There never was any laughter in the apartment of the Violettes.  It was cough! cough! cough! almost to suffocation, almost to death!  This gentle young woman with the heavy hair was about to die!  When the beautiful starry evenings should come again, she would no longer linger on the balcony, or press her husband’s hand as they gazed at the stars.  Little Amedee did not understand it; but he felt a vague terror of something dreadful happening in the house.  Everything alarmed him now.  He was afraid of the old woman who smelled of snuff, and who, when she dressed him in the morning, looked at him with a pitying air; he was afraid of the doctor, who climbed the five flights of stairs twice a day now, and left a whiff of perfume behind him; afraid of his father, who did not go to his office any more, whose beard was often three days old, and who feverishly paced the little parlor, tossing back with a distracted gesture the lock of hair behind his ear.  He was afraid of his mother, alas! of his mother, whom he had seen that evening, by the light from the night-lamp, buried in the pillows, her delicate nose and chin thrown up, and who did not seem to recognize him, in spite of her wide-open eyes, when his father took her child in his arms and leaned over her with him that he might kiss her cold forehead covered with sweat!

At last the terrible day arrived, a day that Amedee never will forget, although he was then a very small child.

What awakened him that morning was his father’s embrace as he came and took him from his bed.  His father’s eyes were wild and bloodshot from so much crying.  Why was their neighbor, M. Gerard, there so early in the morning, and with great tears rolling down his cheeks too?  He kept beside M. Violette, as if watching him, and patted him upon the back affectionately, saying: 

“Now then, my poor friend!  Have courage, courage!”

But the poor friend had no more.  He let M. Gerard take the child from him, and then his head fell like a dead person’s upon the good engraver’s shoulder, and he began to weep with heavy sobs that shook his whole body.

“Mamma!  See mamma!” cried the little Amedee, full of terror.

Alas! he never will see her again!  At the Gerards, where they carried him and the kind neighbor dressed him, they told him that his mother had gone for a long time, a very long time; that he must love his papa very much and think only of him; and other things that he could not understand and dared not ask the meaning of, but which filled him with consternation.

It was strange!  The engraver and his wife busied themselves entirely with him, watching him every moment.  The little ones, too, treated him in a singular, almost respectful manner.  What had caused such a change?  Louise did not open her piano, and when little Maria wished to take her “menagerie” from the lower part of the buffet, Madame Gerard said sharply, as she wiped the tears from her eyes:  “You must not play to-day.”