"How do you feel, dear Tinguy?" said the girl.
"Better," he answered, in a feeble voice. "The good God doesn't mean me to desert before the battle," he added, trying to smile.
"Perhaps not; because it is for him you are going to fight."
The peasant shook his head sadly and sighed.
"Monsieur Michel," said Bertha to the young man, drawing him into a corner of the room, so that her voice should not reach the patient, "go and fetch the vicar and rouse the neighbors."
"Isn't he better? He said so just now."
"Child that you are! Did you never see a lamp go out? The last flame is brightest, and so it is with our miserable bodies. Go at once. There will be no death-struggle. The fever has exhausted him; the soul is going without a struggle, shock, or effort."
"And are you to be left alone with him?"
"Go at once, and don't think about me."
Michel went out, and Bertha returned to Tinguy, who held out his hand.