By the glimmer of the street lamp and the lights of the cafe de la
Rotonde, Joseph examined these tickets to see if, by chance, any of
them bore the Descoings's numbers. He found none, and returned home
grieved at having done his best in vain for the old woman, to whom he
related his ill-luck. Agathe and her aunt went together to the
midnight mass at Saint-Germain-des-Pres. Joseph went to bed. The
collation did not take place. Madame Descoings had lost her head; and
in Agathe's heart was eternal mourning.
The two rose late on Christmas morning. Ten o'clock had struck before
Madame Descoings began to bestir herself about the breakfast, which
was only ready at half-past eleven. At that hour, the oblong frames
containing the winning numbers are hung over the doors of the
lottery-offices. If Madame Descoings had paid her stake and held her
ticket, she would have gone by half-past nine o'clock to learn her fate
at a building close to the ministry of Finance, in the rue
Neuve-des-Petits Champs, a situation now occupied by the Theatre
Ventadour in the place of the same name. On the days when the drawings
took place, an observer might watch with curiosity the crowd of old
women, cooks, and old men assembled about the door of this building;
a sight as remarkable as the cue of people about the Treasury on the
days when the dividends are paid.
"Well, here you are, rolling in wealth!" said old Desroches, coming
into the room just as the Descoings was swallowing her last drop of
coffee.
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