ith restless activity, made him take physic,
applied blisters to him, went back and forth in the house, while old
Amable remained at the edge of his loft, watching at a distance the
gloomy cavern where his son lay dying. He did not come near him, through
hatred of the wife, sulking like an ill-tempered dog.

Six more days passed, then one morning, as Celeste, who now slept on the
ground on two loose bundles of straw, was going to see whether her man
was better, she no longer heard his rapid breathing from the interior of
his recess. Terror stricken, she asked:

"Well Cesaire, what sort of a night had you?"

He did not answer. She put out her hand to touch him, and the flesh on
his face felt cold as ice. She uttered a great cry, the long cry of a
woman overpowered with fright. He was dead.

At this cry the deaf old man appeared at the top of his ladder, and when
he saw Celeste rushing to call for help, he quickly descended, placed
his hand on his son's face, and suddenly realizing what had happened,
went to shut the door from the inside, to prevent the wife from
re-entering and resuming possession of the dwelling, since his son was
no longer living.

Then he sat down on a chair by the dead man's side.

Some of the neighbors arrived, called out and knocked. He did not hear
them. One of them broke the glass of the window and jumped into the
room. Others followed. The door was opened again and Celeste reappeared,
all in tears, with swollen face and bloodshot eyes. Then old Amable,
vanquished, without uttering a word, climbed back to his loft.

The funeral took place next morning. Then, after the ceremony, the
father-in-law and the daughter-in-law found themselves alone in the
farmhouse with the child.

It was the usual dinner hour. She lighted the fire, made some soup
and placed the plates on the table, while the old man sat on the chair
waiting without appearing to look at her. When the meal was ready she
bawled in his ear--

"Come, daddy, you must eat." He rose up, took his seat at the end of the
table, emptied his soup bowl, masticated his bread and butter, drank his
two glasses of cider and then took himself off.

It was one of those warm days, one of those enjoyable days when life
ferments, pulsates, blooms all over the surface of the soil.

Old Amable pursued a little path across the fields. He looked at the
young wheat and the young oats, thinking that his son was now under the
earth, his poor boy! He wa