But stultified, with the fumes of drink seizing hold of him again, he wagged his head, watching her with an uncertain stare as she was dying.

All kind of things were touched in him, but he could find no more to say and he was too utterly burnt with liquor to shed a tear.
"Listen," resumed Lalie, after a pause.

"We owe four francs and seven sous to the baker; you must pay that.

Madame Gaudron borrowed an iron of ours, which you must get from her.

I wasn't able to make any soup this evening, but there's some bread left and you can warm up the potatoes." Till her last rattle, the poor kitten still remained the little mother.
Surely she could never be replaced! She was dying because she had had, at her age, a true mother's reason, because her breast was too small and weak for so much maternity.