She clasped him in her arms, and her tears flowed again; then, with her face against his, she went on: "Well, but Pierre. What can we do about Pierre?" Jean murmured: "We will find some plan! You cannot live with him any longer." At the thought of her elder son she was convulsed with terror. "No, I cannot; no, no!" And throwing herself on Jean's breast she cried in distress of mind: "Save me from him, you my little one. Save me; do something--I don't know what. Think of something. Save me." "Yes, mother, I will think of something." "And at once. You must, this minute. Do not leave me. I am so afraid of him--so afraid." "Yes, yes; I will hit on some plan. I promise you I will." "But at once; quick, quick! You cannot imagine what I feel when I see him." Then she murmured softly in his ear: "Keep me here, with you." He paused, reflected, and with his blunt good-sense saw at once the dangers of such an arrangement. But he had to argue for a long time, combatting her scared, terror-stricken insistence. "Only for to-night," she said. "Only for to-night. And to-morrow morning you can send word to Roland that I was taken ill." "That is out of the question, as Pierre left you here. Come take courage. I will arrange everything, I promise you, to-morrow; I will be with you by nine o'clock. Come, put on your bonnet. I will take you home." "I will do just what you desire," she said with a childlike impulse of timidity and gratitude. She tried to rise, but the shock had been too much for her, she could not stand. He made her drink some sugared water and smell at some salts, while he bathed her temples with vinegar. She let him do what he would, exhausted but comforted, as after the pains of child-birth. At last she could walk and she took his arm. The town hall clock struck three as they went past. Outside their own door Jean kissed her, saying: "Good-night, mother, keep up your courage." She stealthily crept up the silent stairs, and into her room, undressed quickly, and slipped into bed with a long-forgotten sense of guilt. Roland was snoring. In all the house Pierre alone was awake, and had heard her come in. CHAPTER VIII When he got back to his lodgings Jean dropped on a sofa; for the sorrows and anxieties which made his brother long to be moving, and to flee like a hunted prey, acted differently on his torpid nature and broke the strength of his arms and legs. He felt too limp to stir a finger, even to get to bed; limp body and soul, crushed and heart-broken. He had not been hit, as Pierre had been, in the purity of filial love, in the secret dignity which is the refuge of a proud heart; he was overwhelmed by the stroke of fate which, at the same time threatened his own nearest interests.