could he be doing? What did he want? What awful scheme could
he now be carrying out?

What was he doing? Well, he was washing him in order to hide the traces
of his crime! And he would now bury him in the garden, under ten feet of
earth, so that no one could discover him! Or perhaps under the wine
cellar! And M. Marambot began to tremble like a leaf. He kept saying to
himself: "I am lost, lost!" He closed his eyes so as not to see the knife
as it descended for the final stroke. It did not come. Denis was now
lifting him up and bandaging him. Then he began carefully to dress the
wound on his leg, as his master had taught him to do.

There was no longer any doubt. His servant, after wishing to kill him,
was trying to save him.

Then M. Marambot, in a dying voice, gave him the practical piece of
advice:

"Wash the wounds in a dilute solution of carbolic acid!"

Denis answered:

"This is what I am doing, monsieur."

M. Marambot opened both his eyes. There was no sign of blood either on
the bed, on the walls, or on the murderer. The wounded man was stretched
out on clean white sheets.

The two men looked at each other.

Finally M. Marambot said calmly:

"You have been guilty of a great crime."

Denis answered:

"I am trying to make up for it, monsieur. If you will not tell on me, I
will serve you as faithfully as in the past."

This was no time to anger his servant. M. Marambot murmured as he closed
his eyes:

"I swear not to tell on you."

Denis saved his master. He spent days and nights without sleep, never
leaving the sick room, preparing drugs, broths, potions, feeling his
pulse, anxiously counting the beats, attending him with the skill of a
trained nurse and the devotion of a son.

He continually asked:

"Well, monsieur, how do you feel?"

M. Marambot would answer in a weak voice:

"A little better, my boy, thank you."

And when the sick man would wake up at night, he would often see his
servant seated in an armchair, weeping silently.

Never had the old druggist been so cared for, so fondled, so spoiled. At
first he had said to himself:

"As soon as I am well I shall get rid of this rascal."

He was now convalescing, and from day to day he would put off dismissing
his murderer. He thought that no one would ever show him such care and
attention, for he held this man through fear; and he warned him that he
had left a document with a lawyer denouncing him to the law if any new
accident sho