Vigneron glanced
at Madame Chaise, the aunt, who was standing in front of the sofa,
looking in good health that morning; and his hands shook yet more
violently at the covert idea that if that stupid attack had carried off
his son, they would no longer have inherited the aunt's fortune. He was
quite beside himself at this thought, and eagerly opening the boy's mouth
he compelled him to swallow the entire contents of the glass. Then,
however, when he heard Gustave sigh, and saw him open his eyes again, his
fatherly good-nature reappeared, and he shed tears, and called the lad
his dear little fellow. But on Madame Chaise drawing near to offer some
assistance, Gustave repulsed her with a sudden gesture of hatred, as
though he understood how this woman's money unconsciously perverted his
parents, who, after all, were worthy folks. Greatly offended, the old
lady turned on her heel, and seated herself in a corner, whilst the
father and mother, at last freed from their anxiety, returned thanks to
the Blessed Virgin for having preserved their darling, who smiled at them
with his intelligent and infinitely sorrowful smile, knowing and
understanding everything as he did, and no longer having any taste for
life, although he was not fifteen.
"Can we be of any help to you?" asked Pierre in an obliging way.
"No, no, I thank you, gentlemen," replied M. Vigneron, coming for a
moment into the passage. "But oh! we did have a fright! Think of it, an
only son, who is so dear to us too.
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