.

It went very quickly now, with the drying fevers that made her
cheeks red, her nostrils pinched, or with the exhaustion of baths of
perspiration, her pulse hardly beating.

And Ramuntcho had no other thought than his mother; the image of
Gracieuse ceased to visit him during these funereal days.

She was going, Franchita; she was going, mute and as if indifferent,
asking for nothing, never complaining--

Once, however, as he was watching, she called him suddenly with a poor
voice of anguish, to throw her arms around him, to draw him to her, lean
her head on his cheek. And, in that minute, Ramuntcho saw pass in
her eyes the great Terror--that of the flesh which feels that it is
finishing, that of the men and that of the beasts, the horrible and the
same for all.--A believer, she was that a little; practising rather,
like so many other women around her; timid in the face of dogmas, of
observances, of services, but without a clear conception of the world
beyond, without a luminous hope.--Heaven, all the beautiful things
promised after life.--Yes, perhaps.--But still, the black hole was
there, near and certain, where she would have to turn into dust.--What
was sure, what was inexorable, was the fact that never, never more would
her destroyed visage lean in a real manner on that of Ramuntcho; then,
in the doubt of having a mind which would fly, in the horror and the
misery of annihilation, of becoming powder and nothing, she wanted again
kisses from that son, and she clutched at him as clutch the wrecked who
fall into the black and deep waters--

He understood all this, which the poor, fading eyes said so well. And
the pity so tender, which he had already felt at seeing the wrinkles
and the white hairs of his mother, overflowed like a flood from his very
young heart; he responded to this appeal with all that one may give of
desolate clasps and embraces.

But it did not last long. She had never been one of those who are
enervated for long, or at least, let it appear. Her arms unclasped,
her head fallen back, she closed her eyes again, unconscious now,--or
stoical--

And Ramuntcho, standing, not daring to touch her, wept heavy tears,
without noise, turning his head,--while, in the distance, the parish
bell began to ring the curfew, sang the tranquil peace of the village,
filled the air with vibrations soft, protective, advising sound sleep to
those who have morrows--

The following morning, after having confessed,