He was motionless livid, his arms hanging by his sides.  After a short pause, he murmured in a faint, shaky voice, instinct with deep feeling: 

“You say? you say?  What do you say?”

She remained silent, frightened by his appearance.  Once more he stepped forward, repeating: 

“You say—­what do you say?”

Then in a calm voice, she answered: 

“I say what I know, what everybody knows.”

He seized her and, with the fury of a beast, he tried to throw her down.  But, although old, she was strong and nimble.  She slipped under his arm, and running around the table once more furious, she screamed: 

“Look at him, just look at him, fool that you are!  Isn’t he the living image of M. Durefour? just look at his nose and his eyes!  Are yours like that?  And his hair!  Is it like his mother’s?  I tell you that everyone knows it, everyone except yourself!  It’s the joke of the town!  Look at him!”

She went to the door, opened it, and disappeared.

Jean, frightened, sat motionless before his plate of soup.

At the end of an hour, she returned gently, to see how matters stood.  The child, after doing away with all the cakes and a pitcher full of cream and one of syrup, was now emptying the jam-pot with his soup-spoon.

The father had gone out.

Celeste took the child, kissed him, and gently carried him to his room and put him to bed.  She came back to the dining-room, cleared the table, put everything in place, feeling very uneasy all the time.

Not a single sound could be heard throughout the house.  She put her ear against’s her master’s door.  He seemed to be perfectly still.  She put her eye to the keyhole.  He was writing, and seemed very calm.

Then she returned to the kitchen and sat down, ready for any emergency.  She slept on a chair and awoke at daylight.

She did the rooms as she had been accustomed to every morning; she swept and dusted, and, towards eight o’clock, prepared M. Lemonnier’s breakfast.

But she did not dare bring it to her master, knowing too well how she would be received; she waited for him to ring.  But he did not ring.  Nine o’clock, then ten o’clock went by.

Celeste, not knowing what to think, prepared her tray and started up with it, her heart beating fast.

She stopped before the door and listened.  Everything was still.  She knocked; no answer.  Then, gathering up all her courage, she opened the door and entered.  With a wild shriek, she dropped the breakfast tray which she had been holding in her hand.

In the middle of the room, M. Lemonnier was hanging by a rope from a ring in the ceiling.  His tongue was sticking out horribly.  His right slipper was lying on the ground, his left one still on his foot.  An upturned chair had rolled over to the bed.

Celeste, dazed, ran away shrieking.  All the neighbors crowded together.  The physician declared that he had died at about midnight.