“In what way?”
“When a good man or woman in the village is about to die, Mademoiselle Faillot always appears upon the scene, and makes herself so useful that the poor dying one offers her some token of appreciation, which she accepts, and the moment all is over her tongue begins to wag as usual, maligning the dead as well as the living.”
Monsieur Bérard smiled.
“So I call her the universal legatee. For the last twenty-five years she has performed ministrations for the dying. In this way she has earned her living, and to-day, were it not for Fadard, she would be a rich woman.”
“Fadard? Who is he?”
“You must know him. The young man who looks like an old man.”
“Oh, yes, I know him. Is he here?”
“No, I have not seen him to-day.”
“Is he a relative of Mademoiselle Faillot?”
“Her cousin, so she says,” replied Andoche, with a funny little gesture.