It must be admitted that, at the very moment when the butcher was bleeding Matthew, Desirée had been thrilled with wild excitement, for Lisa, the cow, was about to calve. And the girl’s delight at this had quite turned her head.
‘One goes and another comes!’ she cried, skipping and twirling round. ‘Come here, La Teuse! come here!’
It was eleven o’clock. Every now and then the sound of chanting was wafted from the church. A confused murmur of doleful voices, a muttering of prayers could be heard amidst scraps of Latin pronounced in louder and clearer tones.
‘Come! oh, do come!’ repeated Desirée for the twentieth time.
‘I must go and toll the bell, now,’ muttered the old servant. ‘I shall never get finished really. What is it that you want now, mademoiselle?’
But she did not wait for an answer. She threw herself upon a swarm of fowls, who were greedily drinking the blood from the pans. And having angrily kicked them away, and then covered up the pans, she called to Desirée:
‘It would be a great deal better if, instead of tormenting me, you only came to look after these wretched birds. If you let them do as they like there will be no black-pudding for you. Do you hear?’
Desirée only laughed. What of it, if the fowls did drink a few drops of the blood? It would fatten them. Then she again tried to drag La Teuse off to the cow, but the old servant refused to go.
‘I must go and toll the bell. The procession will be coming out of church directly. You know that quite well.’
At this moment the voices in the church rose yet more loudly, and a sound of steps could be distinctly heard.