"Yes, they have," said M. Mauperin, who could not contain himself any longer, "and I didn't want to have to tell you. One is afraid of everything, you see, when it comes to this stage. It seems to me that there are certain words which would bring the very thing about, and to own this, why, I fancied it would kill my child. And then, too, there might be a miracle. Why shouldn't there be? They spoke of miracles--the doctors did. Oh, God! She still gets up, you know; it's a great thing, that she can get up. The last two days there has been an improvement, I think. And then to lose two in a year--it would be too terrible. Oh, that would be too much! But there, eat, man, you are not eating anything," and he put a large piece of meat on Denoisel's plate. "Well, well, we must bear up and be men; that's all we can do. What's the latest news in Paris?" "There isn't any; at least, I don't know any. I've come straight from the Pyrenees. Mme. Davarande read me one of your letters; but she is far from thinking her so ill." "Have you no news of Barousse?" "Oh, yes! I met him on the way to the station. I wanted to bring him with me, but you know what Barousse is; nothing in the world would induce him to leave Paris for a week. He must take his morning walk along the quays. The idea of missing an engraving with its full margin----" "And the Bourjots?" asked M. Mauperin with an effort. "They say that Mlle. Bourjot will never marry." "Poor child, she loved him." "As to the mother, it is the saddest thing--it appears it's an awful ending--there are rumours of strange things--madness, in fact. There's some talk of sending her to a private asylum." LXII "Renee," said M. Mauperin, on entering his daughter's room the following day, "there is some one downstairs who wants to see you." "Some one?" And she looked searchingly at her father. "I know, it's Denoisel. Did you write to him?" "Not at all. You did not ask to see him, so that I did not know whether it would give you any pleasure. Do you mind?" "Mother, give me my little red shawl--there, in the drawer," she said, without answering her father. "I mustn't frighten him, you know. Now then, bring him here quickly," she added, as soon as her shawl was tied at the neck like a scarf. Denoisel came into the room, which was impregnated with that odour peculiar to the young when they are ill, and which reminds one of a faded bouquet and of dying flowers. "It's very nice of you to have come," said Renee. "Look, I've put this shawl on for your benefit; you used to like me in it." Denoisel stooped down, took her hands in his and kissed them. "It's Denoisel," said M. Mauperin to his wife, who was seated at the other end of the room. Mme. Mauperin did not appear to have heard. A minute later she got up, came across to Denoisel, kissed him in a lifeless sort of way, and then went back to the dark corner where she had been sitting.