Fauchelevent repeated, "I'll pay for the wine."
"Go to the devil!" said the grave-digger.
And he threw a spadeful of earth on the coffin, which produced a hollow sound. Fauchelevent tottered, and was himself ready to fall into the grave. He cried, in a voice with which a death-rattle was beginning to be mingled,--
"Come along, mate, before the 'Bon Coing' closes."
The grave-digger filled his spade again, and Fauchelevent continued, "I'll pay."
"Listen to me, mate; I am the convent grave-digger, and have come to help you. It is a job which can be done by night, so let us begin by having a drink."
And while speaking, while clinging to this desperate pressing, he made the melancholy reflection, "And suppose he does drink, will he get drunk?"
"Provincial," said the grave-digger, "since you are so pressing, I consent. We will drink, but after work, not before."
And he raised his spade, but Fauchelevent restrained him.
"Why," said the grave-digger, "you must be a bell-ringer; ding, dong, ding, dong. You can only say that. Go and have yourself pulled."
And he threw the second spadeful. Fauchelevent had reached that moment when a man is no longer aware of what he says.
"But come and drink," he cried, "since I offer to pay."
"When we have put the child to bed," said Gribier.
He threw the third spadeful; and then added as he dug the spade into the ground,--
"It will be very cold to-night, and the dead woman would halloo after us if we were to leave her here without a blanket."
At this moment the grave-digger stooped to fill his spade and his jacket-pocket gaped. Fauchelevent's wandering glance fell mechanically into his pocket and remained there. The sun was not yet hidden by the horizon, and there was still sufficient light to distinguish something white at the bottom of this gaping pocket.
All the brightness of which a Picard peasant's eye is capable glistened in Fauchelevent's,--an idea had struck him. Unnoticed by the grave-digger, he thrust his hand into his pocket from behind, and drew out the white thing at the bottom. The grave-digger threw the fourth spadeful into the grave: and as he hurried to raise a fifth, Fauchelevent looked at him with profound calmness, and said,--
"By the way, my novice, have you your card?"