The brother and sister, united once more in the same sorrow, sat down one on each side of his bed.
They spoke no more. The odor of the medicines heaped together on a table near the bed pervaded the room. A fly detached itself from the wall, flew with a loud buzz towards the flame of the lamp, and alighted on the coverlid. A piece of furniture creaked in the heavy silence.
"He is falling asleep," said George in a low voice.
Both were absorbed in the contemplation of the child's slumber, which suggested to both the image of death. A species of oppressive stupor dominated them, without their being able to distract their thoughts from the picture.
An indefinite time passed.
Suddenly the child gave a frightful cry, opened wide his eyes, raised himself on his pillow as if terrified by some horrible vision.
"Mamma! Mamma!"
"What is it, what is it, my love?"
"Mamma!"
"What is it, my love? I am here."