distract himself from his sacred errand at such a moment. It is a sacred
errand when any one, be he priest or layman, carries the best he can
give to the bedside of the dying. I said this to Jacques when M. le Curé
had passed and the bell went tinkling on along the street. 'Jacques,'
said I, 'I do not call it impious, like this good woman, but I call it
inhuman. What! a man goes to carry help to the dying, and you show him
no respect!'

This brought the colour to his face; and I think, perhaps, that he might
have become ashamed of the part he had played; but the women pushed in
again, as they are so fond of doing. 'Oh, M. le Maire, he does not
deserve that you should lose your words upon him!' they cried; 'and,
besides, is it likely he will pay any attention to you when he tries to
stop even the _bon Dieu_?'

'The _bon Dieu!_' cried Jacques. 'Why doesn't He clear the way for
himself? Look here. I do not care one farthing for your _bon Dieu_. Here
is mine; I carry him about with me.' And he took a piece of a hundred
sous out of his pocket (how had it got there?) '_Vive l'argent_' he
said. 'You know it yourself, though you will not say so. There is no
_bon Dieu_ but money. With money you can do anything. _L'argent c'est le
bon Dieu_.'

'Be silent,' I cried, 'thou profane one!' And the women were still more
indignant than I. 'We shall see, we shall see; when he is ill and would
give his soul for something to wet his lips, his _bon Dieu_ will not do
much for him,' cried one; and another said, clasping her hands with a
shrill cry, 'It is enough to make the dead rise out of their graves!'

'The dead rise out of their graves!' These words, though one has heard