The Countess of Charny; or, The Execution of King Louis XVI

It was, therefore, settled between the mayor and the suitor that the wedding should take place on the following Saturday, at the town hall.

Next day, Sunday, the sale of the Charny estate and the Billet farm was to come off. The latter, at the upset price of four hundred thousand and the other at six hundred thousand in paper money; assignats were dropping fearfully; the gold louis was worth nine hundred and twenty francs in paper.

But, then, nobody ever saw a gold piece nowadays.

Pitou had run all the way back to acquaint Catherine with the good news. He had ventured to anticipate the marriage-day by forty-eight hours, and he was afraid he should vex Catherine.

She did not appear vexed, and he was lifted up among the angels – his namesakes.

But she insisted on his going once more to Aunt Angelique's, to announce the exact date of the wedding-day and invite her to be at the ceremony. She was the bridegroom's sole relative, and though not at all tender toward him, he ought to do the proper thing on his side.

The consequence was that on Thursday morning, Pitou went over to Villers Cotterets to repeat the visit.

Nine o'clock was striking as he got in sight of the house.

The aunt was not on the door-step, but the door was closed any way, as if she expected his call.

He thought that she had stepped out, and he was delighted.

He would have paid the visit, and a polite note with a piece of wedding-cake after the ceremony would acquit the debt to courtesy.

Still, as he was a conscientious fellow, he went up to the door and knocked; as no answer came to his raps, he called.

At the double appeal of knuckle and voice, a neighbor appeared at her own door.

"Do you know whether or no my aunt has gone out, eh, Mother Fagot?" asked Pitou.

"Has she not answered?" asked Dame Fagot.

"No; she has not, as you see; so I guess she has gone out for a gossip."

Mother Fagot shook her head.

"I should have seen her go out," she said; "my door opens the same way as hers, and it is pretty seldom that in getting up of a morning she does not drop into our house to get some warm ashes to put in her shoes, with which the poor dear lamb keeps her toes warm all the day. Ain't that so, Neighbor Farolet?"

This question was addressed to a fresh character, who likewise opening his door, shoved his conversational oar into the parley.

"What are you talking about, Madame Fagot?"

"I was a-saying that Aunt Angelique had not gone out. Have you seen anything of her?"

"That I hain't, and I am open to wager that she has not gone out, otherwise her shutters would not be open, d'ye see."

"By all that is blue, that is true enough," remarked Pitou. "Heavens, I hope nothing unfortunate has happened to my poor aunt."

"I should not wonder," said Mother Fagot.

"It is more than possible, it is probable," said Farolet, sententiously.

"To tell the truth, she was not over-tender to me," went on Pitou; "but I do not want harm to befall her for all that. How are we going to find out the state of things?"

"That is not a puzzle," suggested a third neighbor, joining in; "send for Rigolot, the locksmith."

"If it is to open the door, he is not wanted," said Pitou; "I know a little trick of prying the bolt with a knife."

"Well, go ahead, my lad," said Farolet; "we are all witnesses that you picked the lock with the best intentions and your pocket-knife."

Pitou had taken out his knife, and in the presence of a dozen persons, attracted by the occurrence, he slipped back the bolt with a dexterity proving that he had used this means of opening the way more than once in his youth.

The door was open, but the interior was plunged into complete darkness. As the daylight gradually penetrated and was diffused, they could descry the form of the old girl on her bed.

Pitou called her by name twice. But she remained motionless and without response. He went in and up to the couch.

"Halloo!" he exclaimed, touching the hands; "she is cold and stark."

They opened the windows. Aunt Angelique was dead.

"What a misfortune!" said Pitou.

"Tush," said Farolet; "a hard winter is coming, and wood never so dear. She saves by departing where the firing is plentiful. Besides, your aunt did not dote on you."

"Maybe so," said Pitou, with tears as big as walnuts, "but I liked her pretty well. Oh, my poor auntie!" said the big baby, falling on his knees by the bed.

"I say, Captain Pitou," said Mme. Fagot, "if you want anything, just let us know. If we ain't good neighbors, we ain't good for anything."

"Thank you, mother. Is that boy of yours handy?"

"Yes. Hey, Fagotin!" called the good woman.

A boy of fourteen stood frightened at the door.

"Here I am, mother," he said.

"Just bid him trot over to Haramont to tell Catherine not to be uneasy about me, as I have found my Aunt 'Gelique dead. Poor aunt!" He wiped away fresh tears. "That is what is keeping me here."

"You hear that, Fagotin? Then off you go."

"Go through Soissons Street," said the wise Farolet, "and notify Citizen Raynal that there is a case of sudden death to record at old Miss Pitou's."

The boy darted off on his double errand.

The crowd had kept increasing till there were a hundred before the door. Each had his own opinion on the cause of the decease, and all whispered among themselves.

"If Pitou is no fool, he will find some hoard smuggled away in an old sock, or in a crock, or in a hole in the chimney."

Dr. Raynal arrived in the midst of this, preceded by the head tax-gatherer.

The doctor went up to the bed, examined the corpse, and declared to the amaze of the lookers-on that the death was due to cold and starvation. This redoubled Pitou's tears.