“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.”

PIERROT

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.