“‘Somebody lit it in the kitchen.’
“He muttered:
“‘Who could have started the fire?’
“And I, suddenly guessing, answered:
“‘Marius!’
“The old man understood. He stammered:
“‘Good God! That is why he didn’t return.’
“A terrible thought flashed through my mind. I cried:
“‘And Celeste! Celeste!’
“He did not answer. The house caved in before us, forming only an enormous, bright, blinding brazier, an awe-inspiring funeral-pile, where the poor woman could no longer be anything but a glowing ember, a glowing ember of human flesh.