could not touch the money.

"When he sees there is no chance of success," she thought, "he will
listen to my entreaties; and to-morrow--to-morrow----"

What she could do to-morrow she knew not, she did not even ask herself.
But in extreme situations the least delay inspires hope, as if a short
respite meant sure salvation.

The condemned man, at the last moment, begs for a reprieve of a day, an
hour, a few seconds. Raoul was about to kill himself: his mother prayed
to God to grant her one day, not even a day, one night; as if in this
space of time some unexpected relief would come to end her misery.

They reached Prosper's office, and Raoul placed the light on a high
stool so that it lighted the whole room.

He then summoned up all his coolness, or rather that mechanical
precision of movement, almost independent of will, of which men
accustomed to peril avail themselves in time of need.

Rapidly, with the dexterity of experience, he slipped the buttons on the
five letters composing the name of G, y, p, s, y.

His features, during this short operation, expressed the most intense
anxiety. He was fearful that his nervous energy might give out; of not
being able to open the safe; of not finding the money there when
he opened it; of Prosper having changed the word; or perhaps having
neglected to leave the money in the safe.

Mme. Fauvel saw these visible apprehensions with alarm. She read in his
eyes that wild hope of a man who, passionately desiring an object,
ends by persuading himself that his own will suffices to overcome all
obstacles.

Having often been present when Prosper was preparing to leave his
office, Raoul had fifty times seen him move the buttons, and lock the
safe, just before leaving the bank. Indeed, having a practical turn
of mind, and an eye to the future, he had even tried to lock the safe
himself on several occasions, while waiting for Prosper.

He inserted the key softly, turned it around, pushed it farther in,
and turned it a second time; then thrust it in suddenly, and turned it
again. His heart beat so loudly that Mme. Fauvel could hear its throbs.

The word had not been changed; the safe opened.

Raoul and his mother simultaneously uttered a cry; she of terror, he of
triumph.

"Shut it again!" cried Mme. Fauvel, frightened at the incomprehensible
result of Raoul's attempt: "Come away! Don't touch anything, for
Heaven's sake! Raoul!"

And, half frenzied, she clung to Raoul's arm, a