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〃The grave…digger？〃
〃Yes。〃
〃You？〃
〃I。〃
〃Father Mestienne is the grave…digger。〃
〃He was。〃
〃What！
He was？〃
〃He is dead。〃
Fauchelevent had expected anything but this； that a grave…digger could die。
It is true； nevertheless； that grave…diggers do die themselves。
By dint of excavating graves for other people； one hollows out one's own。
Fauchelevent stood there with his mouth wide open。
He had hardly the strength to stammer：
〃But it is not possible！〃
〃It is so。〃
〃But；〃 he persisted feebly； 〃Father Mestienne is the grave…digger。〃
〃After Napoleon； Louis XVIII。
After Mestienne； Gribier。 Peasant； my name is Gribier。〃
Fauchelevent； who was deadly pale； stared at this Gribier。
He was a tall； thin； livid； utterly funereal man。
He had the air of an unsuccessful doctor who had turned grave…digger。
Fauchelevent burst out laughing。
〃Ah！〃 said he； 〃what queer things do happen！
Father Mestienne is dead； but long live little Father Lenoir！
Do you know who little Father Lenoir is？
He is a jug of red wine。
It is a jug of Surene； morbigou！ of real Paris Surene？
Ah！
So old Mestienne is dead！ I am sorry for it； he was a jolly fellow。
But you are a jolly fellow； too。
Are you not； rade？
We'll go and have a drink together presently。〃
The man replied：
〃I have been a student。
I passed my fourth examination。 I never drink。〃
The hearse had set out again； and was rolling up the grand alley of the cemetery。
Fauchelevent had slackened his pace。
He limped more out of anxiety than from infirmity。
The grave…digger walked on in front of him。
Fauchelevent passed the unexpected Gribier once more in review。
He was one of those men who； though very young； have the air of age； and who； though slender； are extremely strong。
〃rade！〃 cried Fauchelevent。
The man turned round。
〃I am the convent grave…digger。〃
〃My colleague；〃 said the man。
Fauchelevent； who was illiterate but very sharp； understood that he had to deal with a formidable species of man； with a fine talker。 He muttered：
〃So Father Mestienne is dead。〃
The man replied：
〃pletely。
The good God consulted his note…book which shows when the time is up。
It was Father Mestienne's turn。
Father Mestienne died。〃
Fauchelevent repeated mechanically：
〃The good God〃
〃The good God；〃 said the man authoritatively。
〃According to the philosophers； the Eternal Father； according to the Jacobins； the Supreme Being。〃
〃Shall we not make each other's acquaintance？〃 stammered Fauchelevent。
〃It is made。
You are a peasant； I am a Parisian。〃
〃People do not know each other until they have drunk together。 He who empties his glass empties his heart。
You must e and have a drink with me。
Such a thing cannot be refused。〃
〃Business first。〃
Fauchelevent thought：
〃I am lost。〃
They were only a few turns of the wheel distant from the small alley leading to the nuns' corner。
The grave…digger resumed：
〃Peasant； I have seven small children who must be fed。
As they must eat； I cannot drink。〃
And he added； with the satisfaction of a serious man who is turning a phrase well：
〃Their hunger is the enemy of my thirst。〃
The hearse skirted a clump of cypress…trees； quitted the grand alley； turned into a narrow one； entered the waste land； and plunged into a thicket。
This indicated the immediate proximity of the place of sepulture。
Fauchelevent slackened his pace； but he could not detain the hearse。
Fortunately； the soil； which was light and wet with the winter rains； clogged the wheels and retarded its speed。
He approached the grave…digger。
〃They have such a nice little Argenteuil wine；〃 murmured Fauchelevent。
〃Villager；〃 retorted the man； 〃I ought not be a grave…digger。 My father was a porter at the Prytaneum ＇Town…Hall＇。 He destined me for literature。
But he had reverses。
He had losses on 'change。 I was obliged to renounce the profession of author。
But I am still a public writer。〃
〃So you are not a grave…digger； then？〃 returned Fauchelevent； clutching at this branch； feeble as it was。
〃The one does not hinder the other。
I cumulate。〃
Fauchelevent did not understand this last word。
〃e have a drink；〃 said he。
Here a remark bees necessary。
Fauchelevent； whatever his anguish； offered a drink； but he did not explain himself on one point； who was to pay？
Generally； Fauchelevent offered and Father Mestienne paid。 An offer of a drink was the evident result of the novel situation created by the new grave…digger； and it was necessary to make this offer； but the old gardener left the proverbial quarter of an hour named after Rabelais in the dark； and that not unintentionally。 As for himself； Fauchelevent did not wish to pay； troubled as he was。
The grave…digger went on with a superior smile：
〃One must eat。
I have accepted Father Mestienne's reversion。 One gets to be a philosopher when one has nearly pleted his classes。
To the labor of the hand I join the labor of the arm。 I have my scrivener's stall in the market of the Rue de Sevres。 You know？ the Umbrella Market。
All the cooks of the Red Cross apply to me。
I scribble their declarations of love to the raw soldiers。 In the morning I write love letters； in the evening I dig graves。 Such is life； rustic。〃
The hearse was still advancing。
Fauchelevent； uneasy to the last degree； was gazing about him on all sides。
Great drops of perspiration trickled down from his brow。
〃But；〃 continued the grave…digger； 〃a man cannot serve two mistresses。 I must choose between the pen and the mattock。
The mattock is ruining my hand。〃
The hearse halted。
The choir boy alighted from the mourning…coach； then the priest。
One of the small front wheels of the hearse had run up a little on a pile of earth； beyond which an open grave was visible。
〃What a farce this is！〃 repeated Fauchelevent in consternation。
BOOK EIGHTH。CEMETERIES TA