"Capital! and we'll say he did it himself."
Then, as the thought of the scrip flashed through his mind, he clapped his hands, and his face brightened up with a triumphant smile.
"God in heaven!" he cried, "we'll make them believe that he burnt the papers as well as himself, and then we sha'n't have to give any account of them."
He now turned to take up the candle; but Lise, who was afraid of incurring too much danger, would not let him set the bed on fire with it. There were some straw-bands behind some beet-root in a corner of the room, and she took one of these, lighted it, and then applied it to the old man's long white hair and beard. There was a strong smell and sputtering like that of burning grease. Suddenly Lise and Buteau recoiled in terrified stupefaction, as though some cold, ghostly hand had seized them by the hair. Tortured into life by the frightful agony of burning, the old man, who had not been effectually suffocated, had just opened his eyes; and now, as he lay there with his hideous blackened face, his great nose battered and broken, and his hair and beard burnt away, he gazed at them with a fearful look of mingled pain and hatred. Then all his face seemed to fall into utter blankness, and he died.
Quite wild with terror, Buteau had just burst out into an awful groan when he heard some screams at the door. They came from the two children, Laure and Jules, who had been awakened by the noise. Attracted by the light of the burning straw, they had hurried along in their night-dresses to the open door, whence they had seen all. They shrieked with terror.
"You cursed little vermin!" roared Buteau, dashing at them; "if you say a word to anybody, I'll murder you! Take that to remind you of what I say."
With these words he gave them each such a violent cuff that they rolled over on the floor. They picked themselves up, however, without shedding a tear, and rushed off to their mattress, where they remained without daring to move.
Buteau, who was determined to make an end of the matter, now set fire to the palliasse in spite of his wife's protestations. Fortunately the room was so damp that the straw burnt very slowly, giving out, however, such a dense and copious smoke, that they were nearly suffocated, and had to open the window. Then the flames shot up higher and licked the ceiling. The old man's body began to crackle amid the blaze, and the room was filled with an intolerable stench of burning flesh. The old house would certainly have taken fire, and burnt away like a stack, if the straw had not begun to smoke again owing to the melting of the body. Nothing now remained on the cross-ribs of the iron bedstead save the half-calcined, disfigured, unrecognisable corpse. Only a small corner of the palliasse had remained unburnt, and a mere scrap of sheeting hung over the edge of the bed.
"Let us be off!" said Lise, who had begun to shiver again, despite the excessive heat.
"Wait a moment," replied Buteau; "we must arrange things properly."