"Yes."
And she shut her eyes, turned on her side, buried her head in the pillow, gathered herself together, huddled beneath the covers as if chilled by cold.
XLVII.
In the evening, I went to see Raymond. I found him in my mother's arms. He seemed rather pale, but he was still quiet; he breathed freely. No suspicious symptom was noticeable.
"He only just woke up," said my mother.
"Does that make you uneasy?"
"Yes, he has never slept so long before."
I looked fixedly at the child. His gray eyes were dull and lifeless. He incessantly moved his lips, as if chewing. At one moment he vomited a little curdled milk on his bib.
"Oh! no, no, the child is not well," cried my mother, shaking her head.
"Has he coughed?"