And yet I was lying there
powerless, motionless, inert!

"You are foolish," suddenly said Mme Gabin; "it is all wasted."

"Never mind," answered Marguerite, sobbing. "I want him to wear his very
best things."

I understood that she was dressing me in the clothes I had worn on my
wedding day. I had kept them carefully for great occasions. When she had
finished she fell back exhausted in the armchair.

Simoneau now spoke; he had probably just entered the room.

"They are below," he whispered.

"Well, it ain't any too soon," answered Mme Gabin, also lowering her
voice. "Tell them to come up and get it over."

"But I dread the despair of the poor little wife."

The old woman seemed to reflect and presently resumed: "Listen to me,
Monsieur Simoneau. You must take her off to my room. I wouldn't have her
stop here. It is for her own good. When she is out of the way we'll get
it done in a jiffy."

These words pierced my heart, and my anguish was intense when I realized
that a struggle was actually taking place. Simoneau had walked up to
Marguerite, imploring her to leave the room.

"Do, for pity's sake, come with me!" he pleaded. "Spare yourself useless
pain."

"No, no!" she cried. "I will remain till the last minute. Remember that
I have only him in the world, and when he is gone I shall be all alone!"

From the bedside Mme Gabin was prompting the young man.

"Don't parley--take hold of her, carry her off in your arms."

Was Simoneau about to lay his hands on Marguerite and bear her away? She
screamed. I wildly endeavored to rise, but the springs of my limbs were
broken. I remained rigid, unable to lift my eyelids to see what was
going on. The struggle continued, and my wife clung to the furniture,
repeating, "Oh, don't, don't! Have mercy! Let me go! I will not--"

He must have lifted her in his stalwart arms, for I heard her moaning
like a child. He bore her away; her sobs were lost in the distance,
and I fancied I saw them both--he, tall and strong, pressing her to his
breast; she, fainting, powerless and conquered, following him wherever
he listed.

"Drat it all! What a to-do!" muttered Mme Gabin. "Now for the tug of
war, as the coast is clear at last."

In my jealous madness I looked upon this incident as a monstrous
outrage. I had not been able to see Marguerite for twenty-four hours,
but at least I had still heard her voice. Now even this was denied me;
she had been torn away; a man had eloped with h