The funeral processions had vanished from sight.  Somewhere in a grave close at hand a digger, whom they could not see, was wielding his pickaxe with regular strokes.

Meanwhile the old woman had regained her breath, and her eyes were riveted on the purse.  Then, anxious to extort as large a sum as possible, she displayed considerable cunning, and spoke of the other lady.  Nobody could say that she was not a charitable lady; still, she did not know what to do with her money—­it never did one much good.  Warily did she glance at Helene as she spoke.  And next she ventured to mention the doctor’s name.  Oh! he was good.  Last summer he had again gone on a journey with his wife.  Their boy was thriving; he was a fine child.  But just then Helene’s fingers, as she opened the purse, began to tremble, and Mother Fetu immediately changed her tone.  In her stupidity and bewilderment she had only now realized that the good lady was standing beside her daughter’s grave.  She stammered, gasped, and tried to bring tears to her eyes.  Jeanne, said she, had been so dainty a darling, with such loves of little hands; she could still see her giving her silver in charity.  What long hair she had! and how her large eyes filled with tears when she gazed on the poor!  Ah! there was no replacing such an angel; there were no more to be found like her, were they even to search the whole of Passy.  And when the fine days came, said Mother Fetu, she would gather some daisies in the moat of the fortifications and place them on her tomb.  Then, however, she lapsed into silence frightened by the gesture with which Helene cut her short.  Was it possible, she thought, that she could no longer find the right thing to say?  Her good lady did not weep, and only gave her a twenty-sou piece.

Monsieur Rambaud, meanwhile, had walked towards them from the parapet of the terrace.  Helene hastened to rejoin him.  At the sight of the gentleman Mother Fetu’s eyes began to sparkle.  He was unknown to her; he must be a new-comer.  Dragging her feet along, she followed Helene, invoking every blessing of Heaven on her head; and when she had crept close to Monsieur Rambaud, she again spoke of the doctor.  Ah! his would be a magnificent funeral when he died, were the poor people whom he had attended for nothing to follow his corpse!  He was rather fickle in his loves—­nobody could deny that.  There were ladies in Passy who knew him well.  But all that didn’t prevent him from worshipping his wife—­such a pretty lady, who, had she wished, might have easily gone wrong, but had given up such ideas long ago.  Their home was quite a turtle-doves’ nest now.  Had madame paid them a visit yet?  They were certain to be at home; she had but a few moments previously observed that the shutters were open in the Rue Vineuse.  They had formerly had such regard for madame that surely they would be delighted to receive her with open arms!