"`Better leave her dead than dying,' said Marguerite, and though the words were almost coarse, the intense earnestness of the tone made them not seem so. Just then a step made both Pierre and the girl look round. It was Edmee. Pale almost as her dead mother, she came forward. "`I have heard,' she said. `I opened the door to see who it was. Marguerite, I trust you--_she_ did. Is it really as bad as you say? Is the danger so near?' "`Near!' repeated Marguerite; `it is _here_! I came to do what I could, though with but small hopes of seeing you. It is Victorine; she has not rested till she found where you were, and now it is only a question of a few hours.' "`I will be ready,' said Edmee, to the great surprise of both her hearers. `When you tell me to go, Marguerite, I will go. I have no right to risk Pierre's life; he has risked it for me--that was his own doing. And I know he would not go without me. Besides, I promised--I promised my darling; she seemed to have known it would come so, and she made me promise to go, even if I could not stay to see her laid in the grave. Living, I could never have left her. Oh, Pierrot, it is hard!' she went on, turning to him, and clasping her hands, while the tears ran down her face again, `must we already say we are glad she is dead?' "Pierre could not answer, but Marguerite did so for him. "`Yes, my poor child, it is so. You _must_ say it and feel it.' "Her voice seemed to recall Edmee's thoughts. "`There is one thing,' she said, looking now at Marguerite. `You understand--I will not go without Edmond.' "`Then,' said the girl, in a sudden burst of passion, `you may stay, for all I will do to save you. Child, you are mad! But you, you, Pierre Germain, you should have influence with her. Tell her she is mad.' "`No, Marguerite,' said Pierre, `we cannot desert him. If Edmee could be saved without my help, I would gladly stay with him and entreat her to go. But she cannot go alone. And I, too, promised to protect the poor boy.' "`Then you are both mad!' said Marguerite, and she burst away as she spoke. But Pierre was too quick for her. He caught her before she had reached the stair. "`Marguerite,' he said, `you thanked me once for my pity, and the very little I was able to do for you in your sorrow. You said you would never forget it. I too have never forgotten your wrongs and sorrows. I have no reason to risk danger for that boy's sake--I have no love for him. But I have promised--and besides, how cowardly would it be to desert a creature so weak and helpless! Marguerite, you will not fail us?--for your dead brother Louis's sake be generous, and return good for evil.' "A stifled groan from the girl when he named her brother was the only sound for a moment. Then she turned again. "`For _his_ sake!--a strange revenge,' she muttered. Then she said aloud, though speaking softly--