As soon as the young man saw him, he clutched hold of him and pointed to Miette.
"Look," he said, "she's wounded, there, under the breast.

Ah! how good of you to come! You will save her." At that moment, however, a slight convulsion shook the dying girl.

A pain-fraught shadow passed over her face, and as her contracted lips suddenly parted, a faint sigh escaped from them.

Her eyes, still wide open, gazed fixedly at the young man.
Then Pascal, who had stooped down, rose again, saying in a low voice: "She is dead." Dead! Silvere reeled at the sound of the word.

He had been kneeling forward, but now he sank back, as though thrown down by Miette's last faint sigh.
"Dead! Dead!" he repeated; "it is not true, she is looking at me.