an expected entertainment, did not know what to do, some remaining
seated others standing. Several wished to leave. Maitre Chicot held them
back:

"You must take something, anyhow! We made some dumplings; might as well
make use of 'em."

The faces brightened at this idea. The yard was filling little by little;
the early arrivals were telling the news to those who had arrived later.
Everybody was whispering. The idea of the dumplings seemed to cheer
everyone up.

The women went in to take a look at the dying man. They crossed
themselves beside the bed, muttered a prayer and went out again. The men,
less anxious for this spectacle, cast a look through the window, which
had been opened.

Madame Chicot explained her distress:

"That's how he's been for two days, neither better nor worse. Doesn't he
sound like a pump that has gone dry?"

When everybody had had a look at the dying man, they thought of the
refreshments; but as there were too many people for the kitchen to hold,
the table was moved out in front of the door. The four dozen golden
dumplings, tempting and appetizing, arranged in two big dishes, attracted
the eyes of all. Each one reached out to take his, fearing that there
would not be enough. But four remained over.

Maitre Chicot, his mouth full, said: