oubt; and
she answered that she remembered, that she was to keep the envelopes and
to give him all the other manuscripts."

Felicite trembled; she could not restrain a terrified movement. Already
she saw the papers slipping out of her reach; and it was not the
envelopes only which she desired, but all the manuscripts, all that
unknown, suspicious, and secret work, from which nothing but scandal
could come, according to the obtuse and excitable mind of the proud old
_bourgeoise_.

"But we must act!" she cried, "act immediately, this very night!
To-morrow it may be too late."

"I know where the key of the press is," answered Martine in a low voice.
"The doctor told mademoiselle."

Felicite immediately pricked up her ears.

"The key; where is it?"

"Under the pillow, under monsieur's head."

In spite of the bright blaze of the fire of vine branches the air seemed
to grow suddenly chill, and the two old women were silent. The only
sound to be heard was the drip of the chicken juice falling into the
pan.

But after Mme. Rougon had eaten a hasty and solitary dinner she went
upstairs again with Martine. Without another word being spoken they
understood each other, it was decided that they would use all possible
means to obtain possession of the papers before daybreak. The simplest
was to take the key from under the pillow. Clotilde would no doubt at
last fall asleep--she seemed too exhausted not to succumb to fatigue.
All they had to do was to wait. They set themselves to watch, then,
going back and forth on tiptoe between the study and the bedroom,
waiting for the moment when the young woman's large motionless eyes
should close in sleep. One of them would go to see, while the other
waited impatiently in the study, where a lamp burned dully on the table.
This was repeated every fifteen minutes until midnight. The fathomless
eyes, full of gloom and of an immense despair, did not close. A little
before midnight Felicite installed herself in an armchair at the foot of
the bed, resolved not to leave the spot until her granddaughter should
have fallen asleep. From this forth she did not take her eyes off
Clotilde, and it filled her with a sort of fear to remark that the girl
scarcely moved her eyelids, looking with that inconsolable fixity which
defies sleep. Then she herself began to feel sleep stealing over her.
Exasperated, trembling with nervous impatience, she could remain where
she was no longer. And she went to re