“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.”

I interrupted her lamentations by saying: 

“Monsieur Charnot, I think we had better take Monsieur Mouillard up to bed.”

“Then why don’t you do it?” shouted the numismatist, who had completely lost his temper.  “I didn’t come here to act at an ambulance; but, since I must, do you take his head.”

I took his head, Madeleine walked in front, Jeanne behind.  My uncle’s vast proportions swayed between M. Charnot and myself.  M. Charnot, who had skilfully gathered up the legs, looked like a hired pallbearer.

As we met with some difficulty in getting upstairs, M. Charnot said, with clenched teeth: 

“You’ve managed this trip nicely, Monsieur Fabien; I congratulate you sincerely!”

I saw that he intended to treat me to several variations on this theme.

But there was no time for talk.  A moment later my uncle was laid, still unconscious, upon his bed, and Jeanne and Madeleine were preparing a mustard-plaster together, in perfect harmony.  M. Charnot and I waited in silence for the doctor whom we had sent the office-boy to fetch.  M. Charnot studied alternately my deceased aunt’s wreath of orange-blossoms, preserved under a glass in the centre of the chimney-piece, and a painting of fruit and flowers for which it would have been hard to find a buyer at an auction.  Our wait for the doctor lasted ten long minutes.  We were very anxious, for M. Mouillard showed no sign of returning consciousness.  Gradually, however, the remedies began to act upon him.  The eyelids fluttered feebly; and just as the doctor opened the door, my uncle opened his eyes.

We rushed to his bedside.

“My old friend,” said the doctor, “you have had plenty of people to look after you.  Let me feel your pulse—­rather weak; your tongue?  Say a word or two.”

“A shock—­rather sudden—­” said my uncle.

The doctor, following the direction of the invalid’s eyes, which were fixed on Jeanne, upright at the foot of the bed, bowed to the young girl, whom he had not at first noticed; turned to me, who blushed like an idiot; then looked again at my uncle, only to see two big tears running down his cheeks.

“Yes, I understand; a pretty stiff shock, eh?  At our age we should only be stirred by our recollections, emotions of bygone days, something we’re used to; but our children take care to provide us with fresh ones, eh?”

M. Mouillard’s breast heaved.

“Come, my dear fellow,” proceeded the doctor; “I give you leave to give your future niece one kiss, and that in my presence, that I may be quite sure you don’t abuse the license.  After that you must be left quite alone; no more excitement, perfect rest.”

Jeanne came forward and raised the invalid’s head.