"Brave, noble heart, you are yourself again, and I was wrong to tell you that you were more to be pitied than you thought, for souls like yours live upon sacrifices and renunciations. Listen to me, Henri,--admitting that I can save Madame Bastien from the disease she has contracted to-night, a most dangerous inflammation of the lungs, this angelic woman ought not to remain in the power of this wretch." "Go on, finish!" "There is an honourable and lawful means of snatching from this man the victim that he has tortured for seventeen years." "And what is this means?" "A legal separation." "And how is it to be obtained?" "The atrocious conduct of this man, during this night, is a serious charge of cruelty. Marguerite will testify to it; it will not be necessary to have more to obtain a separation, and besides, I myself will see the judges, and I will tell them, with all the ardour and indignation of an honest heart, the conduct of Bastien toward his wife since his marriage; I will tell them of Marie's angelic resignation, of her admirable devotion to her son, and above all, of the purity of her life." "Stop, Pierre; a little while ago I spoke like a madman. To beastly wickedness, I responded with homicidal violence. You are right, Madame Bastien must be separated from her husband, that she may be free." And at this thought, David could not repress a thrill of hope. "Yes, let her be free, and then, being able to dispose of her son's future, and--" "Henri," said the physician, interrupting his friend, "you must understand that to make this separation worthy and honourable on Marie's part, it is essential that you go away." "I!" cried David, shocked at the words of the doctor, who continued, in a firm voice: "Henri, I repeat to you, it is absolutely essential for you to go away." "Leave her, leave her dying? Never!" "My friend!" "Never! neither would she consent to it." "What do you mean?" "No, she would not allow me to depart,--abandon her son, whom I love as my child,--abandon him in the very moment we are about to realise our highest hopes,--it would be the most culpable folly. I would not do it, and this dear boy would not endure it either. You do not know what he is to me, you do not know what I am to him; indissoluble ties unite us,--him and his mother, and myself." "I know all that, Henri; I know the power of these ties; I know too that your love, of which perhaps Marie is ignorant, is as pure as it is respectful." "And you wish to send me away?"