The Count took no notice, and she passed out between M. Philippe Oberlé and the functionary who said: "You are not responsible, mademoiselle, for the insult that has been offered to me. I understand the situation--I understand." His voice came with difficulty from his contracted throat. Furious--half a head taller than any one there except M. Philippe Oberlé--M. von Kassewitz turned on his heel and went towards the door. "Come, I pray you," said M. Joseph Oberlé, standing aside to let the Prefect pass. Lucienne was already outside. Madame Oberlé, as ill from emotion as the old man, who refused her assistance, feeling her tears choke her, ran into the hall and up to her room, where she burst into sobs. In the drawing-room Jean was alone with the old chief, who had just driven out the stranger. He drew near and said: "Grandfather, what have you done?" He wanted to say: It is a terrible insult. My father will never forgive it. The family is completely broken up. He would have said all that. But he raised his eyes to the old fighter, so near the end, still showing fight. He saw now that the grandfather was gazing fixedly at him; that his anger had reached its height; that his chest was moving violently; that the face grimaced and twisted. And suddenly, in the yellow drawing-room, an extraordinary voice, a hoarse voice, powerful and husky, cried out in a kind of nervous gallop: "Go away! Go away! Go away! Go away!" The voice rose to a piercing note. Then it broke, and with his mouth still open, the old man reeled and fell on the floor. The voice had sounded to the inmost recesses of the house. This voice that no one ever heard now, Madame Oberlé had recognised it, and through the open door of her room she had been able to catch the words. It was only a cry of rage and suffering, or the contrary to M. Joseph Oberlé, when the terrible sound of the words, which could not be distinguished or guessed at, reached him down two-thirds of the garden path. He had turned for a moment, with a frown--while the foremen and German workmen of the factory greeted M. von Kassewitz with their cheers--then he went on towards them. Madame Oberlé was the first to run to the drawing-room, then Victor, then old Salome, as white as a sheet, crying with uplifted hands: "Was not that M. Philippe I heard?" Then the coachman and the gardener ran in, hesitating to come forward but curious to see this distressing scene. They found Jean and his mother kneeling near M. Philippe Oberlé, who was breathing with difficulty, and was in a state of complete prostration. His effort, his emotion, and his indignation had used up the strength of the old man. They raised him up, and sat him in a chair, and each one tried to revive him. For a quarter of an hour there was going and coming between the first floor and the dining-room. They fetched vinegar, salts, and ether.