Coarse as was this counsel, it was not destitute of good sense; and Rigolette, feeling she could do nothing else, approached the bedside of Madeleine, who, distracted by her grief, appeared unconscious of the presence of Rigolette, as, gathering the children together, she knelt with them beside their afflicted mother. Meanwhile Morel, upon recovering from his temporary wildness, had sunk into a state of deep and bitter reflections upon his present position, which, now that his mind saw things through a calmer medium, only increased the poignancy of his sufferings. Since the notary had proceeded to such extremities, any hope from his mercy was vain. He felt there was nothing left but to submit to his fate, and let the law take its course. "Are we ever to get off?" inquired Bourdin. "I tell you what, my man, if you are not for marching, we must make you, that's all." "I cannot leave these diamonds about in this manner,--my wife is half distracted," cried Morel, pointing to the stones lying on his work-table. "The person for whom I am polishing them will come to fetch them away either this morning or during the day. They are of considerable value." "Capital!" whispered Tortillard, who was still peeping in at the half closed door; "capital, capital! What will Mother Chouette say when I tell her this bit of luck?" "Only give me till to-morrow," said Morel, beseechingly; "only till I can return these diamonds to my employer." "I tell you, the thing can't be done. So let's have no more to say about it." "But it is impossible for me to leave diamonds of such value as these exposed, to be lost or even stolen in my absence." "Well, then, take them along with you. We have got a coach waiting below, for which you will have to pay when you settle the costs. We will go all together to your employer's house, and, if you don't meet with him, why, then, you can deposit these jewels at the office of the prison, where they will be as safe as in the bank; only look sharp, and let's be off before your wife and children perceive us." "Give me but till to-morrow,--only to bury my child!" implored Morel, in a supplicating voice, half stifled by the heavy sobs he strove in vain to repress. "Nonsense, I tell you; why, we have lost an hour here already!" "Besides, it's dull work going to berrins," chimed in Malicorne. "It would be too much for your feelings, p'raps." "Yes," said Morel, bitterly; "it is dull work to see what we would have given our lives to save laid in the cold earth. But, as you are men, grant me that satisfaction." Then, looking up, and observing the nonchalant air with which his prayer was received, he added, "But no, persons of so much feeling as you are would fear to indulge me, lest I should find it a gloomy sight. Well, then, at least grant me one word!"