, Oriental slippers, which
showed their ankles and silk stockings, they looked like the figures in
some symbolical painting, by the side of the dying man. Between the
easy-chair and the bed, there was a table covered with a white cloth, on
which two plates, two glasses, two forks and two knives, were waiting for
the cheese omelette which had been ordered some time before of Melanie.

"My uncle said in a weak, almost breathless, but clear voice:

"'Good-morning, my child; it is rather late in the day to come and see
me; our acquaintanceship will not last long.' I stammered out, 'It was
not my fault, uncle:' 'No; I know that,' he replied. 'It is your father
and mother's fault more than yours. How are they?' 'Pretty well, thank
you. When they heard that you were ill, they sent me to ask after you.'
'Ah! Why did they not come themselves?'

"I looked up at the two girls and said gently: 'It is not their fault if
they could not come, uncle. But it would be difficult for my father, and
impossible for my mother to come in here.' The old man did not reply, but
raised his hand toward mine, and I took the pale, cold hand and held it
in my own.

"The door opened, Melanie came in with the omelette and put it on the
table, and the two girls immediately sat down at the table, and began to
eat without taking their eyes off me. Then I said: 'Uncle, it would give
great pleasure to my mother to embrace you.' 'I also,' he murmured,
'should like----' He said no more, and I could think of nothing
to propose to him, and there was silence except for the noise of the
plates and that vague sound of eating.

"Now, the abbe, who was listening behind the door, seeing our
embarrassment, and thinking we had won the game, thought the time had
come to interpose, and showed himself. My uncle was so stupefied at sight
of him that at first he remained motionless; and then he opened his mouth
as if he meant to swallow up the priest, and shouted to him in a strong,
deep, furious voice: 'What are you doing here?'

"The abbe, who was used to difficult situations, came forward into the
room, murmuring: 'I have come in your sister's name, Monsieur le Marquis;
she has sent me. She would be happy, monsieur--'

"But the marquis was not listening. Raising one hand, he pointed to the
door with a proud, tragic gesture, and said angrily and breathing hard:
'Leave this room--go out--robber of souls. Go out from here,
you violator of consciences. Go out from here