He looked yes.
“Do you know me?”
He looked yes, even yet more plainly.
“I am not here alone. The Major is with me. You recollect the Major?”
Yes. That is to say he made out yes, in the same way as before.
“And even the Major and I are not alone. My grandson—his godson—is with us. Do you hear? My grandson.”
The fingers made another trial to catch my sleeve, but could only creep near it and fall.
“Do you know who my grandson is?”
Yes.
“I pitied and loved his lonely mother. When his mother lay a dying I said to her, ‘My dear, this baby is sent to a childless old woman.’ He has been my pride and joy ever since. I love him as dearly as if he had drunk from my breast. Do you ask to see my grandson before you die?”