“You will have to sit up with Jacques to-night, Mother Colas.  If he tells you that his breathing is bad, you must let him drink some of the draught that I have poured into the tumbler on the table.  Take care not to let him have more than two or three sips at a time; there ought to be enough in the tumbler to last him all through the night.  Above all things, do not touch the phial, and change the child’s clothing at once.  He is perspiring heavily.”

“I could not manage to wash his shirts to-day, sir; I had to take the hemp over to Grenoble, as we wanted the money.”

“Very well, then, I will send you some shirts.”

“Then is he worse, my poor lad?” asked the woman.

“He has been so imprudent as to sing, Mother Colas; and it is not to be expected that any good can come of it; but do not be hard upon him, nor scold him.  Do not be down-hearted about it; and if Jacques complains overmuch, send a neighbor to fetch me.  Good-bye.”

The doctor called to his friend, and they went back along the foot-path.

“Is that little peasant consumptive?” asked Genestas.

“Mon Dieu! yes,” answered Benassis.  “Science cannot save him, unless Nature works a miracle.  Our professors at the Ecole de Medecine in Paris often used to speak to us of the phenomenon which you have just witnessed.  Some maladies of this kind bring about changes in the voice-producing organs that give the sufferer a short-lived power of song that no trained voice can surpass.  I have made you spend a melancholy day, sir,” said the doctor when he was once more in the saddle.  “Suffering and death everywhere, but everywhere also resignation.  All these peasant folk take death philosophically; they fall ill, say nothing about it, and take to their beds like dumb animals.  But let us say no more about death, and let us quicken our horses’ paces a little; we ought to reach the town before nightfall, so that you may see the new quarter.”

“Eh! some place is on fire over there,” said Genestas, pointing to a spot on the mountain, where a sheaf of flames was rising.

“It is not a dangerous fire.  Our lime-burner is heating his kiln, no doubt.  It is a newly-started industry, which turns our heather to account.”

There was the sudden report of a gun, followed by an involuntary exclamation from Benassis, who said, with an impatient gesture, “If that is Butifer, we shall see which of us two is the stronger.”

“The shot came from that quarter,” said Genestas, indicating a beech-wood up above them on the mountain side.  “Yes, up there; you may trust an old soldier’s ear.”

“Let us go there at once!” cried Benassis, and he made straight for the little wood, urging his horse at a furious speed across the ditches and fields, as if he were riding a steeplechase, in his anxiety to catch the sportsman red-handed.

“The man you are after has made off,” shouted Genestas, who could scarcely keep up with him.