That was it: the black fever was in her veins! That one kiss had sealed her own doom. She knew it now. He had given her life by giving her love. Well, he should give her death too--her lord of fife and death. She was of the chosen few who could drink the cup of light and the cup of darkness with equally regnant soul. But it might lay her low in the very hour of Valmond’s trouble. She must conquer it--how? To whom could she turn for succour? There was but one,--yet she could not seek Madame Degardy, for the old woman would drive her to her bed, and keep her there. There was only this to do: to possess herself of those wonderful herbs which had been given her Napoleon in his hour of peril. Dragging herself wearily to the little but by the river, she knocked, and waited. All was still, and, opening the door, she entered. Striking a match, she found a candle, lighted it, and then began her search. Under an old pan on a shelf she found both herbs and powder. She snatched up a handful of the herbs, and kissed them with joyful heart. Saved--she was saved! Ah, thank the Blessed Virgin! She would thank her for ever! A horrible sinking sensation seized her. Turning in dismay, she saw the face of Parpon at the window. With a blind instinct for protection, she staggered towards the door, and fell, her fingers still clasping the precious herbs. As Parpon hastily entered, Madame Degardy hobbled out of the shadow of the trees, and furtively watched the hut. When a light appeared, she crept to the door, opened it stealthily upon the intruders of her home, and stepped inside. Parpon was kneeling by Elise, lifting up her head, and looking at her in horrified distress. With a shrill cry the old woman came forward and dropped on her knees at the other side of Elise. Her hand, fumbling anxiously over the girl’s breast, met the hard and warty palm of the dwarf. She stopped suddenly, raised the sputtering candle, and peered into his eyes with a vague, wavering intensity. For minutes they knelt there, the silence clothing them about, the body of the unconscious girl between them. A lost memory was feeling blindly its way home again. By and by, out of an infinite past, something struggled to the old woman’s eyes, and Parpon’s heart almost burst in his anxiety. At length her look steadied. Memory, recognition, showed in her face. With a wild cry her gaunt arms stretched across, and caught the great head to her breast. “Where have you been so long, Parpon--my son?” she said. CHAPTER XV