“I was dumfounded; I hardly knew what to think
or say, but I had to finish my mission. ‘She
commissioned me,’ I said, ’to give you
her savings, which amount to three thousand five hundred
francs. As what I have just told you seems to
be very disagreeable, perhaps you would prefer to
give this money to the poor.’
“They looked at me, that man and woman,’
speechless with amazement. I took the few thousand
francs from out of my pocket. Wretched-looking
money from every country. Pennies and gold pieces
all mixed together. Then I asked:
“‘What is your decision?’
“Madame Chouquet spoke first. ’Well,
since it is the dying woman’s wish, it seems
to me impossible to refuse it.’
“Her husband said, in a shamefaced manner:
’We could buy something for our children with
it.’
“I answered dryly: ‘As you wish.’
“He replied: ’Well, give it to us
anyhow, since she commissioned you to do so; we will
find a way to put it to some good purpose.’
“I gave them the money, bowed and left.
“The next day Chouquet came to me and said brusquely:
“‘That woman left her wagon here—what
have you done with it?’
“‘Nothing; take it if you wish.’
“‘It’s just what I wanted,’
he added, and walked off. I called him back and
said:
“‘She also left her old horse and two
dogs. Don’t you need them?’
“He stared at me surprised: ’Well,
no! Really, what would I do with them?’
“‘Dispose of them as you like.’
“He laughed and held out his hand to me.
I shook it. What could I do? The doctor
and the druggist in a country village must not be at
enmity. I have kept the dogs. The priest
took the old horse. The wagon is useful to Chouquet,
and with the money he has bought railroad stock.
That is the only deep, sincere love that I have ever
known in all my life.”
The doctor looked up. The marquise, whose eyes
were full of tears, sighed and said:
“There is no denying the fact, only women know
how to love.”
Mme. Lefevre was a country dame, a widow, one
of these half peasants, with ribbons and bonnets with
trimming on them, one of those persons who clipped
her words and put on great airs in public, concealing
the soul of a pretentious animal beneath a comical
and bedizened exterior, just as the country-folks
hide their coarse red hands in ecru silk gloves.
She had a servant, a good simple peasant, called Rose.
The two women lived in a little house with green shutters
by the side of the high road in Normandy, in the centre
of the country of Caux. As they had a narrow
strip of garden in front of the house, they grew some
vegetables.
One night someone stole twelve onions. As soon
as Rose became aware of the theft, she ran to tell
madame, who came downstairs in her woolen petticoat.
It was a shame and a disgrace! They had robbed
her, Mme. Lefevre! As there were thieves
in the country, they might come back.
