To him it seemed absolutely certain that Farron would die,--every one did,--but he had for some time been aware of a growing hardness on his part toward the death of other people, as if he were thus preparing himself for his own.
"Poor Vincent!" he said to himself.

"Hard luck at his age, when an old man like me is left." But this was not quite honest.

In his heart he felt there was nothing unnatural in Vincent's being taken or in his being left.
As usual in a crisis, Adelaide's behavior was perfect.

She contrived to make her husband feel every instant the depth, the strength, the passion of her love for him without allowing it to add to the weight he was already carrying.

Alone together, he and she had flashes of real gaiety, sometimes not very far from tears.
To Mathilde the brisk naturalness of her mother's manner was a source of comfort.