She gave hollow sobs, she received shocks that threw her backward, in a distracting attack of terror and anguish.

She remained there choking, uttering from time to time a piercing scream amidst the profound roar of her affliction.

She would have dragged herself along the ground, had not Suzanne taken her round the waist, weeping on her knees, and raising her pale countenance towards her.

Olivier and his father on their feet, unnerved and mute, turned aside their heads, being disagreeably affected at this painful sight which wounded them in their egotism.
The poor mother saw her son rolling along in the thick waters of the Seine, a rigid and horribly swollen corpse; while at the same time, she perceived him a babe, in his cradle, when she drove away death bending over him.

She had brought him back into the world on more than ten occasions; she loved him for all the love she had bestowed on him during thirty years.