To negotiate between lovers who were forever fighting with each other seemed such a delicate affair that she decided on employing the Abbé Mauduit, whose moralizing character seemed specially suited to the occasion. Her servants, moreover, had been causing her a great deal of trouble for some time past. When down in the country, she had noticed the intimacy of her big, hobbledehoy Gustave with Julie; she had at one moment thought of sending the latter about her business, though regretfully, for she liked her cooking; then, after sound reflection, she had decided to keep her, preferring that the youngster should have a mistress at home, a clean girl who would never be any trouble. There is no knowing what a youth may get hold of outside, when he begins too young. She was watching them, therefore, without saying a word, and now the other two must needs worry her with their affair.
It so happened that, one morning, as Madame Duveyrier was preparing to call on the priest, Clémence came, and announced that the Abbé Mauduit was taking the extreme unction up to Monsieur Josserand. After meeting him on the staircase, the maid had returned to the kitchen, exclaiming:
“I said that he would come again this year!”
And, alluding to the catastrophes which had befallen the house, she added:
“It has brought ill-luck to every one.”
This time the priest did not arrive too late, and that was an excellent sign for the future. Madame Duveyrier hastened to Saint-Roch, where she awaited the Abbé Mauduit’s return. He listened to her, and for a while maintained a sad silence; then he was unable to refuse to enlighten the maid and the footman on the immorality of their position. Moreover, the other matter would have obliged him to return shortly to the Rue de Choiseul, for poor Monsieur Josserand would certainly not last through the night; and he mentioned that he saw in this circumstance a cruel but happy opportunity for reconciling Auguste and Berthe. He would try and arrange the two affairs simultaneously. It was high time that Heaven consented to bless their efforts.
“I have prayed, madame,” said the priest. “The Almighty will triumph.”
And, indeed, that evening, at seven o’clock, Monsieur Josserand’s death agony began. The entire family was there, excepting uncle Bachelard, who had been sought for in vain in all the cafés, and Saturnin, who was still confined at the Asile des Moulineaux. Léon, whose marriage was most unfortunately postponed through his father’s illness, displayed a dignified grief. Madame Josserand and Hortense showed some courage. Berthe alone sobbed so loudly that, so as not to affect the invalid, she had gone and stowed herself away in the kitchen, where Adèle, taking advantage of the general confusion, was drinking some mulled wine. Monsieur Josserand expired in the quietest fashion; it was his honesty which finished him. He had passed a useless life, and he went off like a worthy man tired of the wicked things of the world, heart-broken by the quiet indifference of the only beings he had ever loved. At eight o’clock he stammered out Saturnin’s name, turned his face to the wall, and expired. No one thought him dead, for all had dreaded a terrible agony. They sat patiently for some time, letting him, as they thought, sleep. When they found he was already becoming cold, Madame Josserand, in the midst of the general wailing, flew into a passion with Hortense, whom she had instructed to fetch Auguste, counting on restoring Berthe to the latter’s arms amidst the great grief of her husband’s last moments.
“You think of nothing!” said she, wiping her eyes.
“But, mamma,” replied the girl, in tears, “no one thought papa would go off so suddenly! You told me not to go for Auguste till nine o’clock, so as to be sure of keeping him till the end.”