very greatly afraid, because he must remember the
death of Mireio. Afraid, yet conscious that his touch
did, in fact, possess some incomprehensible virtue
which fear went far to deprive of its power, and this
knowledge but served to make him the more fearful.
Marie was diligently dusting the room, and as she
dusted she told of the sermon, then went on to give
Jouse the news of the war: 'It appears so impossible,
so unreal that I do not seem able to grasp it,9 she
finished.
Jouse listened, closing his eyes and his lips; the
latter in case he should be tempted to tell her of the
things that his eyes had actually seen as far back as
1870, on the bitter and terrible field of Sedan. He
had never spoken of those things to his wife although
sometimes he had shown her his medals. Ah, well,
here he lay only half alive; old, paralysed, and with
sores on his loins; unable to lift so much as a finger in
defence of France . . . Jouse groaned aloud.
'Am I pressing too hard?3 Christophe asked
anxiously.
'No, my son; no, no, it was something inside. Marie,
get me those medals out of the drawer. They should
be under my best black tie; or perhaps I left them
under my pants . . . Have you found them?'
'Yes, they are here/ she answered.
Le tout petit Loup sidled up to his mother: 'Let
me hold them/ he pleaded, 'just for a moment.'
'Well, only for a moment then/ Marie warned,
'No, Loup, I forbid you to put them on!" But Loup
was already in front of the mirror.
'Be careful! Ah; be careful!' Jouse exclaimed,
'The ribbons are frayed, they may easily break.' And
his speech was more laboured and indistinct because
he felt worried yet utterly helpless, and because he was
beginning to realize that a bedridden man who
survives too long may outlast the regard accorded to
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