But he did not reply, nor utter his usual "Eh?"
They sent at once for the doctor, who felt his pulse, pressed a glass to his lips, then said in a low, solemn tone:
"He is dead."
Vasena, standing by the door, and somewhat resembling a wild animal, answered calmly:
"Well he wasn't so young as to…. Haven't we all got to die! What is it to him now? He and his had everything in their day! Dear Lord, they had everything!"
IX
Low, downy cloudlets drifted over the sky in the early hours of the morning. Dark, lowering masses followed in their wake. The snow fell in large, cold, soft, feather-like flakes.
St. Martin's Summer was past, to be succeeded by the advent of another earthly joy—the first white covering of snow, when it is so delicious to follow the fresh footprints of the beasts, a rifle in hand.