Jules Verne

“ Trifulgas is not superstitious. He believes in nothing—not even in his own science, except for what it brings him in. What weather, and also what a road! Pebbles and ashes; the pebbles slippery with seaweed, the ashes crackling with iron refuse. No other light than that from Hurzof's lantern, vague and uncertain. At times jets of flame from Vauglor uprear themselves, and in the midst of them appear great comical silhouettes. In truth no one knows what is in the depths of those unfathomable craters. Perhaps spirits of the other world, which volatilise themselves as they come forth. ”

“ Fear! His pupils are dilated; his body is contracted, shrivelled; an icy perspiration freezes his skin—every hair stands on end. But hasten! For want of oil, the lamp expires; and also the dying man! Yes, there is the bed—his own bed—with posts and canopy; as wide as it is long, shut in by heavy curtains. Is it possible that this is the pallet of a wretched herring-salter? With a quaking hand Dr. Trifulgas seizes the curtains; he opens them; he looks in.
"Dr. Trifulgas seizes the curtains."
The dying man, his head uncovered, is motionless, as if at his last breath. ”

“ Trifulgas. The honest man has been paid his hundred and twenty fretzers, and he must earn them.
VI.
Only a luminous speck at the distance of half a kertz. It is the lamp of the dying—perhaps of the dead. Of course, it is the herring-salter's house; the old woman pointed to it with her finger; no mistake is possible. Through the whistling swishes and the dashing swashes, through the uproar of the tempest, Dr. Trifulgas tramps on with hurried steps. As he advances, the house becomes more distinct, being isolated in the midst of the landscape. ”