‘Excuse me, Rosalie is beside her; you’ll go up and relieve her at three in the morning when you’ve had a nap.’

At the same time he kept his pants on, to be ready for anything that might happen, tied a handkerchief round his head, then joined his wife who had just slipped between the sheets.

They stayed some time lying side by side. She was thinking.

Her hair, even at that hour, was adorned with a rose coloured bow, hanging over a little towards one ear, as if in consequence of the unconquerable habit of all the bonnets she wore.

Suddenly, turning her head to him:

‘Do you know if your mother has made a will?’ she said. He hesitated: ‘I—I—I think not. No, there’s no doubt about it: she hasn’t made one.’

Madame Caravan looked her husband in the eyes, and in a low stormy voice:

‘It’s an insult, don’t you know: for here we are for ten years sweating ourselves to look after her, giving her a home, feeding her! Your sister isn’t the kind to have done as much for her, nor me either, if I had known how I should be repaid for it! Yes, it’s a blot on her memory! You’ll be telling me she paid for her keep; it’s true, but the care you get from your children isn’t paid for with money: it is recognized in your will after you are dead. That’s how honest people behave. And so that’s how I’ve been had for my trouble and my bother! Oh, it’s a fine thing! It’s a fine thing!’

Caravan, bewildered, was repeating: ‘My darling, my darling! I beg you, I beseech you——’

At length she calmed down, and resuming her everyday tone, she went on: ‘To-morrow morning, we’ll have to send your sister word.’

He gave a start.

‘That’s true, I hadn’t thought of that: as soon as morning comes I’ll send her a telegram.’

But she stopped him like a woman who had foreseen everything. ‘No, send it only between ten and eleven, so that we’ll have time to turn round before her arrival. From Charenton to here she’ll need two hours at the most. We’ll say you lost your head. In advising her in the morning, we don’t put ourselves under the penalty of the law.’

But Caravan smote his forehead, and with the timid intonation which he always used in speaking of his chief, the very thought of whom made him tremble:

‘I’ll have to advise the Ministry too,’ he said.

She answered: ‘Why advise it? On occasions like this, it is always excusable to have forgotten. Don’t advise them, listen to me. Your chief can say nothing, and you’ll put him in a queer fix.’

‘Oh, he’ll be in that, yes, and in a fine rage when he doesn’t see me coming. Yes, you’re right: it’s a rich idea. When I announce that my mother is dead, he’ll be simply compelled to keep silent.’

And the clerk, highly delighted with this farce, rubbed his hands, thinking of his chief’s face, while above him the old woman’s body lay beside the sleeping servant-girl.

Madame Caravan became anxious, as if obsessed by a preoccupation difficult to talk about. Finally she made up her mind.