Séraphin made the sign of the cross on the forehead of the dead woman. He was not surprised that it felt cold already.

"Poor dear," he said, "you have suffered so much these past few days, You won't suffer any more now."

Turning to Bertine and Father Raudin, he said, "She hadn't been ill very long. It's strange. No matter what you might want, when the good Lord has decided something, you can't stop it for long."

"Have courage, M. Poudrier," said the priest, laying his hand on his shoulder.

Séraphin kissed her forehead and went to the staircase, followed by the doctor and the priest, while Bertine and Alexis stayed upstairs, to close the dead woman's eyes and place a coin on each of them; then they placed a folded handkerchief under her chin, fixing it on top of her head with pins, so that when she was laid out Donalda's mouth would be firmly closed, making her face look beautiful.

"Listen, father," said Bertine , "you have to go to fetch mummy so that she can come and help me prepare the body. Tell her to bring a black dress, because I can't see one here."

"You're right," said Alexis, whose eyes were red and who moved as though he were drunk.

Later in the kitchen he said to his cousin, "Do you think she should rest in the parlour?

"Certainly, Alexis. She loved to relax in the parlour so much, I can't refuse her that now that she is dead."

Alexis got his hat and left. There was a shout of "Cinders!", and the sudden noise of a carriage throwing up pebbles and setting off at a furious pace.

As the priest prepared to leave, accompanied by young Gladu, Séraphin followed him outside.

"Listen now, father. I think Donalda was a member of the Prayer Group. That entitles me to an eight dollar service, if I'm not mistaken?"

"Indeed," replied Father Raudin, "your wife was a member of the Prayer Group. I will give you a fine service."

"You understand that I'm not rich."

"I understand, M. Poudrier. When would you like to bury her?"

"Well, as quickly as possible, on account of the smell. Today is Saturday. Let's make it Monday at eight o' clock."

"I will announce the funeral tomorrow, and I would like to say a few words about your wife who was a saint, you know, M. Poudrier. What was her full name, and how old was she?"

"She would have been twenty one and two months around the 10^th of December. Her name is Mary-Donalda Laloge, only daughter of François-Xavier Laloge, the smallholder. You know him, don't you?"

"Ah yes, old François. A good man. It's very sad," added the priest, "you haven't been together very long?"

"Just a year and a day. We were not together long, but we were very happy. It's a great loss, father. It will be a long time before I find another like her."

"Have courage, M. Poudrier. God's will …

"… be done," completed Séraphin with an air of superiority.

He went back indoors, rubbing his hands.

"You know, doctor, it's not at all warm in the evening?"

Doctor Cyprien, who was smoking his pipe with his feet up on the stove, answered without turning round.

"No, M. Poudrier, it's not at all warm. It's terrible weather for lung infections.

Séraphin sat down beside him, the candle lighting up his dry old face.

"Listen here, doctor, what exactly did my wife die of?"

"Of a chest infection. If I or my colleague Doctor Dupras had come two days ago, your wife would have had a good chance of survival, M. Poudrier."

Séraphin bowed his head. After a moment he spoke again, "How much is it for you coming out here?"

"Nothing at all, M. Poudrier. Your cousin settled up with me."

"Oh, that's right, I arranged it with Alexis."

The doctor lowered his feet, and by the red light which shone from the door of the stove, he consulted his watch.

"Ten o'clock already," he said. "Surely your cousin is coming back tonight?"

"He's not usually late. He promised, so he'll keep his word. But, you could spend the night here without any problem."

"Thank you, M. Poudrier. But I absolutely must be back tonight. I have an expectant mother to see tomorrow morning on the other side of Lake Manitou."

"You know your own business better than I."

Séraphin now seemed greatly concerned. Eventually he opened his mouth.

"Listen here, what about you paying me the forty dollars I lent you? I have the contract here. It's overdue."

"Indeed," replied the doctor, a little disconcerted. "I remember. I think it was due yesterday. But I don't have the money on me. If you can wait two or three days I'll send it to you by post.

"You had better, because you understand this death will be expensive, and times are hard."

"You can count on me, M. Poudrier."

