The old woman raised her gray eyes and darted a venomous look at Michaud. When the count learned who the guilty person was, he forbade his wife to give the money to Catherine Tonsard.
“Monsieur le comte is perfectly right,” said Sibilet. “I know that Godain bought that land three days before Catherine came to speak to Madame. She is quite capable, that girl, of pretending she is with child, to get the money; very likely Godain has had nothing to do with it.”
“What a community!” said Blondet; “the scoundrels of Paris are saints by comparison.”
“Ah, monsieur,” said Sibilet, “self-interest makes people guilty of horrors everywhere. Do you know who betrayed the old woman?”
“No.”
“Her granddaughter Marie; she was jealous of her sister’s marriage, and to get the money for her own—”
“It is awful!” said the count. “Why! they’d murder!”
“Oh yes,” said Sibilet, “for a very small sum. They care so little for life, those people; they hate to have to work all their lives. Ah monsieur, queer things happen in country places, as queer as those of Paris,—but you will never believe it.”
“Let us be kind and benevolent,” said the countess.
The evening after the arrest Bonnebault came to the tavern of the Grand-I-Vert, where all the Tonsard family were in great jubilation. “Oh yes, yes!” said he, “make the most of your rejoicing; but I’ve just heard from Vaudoyer that the countess, to punish you, withdraws the thousand francs promised to Godain; her husband won’t let her give them.”