The child, surprised, permitted the bandage to be removed from his finger. Watched anxiously by his sister, George took infinite precautions in untying it. The end of the linen had adhered to the slight wound, and he had not the heart to detach it; but at the edge exposed to view he saw appear a whitish drop, resembling whey. His lips trembled. He raised his eyes; he saw that the face of his sister, intent on his every movement, had undergone a change and was contracted by grief. He felt that at that moment the poor woman's soul was wholly concentrated in that little hand.
"It is nothing," he said. And he forced a smile, as he breathed on the cut, to give the illusion to the child, who was waiting for the miracle. Then he rebound the finger with infinite care. He thought once more of the strange anguish which had seized him on the deserted staircase, of the chase after the dog, of the servant's words, of the questions which a superstitious fear had suggested to him, of all his baseless anxiety.
Noticing how absorbed he was, Christine said to him:
"What are you thinking of?"
"Nothing."
Then, all at once, without thinking, without having any other intention than to say something which would arouse the attention of the already sleepy child, he said:
"Do you know, I met a dog on the staircase."
The child opened wide his eyes.
"A dog which comes every night."
"Yes," said Christine, "Gian spoke to me about it."