Suddenly there was the sound of a carriage outside the house. A little later in came Alexis, followed by  his wife, a stout woman breathing heavily, who had the biggest heart in the whole world. Under her arm she carried a large cardboard box, and in her left hand a lighted lantern. As for Alexis, he placed a huge bag on the sideboard, saying, "Look, Séraphin, here's a shoulder of pork, a leg of veal, potatoes, butter, lard, tea and bread. You know that a lot of people will be coming here."

"You're very kind," said Poudrier, simply.

"Get your stuff, doctor," said Alexis. "it's late. I've a long way to go, and my Prince isn't as fast as my little Cinders."

Then, addressing his cousin, "Do you want me to buy a coffin from the blacksmith at Saint-Agatha?"

Séraphin, who for once was stoking the fire, turned and signalled to Alexis to come to the window at the far end of the kitchen.

"This business of the coffin isn't necessary Alexis. I've got one already."

"You have a coffin here?"

"Yes I've got one. Do you remember when your sister Flora fell ill ten years ago? I wanted it to be a surprise. I had a beautiful coffin made out of lovely soft pine, and since Flora didn't die I kept it. It's in the storeroom.  I'm sure it hasn't got damp up there, because I covered it with sacks and straw. It's really beautiful."

"You're quite incredible!" said Alexis, shaking his head.

"I always like to take precautions."

"Oh yes, precautions I understand, but are they good enough for the deceased, these precautions of yours?"

"I think so."

"All right," agreed Alexis, as he left with the doctor.

As he was halfway through the door, he cried, "I'll be back tomorrow morning at nine o'clock. You don’t need me for the preparations?”

“Don’t worry about anything,” replied Séraphin accompanying them to the carriage.

The night was cold and dark. In the distance the hoot of an owl could be heard, as Alexis’ buggy sped off. As usual at this time, Poudrier went to the cowshed to feed the animals. The darkness was so heavy that he could not see his hands. Suddenly his wife appeared to him standing in the door adjoining the stable. She was dressed in white and wore a straw hat covered with strawberries.

“Perhaps she has need of our prayers,” he thought, and made the sign of the cross.

He returned to the storeroom, where he spent a long time looking for two trestles and some planks. Bending over to hold on to a beam, he touched the coffin. He recoiled. For the first time in his life he realised he was afraid.

“But the dead are dead,” he said.

Avoiding the shadows as much as he could he finally found two trestles and five planks which he quickly carried to the main room in the house. There he lit a small fire, because the cold permeated the floor and the walls.

By the light of a lantern Séraphin built a table on which Donalda would be laid. Then he climbed to the upper floor, his heart calmed by his passion. The three sacks of oats and the purse were still there. Aroused by other worries and mad with lust, he stayed in the secret room longer than he had intended. Suddenly, Bertine’s voice brought him back to bitter reality :

“Where are you, cousin?”

“I’m coming down, Bertine. I was just closing a window that was banging.”
”Donalda is dressed. You can keep vigil while we organise the funeral room.”

“Right.”

He climbed up to the attic as Alexis’ wife was coming down.

In her black dress, with her hands folded, holding the crucifix, Donalda now lay on the bed where she had suffered so much. Her face was as lovely as a lily in first bloom. Séraphin thought she was truly beautiful. He approached her softly and kissed her brow. The movement made the candle flicker. He soaked the palm leaf in holy water and sprinkled it on the corpse. A drop, falling on one eyelid, rolled down her cheek like a tear.

“Poor Donalda,” he thought. “Such a good wife, but she would have cost me dear. She was getting extravagant lately. It’s sad that she’s no longer alive, but God’s will be done.”

Suddenly he heard Bertine and her mother climbing the stairs.

“Everything is ready, cousin,” said Bertine. Now we shall say a prayer before going down.”

“I believe in God, the all-powerful Father ….” began the wife of Alexis. Then Bertine and Séraphin responded, but not in unison because Bertine was crying too much.

When the prayer was finished they got ready to bring Donalda downstairs. It was agreed that she would go feet first. They placed a rolled up sheet under her feet which Bertine and her mother held at either side, while Séraphin lifted her by the shoulders.

He had lifted a lot of weights, really heavy rocks, in the course of his life, and this time the burden seemed very light. Carefully they lifted the body from the bed. Then they made for the staircase, the two women in front.

“Gently,” said Bertine.

“Gently,” repeated Séraphin.

