“Wash the wounds in a dilute solution of carbolic acid!” Denis answered: “This is what I am doing, monsieur.” M. Marambot opened both his eyes. There was no sign of blood either on the bed, on the walls, or on the murderer. The wounded man was stretched out on clean white sheets. The two men looked at each other. Finally M. Marambot said calmly: “You have been guilty of a great crime.” Denis answered: “I am trying to make up for it, monsieur. If you will not tell on me, I will serve you as faithfully as in the past.” This was no time to anger his servant. M. Marambot murmured as he closed his eyes: “I swear not to tell on you.” Denis saved his master. He spent days and nights without sleep, never leaving the sick room, preparing drugs, broths, potions, feeling his pulse, anxiously counting the beats, attending him with the skill of a trained nurse and the devotion of a son. He continually asked: “Well, monsieur, how do you feel?” M. Marambot would answer in a weak voice: “A little better, my boy, thank you.” And when the sick man would wake up at night, he would often see his servant seated in an armchair, weeping silently. Never had the old druggist been so cared for, so fondled, so spoiled. At first he had said to himself: “As soon as I am well I shall get rid of this rascal.” He was now convalescing, and from day to day he would put off dismissing his murderer. He thought that no one would ever show him such care and attention, for he held this man through fear; and he warned him that he had left a document with a lawyer denouncing him to the law if any new accident should occur. This precaution seemed to guarantee him against any future attack; and he then asked himself if it would not be wiser to keep this man near him, in order to watch him closely. Just as formerly, when he would hesitate about taking some larger place of business, he could not make up his mind to any decision. “There is always time,” he would say to himself. Denis continued to show himself an admirable servant. M. Marambot was well. He kept him. One morning, just as he was finishing breakfast, he suddenly heard a great noise in the kitchen. He hastened in there. Denis was struggling with two gendarmes. An officer was taking notes on his pad. As soon as he saw his master, the servant began to sob, exclaiming: “You told on me, monsieur, that's not right, after what you had promised me. You have broken your word of honor, Monsieur Marambot; that is not right, that's not right!” M. Marambot, bewildered and distressed at being suspected, lifted his hand: “I swear to you before the Lord, my boy that I did not tell on you. I haven't the slightest idea how the police could have found out about your attack on me.” The officer started: “You say that he attacked you, M. Marambot?” The bewildered druggist answered: “Yes--but I did not tell on him--I haven't said a word--I swear it--he has served me excellently from that time on--”