THE EFFECT OF HAPPY NEWS.
Pitou had to tell his intended marriage to Mayor Longpre, who lived
hard by. Less set against the Billet family than Aunt 'Gelique, he
congratulated Pitou on the match.
Pitou listened to his praise without seeing where he was doing very
much of a noble action.
By the way, as a pure Republican, Pitou was delighted to find that
the Republic had done away with the publication of the banns and other
ecclesiastical trammels which had always galled true lovers.
It was, therefore, settled between the mayor and the suitor that the
wedding should take place on the following Saturday, at the town hall.
Next day, Sunday, the sale of the Charny estate and the Billet farm was
to come off. The latter, at the upset price of four hundred thousand
and the other at six hundred thousand in paper money; assignats were
dropping fearfully; the gold louis was worth nine hundred and twenty
francs in paper.
But, then, nobody ever saw a gold piece nowadays.
Pitou had run all the way back to acquaint Catherine with the good
news. He had ventured to anticipate the marriage-day by forty-eight
hours, and he was afraid he should vex Catherine.
She did not appear vexed, and he was lifted up among the angels--his
namesakes.
But she insisted on his going once more to Aunt Angelique's, to
announce the exact date of the wedding-day and invite her to be at the
ceremony. She was the bridegroom's sole relative, and though not at all
tender toward him, he ought to do the proper thing on his side.
The consequence was that on Thursday morning, Pitou went over to
Villers Cotterets to repeat the visit.
Nine o'clock was striking as he got in sight of the house.
The aunt was not on the door-step, but the door was closed any way, as
if she expected his call.
He thought that she had stepped out, and he was delighted.
He would have paid the visit, and a polite note with a piece of
wedding-cake after the ceremony would acquit the debt to courtesy.
Still, as he was a conscientious fellow, he went up to the door and
knocked; as no answer came to his raps, he called.
At the double appeal of knuckle and voice, a neighbor appeared at her
own door.
"Do you know whether or no my aunt has gone out, eh, Mother Fagot?"
asked Pitou.
"Has she not answered?" asked Dame Fagot.
"No; she has not, as you see; so I guess she has gone out for a gossip."
Mother Fagot shook her head.
"I should have seen her go out," she said; "my door opens the same
way as hers, and it is pretty seldom that in getting up of a morning
she does not drop into our house to get some warm ashes to put in her
shoes, with which the poor dear lamb keeps her toes warm all the day.
Ain't that so, Neighbor Farolet?"
This question was addressed to a fresh character, who likewise opening
his door, shoved his conversational oar into the parley.
"What are you talking about, Madame Fagot?"
"I was a-saying that Aunt Angelique had not gone out. Have you seen
anything of her?"
"That I hain't, and I am open to wager that she has not gone out,
otherwise her shutters would not be open, d'ye see."
"By all that is blue, that is true enough," remarked Pitou. "Heavens, I
hope nothing unfortunate has happened to my poor aunt."
"I should not wonder," said Mother Fagot.
"It is more than possible, it is probable," said Farolet, sententiously.
"To tell the truth, she was not over-tender to me," went on Pitou; "but
I do not want harm to befall her for all that. How are we going to find
out the state of things?"
"That is not a puzzle," suggested a third neighbor, joining in; "send
for Rigolot, the locksmith."
"If it is to open the door, he is not wanted," said Pitou; "I know a
little trick of prying the bolt with a knife."
"Well, go ahead, my lad," said Farolet; "we are all witnesses that you
picked the lock with the best intentions and your pocket-knife."
Pitou had taken out his knife, and in the presence of a dozen persons,
attracted by the occurrence, he slipped back the bolt with a dexterity
proving that he had used this means of opening the way more than once
in his youth.
The door was open, but the interior was plunged into complete darkness.
As the daylight gradually penetrated and was diffused, they could
descry the form of the old girl on her bed.
Pitou called her by name twice. But she remained motionless and without
response. He went in and up to the couch.
"Halloo!" he exclaimed, touching the hands; "she is cold and stark."
They opened the windows. Aunt Angelique was dead.
"What a misfortune!" said Pitou.
"Tush," said Farolet; "a hard winter is coming, and wood never so dear.
She saves by departing where the firing is plentiful. Besides, your
aunt did not dote on you."
"Maybe so," said Pitou, with tears as big as walnuts, "but I liked her
pretty well. Oh, my poor auntie!" said the big baby, falling on his
knees by the bed.
"I say, Captain Pitou," said Mme. Fagot, "if you want anything, just
let us know. If we ain't good neighbors, we ain't good for anything."
"Thank you, mother. Is that boy of yours handy?"
"Yes. Hey, Fagotin!" called the good woman.
A boy of fourteen stood frightened at the door.
"Here I am, mother," he said.
"Just bid him trot over to Haramont to tell Catherine not to be uneasy
about me, as I have found my Aunt 'Gelique dead. Poor aunt!" He wiped
away fresh tears. "That is what is keeping me here."
"You hear that, Fagotin? Then off you go."
"Go through Soissons Street," said the wise Farolet, "and notify
Citizen Raynal that there is a case of sudden death to record at old
Miss Pitou's."
The boy darted off on his double errand.
The crowd had kept increasing till there were a hundred before the
door. Each had his own opinion on the cause of the decease, and all
whispered among themselves.
"If Pitou is no fool, he will find some hoard smuggled away in an old
sock, or in a crock, or in a hole in the chimney."
Dr. Raynal arrived in the midst of this, preceded by the head
tax-gatherer.
The doctor went up to the bed, examined the corpse, and declared to the
amaze of the lookers-on that the death was due to cold and starvation.
This redoubled Pitou's tears.
"Oh, poor aunt!" he wailed, "and I thought she was so rich. I am a
villain for having left her to poverty. Oh, had I only known this! It
can not be, Doctor Raynal!"
"Look into the hutch and see if there is any bread; in the wood-box
and see if there is any fire-wood. I have always foretold that the old
miser would end in this way."
Searching, they found not a crumb or a splinter.
"Oh, why did she not tell me this?" mourned Pitou. "I would have
chopped up some wood for her and done some poaching to fill the larder.
It is your fault, too," the poor fellow added, accusing the crowd; "you
ought to have told me that she was in want."
"We did not tell you that she was in want," returned wiseacre Farolet,
"for the plain reason that everybody believed that she was rolling in
riches."
Dr. Raynal had thrown the sheet over the cold face, and proceeded to
the door, when Pitou intercepted him.
"Are you going, doctor?"
"Why, what more do you expect me to do here?"
"Then she is undoubtedly dead? Dear me, to die of cold and hunger, too!"
Raynal beckoned him.
"Boy, I am of the opinion that you should none the less seek high and
low," he said.
"But, doctor, after your saying she died of want--"
"Misers have been known to die the same way, lying on their treasures.
Hush!" he said, laying a finger on his lips, and going out-doors.