Three neighbours surrounded her when the dominie administered
the Extreme Unction. Afterwards she said that
she wished to speak to Fabu.
He arrived in his Sunday clothes, very ill at ease
among the funereal surroundings.
“Forgive me,” she said, making an effort
to extend her arm, “I believed it was you who
killed him!”
What did such accusations mean? Suspect a man
like him of murder! And Fabu became excited and
was about to make trouble.
“Don’t you see she is not in her right
mind?”
From time to time Felicite spoke to shadows.
The women left her and Mother Simon sat down to breakfast.
A little later, she took Loulou and holding him up
to Felicite:
“Say good-bye to him, now!” she commanded.
Although he was not a corpse, he was eaten up by worms;
one of his wings was broken and the wadding was coming
out of his body. But Felicite was blind now,
and she took him and laid him against her cheek.
Then Mother Simon removed him in order to set him
on the altar.
The grass exhaled an odour of summer; flies buzzed
in the air, the sun shone on the river and warmed
the slated roof. Old Mother Simon had returned
to Felicite and was peacefully falling asleep.
The ringing of bells woke her; the people were coming
out of church. Felicite’s delirium subsided.
By thinking of the procession, she was able to see
it as if she had taken part in it. All the school-children,
the singers and the firemen walked on the sidewalks,
while in the middle of the street came first the custodian
of the church with his halberd, then the beadle with
a large cross, the teacher in charge of the boys and
a sister escorting the little girls; three of the smallest
ones, with curly heads, threw rose leaves into the
air; the deacon with outstretched arms conducted the
music; and two incense-bearers turned with each step
they took toward the Holy Sacrament, which was carried
by M. le Cure, attired in his handsome chasuble and
walking under a canopy of red velvet supported by
four men. A crowd of people followed, jammed
between the walls of the houses hung with white sheets;
at last the procession arrived at the foot of the
hill.
A cold sweat broke out on Felicite’s forehead.
Mother Simon wiped it away with a cloth, saying inwardly
that some day she would have to go through the same
thing herself.
The murmur of the crowd grew louder, was very distinct
for a moment and then died away. A volley of
musketry shook the window-panes. It was the postilions
saluting the Sacrament. Felicite rolled her eyes,
and said as loudly as she could:
“Is he all right?” meaning the parrot.
Her death agony began. A rattle that grew more
and more rapid shook her body. Froth appeared
at the corners of her mouth, and her whole frame trembled.
In a little while could be heard the music of the bass
horns, the clear voices of the children and the men’s
deeper notes. At intervals all was still, and
their shoes sounded like a herd of cattle passing
over the grass.
