movements, so that she felt that her heart must break
to see him so dumb, so afflicted and helpless.
*Ai/ she thought, 'and my Jouse would jest about
Death! Ai, ai, it is foolish to jest about Death, for who
can be sure that He is not listening.'
When at last Jouse lay stretched out on the bed
Eusebe stood looking down at him grimly. Then he
rubbed a trickle of sweat from his eye, and a tear that
had somehow got mixed up with it: 'Tron de Dieune!'
he swore angrily under his breath, surprised and
disgusted at his own emotion. After which he departed
without more ado and made his way down to Mere
Melanie's cafe.
§2
The doctor arrived to find Jouse still unconscious:
'Your poor husband has had a stroke,5 he told Marie,
'but I think he will live —yes, I think he will live;
though we cannot yet know the extent of the haemor-
rhage.5 It appeared that little or nothing could be done
except to wait with courage and patience.
Towards dawn Jouse suddenly opened his eyes:
'Where am I? What is it?' he mumbled thickly;
and he tried to raise himself in the bed. 'My left side,
all gone; all gone . . . my left side.'
cHush, beloved, you must lie quite still,' Marie
warned him.
But Jouse was restless: CI want my son . . . not
Loup, I want the other . . . not Loup. . . .'
Christophe said quietly: 'I am here.' And he laid
his cheek on the tumbled pillow.
Jouse tried to smile: 'Ah, bon, you are here . . .
What happened? I cannot . . . seem to remember.3
Then Christophe thanked God in his grief-stricken
heart: CI am close to you always — but always/ he
whispered.
332