"Oh! you won't die, I hope. This wound may not be fatal----" "Take me to the carriage, and tell them to take me back to my father." Albert had no strength to say more; he lost consciousness. Sans-Cravate raised him from the ground, and two plasterers, attracted by the report of the pistol, helped him to carry the wounded man to the carriage. Sans-Cravate tried to stop the flow of blood by tying his handkerchief over the wound. Joseph entered the carriage, and seated himself so that he could support his master. Sans-Cravate thought of going with them, but he felt that he lacked courage to take Albert back to his father, so he allowed the carriage to drive away without him. Two hours had passed since the duel, and Sans-Cravate was still wandering about the fields, uncertain what to do, and praying fervently that Albert would not die of his wound. At last, he decided to return to Paris. But when he reached the city, he dared not go to his sister; for he feared that when she saw him she would divine what had happened, and he did not wish to confess that he had fought with her seducer, until he had some definite information as to the wounded man's condition. To go to his usual stand and remain there quietly would have been impossible to him, so he wandered through the streets at random. When it began to grow dark, Sans-Cravate could restrain his impatience no longer; he felt that he must know in what condition Albert was, so he bent his steps toward his house. "The doctors must have given their opinions of his wound before now," he thought; "I'll ask someone, and I won't go back to my sister till I am satisfied about his condition." Having determined upon this course, Sans-Cravate was soon in front of Monsieur Vermoncey's house on Rue Caumartin. The porte cochère was still open; he went in, and stopped at the concierge's lodge, but found nobody there; whereupon he decided to go upstairs and question the servants. When he came to the door of Albert's apartment, it was not closed, and he saw several lights in the anteroom; but he saw no person, although the other doors were open; that solitude and confusion froze his heart, for in it all there was a something silent and depressing which seemed to denote the presence of death. The messenger did not know what to do, but he realized that he must decide upon something. He entered the apartment, but walked very softly and carefully, as if he were afraid of waking someone. He passed through the room adjoining the anteroom, and was about to enter another room, the door of which was open, when he heard a sound as of sobbing. He put his head forward and saw Monsieur Vermoncey sitting in a chair, with his face buried in his hands, and apparently in the throes of utter despair. Sans-Cravate had no strength either to go forward or to retreat; his legs gave way under him, he sank on a couch, and sat there, completely overwhelmed; for he divined only too readily the cause of that wretched father's grief.