wanted to
marry me, and I said no, and he's killed himself!"

Slowly Mme Hugon drew near--she was in black, and her face showed pale
under her white hair. In the carriage, as she drove thither, the thought
of Georges had vanished and that of Philippe's misdoing had again taken
complete possession of her. It might be that this woman could afford
explanations to the judges which would touch them, and so she conceived
the project of begging her to bear witness in her son's favor.
Downstairs the doors of the house stood open, but as she mounted to the
first floor her sick feet failed her, and she was hesitating as to
which way to go when suddenly horror-stricken cries directed her. Then
upstairs she found a man lying on the floor with bloodstained shirt. It
was Georges--it was her other child.

Nana, in idiotic tones, kept saying:

"He wanted to marry me, and I said no, and he's killed himself."

Uttering no cry, Mme Hugon stooped down. Yes, it was the other one; it
was Georges. The one was brought to dishonor, the other murdered! It
caused her no surprise, for her whole life was ruined. Kneeling on the
carpet, utterly forgetting where she was, noticing no one else, she
gazed fixedly at her boy's face and listened with her hand on his heart.
Then she gave a feeble sigh--she had felt the heart beating. And with
that she lifted her head and scrutinized the room and the woman and
seemed to remember. A fire glowed forth in her vacant eyes, and she
looked so great and terrible in her silence that Nana trembled as she
continued to defend herself above the body that divided them.

"I swear it, madame! If his brother were here he could explain it to
you."

"His brother has robbed--he is in prison," said the mother in a hard
voice.

Nana felt a choking sensation. Why, what was the reason of it all? The
other had turned thief now! They were mad in that family! She ceased
struggling in self-defense; she seemed no longer mistress in her own
house and allowed Mme Hugon to give what orders she liked. The servants
had at last hurried up, and the old lady insisted on their carrying the
fainting Georges down to her carriage. She preferred killing him rather
than letting him remain in that house. With an air of stupefaction Nana
watched the retreating servants as they supported poor, dear Zizi by
his legs and shoulders. The mother walked behind them in a state of
collapse; she supported herself against the furniture; she felt as if