ntense.

The clicking of the scissors was the only noise in the room, so I
concluded that Marguerite had been overcome by fatigue and was dozing.
Twice Simoneau rose, and the torturing thought flashed through me that
he might be taking advantage of her slumbers to touch her hair with his
lips. I hardly knew the man and yet felt sure that he loved my wife. At
last little Dede began to giggle, and her laugh exasperated me.

"Why are you sniggering, you idiot?" asked her mother. "Do you want to
be turned out on the landing? Come, out with it; what makes you laugh
so?"

The child stammered: she had not laughed; she had only coughed, but I
felt certain she had seen Simoneau bending over Marguerite and had felt
amused.

The lamp had been lit when a knock was heard at the door.

"It must be the doctor at last," said the old woman.

It was the doctor; he did not apologize for coming so late, for he had
no doubt ascended many flights of stairs during the day. The room being
but imperfectly lighted by the lamp, he inquired: "Is the body here?"

"Yes, it is," answered Simoneau.

Marguerite had risen, trembling violently. Mme Gabin dismissed Dede,
saying it was useless that a child should be present, and then she tried
to lead my wife to the window, to spare her the sight of what was about
to take place.

The doctor quickly approached the bed. I guessed that he was bored,
tired and impatient. Had he touched my wrist? Had he placed his hand on
my heart? I could not tell, but I fancied that he had only carelessly
bent over me.

"Shall I bring the lamp so that you may see better?" asked Simoneau
obligingly.

"No it is not necessary," quietly answered the doctor.

Not necessary! That man held my life in his hands, and he did not think
it worth while to proceed to a careful examination! I was not dead! I
wanted to cry out that I was not dead!

"At what o'clock did he die?" asked the doctor.

"At six this morning," volunteered Simoneau.

A feeling of frenzy and rebellion rose within me, bound as I was in
seemingly iron chains. Oh, for the power of uttering one word, of moving
a single limb!

"This close weather is unhealthy," resumed the doctor; "nothing is more
trying than these early spring days."

And then he moved away. It was like my life departing. Screams, sobs
and insults were choking me, struggling in my convulsed throat, in which
even my breath was arrested. The wretch! Turned into a mere machine
by profe