Jouse tried to shift his position but failed —his
sore was aching again quite badly. The sun burnt his
eyes even through the blind, even through his eyelids
when he had closed them, and his paralysed side felt as
heavy as lead — like a corpse he told himself that it
felt, and must start to wonder about this, dumbly.
The noise and confusion had worn him out, so that his
face showed the slight distortion that had been
bequeathed to it by the stroke; his mouth sagged
a little, downwards and open ... If only that sore
would leave him in peace ... if only Anfos would
try not to moan ... if only Loup would stop cough-
ing and storming. . . .

In the end Marie pushed Loup out of the room and
turned the key on him: cAi! las,5 she sighed, che grows
more impossible to manage every day. Ai! las, what is
going to become of my Loup? So small he is, yet with
such immense rages.'

But Christophe had turned to look at his father;
and he noticed the mouth with its unconscious sagging,
and the terrible stillness of the stricken side, and
the terrible patience of the closed, wrinkled eyelids;
indeed all that was pitiful he must observe with the
keen and relentless sight of the spirit, scourging
himself for his own harsh words, for the fear that he
seemed unable to conquer even in the presence of so
mighty a need: CI am surely a very great coward,5
thought Christophe.

Then he quietly walked across to the bed, trying
as he did so to move with precaution lest the crazy old
boards of the floor should creak, and he laid the
worn medals in Jouse's hand with a gentle and very
courteous respect.

Tin them onto my nightshirt. . -.' Jouse mumbled.

344