"I will think of you
later. But do, for mercy's sake, get away this evening."
Macquart, cursing and muttering protests, thereupon carried the table
to the window, and began to count the gold in the fading twilight. The
coins tickled the tips of his fingers very pleasantly as he let them
fall, and jingled musically in the darkness. At last he paused for a
moment to say: "You promised to get me a berth, remember. I want to
return to France. The post of rural guard in some pleasant neighbourhood
which I could mention, would just suit me."
"Very well, I'll see about it," Rougon replied. "Have you got the eight
hundred francs?"
Macquart resumed his counting. The last coins were just clinking when a
burst of laughter made them turn their heads. Aunt Dide was standing up
in front of the bed, with her bodice unfastened, her white hair hanging
loose, and her face stained with red blotches. Pascal had in vain
endeavoured to hold her down. Trembling all over, and with her arms
outstretched, she shook her head deliriously.
"The blood-money! the blood-money!" she again and again repeated. "I
heard the gold. And it is they, they who sold him. Ah! the murderers!
They are a pack of wolves."
Then she pushed her hair aback, and passed her hand over her brow, as
though seeking to collect her thoughts. And she continued: "Ah! I have
long seen him with a bullet-hole in his forehead. There were always
people lying in wait for him with guns.
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