“I am much afraid it is.”
“Come on! Let us start,” said another.
Those rose up. Then Cesaire, whom a feeling of uneasiness had taken possession of, climbed up the ladder of the loft to see whether his father was ready. The old man, always as a rule an early riser, had not yet made his appearance. His son found him on his bed of straw, wrapped up in his blanket, with his eyes open and a malicious gleam in them.
He bawled into his ear: “Come, daddy, get up. It's time for the wedding.”
The deaf man murmured-in a doleful tone:
“I can't get up. I have a sort of chill over me that freezes my back. I can't stir.”
The young man, dumbfounded, stared at him, guessing that this was a dodge.
“Come, daddy; you must make an effort.”
“I can't do it.”
“Look here! I'll help you.”