Renard's father, who died just during the planting season."

He was convinced by this argument, and left for the fields.

His wife baked the dumplings and then attended to her housework.

At noon the old man was not dead. The people hired for the day's work
came by groups to look at him. Each one had his say. Then they left again
for the fields.

At six o'clock, when the work was over, the father was still breathing.
At last his son-in-law was frightened.

"What would you do now, Phemie?"

She no longer knew how to solve the problem. They went to the mayor. He
promised that he would close his eyes and authorize the funeral for the
following day. They also went to the health officer, who likewise
promised, in order to oblige Maitre Chicot, to antedate the death
certificate. The man and the woman returned, feeling more at ease.

They went to bed and to sleep, just as they did the preceding day, their
sonorous breathing blending with the feeble breathing of the old man.

When they awoke, he was not yet dead.

Then they began to be frightened. They stood by their father, watching
him with distrust, as though he had wished to play them a mean trick, to
deceive them, to annoy them on purpose, and they were vexed at him for
the time which he was making them lose.