The young messenger walked through a small room, which received no light except through a little round window, in which room was a cot bed supplied with a very thin mattress and with an old window curtain which served as bedclothes. This was Georget’s bedroom; but he did not stop there. Opening the door at the end of the room, and trying to make no noise, he entered another much larger one, where there was a little window. This room, although the walls sloped, was large enough to contain a bed surrounded by white curtains, an old mahogany bureau, a white wood table, a small sideboard, several chairs, and on the mantel a tiny mirror surrounded by a branch of consecrated boxwood. All this was more than modest, but it was neat and clean; it indicated not destitution, but poverty. Georget was walking very softly, concealing his light with his right hand, when he heard a feeble voice from the bed: “Is that you, Georget?” “Yes, mother, it’s I. So you’re not asleep?” “No, I haven’t been able to go to sleep, I don’t know why.” “It must be because you are sicker; and you have not been well for several days, although you didn’t admit it to me.” “It’s nothing, just the lumbago, it will soon be gone. If you would just give me something to drink, my dear, for I am very thirsty.” “Yes, mother, in a minute. Wait until I light your candle and put out this tallow thing of mine which smells worse than thirty-six lamps.” After lighting a bit of candle stuck in a bottle, Georget approached his mother’s bed. “Come, now you must tell me where your medicine is. But gracious heaven, how red your face is, mother! and black circles round your eyes! Are you worse?” “Why, no, it is the heat of the bed that does that.” “Give me your hand, and let me feel your pulse. Oh! how hot your hand is! You are feverish, and very feverish too, I am sure.” “Nonsense, as if you knew anything about it.” “Oh! yes I do; you must have pain somewhere.” “No, I am not in pain.” “The first thing in the morning I’ll fetch a doctor.” “I don’t want you to; what’s the use of a doctor, just because one has a little fever; it will go away all right without him!” “Where is your drink?” “I thought I wouldn’t make any; I prefer water, I like it better.” “Water, when one is feverish! Why, you didn’t do right! If I did such a thing, you’d scold me and say that I acted like a child, and you would be right. However, tell me where the sugar is; where do you keep the sugar, mother?” “Sugar! I don’t want any; it nauseates me; I prefer clear water.” “Water without sugar, when one is as burning hot as you are! I never heard of such a thing! You can’t mean it! Do you want to kill yourself? I am going to give you some sweetened water, but I must heat it; it’s better so.” “Oh, no! no!” “I say yes; I will take care of you better than you do yourself. Come, where is the sugar? where is the coal?”