In Search of a Son

by William S. Walsh

Monsieur Roger raised himself upon the roof to a standing position.

"What are you doing?" cried Albert.

"I am going to try to reach the top of the tower."

"It is useless; the bolt opens in the room. Paul only can open it."

"Paul can open it."

"If he awakes. But how is it he does not awake?"

And in his turn Albert called to his friend.

Paul made no movement. The flames were gaining, growing more and more light, and the smoke was filtering through the plank floor and filling the room.

"Ah, I understand," cried Monsieur Roger, "I understand: he is not sleeping. That is not sleep,—that is asphyxia."