poisons her
husband and kills herself afterward. If I were superstitious, I should
say that the world was coming to an end. What do you think of such
atrocious doings, my dear?"

Clemence raised her head with an effort, and answered, in a gloomy
voice:

"You must pardon her, since she is dead."

"You are very indulgent," replied the old aunt; "such creatures ought to
be burned alive, like the Brinvilliers."

"They often speak in the papers of husbands who kill their wives, but
not so often of wives killing their husbands," said Aline, with the
partisan feeling natural to the fair sex.

"It is not proper that you should talk of such horrid things," said the
old lady, in a severe tone; "behold the fruits of all the morals of the
age! It is the effect of all the disgusting stuff that is acted nowadays
upon the stage and written in novels. When one thinks of the fine
education that is given youth at the present time, it is enough to make
one tremble for the future!"

"Mon Dieu! Mademoiselle, you may be sure that I shall never kill
my husband," replied the young girl, to whom this remark seemed
particularly addressed.

A stifled groan, which Madame de Bergenheim could not suppress,
attracted the attention of the two ladies.

"What is the matter with you?" asked Mademoiselle de Corandeuil,
noticing for the first time her niece's dejected air and the frightened
expression in her eyes.

"Nothing," murmured the latter; "I think it is the heat of the room."

Aline hastily opened a window, then went and took her sister-in-law's
hands in her own.

"You have a fever," said she; "your hands burn and your forehead also; I
did not dare tell you, but your beautiful color--"

A frightful cry which Madame de Bergenheim uttered made the young girl
draw back in fright.

"Clemence! Clemence!" exclaimed Mademoiselle de Corandeuil, who thought
that her niece had gone insane.

"Did you not hear?" she cried, with an accent of terror impossible to
describe. She darted suddenly toward the drawing-room door; but, instead
of opening it, she leaned against it with arms crossed. Then she ran two
or three times around the room in a sort of frenzy, and ended by falling
upon her knees before the sofa and burying her head in its cushions.

This scene bewildered the two women. While Mademoiselle de Corandeuil
tried to raise Clemence, Aline, still more frightened, ran out of the
room to call for aid. A rumor which had just begun to arise