Perrine looked after him as he went; and saw Gabriel, who had risen when the door was opened, moving back from the bed as Francois approached. The young man’s face seemed to have been suddenly struck to stone--its blank, ghastly whiteness was awful to look at. He moved slowly backward and backward till he came to the cottage wall--then stood quite still, staring on his father with wild, vacant eyes, moving his hands to and fro before him, muttering, but never pronouncing one audible word. Francois did not appear to notice his son; he had the coverlet of the bed in his hand. “Anything the matter here?” he asked, as he drew it down. Still Gabriel could not speak. Perrine saw it, and answered for him. “Gabriel is afraid that his poor grandfather is dead,” she whispered, nervously. “Dead!” There was no sorrow in the tone as he echoed the word. “Was he very bad in the night before his death happened? Did he wander in his mind? He has been rather light-headed lately.” “He was very restless, and spoke of the ghostly warnings that we all know of; he said he saw and heard many things which told him from the other world that you and Pierre--Gabriel!” she screamed, suddenly interrupting herself, “look at him! Look at his face! Your grandfather is not dead!” At this moment, Francois was raising his father’s head to look closely at him. 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?”