ished that the sound of that voice had not disturbed the sleeper.
And he felt himself overcome with the same anguish that had seized upon him in the middle of the night, a more clearly defined anguish, although he would not, although he dared not, try to realize the reason of it.
"What's the matter with you, Chief? You're looking like nothing on earth. What is it?"
"Nothing—nothing. I'm frightened"
Mazeroux shuddered.
"Frightened of what? You say that just as he did last night."
"Yes … yes … and for the same reason."
"But?"
"Don't you understand? Don't you understand that I'm wondering?"
"No; what?"
"If he's not dead!"
"But you're mad, Chief!"
"No.… I don't know.… Only, only … I have an impression of death"
Lantern in hand, he stood as one paralyzed, opposite the bed; and he who was afraid of nothing in the world had not the courage to throw the light on Hippolyte Fauville's face. A terrifying silence rose and filled the room.
"Oh, Chief, he's not moving!"
"I know … I know … and I now see that he has not moved once during the night. And that's what frightens me."
He had to make a real effort in order to step forward. He was now almost touching the bed.
