n he saw how his news was received, he left the
table, indignant at their calmness at their friend's sorrow, although
this sorrow had stupefied him so that he scarcely felt it any longer.
When he got home his wife was waiting for him in her nightgown, and
sitting in a low chair by the open window, still thinking of the
inheritance.

"Undress yourself," she said; "we can go on talking."

He raised his head, and looking at the ceiling, said:

"But--there is nobody upstairs."

"I beg your pardon, Rosalie is with her, and you can go and take her
place at three o'clock in the morning, when you have had some sleep."

He only partially undressed, however, so as to be ready for anything
that might happen, and after tying a silk handkerchief round his head,
he lay down to rest, and for some time neither of them spoke. Madame
Caravan was thinking.

Her nightcap was adorned with a red bow, and was pushed rather to one
side, as was the way with all the caps she wore, and presently she
turned towards him and said:

"Do you know whether your mother made a will?"

He hesitated for a moment, and then replied:

"I--I do not think so. No, I am sure that she did not."

His wife looked at him, and she said, in a law, angry tone:

"I call that infamous; here we have been wearing ourselves out for ten
years in looking after her, and have boarded and lodged her! Your sister
would not have done so much for her, nor I either, if I had known how I
was to be rewarded! Yes, it is a disgrace to her memory! I dare say that
you will tell me that she paid us, but one cannot pay one's children in
ready money for what they do; that obligation is recognized after death;
at any rate, that is how honorable people act. So I have had all my
worry and trouble for nothing! Oh, that is nice! that is very nice!"

Poor Caravan, who was almost distracted, kept on repeating:

"My dear, my dear, please, please be quiet."

She grew calmer by degrees, and, resuming her usual voice and manner,
she continued:

"We must let your sister know to-morrow."

He started, and said:

"Of course we must; I had forgotten all about it; I will send her a
telegram the first thing in the morning."

"No," she replied, like a woman who had foreseen everything; "no, do not
send it before ten or eleven o'clock, so that we may have time to turn
round before she comes. It does not take more than two hours to get here
from Charenton, and we can say that you lost your he