It never occurred to him that the
two elderly magpies would jointly or severally have given the rest of
their lives and their scant fortunes to have him with them either as
husband, or as one who honourably hires a home at so much a day.
Though Jean Jacques did not know this last fact, when he fared forth
again he left behind his canary with Mme. Glozel; also all Carmen's
clothes, except the dress she died in, he gave to Mme. Popincourt, on
condition that she did not wear them till he had gone. The dress in which
Carmen died he wrapped up carefully, with her few jewels and her
wedding-ring, and gave the parcel to Mme. Glozel to care for till he
should send for it or come again.
"The bird--take him on my birthday to sing at her grave," he said to Mme.
Glozel just before he went West. "It is in summer, my birthday, and you
shall hear how he will sing there," he added in a low voice at the very
door. Then he took out a ten-dollar bill, and would have given it to her
to do this thing for him; but she would have none of his money. She only
wiped her eyes and deplored his going, and said that if ever he wanted a
home, and she was alive, he would know where to find it. It sounded and
looked sentimental, yet Jean Jacques was never less sentimental in a very
sentimental life. This particular morning he was very quiet and grave,
and not in the least agitated; he spoke like one from a friendly,
sun-bright distance to Mme.
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