ce the morning, making them shiver with fever, feel
ill at ease, and unable to work.

"Father is going to die, father is going to die!"

The three big fellows had drawn close together, distracted by one and the
same anguish, and furiously longing to know what the danger was, in order
that they might rush upon it and die with their father if they could not
save him. And amidst Mere-Grand's stubborn silence death once more
flitted through the room: there came a cold gust such as they had already
felt brushing past them during _dejeuner_.

At last four o'clock began to strike, and Mere-Grand raised her white
hands with a gesture of supreme entreaty. It was then that she at last
spoke: "Father is going to die. Nothing but the duty of living can save
him."

At this the three young men again wished to rush yonder, whither they
knew not; but they felt that they must throw down all obstacles and
conquer. Their powerlessness rent their hearts, they were both so frantic
and so woeful that their grandmother strove to calm them. "Father's own
wish was to die," said she, "and he is resolved to die alone."

They shuddered as they heard her, and then, on their side, strove to be
heroic. But the minutes crept by, and it seemed as if the cold gust had
slowly passed away. Sometimes, at the twilight hour, a night-bird will
come in by the window like some messenger of misfortune, flit round the
darkened room, and then fly off again, carrying its sadness with it. And
it was much like that; the gust passed, the basilica remained standing,
the earth did not open to swallow it. Little by little the atrocious
anguish which wrung their hearts gave place to hope. And when at last
Guillaume appeared, followed by Pierre, a great cry of resurrection came
from one and all: "Father!"

Their kisses, their tears, deprived him of his little remaining strength.
He was obliged to sit down. He had glanced round him as if he were
returning to life perforce. Mere-Grand, who understood what bitter
feelings must have followed the subjugation of his will, approached him
smiling, and took hold of both his hands as if to tell him that she was
well pleased at seeing him again, and at finding that he accepted his
task and was unwilling to desert the cause of life. For his part he
suffered dreadfully, the shock had been so great. The others spared him
any narrative of their feelings; and he, himself, related nothing. With a
gesture, a loving word, he simply ind