gown and night-cap, with his face painted and a candle in his hand."
"That is not at all the same thing," said Zoé.
"No," replied Monsieur Bergeret. "But I remember what happened to me when I heard of the death of poor Demay who used to sing comic songs at the cafés concerts. It was one evening during a reception at the Prefecture. Worms-Clavelin said: 'Demay is dead.'
"I for my part received the tidings in decorous sadness. And, reflecting that never again should I hear that wondrous woman sing: Je cas' des noisett's en m'asseyant d'ssus,[1] I tasted to the dregs all the melancholy the thought engendered. I let it drip into my soul and relapsed into silence. The Chief Secretary, Monsieur Lacarelle, exclaimed in his deep voice, through his military moustache: 'Demay dead! What a loss to the gaiety of France!' 'It was in the evening paper,' said Judge Pilloux. 'True,' added General Cartier de Chalmont gently, 'and I am informed that she died consoled by the rites of the Church.'
"At the General's simple words suddenly a strange, incongruous vision flashed before my eyes. I imagined the end of the world as it is
- ↑ I crack nuts by sitting on them.
