He then placed a chair by the bedside, and upset the old man's candlestick at the foot of it, to make it appear as though it had fallen upon the palliasse. Then he was crafty enough to throw some scraps of lighted paper on the floor. When the ashes were discovered, he intended to say that the old man had found his papers again on the previous evening, and had secured possession of them.
"There, that will do!" repeated Lise. "Now let us go to bed."
They then hurried away, jostling each other in their haste, and plunged into their bed, which was now quite cold. Daylight began to dawn, but still they lay awake, unable to get to sleep. They did not speak to each other, but kept starting and quivering, and could hear their hearts beating wildly. They had left the door of the adjoining room open, and the thought of it disturbed them greatly; however, the idea of getting up and shutting it was still more distasteful and disquieting. At last they dozed off, still clinging closely to each other.
A few hours later the neighbours rushed up on hearing Buteau's wild calls. La Frimat and the other woman noticed the fallen candle, the charred remains of the palliasse, and the ashes of the scraps of paper. Then they all exclaimed that they had always felt sure that this would happen some day or other. They declared they had prophesied a score of times that the old man would do it in his dotage! The Buteaus might be very thankful that the whole house hadn't been burnt down at the same time!
[CHAPTER VI.]
Two days afterwards, on the very morning on which old Fouan was to be buried, Jean, tired from having remained in bed for hours without being able to sleep, woke up very late in the little room which he occupied at Lengaigne's. He had not yet been to Châteaudun to initiate proceedings against the Buteaus, though his intention to do so was the only thing that still kept him at Rognes. Each evening, however, he deferred the matter till the next day, feeling increasing hesitation about it, as his anger gradually calmed down. It was a prolonged mental struggle which had just kept him awake half the night, tossing feverishly about in his bed, and full of doubt as to what course he had best take.
Oh! those Buteaus, he thought, what murderous brutes, what abominable assassins they were! Some honest man ought to have their heads lopped off. As soon as he heard of old Fouan's death, he guessed how it had been brought about. The villains, he felt sure of it, had burnt the old man alive to prevent him from blabbing. Françoise! Fouan! the murder of the one had forced them to murder the other. Whose turn would it be next? Most likely his own, he thought; for they knew that he possessed their secret, and they would certainly send a bullet into him from some quiet corner of the road if he persisted in remaining in the neighbourhood. Had he not better denounce them at once? He made up his mind that he would. He would lay an information against them as soon as he got up. Then he began to hesitate again, feeling considerable timidity as to embarking upon a serious proceeding like this. He would be called as a witness, and he felt afraid lest he might be made to suffer as much as the very criminals themselves. Why should he create fresh troubles and anxieties for himself? This, as he acknowledged, was a cowardly way of looking at matters, but he found an excuse for his silence in the reflection that by holding his tongue he would be obeying Françoise's last wishes. A score of times that night he came to a decision, and then a score of times he cast that decision aside, till he felt quite ill from thinking of this duty from which he recoiled.
It was nearly nine o'clock when he sprang out of bed, and plunged his head into a basin of cold water. He now suddenly came to a resolution. He would neither lay an information, nor would he take any steps to initiate proceedings for the recovery of his share of the furniture. The game was not worth the candle. A feeling of proud independence had restored his mind to perfect calmness; he would claim nothing from those swindling wretches; henceforth he would have nothing to do with them. He had no further concern in them, and he would leave them to prey upon themselves. If they would only contrive to make an end of one another all round, it would be a good riddance for everybody. He flushed with anger as he thought of what he had suffered and endured during the ten years he had spent in Rognes; and yet he had been so happy in the thought of leaving the army, after the Italian war; so happy in ceasing to handle the sabre and slay his fellow-men! Still, ever since his discharge, he had been living amid filth, surrounded by savages. At the period of his marriage he had had troubles enough, but he had fallen upon even worse times now; the villains had taken to robbery and murder. Ah, they were savage wolves, let loose over that peaceful, far-reaching plain. For his own part, he had had quite enough of it! These devouring wild beasts had spoilt the country for him! What would be the good of hunting down just a couple of them—a male and his female—when the whole pack ought to be destroyed? No; he preferred to go away.