"Ah! Poor little thing. How you frightened me! How pale you still are! Is it all over, tell me? Speak to me, my Jean!"
I did nothing but look at her. It seemed as though my whole being, inert and rigid, smitten by a powerful blow, by some great suffering or happiness—I did not know which—had brought back and crowded into my glance all the life forces leaving me, dripping from my limbs, my veins, my heart, my brains.... I was looking at her! She was still beautiful, a little paler than in the past, but on the whole the same as ever, with her beautiful, sweet eyes, her lovely mouth, her deliciously childish voice. In her countenance, her gestures, the movements of her body, her words I wanted to find some sorrowful traces of her unknown existence, some blemish, some evidence of depravity, something new and more withered. But no, she was paler, and that was all. And I burst into tears.
"Sit still, I want to look at you more, my little Juliette!"
She drank in my tears and wept, holding me in a close embrace.
"My Jean! Ah, my adored Jean!"
Mother Le Gannec rapped at the door of the room. She did not speak to Juliette, pretending not to see her.
"What shall I do with the trunks, friend Mintié?" she asked.
"Have some one bring them up here, Mother Le Gannec."
"You could not bring them all up here," the old woman harshly replied.
"Have you got many of them, dearie?"