"He is dead, Mother; he is dead!" she gasped.
Profound silence followed. Marguerite, lying back in the armchair,
had left off crying. Mme Gabin was still rummaging about the room and
talking under her breath.
"Children know everything nowadays. Look at that girl. Heaven knows how
carefully she's brought up! When I send her on an errand or take the
shades back I calculate the time to a minute so that she can't loiter
about, but for all that she learns everything. She saw at a glance what
had happened here--and yet I never showed her but one corpse, that of
her uncle Francois, and she was then only four years old. Ah well, there
are no children left--it can't be helped."
She paused and without any transition passed to another subject.
"I say, dearie, we must think of the formalities--there's the
declaration at the municipal offices to be made and the seeing about the
funeral. You are not in a fit state to attend to business. What do you
say if I look in at Monsieur Simoneau's to find out if he's at home?"
Marguerite did not reply. It seemed to me that I watched her from afar
and at times changed into a subtle flame hovering above the room, while
a stranger lay heavy and unconscious on my bed.
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