Maigret and the Man on the Boulevard by Georges Simenon Page B

were standing about on the unmade pavement, where the rain was soaking into the yellowish clay soil and running in rivulets.
    Some of the bystanders went into the house to pay their respects to the dead, and came out looking solemn and pompous, conscious of having done their duty. There must have been about fifty people clustered round the house, and more sheltering in the neighboring doorways. There were also the neighbors, watching from their windows, determined to remain indoors until the last possible moment.
    â€œAren’t you going in, chief?”
    â€œI was here yesterday.”
    â€œNot very cheerful in there, is it?”
    Neveu, needless to say, was not referring to the funereal atmosphere of the occasion, but to the house itself. And yet there were thousands and thousands of people whose dream it was to own just such a house.
    â€œWhatever possessed them to come and live here?”
    â€œShe wanted to be near her sisters and brothers-in-law.”
    They noticed several men in railwaymen’s uniform. The house was not far from the marshaling yard. Most of the houses on the estate were occupied by people connected in one way or another with the railways.
    The hearse arrived, followed at a brisk pace by a priest under an umbrella. He, in turn, was followed by a choirboy carrying his cross.
    The wind whistled unimpeded down the street, flattening wet clothes against shivering bodies. The rain beat down on the coffin. Madame Thouret and her sisters, who were waiting in the entrance lobby, conferred together in whispers. Maybe they should have seen to it that there were more umbrellas?
    All three were dressed in deep mourning, as were the two brothers-in-law. Behind them came the girls, Monique and her three cousins.
    Which made seven women in all. As far as Maigret could see, the girls, like their mothers, closely resembled one another. It was a family of women, in which the men seemed uneasily aware that they were in a minority.
    The horses whinnied. The family closed ranks behind the hearse, followed by such neighbors and friends as considered themselves entitled to precede the others in the procession.
    The remainder straggled behind in a ragged line, some sheltering as best they could from the squally showers by hugging the inside of the pavement.
    â€œDo you see anyone you recognize?”
    There was no one of the sort they were looking for. None of the women, for example, could have been the woman with the ring. True, one of them was wearing a fox fur, but the chief superintendent had himself seen her come out of one of the houses in the street, locking the door behind her. As for the men, it was impossible to imagine any one of them sitting on a bench in the Boulevard Saint-Martin.
    Nevertheless, Maigret and Neveu stayed right to the end. Fortunately, there was no Mass, just a prayer so short that it was not thought worthwhile to shut the church doors, with the result that the tiled floor was soon wet all over.
    Twice, the chief superintendent found himself looking straight into Monique’s eyes, and each time he could sense the fear clutching at the girl’s heart.
    â€œAre we going on to the cemetery?”
    â€œIt’s not far. We might as well.”
    They found themselves up to their ankles in mud, because the grave was in a new part of the cemetery, where the paths were nothing more than slimy tracks. Every time Madame Thouret caught Maigret’s eye, she looked about her ostentatiously, to show that she had not forgotten his request. When he went forward, like all the others, to offer his condolences to the family as they stood at the graveside, she murmured:
    â€œI don’t see anyone who shouldn’t be here.”
    Her nose was red because of the cold, and the rain had washed off her face powder. The four cousins also had shiny noses and cheeks.
    Maigret and Neveu hung around for a little while outside the gate, then they went into the dingy little bar opposite, and