ttle fortune which his first
wife left him. As he has two big sons, I ventured to recommend the
younger one to Monsieur Ambroise, who was kind enough to take him into
his counting-house. And so I have profited by my first journey to Paris
since then, to come and give Monsieur Ambroise my best thanks."

She did not say how she had managed to marry the retired naval officer;
how she had originally been a servant in his household, and how she
had hastened his first wife's death in order to marry him. All things
considered, however, she rendered him very happy, and even rid him of
his sons, who were in his way, thanks to the relations she had kept up
in Paris.

She continued smiling like a worthy woman, whose feelings softened at
the recollection of the past. "You can have no idea how pleased I felt
when I saw you pass just now, Monsieur Froment," she resumed. "Ah! it
was a long time ago that I first had the honor of seeing you here! You
remember La Couteau, don't you? She was always complaining, was she not?
But she is very well pleased now; she and her husband have retired to
a pretty little house of their own, with some little savings which they
live on very quietly. She is no longer young, but she has buried a good
many in her time, and she'll bury more before she has finished! For
instance, Madame Menoux--you must surely remember Madame Menoux, the
little haberdasher close by--well, there was a woman now who never had
any luck! She lost her second child, and she lost that big fellow, her
husband, whom she was so fond of, and she herself died of grief six
months afterwards. I did at one time think of taking her to Rougemont,
where the air is so good for one's health. There are old folks of ninety
living there. Take La Couteau, for instance, she will live as long
as she likes! Oh! yes, it is a very pleasant part indeed, a perfect
paradise."

At these words the abominable Rougemont, the bloody Rougemont, arose
before Mathieu's eyes, rearing its peaceful steeple above the low
plain, with its cemetery paved with little Parisians, where wild flowers
bloomed and hid the victims of so many murders.

But Celeste was rattling on again, saying: "You remember Madame Bourdieu
whom you used to know in the Rue de Miromesnil; she died very near
our village on some property where she went to live when she gave up
business, a good many years ago. She was luckier than her colleague La
Rouche, who was far too good-natured with people.