After some time they placed her on the planks that had been covered with a spotless white sheet, with two white pillows under her head.

Poudrier found that the parlour had been decorated, the walls covered in white at the head of his ‘poor departed’, and at the sides in white also, with here and there contrasting bands of black cotton. The furniture was covered too. The little table had been brought downstairs and placed on Donalda’s right hand side, and held a consecrated candle and a saucer with  a palm leaf. Without a word, the three people looked at the body for several moments. Then they went through to the kitchen, leaving the door open.

“I’m feeling a bit tired,” said Séraphin. “I’m going upstairs to rest.”

“Alright, cousin,” said Bertine. “We will keep a vigil. Tomorrow it will be your turn.”

Séraphin had been almost inclined to sleep in the conjugal bed, in the same sheets, still warm, that Donalda had crumpled. On reflection he decided it would not be decent, and stretched out on the sofa. He was asleep in minutes and snored continuously until morning.

All night long, Bertine and her mother discussed Donalda and the thousands of sufferings she had endured with this skinflint Séraphin, with this disgusting man whose obsession had grown to the extent of premeditated murder for the sake of saving thirty cents. How she had suffered! But how relieved she must feel now, lucky to have spent only one year with him. And these thoughts were a pretext to go and see her, lying in the only nice dress she had ever worn, and resting in the parlour that she rarely had permission to enter.

“You would think she was asleep,” said Bertine, her mouth twisted.

“In death she’s like a saint,” replied Alexis’ wife, in tears.

They said another prayer, Bertine on her knees, her mother in the rocking chair because she was too stout to kneel.

They spent the night either in prayer by the body, or in the kitchen chatting. Bertine busied herself by cooking the shoulder of pork and drawing off two large cups of dripping for serving with bread and tea. She put more wood on the stove, lit a lantern, and went to milk the cows. She returned with four bowls of milk.

Dawn came unnoticed. A little later the sun rose, shrouded by clouds, above the grey mountains. There was no wind and the air seemed colder, more penetrating. The clock struck once. It was half past six.

They set the table for a meal, even though the two women had eaten several times during the night, especially Bertine’s mother who could not stay up long without having a snack, on account of her exceptional size. She took care not to lose weight, Alexis’ Artemis, all the more so because Alexis didn’t like her to be slim. So she made it a moral obligation to eat four or five times a day. In the ten years that she had followed this diet the admirable countrywoman had not found it too difficult.

So Bertine fetched some fresh roast pork, sliced some more bread, and put the butter and the teapot on the table along with the milk. They ate as the pale daylight penetrated the house and froze on the oilskin cloth.

No sooner had they finished, than they saw Alexis coming into the yard with his horse which was steaming like a kettle.

“I’ll say this, Bertine, your father didn’t go to Saint-Agatha for nothing. He’ll have had a bit too much to drink …” And large Artemis paused in the middle of the kitchen, looking out the window. With her right hand she played with a little cross of black glass which she wore on a chain round her neck.

Almost immediately Alexis entered, his face red, his neck red, his hands red, and breathing very heavily. He said two things :

“Damn it, I’m hungry! Haven’t you put a black veil on the door?”

“You’re right. We forgot,” said his wife. And she began at once to make one.

Bertine watched her father. Anyone else would have been alarmed to see him eat so much meat, potatoes, butter, dripping, bread and tea. He wolfed it down.

“I suppose Séraphin is asleep,” he said, getting up.

“Listen to the snoring,” said Artemis.

“That villain,” declared Alexis, “when he’s not counting his money, he’s sleeping. And his wife is dead! I don’t get him at all. Anyway, go and wake him, and you go to bed. You must be at the end of your tether.”

And he went into the parlour to see Donalda. She was beginning to change. Her face had gone from white to blue, especially her lips, which now looked like frozen grapes.

“She is still beautiful, even now,” thought Alexis. “Poor Donalda, you are at peace, eh?”

He looked around him and saw everything was well organised. Then he bent to kiss the brow of the dead woman. He sprinkled some holy water on her and went back to the kitchen.

Séraphin was shaving by the pump. He was wearing black pants, clean slippers and a starched white shirt.

“The roads aren’t too bad then, Alexis?”

“They were OK. Did you know that on a long journey my Prince is just as good as my Cinders?”

“I believe you.”

