A faint spasm had indeed passed over the deathly
face; the lips quivered, the jaw dropped. Francois shuddered as
he looked, and moved away hastily from the bed. At the same
instant Gabriel started from the wall; his expression altered,
his pale cheeks flushed suddenly, as he snatched up the
wicker-cased bottle, and poured all the little brandy that was
left in it down his grandfather's throat.
The effect was nearly instantaneous; the sinking vital forces
rallied desperately. The old man's eyes opened again, wandered
round the room, then fixed themselves intently on Francois as he
stood near the fire. Trying and terrible as his position was at
that moment, Gabriel still retained self-possession enough to
whisper a few words in Perrine's ear. "Go back again into the
bedroom, and take the children with you," he said. "We may have
something to speak about which you had better not hear."
"Son Gabriel, your grandfather is trembling all over," said
Francois. "If he is dying at all, he is dying of cold; help me to
lift him, bed and all, to the hearth."
"No, no! don't let him touch me!" gasped the old man. "Don't let
him look at me in that way! Don't let him come near me, Gabriel!
Is it his ghost? or is it himself?"
As Gabriel answered he heard a knocking at the door. His father
opened it, and disclosed to view some people from the neighboring
fishing village, who had come--more out of curiosity than
sympathy--to inquire whether Francois and the boy Pierre had
survived the night.
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