Felicite's fever grew worse. She was sorry that she could not do
anything for the altar. If she could, at least, have contributed
something toward it! Then she thought of the parrot. Her
neighbours objected that it would not be proper. But the cure gave
his consent and she was so grateful for it that she begged him to
accept after her death, her only treasure, Loulou. From Tuesday
until Saturday, the day before the event, she coughed more
frequently. In the evening her face was contracted, her lips stuck
to her gums and she began to vomit; and on the following day, she
felt so low that she called for a priest.
Three neighbours surrounded her when the dominie administered the
Extreme Unction. Afterwards she said that she wished to speak to
Fabu.
He arrived in his Sunday clothes, very ill at ease among the
funereal surroundings.
"Forgive me," she said, making an effort to extend her arm, "I
believed it was you who killed him!"
What did such accusations mean? Suspect a man like him of murder!
And Fabu became excited and was about to make trouble.
"Don't you see she is not in her right mind?"
From time to time Felicite spoke to shadows. The women left her
and Mother Simon sat down to breakfast.
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