His toilet complete, Poudrier went out bare-headed and in his shirt-sleeves. He was going to tend to the animals.

Soon a thickset man with red hair appeared. He seemed shy and didn’t know what to do with his hat.

“You have come to see her, I suppose,” said Alexis, leading the visitor into the front room. The red-haired man approached the body.

“I had met her,” he said to Alexis. “She hasn’t changed. Poor woman! Death is always sad. And so young.”

He knelt, hat in hand. He did not pray. Rather he was thinking that it was here, in this very room, scarcely a few months ago, that Séraphin Poudrier had lent him eighty dollars, making him sign a humiliating contract. But he realised that the punishment hadn’t been severe enough because he, Lemont, eaten away by lust, had fallen prey to his vice again, and having paid for little Celina, had gotten into another mess with a simpleton, Mathias’ daughter. These thoughts, the atmosphere that pervaded the darkened room, and the smell that the body was beginning to give off, persuaded him to leave.

He sprinkled some holy water on Donalda. Before leaving, he asked Alexis,” Is M. Poudrier around?”

“He’s just gone out to the stable over there, sir.”

The red-haired man advanced towards the enemy with outstretched hand.

“Let me offer you my condolences, M. Poudrier. It’s a great sadness for you.”

“Ah, M. Lemont? Thank you. But what can one do? It’s God’s will.”

After a moment, M. Lemont spoke again.

“Listen, M. Poudrier. If I give you your hundred dollars, there, right away, could I have my two Jerseys back?”

Angrily, he cried, “What do you take me for, sir? You have signed an agreement and a contract. This deal is due to be settled on the 17^th of October. It’s too late now. You can’t play around with me, you know.”

“I understand, M. Poudrier, but my wife has been sick too, this autumn. That has been expensive.”

“And mine is dead.”

“I understand, M. Poudrier, but I will pay you a hundred dollars right away. My cows aren’t even worth that. They’re scarcely worth seventy dollars. You’re making a loss. But my wife hated to see them go and she would love to see them again.”

“Do you think, M. Lemont, that I’m just concerned about the money?” replied Séraphin calmly. “It’s just that a contract is a contract. If you don’t keep to the terms, you’re breaking your word. No more ado. I keep the cows, do you understand? I keep the cows.”

The red-haired man wanted to cut this dog’s throat. The image of the dead woman restrained him.

“That’s right,” he said. “You want to keep my cows. But all I’ve got to say to you is that something terrible will happen to you. Do you understand that? It’ll be your turn, do you understand? I tell you, you will come to a sticky end.”

And he shook his fist at him as he made his way to the gate at the entrance of the yard.

“Ha, ha, ha! Don’t make me laugh”, replied Poudrier, going back into the house. No-one inside had witnessed this scene. And it was not at all apparent in Séraphin’s stony expression.

Having found an old deck of cards, Alexis was now playing patience, smoking a cigar. His cousin watched with interest but silently as he laid down the cards. Towards nine o’clock carriages began to come down the hill, making their way towards the church in the village. Eight people from the surrounding regions stopped to view the body, and all promised to return to keep vigil that evening.

Séraphin Poudrier was a bit swollen-headed with so much sympathy. In his conceit he didn’t realise that it was for Donalda. He knew he was harsh and mean, but he had no idea that he was completely loathed by everyone, and that many people even wished him dead. He fussed around the visitors, chatting with them about the deceased. Then he led them outside with a politeness no-one had ever received from him in the marketplace. Many people came from all over, as far as Saint-Agatha. They knew Donalda well, the poor daughter of a smallholder, but so pleasant, such a good worker, an excellent dancer too. Everyone had a good memory of her. 

Only one person in the world didn’t love and understand Donalda – her husband. Now that she was no longer alive, would he finally see a glimmer of light from beyond the grave? Perhaps he might have felt a little sorrow, but he did not let it soften him.

While Alexis, his daughter and his wife (who had by now come downstairs after a good sleep), went around the house between the stove and the corpse, saying prayers or cooking, Séraphin was seated at the table thinking of the future, of the money he would save, the profits he would make, and all sorts of deals, possible and imaginable. Eyes almost closed, he was sliding into this abyss of gold, when he heard Alexis saying, “I’m going off for a little sleep so that I’ll be fresh for tonight.”

