On the other
hand, little Gustave, who had seen and noted everything with his bright
eyes and intelligence sharpened by suffering, was not praying, but
smiling at space, with his vague enigmatical smile. What could be the use
of his praying? He knew that the Blessed Virgin would not cure him, and
that he would die.
However, M. Vigneron could not remain long without busying himself about
his neighbours. Madame Dieulafay, who had come late, had been deposited
in the crowded central pathway; and he marvelled at the luxury about the
young woman, that sort of coffin quilted with white silk, in which she
was lying, attired in a pink dressing-gown trimmed with Valenciennes
lace. The husband in a frock-coat, and the sister in a black gown of
simple but marvellous elegance, were standing by; while Abbe Judaine,
kneeling near the sufferer, finished offering up a fervent prayer.
When the priest had risen, M. Vigneron made him a little room on the
bench beside him; and he then took the liberty of questioning him.
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