CHAPTER xir

DESPITE Christophe's faith in the power of Saint
Loup, all was only too far from well that autumn;
for that autumn Mireio's fine courage broke, and with
its breaking her heart broke also. Old age super-
imposed upon constant hardships, the film that was
gradually dimming her eyesight, the sores that so
stubbornly refused to heal no matter how diligently
she licked them, the ticks that for years had been
draining her strength, these things had at last got
Mireio under. And now came the added torment of
growths on those teats that had hung so painfully
heavy with the milk that should have been sucked by
her young, by the drowned bastard young of her past
fruitions. And Mireio very much wanted to die, and
she went with her pain ancl her weariness to Chris-
tophe. She would stand gazing into his anxious face,
imploring his pity by her constant whining. Wherever
he chanced to be in the house these days, she would
make an effort to find him. It was terrible, for
Mireio was unable to die; even the cruel malignant
growths were powerless, or so it seemed, to release
her.
Heartbroken, Christophe went to his father yet
again: 'Father, can you do nothing for Mireio?3
cAi! las,3 sighed J6usŁ, 'what can one do? I have
not got a gun, nor can I shoot straight — if I tried to
shoot I might well only wound her/