ert. It is enough to make one
distrust him. But all young men now-a-days are so. Ah! we live in a
happy age. Our children are born free from all human shortcomings. They
have neither the vices, the passions, nor the tempers of their fathers;
and these precocious philosophers, models of sagacity and virtue, are
incapable of committing the least folly. Alas! Albert, too, was perfect;
and he has assassinated Claudine! What will this one do?--All the same,"
he added, half-aloud, "I ought to have accompanied him to see Valerie!"

And, although the advocate had been gone at least a good ten minutes,
M. de Commarin, not realising how the time had passed, hastened to the
window, in the hope of seeing Noel in the court-yard, and calling him
back.

But Noel was already far away. On leaving the house, he took a cab and
was quickly driven to the Rue St. Lazare.

On reaching his own door, he threw rather than gave five francs to the
driver, and ran rapidly up the four flights of stairs.

"Who has called to see me?" he asked of the servant.

"No one, sir."

He seemed relieved from a great anxiety, and continued in a calmer tone,
"And the doctor?"

"He came this morning, sir," replied the girl, "while you were out; and
he did not seem at all hopeful. He came again just now, and is still
here."

"Very well. I will go and speak to him. If any one calls, show them into
my study, and let me know."

On entering Madame Gerdy's chamber, Noel saw at a glance that no change
for the better had taken place during his absence. With fixed eyes
and convulsed features, the sick woman lay extended upon her back. She
seemed dead, save for the sudden starts, which shook her at intervals,
and disarranged the bedclothes.

Above her head was placed a little vessel, filled with ice water, which
fell drop by drop upon her forehead, covered with large bluish spots.
The table and mantel-piece were covered with little pots, medicine
bottles, and half-emptied glasses. At the foot of the bed, a piece of
rag stained with blood showed that the doctor had just had recourse to
leeches.

Near the fireplace, where was blazing a large fire, a nun of the order
of St. Vincent de Paul was kneeling, watching a saucepan. She was a
young woman, with a face whiter than her cap. Her immovably placid
features, her mournful look, betokened the renunciation of the flesh,
and the abdication of all independence of thought.

Her heavy grey costume hung about her in l