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 In addition to all this he was often ill; worn out in spite of his robust peasant constitution by the hard life that he was compelled to live; several times he was at death's door: in 1838 when he was in extremis, in 1848 when hope was given up, when he lay delirious for a month and was penniless; in 1859 when he was on the point of going blind, and was spitting blood. Moreover, he continually suffered, sometimes for weeks at a time, from frightful sick headaches and pains in the eyes. He hardly complains, is never angry, never astonished at the hardness of his lot. One day when his means were completely exhausted, a friend brought him some small alms extracted from the government; he found Millet at home without fire, without light, seated on a trunk with his shoulders bent like a person suffering from cold. Millet said simply: "Thank you, it comes at the right time; we have eaten nothing for two days; but the great point is that the children have not suffered. They have had food up to the present time." He called his wife. "There," said he, "I will go and buy some wood for I am very cold." He did not say