It was Jacques’ turn to be surprised.
“Ha! Say you that Mlle. Bonacieux is not to die this eve?”
The Abbé’s eyes showed that he understood.
“That I say, indeed, Jacques. You and I be old men and we have seen much, but never before has anyone in our generation in all France and her possessions witnessed that which is about to occur in modest little Peptonneau.”
“And what is that?” sharply demanded Jacques.
“The wedding of M. Capeluche, the headsman, to Mlle. Bonacieux, the condemned.”
Jacques threw back his head and laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks.
“That indeed is droll!” he shouted. “M. le Headsman weds a woman and then immediately cuts off her head.”
The owl-like eyes of the Abbé regarded Jacques solemnly.