A week passed, then a fortnight, then a month. Madame Simon did not leave
her armchair. She ate from morning to night, grew fat, chatted gaily with
the other patients and seemed to enjoy her immobility as if it were the
rest to which she was entitled after fifty years of going up and down
stairs, of turning mattresses, of carrying coal from one story to
another, of sweeping and dusting.

Hector, at his wits' end, came to see her every day. Every day he found
her calm and serene, declaring:

"I can't move, sir; I shall never be able to move again."

Every evening Madame de Gribelin, devoured with anxiety, said:

"How is Madame Simon?"

And every time he replied with a resignation born of despair:

"Just the same; no change whatever."

They dismissed the servant, whose wages they could no longer afford. They
economized more rigidly than ever. The whole of the extra pay had been
swallowed up.

Then Hector summoned four noted doctors, who met in consultation over the
old woman. She let them examine her, feel her, sound her, watching them
the while with a cunning eye.

"We must make her walk," said one.