ame
Leon, or by her pretended devotion to Mademoiselle Marguerite. Her
manner, her smooth words, her tone of pious resignation, and the
allusion to the grand name she had the right to bear, were all
calculated to impose upon one; but she had been too much disconcerted
toward the last to remember her part. Dr. Jodon lacked the courage to
return to his sumptuous rooms, and it was in a little cafe that he thus
reflected upon the situation, while drinking some execrable beer brewed
in Paris out of a glass manufactured in Bavaria.

At last midnight sounded--the hour had come. Still the doctor did not
move. Having been obliged to wait himself, he wished, in revenge, to
make the others wait, and it was not until the cafe closed that he again
walked up the Rue de Courcelles. Madame Leon had left the gate ajar, and
the doctor had no difficulty in making his way into the courtyard. As
in the earlier part of the evening, the servants were assembled in the
concierge's lodge; but the careless gayety which shone upon their faces
a few hours before had given place to evident anxiety respecting their
future prospects. Through the windows of the lodge they could be seen
standing round the two choice spirits of the household, M. Bourigeau,
the concierge, and M. Casimir, the valet, who were engaged in earnest
conversation. And if the doctor had listened, he would have heard
such words as "wages," and "legacies," and "remuneration for faithful
service," and "annuities" repeated over and over again.

But M. Jodon did not listen. Thinking he should find some servant
inside, he entered the house. However, there was nobody to announce his
presence; the door closed noiselessly behind him, the heavy carpet which
covered the marble steps stifled the sound of his footsteps, and he
ascended the first flight without seeing any one. The door opening into
the count's room was open, the room itself being brilliantly lighted by
a large fire, and a lamp which stood on a corner of the mantel-shelf.
Instinctively the doctor paused and looked in. There had been no change
since his first visit. The count was still lying motionless on his
pillows; his face was swollen, his eyelids were closed, but he still
breathed, as was shown by the regular movement of the covering over his
chest. Madame Leon and Mademoiselle Marguerite were his only attendants.
The housekeeper, who sat back a little in the shade, was half reclining
in an arm-chair with her hands clasped