“He is in a fit,” said Octave. “He must not be left there. We must get him onto his bed.”
But Madame Duveyrier was losing her head. Emotion was little by little seizing upon her cold nature. She kept repeating:
“Do you think so? do you think so? O good heavens! O my poor father!”
Hippolyte, a prey to an uneasy feeling, to a visible repugnance to touch the old man, who might go off in his arms, did not hurry himself. Octave had to call to him to help. Between them they laid him on the bed.
“Bring some warm water!” resumed the young man, addressing Julie. “Wipe his face.”
Now, Clotilde became angry with her husband. Ought he to have been away? What would become of her if anything happened?
“To leave me alone like this!” continued Clotilde. “I don’t know, but there must be all sorts of affairs to settle. O my poor father!”
“Would you like me to inform the other members of the family?” asked Octave. “I can fetch your brothers. It would be prudent.” She did not answer. Two big tears swelled her eyes, whilst Julie and Clémence tried to undress the old man.
“Madame,” observed Clémence, “one side of him is already quite cold.”