Page 947 - les-miserables

Fauchelevent repeated:—
‘I am the one who pays!’
‘What?’
‘For the wine.’
‘What wine?’
‘That Argenteuil wine.’
‘Where is the Argenteuil?’
‘At the Bon Coing.’
‘Go to the devil!’ said the grave-digger.
And he flung a shovelful of earth on the coffin.
The coffin gave back a hollow sound. Fauchelevent felt
himself stagger and on the point of falling headlong into the
grave himself. He shouted in a voice in which the strangling
sound of the death rattle began to mingle:—
‘Comrade! Before the Bon Coing is shut!’
The grave-digger took some more earth on his shovel.
Fauchelevent continued.
‘I will pay.’
And he seized the man’s arm.
‘Listen to me, comrade. I am the convent grave-digger,
I have come to help you. It is a business which can be per-
formed at night. Let us begin, then, by going for a drink.’
And as he spoke, and clung to this desperate insistence,
this melancholy reflection occurred to him: ‘And if he
drinks, will he get drunk?’
‘Provincial,’ said the man, ‘if you positively insist upon it,
I consent. We will drink. After work, never before.’
And he flourished his shovel briskly. Fauchelevent held
him back.

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