“I need not ask you, my poor boy, for news,” said the cabinet-maker.

“Pere Frappier, yes, it is ended for her—­but not for me.”

He cast a look upon the different woods piled up around the shop,—­a look of painful meaning.

“I understand you, Brigaut,” said his worthy master.  “Take all you want.”  And he showed him the oaken planks of two-inch thickness.

“Don’t help me, Monsieur Frappier,” said the Breton, “I wish to do it alone.”

He passed the night in planing and fitting Pierrette’s coffin, and more than once his plane took off at a single pass a ribbon of wood which was wet with tears.  The good man Frappier smoked his pipe and watched him silently, saying only, when the four pieces were joined together,—­

“Make the cover to slide; her poor grandmother will not hear the nails.”

At daybreak Brigaut went out to fetch the lead to line the coffin.  By a strange chance, the sheets of lead cost just the sum he had given Pierrette for her journey from Nantes to Provins.  The brave Breton, who was able to resist the awful pain of himself making the coffin of his dear one and lining with his memories those burial planks, could not bear up against this strange reminder.  His strength gave way; he was not able to lift the lead, and the plumber, seeing this, came with him, and offered to accompany him to the house and solder the last sheet when the body had been laid in the coffin.

The Breton burned the plane and all the tools he had used.  Then he settled his accounts with Frappier and bade him farewell.  The heroism with which the poor lad personally performed, like the grandmother, the last offices for Pierrette made him a sharer in the awful scene which crowned the tyranny of the Rogrons.

Brigaut and the plumber reached the house of Monsieur Auffray just in time to decide by their own main force an infamous and shocking judicial question.  The room where the dead girl lay was full of people, and presented to the eyes of the two men a singular sight.  The Rogron emissaries were standing beside the body of their victim, to torture her even after death.  The corpse of the child, solemn in its beauty, lay on the cot-bed of her grandmother.  Pierrette’s eyes were closed, the brown hair smoothed upon her brow, the body swathed in a coarse cotton sheet.

Before the bed, on her knees, her hair in disorder, her hands stretched out, her face on fire, the old Lorrain was crying out, “No, no, it shall not be done!”

At the foot of the bed stood Monsieur Auffray and the two priests.  The tapers were still burning.

Opposite to the grandmother was the surgeon of the hospital, with an assistant, and near him stood Doctor Neraud and Vinet.  The surgeon wore his dissecting apron; the assistant had opened a case of instruments and was handing him a knife.

This scene was interrupted by the noise of the coffin which Brigaut and the plumber set down upon the floor.  Then Brigaut, advancing, was horrified at the sight of Madame Lorrain, who was now weeping.