Pâquerette returned, loaded with new bottles and fresh food. She opened the window, complaining of the bad air; she established herself comfortably in the arm-chair, before the table; then, she began to eat noisily, talking as she chewed, questioning Marie about her adorers, about her past life. She seemed to ignore that the poor girl was sick; she treated her like a lazy creature who loves to lie in bed and be pitied. I looked with disgust at this woman, wrapped up in herself, licking her greasy fingers, chuckling, bantering the dying girl with her mouth full, and casting at me sullen and cynical glances, those desperate glances which certain old women yet have in their reddened eyes.
Pâquerette, ceasing to eat, partially turned her arm-chair; then, crossing her hands upon her skirts, she looked at us, at Marie and myself, first at one and afterwards at the other, laughing a wicked laugh.
"Ah! my dear," said she to the sick girl, pointing at me her bony finger, "isn't he a handsome young fellow! His heart is widowed and has need of new love affairs!"
Marie smiled sadly, closing her eyes, withdrawing her hand which mine had kept.
"You are deceived," I answered Pâquerette, after a moment's silence; "my heart is not widowed. I love Laurence."
Marie lifted her eyelids, and restored to me her fingers, which I found more agitated, hotter, than before.
"Laurence! Laurence!" sneered the old woman; "she is making a fool of you! You are like all the rest of the men. They love those who betray and abandon them. Look for another sweetheart, my poor Monsieur, look for another sweetheart!"
I did not hear distinctly, according ordinarily no attention whatever to the chatter of this old woman. And yet, though I know not why, I felt a vague uneasiness. An unknown warmth filled my being with a painful quiver.
"Listen, my children," added Pâquerette, taking her ease: "I am a kind hearted woman, and it displeases me to see you made game of. You are very nice, both of you, gentle as lambs, good as bread. It has been my dream to see you married, and I well know that two better little creatures were never brought together. So, Monsieur, accept Madame. Every day, I meet Laurence and Jacques caressing each other on the stairway!"
I glanced at Marie. She was calm; the beating of her pulse had not increased. She seemed to be dreaming with her eyes fixed on me, and, perhaps, she saw me in her dream. The kisses which Jacques might have given to Laurence did not disturb the tranquil friendship which she felt for him.