“That’s right,” said Bertine, “you can sleep in the big bed.” (Out of respect for the deceased she didn’t say ‘Donalda’s bed’.) She had completely remade it.

She even followed her father to the attic, to make sure he noticed that she’d moved the bed, in an attempt to distance the memory of the woman resting on the planks below.

Alexis stretched out all his length on his back.

“Do you want me to tuck you in?” asked Bertine.

“No, no. I’ll go right to sleep like this.”

And he crossed his arms over his powerful chest. He was carried away by the soft lilting mist of sleep. He had drunk half a bottle of gin and two large brandies at Saint-Agatha. Intoxication now seeped through him, like a fragrant, musical breeze. Lighter than a cloud he floated through space in an endless springtime, over fields of flowers, side by side with Donalda, bare-headed, turning her strawberry lips to the sun. Suddenly the dream disappeared, a smoke dispersed by the wind, and Alexis slept deeply, without stirring, until eight in the evening.

He was surprised on waking to find himself in Donalda’s bedroom. But as he hadn’t drunk too much alcohol he remembered the deathbed scene and the two trips to Saint-Agatha that had brought him here. He went quickly downstairs and washed himself at the pump. There were many people in the kitchen and the parlour. And as everyone had brought lanterns, the two rooms were very well lit. The kitchen table was still covered with plates of meat, dripping, sauce, fried eggs, and also pots of jam, maple syrup, molasses, cream and milk. There were piles of sliced bread all around the table, and plenty of butter in the middle. Anyone who wanted something to eat had only to stretch out a hand.

Alexis concluded that everything had been done well in memory of Donalda, while Poudrier thought that this unnecessary eating was an unwarranted expense, absolutely useless. It’s true that it hadn’t cost him anything (except for the milk, cream and eggs); but what an amount of money lay there on the table, totally wasted! It pained him terribly.

Neither the prayers nor the conversation abated. Everyone talked at the same time, about the harvest, the fast approaching winter, the roebuck that had killed Thibault’s boy. They talked about taxes, elections, and the little whore Celina Labranche. In a corner, Charlemagne Pinette and fat Tison quietly calculated Poudrier’s fortune. Alexis recounted his exploits and fights from the time when he floated logs on the river to Lièvres. Everyone enjoyed listening because he didn’t tell lies and his stories were always told so well that the audience was captivated. Moreover, everybody loved this fun-loving big-hearted, good, honest man. Suddenly Alexis put out his cigar on the cornice of the stove, and called Séraphin outside.

“You know,” he said, “I brought a little whisky back from Saint-Agatha. Come with me to the storehouse and we’ll have some. Go and fetch a lantern, and bring a jug of water.”

Into a pitcher he poured half the contents of another pitcher, and filled it three-quarters full of water. Alexis swirled it around for a few moments, and taking out the stopper, offered it to his cousin.

“Drink this,” he said, “and tell me if it’s strong enough.”

“You know I don’t drink, Alexis.”

“Go on, go on, it’ll do you good. You’re in shock because of Donalda – this will make you feel like a man again.”

So, in the circle of yellow light described by the lantern , Séraphin tasted the eau-de-vie.

“Good God! that’s strong,” he spat. And he passed the pitcher to Alexis who needed no coaxing to down, in a single swallow, two large glasses’ worth.

“Now,” he said, “you’re going to do the honours back at the house. You’re going to go round every hour. There’s plenty for everybody. There’s still half a pitcher apart from this one here.”

In the house they were still praying, still talking, still eating, and stifling their laughter as best they could. In any case, no-one was bored. They were very encouraged when they saw Séraphin Poudrier, pitcher in hand. He poured everyone a drink. A look of celebration and health spread over their faces. It gave power to their mouths and their knees. The prayers followed with astonishing frequency and fervour. No-one could remember such a grand wake.

One man in this house, however, was distraught; it was cousin Alexis. He could be seen, red-eyed and clenched mouthed, going back and forth between the body and the storeroom. He had put away almost half a pitcher on his own, and he wasn’t drunk. He wasn’t even unsteady on his feet. His grief kept him upright in a attitude of propriety and dignity.

No-one suspected anything, but all the same it was odd to see him going out so often. Only Artemis, who knew her husband inside out, knew what was up, but she let it be.

