turned yellow, covered a few hairs which were plastered to the scalp, and
her brown, thin, ugly, toothless face had that wild, animal expression
which is often to be found on the faces of the peasants.

The man asked:

"How is he gettin' along?"

The woman answered:

"The priest said it's the end--that he will never live through the
night."

Both of them went into the house.

After passing through the kitchen, they entered a low, dark room, barely
lighted by one window, in front of which a piece of calico was hanging.
The big beams, turned brown with age and smoke, crossed the room from one
side to the other, supporting the thin floor of the garret, where an army
of rats ran about day and night.

The moist, lumpy earthen floor looked greasy, and, at the back of the
room, the bed made an indistinct white spot. A harsh, regular noise, a
difficult, hoarse, wheezing breathing, like the gurgling of water from a
broken pump, came from the darkened couch where an old man, the father of
the peasant woman, was dying.

The man and the woman approached the dying man and looked at him with
calm, resigned eyes.