join the servant, who was watching
in the study.

"It is useless; she will not sleep," she said in a stifled and trembling
voice. "We must find some other way."

It had indeed occurred to her to break open the press.

But the old oaken boards were strong, the old iron held firmly. How
could they break the lock--not to speak of the noise they would make and
which would certainly be heard in the adjoining room?

She stood before the thick doors, however, and felt them with her
fingers, seeking some weak spot.

"If I only had an instrument," she said.

Martine, less eager, interrupted her, objecting: "Oh, no, no, madame!
We might be surprised! Wait, I will go again and see if mademoiselle is
asleep now."

She went to the bedroom on tiptoe and returned immediately, saying:

"Yes, she is asleep. Her eyes are closed, and she does not stir."

Then both went to look at her, holding their breath and walking with the
utmost caution, so that the boards might not creak. Clotilde had indeed
just fallen asleep: and her stupor seemed so profound that the two old
women grew bold. They feared, however, that they might touch and waken
her, for her chair stood close beside the bed. And then, to put
one's hand under a dead man's pillow to rob him was a terrible and
sacrilegious act, the thought of which filled them with terror. Might it
not disturb his repose? Might he not move at the shock? The thought made
them turn pale.

Felicite had advanced with outstretched hand, but she drew back,
stammering:

"I am too short. You try, Martine."

The servant in her turn approached the bed. But she was seized with such
a fit of trembling that she was obliged to retreat lest she should fall.

"No, no, I cannot!" she said. "It seems to me that monsieur is going to
open his eyes."

And trembling and awe-struck they remained an instant longer in the
lugubrious chamber full of the silence and the majesty of death, facing
Pascal, motionless forever, and Clotilde, overwhelmed by the grief of
her widowhood. Perhaps they saw, glorifying that mute head, guarding
its work with all its weight, the nobility of a life spent in honorable
labor. The flame of the tapers burned palely. A sacred awe filled the
air, driving them from the chamber.

Felicite, who was so brave, who had never in her life flinched from
anything, not even from bloodshed, fled as if she was pursued, saying:

"Come, come, Martine, we will find some other way; we will go loo