“He is here.”
“And I never asked for your daughter.”
“No, but you have received your nephew beneath your roof, and consequently—”
“Never!”
“Monsieur Fabien has been in your house since yesterday; he told you we were coming.”
“No, I have not seen him; I never should have received him! I tell you I no longer have a nephew! I am a broken man, a—a—a—”
His speech failed him, his face became purple, he staggered and fell heavily, first in a sitting posture, then on his back, and lay motionless on the sanded path.
I rushed to the rescue.
When I got up to him Jeanne had already returned from the little fountain with her handkerchief dripping, and was bathing his temples with fresh water. She was the only one who kept her wits about her. Madeleine had raised her master’s head and was wailing aloud.
“Alas!” she said, “it’s that dreadful colic he had ten years ago which has got him again. Dear heart! how ill he was! I remember how it came on, just like this, in the garden.”