The saucepan was already upon the fire when Madame Duparc said to Victoire, "Have you put in any salt?"
"No, Madame," replied she; "you know you told me not to put any in."
Upon this response, Madame Duparc took the saucepan from her hands, went to the sideboard, took some salt from one of the salt-cellars, and sprinkled it in the gruel. When the breakfast of the old man was prepared, Victoire turned it out into a bowl which Madame Duparc held in her hand, and carried it to Beaulieu, who was already seated at the table.
Madame Duparc, her daughter, and her son remained with the old man, and Victoire carried the saucepan to the sink, after having scraped off some of the burned part, which she ate. She was about to clean it, when she was called by Madame Beaulieu to conduct her to Mass, and by Madame Duparc, who wished her to go to market. Victoire left the saucepan without having even time to fill it with water. She accompanied Madame Beaulieu to church. It was then seven o'clock in the morning.
Victoire received, as she departed for Mass, several commissions which occupied her the greater part of the forenoon; she did not return until nearly mid-day. When she entered they told her that Beaulieu had been attacked with colic and vomiting about nine o'clock. They had made him go to bed. Madame Duparc asked her if she could nurse him, or if she should send for a nurse. Victoire replied that she could take care of him without assistance. Thereupon Madame Duparc had the bed of Victoire taken from the little room where she slept and placed in the chamber of old Beaulieu.
The condition of Beaulieu grew rapidly worse. Madame Duparc sent for an apothecary, who applied blisters. All was in vain. The poor old man expired about half-past five in the evening, after frightful sufferings, and without receiving the Viaticum.
As soon as her father was dead, Madame Duparc sent for a nurse to prepare the body for the grave. Victoire was kneeling by the dead man's bedside, praying earnestly.
"The poor man must have died very suddenly," said the nurse.
"It was indeed very sudden," replied Victoire. "Only this very morning he was in his usual health."
The supper-hour came. Victoire prepared the repast. Madame Beaulieu, deeply affected by her husband's death, could not eat. As for the Duparcs, they supped as usual. M. Huet-Duparc, who had been absent since the preceding day, was still ignorant of the misfortune which had befallen his family.
The nurse and Victoire took their places beside the body; the rest of the household slept.
The next morning, Victoire in spite of her fatigue, attended to her usual duties. Madame Duparc approached her, and said sharply: "You are a poor housekeeper, ma mie; since Sunday you have worn your new pockets when you have others good enough for every day."
Victoire thought this a strange remark, especially at such a moment; however, without replying, she went to her little room, left her new pockets there, and put on the others, which she found hanging over the back of the chair, where she had left them.
Several hours passed, during which Victoire went on with her work; but so worn out was she from fatigue and want of sleep, that Madame Duparc and her daughter were obliged to make most of the preparations for the dinner.
At half-past eleven, some time before they sat down to dine, M. Huet-Duparc arrived from the country. Victoire had to lead the horse to the stable, unharness him, and feed him. She also had to unpack her master's valise. These duties attended to, she prepared the dining-table. At one o'clock dinner was served.
Seven persons were reunited around the table. The widow Beaulieu, Duparc and his wife, a sister of Madame Duparc, Madame Beaugillot, her young son, and the son and
