le Cure, attired in his handsome chasuble and walking under a canopy
of red velvet supported by four men. A crowd of people followed, jammed
between the walls of the houses hung with white sheets; at last the
procession arrived at the foot of the hill.
A cold sweat broke out on Felicite's forehead. Mother Simon wiped it
away with a cloth, saying inwardly that some day she would have to go
through the same thing herself.
The murmur of the crowd grew louder, was very distinct for a moment and
then died away. A volley of musketry shook the window-panes. It was the
postilions saluting the Sacrament. Felicite rolled her eyes, and said as
loudly as she could:
"Is he all right?" meaning the parrot.
Her death agony began. A rattle that grew more and more rapid shook her
body. Froth appeared at the corners of her mouth, and her whole frame
trembled. In a little while could be heard the music of the bass
horns, the clear voices of the children and the men's deeper notes. At
intervals all was still, and their shoes sounded like a herd of cattle
passing over the grass.
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