"Monsieur Bourras," repeated Denise, trying to draw him on one side, "you know that you will not be abandoned. All your wants will be provided for."
He raised his head. "I have no wants. You've been sent by them, haven't you? Well, tell them that old Bourras still knows how to use his hands and that he can find work wherever he likes. Really, it would be a fine thing to offer charity to those whom they assassinate!"
Then she implored him: "Pray accept, Monsieur Bourras; don't cause me this grief."
But he shook his bushy head. "No, no, it's all over. Good-bye. Go and live happily, you who are young, and don't prevent old people from sticking to their ideas."
He cast a last glance at the heap of rubbish, and then went painfully away. She watched him disappear, elbowed by the crowd on the pavement. He turned the corner of the Place Gaillon, and all was over.
For a moment, Denise remained motionless, lost in thought. Then she went over to her uncle's. The draper was alone in the dark shop of The Old Elbeuf. The charwoman only came in the morning and evening to do a little cooking, and help him take down and put up the shutters. He spent hours in this solitude, often without being disturbed during the whole day, and bewildered and unable to find the goods when a stray customer chanced to venture in. And there in the silence and the half-light he walked about unceasingly, with the same heavy step as at the two funerals; yielding to a sickly desire, to regular fits of forced marching, as if he were trying to rock his grief to sleep.
"Are you feeling better, uncle?" asked Denise.
He only stopped for a second and then started off again, going from the pay-desk to an obscure corner.
"Yes, yes. Very well, thanks."
She tried to find some consoling subject, some cheerful remark, but could think of nothing. "Did you hear the noise? The house is down."