ose, slipped on her
dressing-gown, and ran in. By the light of a candle, she applied the
ordinary remedies,--eau-de-cologne to the temples, cold water to the
forehead, a burnt feather under the nose,--and presently her aunt
revived.

"They were there is morning; HE has taken them, the monster!" she
said.

"Taken what?" asked Joseph.

"I had twenty louis in my mattress; my savings for two years; no one
but Philippe could have taken them."

"But when?" cried the poor mother, overwhelmed, "he has not been in
since breakfast."

"I wish I might be mistaken," said the old woman. "But this morning in
Joseph's studio, when I spoke before Philippe of my stakes, I had a
presentiment. I did wrong not to go down and take my little all and
pay for my stakes at once. I meant to, and I don't know what prevented
me. Oh, yes!--my God! I went out to buy him some cigars."

"But," said Joseph, "you left the door locked. Besides, it is so
infamous. I can't believe it. Philippe couldn't have watched you, cut
open the mattress, done it deliberately,--no, no!"

"I felt them this morning, when I made my bed after breakfast,"
repeated Madame Descoings.

Agathe, horrified, went down stairs and asked if Philippe had come in
during the day. The concierge related the tale of his return and the
locksmith. The mother, heart-stricken, went back a changed woman.
White as the linen of her chemise, she walked as we might fancy a
spectre walks, slowly, noiselessly, moved by some superhuman power,
and yet mechanically. She held a candle in her hand, whose light fell
full upon her face and showed her eyes, fixed with horror.
Unconsciously, her hands by a desperate movement had dishevelled the
hair about her brow; and this made her so beautiful with anguish that
Joseph stood rooted in awe at the apparition of that remorse, the
vision of that statue of terror and despair.

"My aunt," she said, "take my silver forks and spoons. I have enough
to make up the sum; I took your money for Philippe's sake; I thought I
could put it back before you missed it. Oh! I have suffered much."

She sat down. Her dry, fixed eyes wandered a little.

"It was he who did it," whispered the old woman to Joseph.

"No, no," cried Agathe; "take my silver plate, sell it; it is useless
to me; we can eat with yours."

She went to her room, took the box which contained the plate, felt its
light weight, opened it, and saw a pawnbroker's ticket. The poor
mother uttered a dre