The young woman had never been the object of her husband's anger before in her life, so it is impossible to convey any idea of the horror she experienced on seeing him ready to rush upon her. Terrified by his ferocious, bloodthirsty look, in which there seemed to be not even the slightest gleam of recognition, she remained for a moment trembling and motionless, feeling as if she were about to swoon. Suddenly the little girl, who had been awakened several minutes before by the loud talking, parted the curtains of her crib and looked out. Not recognising her father, and mistaking him for a stranger, as she had never before seen him in such a costume, she uttered a shrill cry of terror, and exclaimed: "Oh, mamma, the black man! the black man!" "The key! give me the key!" repeated Cloarek, in thunder tones, taking another step toward his wife, who, slipping the key in her bosom, ran to the crib and caught her child in her arms, while the little girl, more and more terrified, hid her face on her mother's breast, sobbing: "Oh, that black man, that black man, he means to kill mamma!" "To take this key from me, you will have to tear my child from my arms," said the frail but courageous woman. "You don't know that I am capable of anything when I am angry," exclaimed the unfortunate man, aroused to such a pitch of fury as to be blind and deaf to the most sacred sentiments. As he spoke, he rushed toward his wife in such a frenzied, menacing manner that the unfortunate woman, believing herself lost, strained her little daughter to her breast, and, bowing her head, cried: "Spare, oh, spare my child!" This cry of agony and of maternal despair penetrated to the innermost depths of Yvon's soul. He stopped short, then quicker than thought he turned, and, with a strength that his fury rendered irresistible, dashed himself against the door with such impetuosity that it gave way. On hearing the sound, Madame Cloarek raised her head in even greater terror, for her child was in convulsions, caused by fright, and seemed likely to die in her arms. "Help!" faltered Jenny, faintly. "Help, Yvon, our child is dying!" A despairing cry answered these panting words uttered by Jenny, who felt that she, too, was dying, for in this delicate woman's critical condition such a shock was almost certain to prove fatal. "Yvon, our child is dying!" Cloarek, who was still only a few yards off, heard these lamentable words. The horror of the thought that his child was dying dispelled his anger as if by magic, and, rushing wildly back into his wife's room, he saw her still standing by the crib, but already as livid as a spectre. With a supreme effort Jenny extended her arms to place her child in her husband's hands, faltering: "Take her, I am dying," and without another word fell heavily at the feet of Cloarek, who, with his child strained to his breast, stood as if dazed, hearing nothing, seeing nothing. CHAPTER V. DEADLY ENMITY.