The two girls laid the baby on the ground.  Rosalie, Fortune, and old mother Brichet were lingering in the middle of the graveyard, while Catherine slyly followed Brother Archangias.  Albine’s grave was on the left hand of Abbe Caffin’s tomb, whose white stone seemed in the sunshine to be flecked with silvery spangles.  The deep cavity, freshly dug that morning, yawned amidst thick tufts of grass.  Big weeds, almost uprooted, drooped over the edges, and a fallen flower lay at the bottom, staining the dark soil with its crimson petals.  When Abbe Mouret came forward, the soft earth crumbled and gave way beneath his feet; he was obliged to step back to keep himself from slipping into the grave.

‘Ego sum—­’ he began in a full voice, which rose above the mournful tolling of the bell.

During the anthem, those who were present instinctively cast furtive glances towards the bottom of the empty grave.  Vincent, who had planted the cross at the foot of the cavity opposite the priest, pushed the loose earth with his foot, and amused himself by watching it fall.  This drew a laugh from Catherine, who was leaning forward from behind him to get a better view.  The peasants had set the litter on the grass and were stretching their arms, while Brother Archangias prepared the sprinkler.

‘Come here, Voriau!’ called Fortune.

The big black dog, who had gone to sniff at the coffin, came back sulkily.

‘Why has the dog been brought?’ exclaimed Rosalie.

‘Oh! he followed us,’ said Lisa, smiling quietly.

They were all chatting together in subdued tones round the baby’s coffin.  The father and mother occasionally forgot all about it, but on catching sight of it again, lying between them at their feet, they relapsed into silence.

‘And so old Bambousse wouldn’t come?’ said La Rousse.  Mother Brichet raised her eyes to heaven.

’He threatened to break everything to pieces yesterday when the little one died,’ said she.  ’No, no, I must say that he is not a good man.  Didn’t he nearly strangle me, crying out that he had been robbed, and that he would have given one of his cornfields for the little one to have died three days before the wedding?’

‘One can never tell what will happen,’ remarked Fortune with a knowing look.

’What’s the good of the old man putting himself out about it?  We are married, all the same, now,’ added Rosalie.

Then they exchanged a smile across the little coffin while Lisa and La Rousse nudged each other with their elbows.  But afterwards they all became very serious again.  Fortune picked up a clod of earth to throw at Voriau, who was now prowling about amongst the old tombstones.

‘Ah! they’ve nearly finished over there, now!’ La Rousse whispered very softly.

Abbe Mouret was just concluding the De profundis in front of Albine’s grave.  Then, with slow steps, he approached the coffin, drew himself up erect, and gazed at it for a moment without a quiver in his glance.  He looked taller, his face shone with a serenity that seemed to transfigure him.  He stooped and picked up a handful of earth, and scattered it over the coffin crosswise.  Then, in a voice so steady and clear that not a syllable was lost, he said: