see, his father took him up in his arms for a moment whilst his aunt held
the crutch, and his mother on her side raised herself on tip-toe.

The scene in the carriage was still the same; the strange man was still
stiffly seated in his corner, his head resting against the hard wood. He
was livid, his eyes were closed, and his mouth was twisted by suffering;
and every now and then Sister Hyacinthe with her linen cloth wiped away
the cold sweat which was constantly covering his face. She no longer
spoke, no longer evinced any impatience, but had recovered her serenity
and relied on Heaven. From time to time she would simply glance towards
the platform to see if Father Massias were coming.

"Look at him, Gustave," said M. Vigneron to his son; "he must be
consumptive."

The lad, whom scrofula was eating away, whose hip was attacked by an
abscess, and in whom there were already signs of necrosis of the
vertebrae, seemed to take a passionate interest in the agony he thus
beheld. It did not frighten him, he smiled at it with a smile of infinite
sadness.

"Oh! how dreadful!" muttered Madame Chaise, who, living in continual
terror of a sudden attack which would carry her off, turned pale with the
fear of death.

"Ah! well," replied M. Vigneron, philosophically, "it will come to each
of us in turn. We are all mortal."

Thereupon, a painful, mocking expression came over Gustave's smile, as
though he had heard other words than those--perchance an unconscious