"Thank heaven!" He looked at Madame Fauvel with such a demoniacal glance that she dropped her eyes. "Give it to me, mother," he entreated. "Miserable boy!" "It is life that I ask of you." This prayer decided her. Taking a candle, she stepped quickly into her room, opened the writing-desk, and there found M. Fauvel's own key. But as she was handing it to Raoul, reason returned. "No," she murmured; "no, it is impossible." He did not insist, and indeed seemed willing to retire. "Ah, well!" he said. "Then, my mother, one last kiss." She stopped him:--"What will you do with the key, Raoul? Have you also the secret word?" "No, but I can try." "You know there is never money in the safe." "Let us try. If I open it by a miracle, and if there is money in the box, then I shall believe that God has taken pity upon us." "And if you do not succeed? Then will you swear that you will wait until to-morrow?" "Upon the memory of my father, I swear it." "Then here is the key! Come." ... They had now reached Prosper's office, and Raoul had placed the lamp on a high shelf, from which point it lighted the entire room. He had recovered all of his self-possession, or rather that peculiar mechanical precision of action which seems to be independent of the will, and which men accustomed to peril always find at their service in times of pressing need. Rapidly, and with the dexterity of experience, he placed the five buttons of the iron box upon the letters forming the name g,y,p,s,y. His expression during this short performance was one of intense anxiety. He began to fear that the excited energy which he had summoned might fail him, and also that if he did open the box he might not find the hoped-for sum. Prosper might have changed the letters, and he might have been sent to the bank that day. Madame Fauvel watched Raoul with pathetic distress. She read in his wild eyes that despair of the unfortunate, who so passionately desire a result that they fancy their unassisted will can overcome all obstacles. Being intimate with Prosper, and having frequently watched him close the office, Raoul knew perfectly well--indeed, he had made it a study and attempted it himself, for he was a far-seeing youth--how to manipulate the key in the lock. He inserted it gently, turned it, pushed it in deeper, and turned it again, then he pushed it in with a violent shock and turned it once more. His heart beat so loudly that Madame Fauvel could hear it. The word had not been changed: the box opened. Raoul and his mother uttered cries--hers of terror, his of triumph. "Shut it!" screamed Madame Fauvel, frightened at this inexplicable and incomprehensible result; "leave it--come!" And half mad, she threw herself upon Raoul, clinging to his arm in desperation and drawing him to her with such violence that the key was dragged from the lock and along the door of the coffer, leaving a long and deep mark.