He was successfully “finished off,” as the old harridan had said. He was no longer dangerous.
She was strong, was old Scholastique, sturdily built—and wholly sober now. With the help of her black wench and her little girls, she lifted Jean like a dead weight, and after rapidly searching his pockets for the last coins they might contain, she opened the door and threw him out. Jean fell like a corpse, his arms extended, his face in the sand—and the old hag, after discharging a flood of appalling abuse and savage obscenities, drew to her door, which closed heavily with a loud clang of iron.
All was still. The wind blew from the cemetery, and in the intense silence of midnight could be clearly heard the shrill howling of the jackals, the uncanny music of the body-snatchers.
XXII
Françoise Peyral to her son.
My dear son,—We have had no answer to our letter, and Peyral says it is beginning to be quite time that something came for us. I can see that he is very unhappy whenever Toinou goes past with his box and says that he has nothing for us. I, too, am very anxious. But I always believe that the good God will guard my dear boy, as I so often beg of Him, and that no harm can come to him, nor any trouble, either through bad behaviour or punishment. If there were anything like that I should be too unhappy.
Your father wishes me to say that memories come into his head of what he himself was like, formerly, when he was in the army. And he says, when he was stationed in garrison towns, he has seen young men, who were not very sensible, have a rough time of it, through comrades leading them on to drink and to mix with bad women, who are always on the lookout to ruin them. I am telling you this because he wants me to, but for my part I know that my dear boy is steady, and that he has ideas in his head which will surely keep him away from all these evil things.
Next month we will send you a little more money. Out there I expect you have to pay a great deal for trifling things. I know you will not spend money unnecessarily, when you think of all the trouble your father takes. As for me, a woman’s trouble is no great matter, and I speak for him, the dear man. The village folk always talk about you at the evening working parties and merrymakings, and no social gathering passes without some conversation about our Jean. All the neighbours send hearty messages.
My dear son, your father and I embrace you with all our hearts. The good God keep you.
Your mother,