"What I want is a way out of this abominable situation," she exclaimed. "If you had any common-sense, Ange—the slightest instinct of self-preservation—but no, you will sacrifice all our lives to that wicked old woman, and then flatter yourself that you have done something to be proud of. Come here to die, has she? Heavens, she ’ll outlive us all, and then go happy in the thought that she has contrived to do a little more mischief before the end!" Ange winced, but only said gently: "Dearest, don’t." "There, Ange, I ’ve no patience! I tell you we are all on the brink of ruin. Madelon has been here." "Madelon? Ah, the dear child. It is so long since I have really seen her. I am sorry to have missed her. Was she well?" Mlle Marthe caught her sister’s hand and pressed it until she cried out, "Marthe, you are hurting me!" "Ange! Sometimes I could swear at you! For Heaven’s sake think of yourself for a few moments, or if that is asking too much, think of Aline, think of me. Madelon came here because her father sent her!" "Her father sent her! Marthe, dearest, don’t—that hurts." "I mean it to. Yes, her father——" "But why. I don’t understand." Aline had been lighting the lamp. She looked up now, and the yellow flare showed the trouble in her face. "Oh, ma tante," she breathed. "Yes, child. Ange, wake up; don’t you realise?" "Mathieu suspects?" asked Aline quickly. "But how?" "He saw you take the path to the château the other day. Saw, or thought he saw, a light in the west wing last night, and sent Madelon to find out how much we knew. A mischief-maker Mathieu, and a bad man,—devil take him." "Oh, Marthe, don’t. Madelon,—Madelon is as true as steel." "Oh, yes, but mightily afraid of her father. She sat here with her round cheeks as white as curds, and cried, and begged me not to tell her anything;—as if I should be such a fool." "Ah, poor Madelon," said Ange, "she must not distress herself like that, it is so bad for her just now." Marthe ground her teeth. "Ange, I won’t have it—I won’t. I tell you all our lives are at stake, and you discuss Madelon’s health." "My dearest, don’t be vexed; indeed, I am trying to think what can be done." "Now, Ange, listen to me. If you will go on with this mad business, there is only one thing to be done. I have thought it all out. They must do with as little as possible, and you must not go there oftener than once in four days. You will go at eleven o’clock at night when there is no one abroad, and Louise will meet you half-way and take the basket on. There must be no other communication of any sort: you hear me, Aline?" "Yes," said Aline, "I think you are quite right." "That is always a consolation." Marthe’s voice took a sarcastic tone. "Now, Ange, do you agree?" "If you really think——"