"My blessing on them . . ." he said, making an effort, "my
blessing . . ."

His voice died away. Just at that moment Bianchon came into the room.

"I met Christophe," he said; "he is gone for your cab."

Then he looked at the patient, and raised the closed eyelids with his
fingers. The two students saw how dead and lustreless the eyes beneath
had grown.

"He will not get over this, I am sure," said Bianchon. He felt the old
man's pulse, and laid a hand over his heart.

"The machinery works still; more is the pity, in his state it would be
better for him to die."

"Ah! my word, it would!"

"What is the matter with you? You are as pale as death."

"Dear fellow, the moans and cries that I have just heard. . . . There
is a God! Ah! yes, yes, there is a God, and He has made a better world
for us, or this world of ours would be a nightmare. I could have cried
like a child; but this is too tragical, and I am sick at heart.

"We want a lot of things, you know; and where is the money to come
from?"