"What is his illness!" muttered Ferrand; "he has every illness."

Then, drawing a little phial from his pocket, he endeavoured to introduce
a few drops of the contents between the sufferer's clenched teeth. The
man heaved a sigh, raised his eyelids and let them fall again; that was
all, he gave no other sign of life.

Sister Hyacinthe, usually so calm and composed, so little accustomed to
despair, became impatient.

"But it is terrible," said she, "and Sister Claire des Anges does not
come back! Yet I told her plainly enough where she would find Father
Massias's carriage. /Mon Dieu!/ what will become of us?"

Sister Saint-Francois, seeing that she could render no help, was now
about to return to the cantine van. Before doing so, however, she
inquired if the man were not simply dying of hunger; for such cases
presented themselves, and indeed she had only come to the compartment
with the view of offering some of her provisions. At last, as she went
off, she promised that she would make Sister Claire des Anges hasten her
return should she happen to meet her; and she had not gone twenty yards
when she turned round and waved her arm to call attention to her
colleague, who with discreet short steps was coming back alone.

Leaning out of the window, Sister Hyacinthe kept on calling to her, "Make
haste, make haste! Well, and where is Father Massias?"

"He isn't there."

"What! not there?"