A stool lay overturned by the fire, and above it a grey cat, which I had not hitherto noticed, crouched on a beam and eyed me with stealthy fierceness.

Mademoiselle was not to be seen, nor was Fanchette, and Simon Fleix did not hear me.
He was doing something at the bed--for my mother it seemed.
'What is it, man ?' I cried softly, advancing on tiptoe to the bedside.
'Where are the others ?' The student looked round and saw me.

His face was pale and gloomy.

His eyes burned, and yet there were tears in them, and on his cheeks.

He did not speak, but the chilliness, the bareness, the emptiness of the room spoke for him, and my heart sank.
I took him by the shoulders.