"Not so loud, not so loud," said the little man uneasily. "If she were to die, we should lose the money, it is true, but it might be the safest. There would be fewer complications." She turned from him with a look of unutterable horror. In his cowardice, and in his cruelty, he had fallen far below even her measure of wrongdoing. With a pale scared face, he was watching the door with the hope of escape, but she, like an avenging fury, stood between it and him. "Let us go into the street," he said feebly. "I have always heard there is less danger in the open air. You will not? _N'importe_. Do not let me keep you, my Zenobie. Can I convey any message to your mother?" She faced him again. "If he dies!" "He will not die--no, no, he will not die, believe me. You are a little nervous, that is all. Oh, he will not die; he has an excellent constitution--Holy Virgin, what is that!" It was M. Deshoulieres knocking sharply at the door. Madame Roulleau, rigid and defiant again, opened it; the little notary shrank further into the corner; the doctor entered hastily. "Mademoiselle Therese?" he said, looking round. "Ah, madame, may I ask you to request her to descend at once. I bring news, or, believe me, I would not incommode you at such a time." "What news, monsieur?" asked madame, still erect. "Monsieur Saint-Martin has arrived." Her head sank, she went out of the room and up the stairs slowly. There was a tempest in her heart when she opened the door of the sick-room. It was all very solemn and quiet, solemn with the foreshadowing of that quietness which is infinite. The child lay on the little white bed, Therese knelt by its side, the _persiennes_ were half closed, one quivering ray of sunlight touched the girl's head, the sweet young face was full of tender sorrow. For a moment she stood speechless, watching; the next Therese heard a sharp keen voice in her ear:-- "Why do you look like that, you! He is mine, I will not have you take away his love. And I have hated you and done you all the harm I could-- do you hear?"