cThere is always the vet , . / suggested Christophe
in despair; but this he did rather timidly for he knew
that just now they were short of money.
Jousfe shook his head: 'There is also the doctor.
Have you forgotten your unfortunate brother? There
are also quite a few bills still unpaid —one cannot
clothe and feed children for nothing!'
Marie — who when she had time to think did very
sincerely pity the creature — was heavy with trouble,
for le tout petit Loup had developed something
wrong with his breathing, and most nights he must
sit propped up in his bed; the doctor had diagnosed
it as asthma. Le tout petit Loup now wheezed when
he ran and complained that his lungs felt tight to
bursting. He would weep, which of course made the
asthma much worse, and then he would double
up his thin fist and beat his thin chest in a fit of
anger. Moreover there was much that he must not
do, to say nothing of all that he must not eat. Small
wonder that Marie had no time for the bitch, with the
cares of a sickly but turbulent child and a household
upon her aching shoulders.
She said: 'You should never forget, my son, that
although you may love Mireio very dearly, she is
certainly less than your brother in God's sight.' And
her voice sounded rather stern and reproachful.
So Christophe perceived that the time was at hand
when he himself must do his poor best, and he came
to a very momentous decision.
Theft — it was surely a deadly sin; he trembled to
contemplate his confession. The Cure's low, stern
voice through the grille: 'You have stolen a pot of
ointment, my child? You say you have stolen it
from your mother?' And then his own answer: *I
stole it for our dog.5 And then . . .?# But he could^not
imagine what then, it passed the limits of imagination.
Suppose he should ask her to give him the ointment,