded hands as they do
in church.

Honore saw them pass in the distance, and he asked: "Where is our priest
going?" His man, who was more intelligent, replied: "He is taking the
sacrament to your mother, of course!"

The peasant was not surprised, and said: "That may be," and went on with
his work.

Mother Bontemps confessed, received absolution and communion, and the
priest took his departure, leaving the two women alone in the suffocating
room, while La Rapet began to look at the dying woman, and to ask herself
whether it could last much longer.

The day was on the wane, and gusts of cooler air began to blow, causing a
view of Epinal, which was fastened to the wall by two pins, to flap up
and down; the scanty window curtains, which had formerly been white, but
were now yellow and covered with fly-specks, looked as if they were going
to fly off, as if they were struggling to get away, like the old woman's
soul.

Lying motionless, with her eyes open, she seemed to await with
indifference that death which was so near and which yet delayed its
coming. Her short breathing whistled in her constricted throat. It would
stop altogether soon, and there would be one woman less in the world; no
one would regret her.

At nightfall Honore returned, and when he went up to the bed and saw that
his mother was still alive, he asked: "How is she?" just as he had done
formerly when she had been ailing, and then he sent La Rapet away, saying
to her: "To-morrow morning at five o'clock, without fail." And she
replied: "To-morrow, at five o'clock."

She came at daybreak, and found Honore eating his soup, which he had made
himself before going to work, and the sick-nurse asked him: "Well, is
your mother dead?" "She is rather better, on the contrary," he