“Really,” said the woman, examining her deeds carefully, “never yet did I see you in such a hurry to give up things which don’t belong to you. But do hold that candle steadily; your hand is shaking so that I cannot see to read.” At that moment the silence which prevailed all round was broken by a cry of anguish, a long groan proceeding from the chamber to the right of the sitting-room. “What is that?” cried the woman. “Surely it is a dying person!” The sense of the danger which threatened made Derues pull himself together. “Do not be alarmed,” he said. “My wife has been seized with a violent fever; she is quite delirious now, and that is why I told the porter to let no one come up.” But the groans in the next room continued, and the unwelcome visitor, overcome by terror which she could neither surmount nor explain, took a hasty leave, and descended the staircase with all possible rapidity. As soon as he could close the door, Derues returned to the bedroom. Nature frequently collects all her expiring strength at the last moment of existence. The unhappy lady struggled beneath her coverings; the agony she suffered had given her a convulsive energy, and inarticulate sounds proceeded from her mouth. Derues approached and held her on the bed. She sank back on the pillow, shuddering convulsively, her hands plucking and twisting the sheets, her teeth chattering and biting the loose hair which fell over her face and shoulders. “Water! water!” she cried; and then, “Edouard,—my husband!—Edouard!—is it you?” Then rising with a last effort, she seized her murderer by the arm, repeating, “Edouard!—oh!” and then fell heavily, dragging Derues down with her. His face was against hers; he raised his head, but the dying hand, clenched in agony, had closed upon him like a vise. The icy fingers seemed made of iron and could not be opened, as though the victim had seized on her assassin as a prey, and clung to the proof of his crime. Derues at last freed himself, and putting his hand on her heart, “It is over,” he remarked; “she has been a long time about it. What o’clock is it? Nine! She has struggled against death for twelve hours!” While the limbs still retained a little warmth, he drew the feet together, crossed the hands on the breast, and placed the body in the chest. When he had locked it up, he remade the bed, undressed himself, and slept comfortably in the other one.