Mr. Roquevillard stood motionless and silent, envying the dead who were at rest. Mother Fauchois went prattling on again:
“And Master Maurice, they’ll give him back to you? It’s to-morrow the trial comes off,” she added, quite low, with her peasant’s dread of justice.
He saw her cross herself, praying for the Lord’s help for him, and involuntarily he recalled her daughter who had been condemned for theft. He inquired about her gently, for his tried soul was cleansed now of all contempt or pride.
“And your daughter, have you good news from her?”
“She’s come back to me, Master Francis.”
“I’m glad of that.”
“Oh, she doesn’t deserve any credit for it. She had to. She came back from Lyons quite sick. She doesn’t want to get well.”
“What’s the matter with her?”
“She was very sick after her baby was born.”
“A baby? Is she married?”