hat Rossini, the composer, had been very fond of that
Italian dish, and suddenly he exclaimed:

"Why! that rhymes, and one could begin some lines like this:

The Maestro Rossini
Was fond of macaroni."

Nobody listened to him, however. Madame Caravan, who had suddenly grown
thoughtful, was thinking of all the probable consequences of the event,
while her husband made bread pellets, which he put on the table-cloth,
and looked at with a fixed, idiotic stare. As he was devoured by thirst,
he was continually raising his glass full of wine to his lips, and the
consequence was that his mind, which had been upset by the shock and
grief, seemed to become vague, and his ideas danced about as digestion
commenced.

The doctor, who, meanwhile, had been drinking away steadily, was getting
visibly drunk, and Madame Caravan herself felt the reaction which
follows all nervous shocks, and was agitated and excited, and, although
she had drunk nothing but water, her head felt rather confused.

Presently, Chenet began to relate stories of death that appeared comical
to him. For in that suburb of Paris, that is full of people from the
provinces, one finds that indifference towards death which all peasants
show, were it even their own father or mother; that want of respect,
that unconscious brutality which is so common in the country, and so
rare in Paris, and he said:

"Why, I was sent for last week to the Rue du Puteaux, and when I went,
I found the patient dead and the whole family calmly sitting beside the
bed finishing a bottle of aniseed cordial, which had been bought the
night before to satisfy the dying man's fancy."

But Madame Caravan was not listening; she was continually thinking of
the inheritance, and Caravan was incapable of understanding anything
further.

Coffee was presently served, and it had been made very strong to give
them courage. As every cup was well flavored with cognac, it made all
their faces red, and confused their ideas still more. To make matters
still worse, Chenet suddenly seized the brandy bottle and poured out "a
drop for each of them just to wash their mouths out with," as he
termed it, and then, without speaking any more, overcome in spite of
themselves, by that feeling of animal comfort which alcohol affords
after dinner, they slowly sipped the sweet cognac, which formed a
yellowish syrup at the bottom of their cups.

The children had fallen asleep, and Rosalie carried them off