The last time he came into the house about five in the morning, the mourners let out a cry of  “Oh, damn!” seeing him come in all covered in snow.

“It’s been falling for a while,” he said.

Some ran to the window, others went out onto the doorstep.

The snow was falling heavily. The buildings were already covered, the roads disappeared under a silent whiteness.

As the time for leaving approached, Bertine and her mother chose four bearers, and it was decided to leave the house with the corpse around half past six. It wasn’t too early, Séraphin living three and a half miles from the village, the distance the funeral cortege would have to travel.

They went to fetch the coffin from the storeroom. Alexis thought it was suitable, well painted, with four shiny handles. They had difficulty making their way back through the house. There were so many people, either on their knees or standing about. But just at that moment several of the men went out to harness the horses, while the women put on their coats and hats. No-one was sorry to be dressing warmly. It was still snowing.

Séraphin and Alexis laid the coffin on the ground near the body. Some young men helped them to lift Poudrier’s wife inside. The coffin was a bit small. Séraphin bent the body by raising the head and knees, then they set the coffin on the planks. As they got ready to put the lid on, Bertine ran up weeping, a pair of scissors in her hand. One final time she placed her feverish lips on her dear cousin’s forehead, leaving a little circular mark. Then she cut off a lock of hair, that looked darker and thicker than ever. Alexis then leaned over, as if he wanted to speak with her one last time. He straightened up, choking with grief. Artemis also kissed her. That just left Poudrier. Gently he kissed her face while a tear, perhaps of alcohol, in any case the only one he had ever shed in his life, ran down the dead woman’s cheek, stopping at her lower lip. A crucifix was laid on Donalda’s chest and, amidst the sobs and lamentations of the mourners, the lid was put in place. As the knees of the corpse stuck out a little above the coffin, Séraphin leaned on it and a cracking of bone was heard.

“That’s fixed it, “ he concluded. And he screwed it down himself. The four bearers gently placed it on a cart that M. Gladu had borrowed.

When no-one was looking Poudrier climbed up to the three sacks of oats to fetch the leather purse. As no-one had noticed him, people were asking, amidst the sobs, what had become of him. But soon he came down and the cortege set off. Séraphin’s carriage, also carrying Bertine, Alexis and his wife, followed the coffin. The others came behind at a short distance.

The snow lashed down at a slant, and the wind made the horses’ manes fly. It was still dark. You couldn’t see thirty feet in front of you. The roads were covered in snow and slippery under the wheels. Sometimes the holes in the road threatened to overturn the coffin. In Poudrier’s carriage, no-one spoke. Alexis, surprised that he was still sober after the quantity of alcohol he had drunk over the last three days, quietly nursed his heartache. There perhaps wasn’t a happier man in the world than Séraphin, clutching the purse he had extracted from the sack of oats. But, knowing that everyone was looking at him, he pretended to be devastated.

But he was thinking, “Luckily, this death has only cost me some eggs and milk for the wake. And with my wife dead, I can now look after things the way I would want to. It’s all worked out for the best. I can go back to being an old bachelor. I’ll live alone and in my own style. Poor Donalda, she was a good sort, but she was beginning to cost a lot. I only lived with her a year, and it cost me an extra fifteen dollars, all for her. That couldn’t have lasted. On my own, there’s no danger.”

At last they arrived. The church was filled with the faithful, and the sympathies rose with the incense around the deceased. At the Dies irae, Alexis’ heart opened like a dyke, and everyone could hear him weeping until the end of the service. Colder than his wife lying amongst the candles, the impassive Séraphin stared straight ahead. He thought only of the heaven of his forthcoming good fortune.

Donalda Laloge was buried in the Poudrier plot, at the edge of the cemetery where ferns grew and in the summer cold grass snakes slithered. Séraphin himself helped to lower, into the ditch half filled with snow, this woman whom he didn’t hate, but whom he would quickly forget. He threw a handful of earth which fell on Donalda like a symbol of all the harsh treatment he had subjected her to.

They returned to the house around noon and ate a final meal together. After the thanks and the handshakes Séraphin led to the door the dear parents, Alexis and Artemis, and this Bertine whom he had failed to seduce, and whom he lusted after madly.

He shut himself in the house which was now cold as a grave. No-one saw him for a month.