And at the first overwhelming moment he
had found himself weak as a woman, weary and limp, his strength
undermined by his dissolute life, the slow disorganization of his
faculties. He had sobbed like a child before his dead son, all his vanity
crushed, all his calculations destroyed. The thunderbolt had sped by, and
nothing remained. In a minute his life had been swept away; the world was
now all black and void. And he remained livid, in consternation at it
all, his bloated face swollen with grief, his heavy eyelids red with
tears.
When he perceived the Froments, weakness again came upon him, and he
staggered towards them with open arms, once more stifling with sobs.
"Ah! my dear friends, what a terrible blow! And I wasn't here! When I got
here he had lost consciousness; he did not recognize me--. Is it
possible? A lad who was in such good health! I cannot believe it. It
seems to me that I must be dreaming, and that he will get up presently
and come down with me into the workshops!"
They kissed him, they pitied him, struck down like this upon his return
from some carouse or other, still intoxicated, perhaps, and tumbling into
the midst of such an awful disaster, his prostration increased by the
stupor following upon debauchery.
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