The frost caught his ears and iced them; it began to creep over his cheeks; it made his fingers white, like a leper's.
He would soon have stiffened for ever had not Parpon the dwarf, passing along the road, seen the open door and the sprawling body, and come and drawn Pomfrette inside the house.

He rubbed the face and hands and ears of the unconscious man with snow till the whiteness disappeared, and, taking off the boots, did the same with the toes; after which he drew the body to a piece of rag carpet beside the stove, threw some blankets over it, and, hurrying out, cut up some fence rails, and soon had a fire going in the stove.
Then he trotted out of the house and away to the Little Chemist, who came passively with him.

All that day, and for many days, they fought to save Pomfrette's life.

The Cure came also; but Pomfrette was in fever and delirium.

Yet the good M.Fabre's presence, as it ever did, gave an air of calm and comfort to the place.