“Yes.”
“You?”
“I.”
“Father Mestienne is the gravedigger.”
“He was.”
“What! He was?”
“He is dead.”
Fauchelevent had expected anything but this, that a gravedigger could die. It is true, nevertheless, that gravediggers 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 gravedigger.”
“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 gravedigger.
Fauchelevent burst out laughing.