At the end of the path, at the entrance of the Impasse Saint-Mittre, he fancied he could see aunt Dide standing erect, white and rigid like the statue of a saint, while she witnessed his agony from a distance.
At that moment he felt the cold pistol on his temple.

There was a smile on Justin's pale face.

Closing his eyes, Silvere heard the long-departed dead wildly summoning him.

In the darkness, he now saw nothing save Miette, wrapped in the banner, under the trees, with her eyes turned towards heaven.

Then the one-eyed man fired, and all was over; the lad's skull burst open like a ripe pomegranate; his face fell upon the stone, with his lips pressed to the spot which Miette's feet had worn--that warm spot which still retained a trace of his dead love.
And in the evening at dessert, at the Rougons' abode, bursts of laughter arose with the fumes from the table, which was still warm with the remains of the dinner.