Madame Vigneron was crouching on a chair, still stupefied by her fright, whilst M.
Vigneron rushed about the room, thrusting everything aside in order that he might prepare a glass of sugared-water, to which he added a few drops of some elixir.

This draught, he exclaimed, would set the lad right again.

But all the same, it was incomprehensible.

The boy was still strong, and to think that he should have fainted like that, and have turned as white as a chicken! Speaking in this wise, M.Vigneron glanced at Madame Chaise, the aunt, who was standing in front of the sofa, looking in good health that morning; and his hands shook yet more violently at the covert idea that if that stupid attack had carried off his son, they would no longer have inherited the aunt's fortune.

He was quite beside himself at this thought, and eagerly opening the boy's mouth he compelled him to swallow the entire contents of the glass.