Pot Luck by Emile Zola

Author:Emile Zola
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780192593191
Publisher: OUP Oxford
Published: 2019-06-24T00:00:00+00:00

XI

When Octave went downstairs the next morning at eight o’clock, he was surprised to find that the whole building knew about Monsieur Vabre’s seizure of the previous night and of the landlord’s desperate condition. No one, however, was concerned about the patient; their sole interest was knowing what he was going to leave behind.

In their little dining-room the Pichons sat before their cups of chocolate. Jules called Octave in.

‘I say! What a mess there’ll be if he dies like that! There’ll be some fun and games. Do you know if he made a will?’

Octave, without answering, asked them how they had heard the news. Marie had brought it back from the baker’s; in fact it had spread from floor to floor, even to the end of the street, through the servants.

Then, after slapping Lilitte for putting her fingers in the chocolate, Marie said:

‘And all that money too! If he had only thought of leaving us as many sous as there are five-franc pieces! Not much chance of that, though.’

And, as Octave was going, she added:

‘I’ve finished your books, Monsieur Mouret. Do come and fetch them, won’t you?’

He hurried downstairs, remembering that he had promised Madame Duveyrier that he would send Berthe to her before there was any gossip, when on the third floor he bumped into Campardon.

‘Well,’ said the latter, ‘so your employer is coming into a fortune. I hear the old boy has got nearly six hundred thousand francs, besides this place. You see, he spent nothing at the Duveyriers’, and he had a good bit left out of his Versailles property, without counting the twenty-odd thousand francs from the rents here. It’s a big cake when there are only three to share it.’

Still chatting away, he walked downstairs behind Octave. On the second floor they met Madame Juzeur, who had come down to see what her little servant girl, Louise, could be doing all morning, taking over an hour to fetch four sous’ worth of milk. She had no difficulty in joining in the conversation, being very well informed.

‘Nobody seems to know how he arranged his affairs,’ she said in her quiet way. ‘There may be some bother about it.’

‘Ah, well,’ said the architect, gaily, ‘I wouldn’t mind being in their shoes. It shouldn’t take long. Divide it all into three equal parts; each takes his share, and it’s all done.’

Madame Juzeur leant over the banisters, and then looked up to make sure that no one was on the stairs. Then, lowering her voice, she said:

‘And what if they don’t find what they expect? There are rumours …’

Campardon opened his eyes wide. Then he shrugged his shoulders. Bah! That was all nonsense. Old Vabre was a miser, who hid his savings in worsted stockings. And so saying he went off, having an appointment at Saint-Roch with Father Mauduit.

‘My wife was complaining about you,’ he said to Octave, looking back after going down three steps. ‘Call in and have a chat with her some time.’

Madame Juzeur kept the young man talking for a moment.

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