"That is another ring, which she ordered in exchange for the real one. Acting on my instructions, Bernard, my man, after long searching, ended by discovering in the outskirts of Paris, where he now lives, the little jeweller to whom she went. This man remembers perfectly and is willing to bear witness that his customer did not tell him to engrave a date, but a name. He has forgotten the name, but the man who used to work with him in his shop may be able to remember it. This working jeweller has been informed by letter that I required his services and he replied yesterday, placing himself at my disposal. Bernard went to fetch him at nine o'clock this morning. They are both waiting in my study." He turned to his wife: "Will you give me that ring of your own free will?" "You know," she said, "from the other night, that it won't come off my finger." "In that case, can I have the man up? He has the necessary implements with him." "Yes," she said, in a voice faint as a whisper. She was resigned. She conjured up the future as in a vision: the scandal, the decree of divorce pronounced against herself, the custody of the child awarded to the father; and she accepted this, thinking that she would carry off her son, that she would go with him to the ends of the earth and that the two of them would live alone together and happy.... Her mother-in-law said: "You have been very thoughtless, Yvonne." Yvonne was on the point of confessing to her and asking for her protection. But what was the good? How could the Comtesse d'Origny possibly believe her innocent? She made no reply. Besides, the count at once returned, followed by his servant and by a man carrying a bag of tools under his arm. And the count said to the man: "You know what you have to do?" "Yes," said the workman. "It's to cut a ring that's grown too small.... That's easily done.... A touch of the nippers...." "And then you will see," said the count, "if the inscription inside the ring was the one you engraved." Yvonne looked at the clock. It was ten minutes to eleven. She seemed to hear, somewhere in the house, a sound of voices raised in argument; and, in spite of herself, she felt a thrill of hope. Perhaps Velmont has succeeded.... But the sound was renewed; and she perceived that it was produced by some costermongers passing under her window and moving farther on. It was all over. Horace Velmont had been unable to assist her. And she understood that, to recover her child, she must rely upon her own strength, for the promises of others are vain. She made a movement of recoil. She had felt the workman's heavy hand on her hand; and that hateful touch revolted her. The man apologized, awkwardly. The count said to his wife: "You must make up your mind, you know."