He gave me a side look. I understood what he meant to say. It was the typhus! I looked at my wife; she understood it all.
I felt at that moment as if my heart were torn; I wanted to groan, but Zeffen was there leaning over, behind us, and I said nothing; nor did Sorlé.
The doctor asked for paper to write a prescription, and we went out together. I led him to our room, and shut the door, and began to sob.
"Moses," said he, "you are a man, do not weep! Remember that you ought to set an example of courage to two poor women."
"Is there no hope?" I asked him in a low voice, afraid of being heard.
"It is the typhus!" said he. "We will do what we can. There, that is the prescription; go to Tribolin's; his boy is up at night now, and he will give you the medicine. Be quick! And then, in heaven's name, take the other child out of that room, and your daughter too, if possible. Try to find some one out of the family, accustomed to sickness; the typhus is contagious."
I said nothing.
He took his cap and went.
Now what can I say more? The typhus is a disease engendered by death itself; the prophet speaks of it, when he says:
"Hell from beneath is moved for thee, to meet thee at thy coming!"