not heard, for a large engine had come up puffing, and was
manoeuvring backwards and forwards near the funeral party. It had a loud
thick voice, a guttural whistle, which was intensely mournful. It came
and went, panting; and seen in profile it looked like a heavy monster.
Suddenly, moreover, it let off steam, with all the furious blowing of a
tempest.

'_Requiescat in pace_,' said the priest.

'Amen,' replied the choirboy.

But the words were again lost amid the lashing, deafening detonation,
which was prolonged with the continuous violence of a fusillade.

Bongrand, quite exasperated, turned towards the engine. It became
silent, fortunately, and every one felt relieved. Tears had risen to
the eyes of Sandoz, who had already been stirred by the words which had
involuntarily passed his lips, while he walked behind his old comrade,
talking as if they had been having one of their familiar chats of yore;
and now it seemed to him as if his youth were about to be consigned to
the earth. It was part of himself, the best part, his illusions and his
enthusiasm, which the sextons were taking away to lower into the depths.
At that terrible moment an accident occurred which increased his grief.
It had rained so hard during the preceding days, and the ground was so
soft, that a sudden subsidence of soil took place. One of the sextons
had to jump into the grave and empty it with his shovel with a slow
rhythmical movement. There was no end to the matter, the funeral seemed
likely to last for ever amid the impatience of the priest and the
interest of the four neighbours who had followed on to the end, though
nobody could say why. And up above, on the embankment, the engine had
begun manoeuvring again, retreating and howling at each turn of its
wheels, its fire-box open the while, and lighting up the gloomy scene
with a rain of sparks.

At last the pit was emptied, the coffin lowered, and the aspergillus
passed round. It was all over. The second cousin, standing erect, did
the honours with his correct, pleasant air, shaking hands with all these
people whom he had never previously seen, in memory of the relative
whose name he had not remembered the day before.

'That linen-draper is a very decent fellow,' said Bongrand, who was
swallowing his tears.

'Quite so,' replied Sandoz, sobbing.

All the others were going off, the surplices of the priest and the
choirboy disappeared between the green trees, while the straggling
neighbo