"Nus rein avoir grant joie S'il n'en sueffre paine." (Pierre de Corbie.) "The ghost in man, the ghost that once was man, But cannot wholly free itself from man, Are calling to each other thro' a dawn Stranger than earth has ever seen--the veil Is rending, and the voices of the day Are heard across the voices of the dark." Tennyson. Delapine had been laid in the spare bedroom which had been partly altered into a sitting room and made as comfortable as possible. Madame Villebois had placed a small table just behind the head of the bed, and covered it with a white cloth. On it she devoutly placed a crucifix, together with a large wax candle on each side, which she gave directions should be kept burning all night. Two more candles were placed on small round tables at the foot of the bed. "Now, my dear," said the good lady to her spouse, "I have turned the room into a little 'chapelle ardente.'" Doctor Villebois nodded approval--but his mind turned to the practical rather than the spiritual needs of the professor. "Let us put a stove in the room," he added, "so that it may be kept at a constant temperature of summer heat." Renée insisted on sleeping in the room with a Sister of Mercy who had been called in to assist at the vigil during the night, while during the day Renée and Céleste agreed to take turns in watching. "Is this the room where the tragedy took place?" asked Paul as the two doctors were shown into the room by Villebois. "No, that was downstairs. This room has been specially prepared for the professor." Paul went up to Delapine, who was lying white as marble and apparently lifeless. "Yes, there is the syringe mark right enough." Seizing the arm, he inserted a sterilised probe and then forcibly squeezed the skin. A few drops of yellowish fluid came out. He collected it on a watch glass and warmed it over a spirit flame. A tiny white deposit remained. "Let me put this under your microscope," he said to Dr. Villebois. It was brought, and he carefully examined the crystals. "I thought so. These are the crystals of the Japanese alkaloid right enough. There can be no doubt about what his condition is due to." "What do you think about him?" asked Roux. "He is either dead or will die very shortly." Renée looked up with her heart thumping violently, apparently unable to grasp the full significance of the calamity. "Oh! please, doctor," she said, rushing up to him and falling on her knees at his feet, "don't say that. Can't you give me any hope?" Roux and Paul were visibly affected, and the latter patted her on the head to try and comfort her. "I am afraid, mademoiselle, I cannot give you any hope," said Roux with a sorrowful look. "But, Doctor, if he is not really dead, you won't surely allow him to be buried, will you?"