Later, in the warm dusk, they
travelled up to Dalgrothe Mountain, and came to Valmond's tent. By the
couch knelt Parpon, watching the laboured breathing of the sick man.
When he saw Madame Degardy, he gave a growl of joy, and made way for her.
She pushed him back with her stick contemptuously, looked Valmond over,
ran her fingers down his cheek, felt his throat, and at last held his
restless hand. Elise, with the quick intelligence of love, stood ready.
The old woman caught the jug from her, swung it into the hollow of her
arm, poured the cup half full, and motioned the girl to lift up Valmond's
head. Elise raised it to her bosom, leaning her face down close to his.
Madame Degardy instantly pushed back her head.
"Don't get his breath--that's death, idiot!" she said, and began to pour
the liquid into Valmond's mouth very slowly. It was a tedious process at
first, but at length he began to swallow naturally, and finished the cup.
There was no change for an hour, and then he became less restless. After
another cupful, his eyes half opened.
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