see young Gabriel Dugrival seated on a chair beside him and watching
him.

"Ah, it's you, youngster!" he murmured. "I congratulate you, my lad. You
have a sure and pretty touch with the dagger."

And he fell asleep again.

That day and the following days, he woke up several times and, each
time, he saw the stripling's pale face, his thin lips and his dark eyes,
with the hard look in them:

"You frighten me," he said. "If you have sworn to do for me, don't stand
on ceremony. But cheer up, for goodness' sake. The thought of death has
always struck me as the most humorous thing in the world. Whereas, with
you, old chap, it simply becomes lugubrious. I prefer to go to sleep.
Good-night!"

Still, Gabriel, in obedience to Mme. Dugrival's orders, continued to
nurse him with the utmost care and attention. The patient was almost
free from fever and was beginning to take beef-tea and milk. He gained a
little strength and jested:

"When will the convalescent be allowed his first drive? Is the
bath-chair there? Why, cheer up, stupid! You look like a weeping-willow
contemplating a crime. Come, just one little smile for daddy!"

One day, on waking, he had a very unpleasant feeling of constraint.
After a few efforts, he perceived that, during his sleep, his legs,
chest and arms had been fastened to the bedstead with thin wire strands
that cut into his flesh at the least movements.

"Ah," he said to his keeper, "this time it's the great performance! The
chicken's going to be bled. Are you operating, Angel Gabriel? If so, see
that your razor's nice and clean, old chap! The antiseptic treatment,
_if_ you please!"

But he was interrupted by the sound of a key grating in the lock. The
door opposite opened and Mme. Dugrival appeared.

She approached slowly, took a chair and, producing a revolver from her
pocket, cocked it and laid it on the table by the bedside.

"Brrrrr!" said the prisoner. "We might be at the Ambigu!... Fourth act:
the Traitor's Doom. And the fair sex to do the deed.... The hand of the
Graces.... What an honour!... Mme. Dugrival, I rely on you not to
disfigure me."

"Hold your tongue, Lupin."

"Ah, so you know?... By Jove, how clever we are!"

"Hold your tongue, Lupin."

There was a solemn note in her voice that impressed the captive and
compelled him to silence. He watched his two gaolers in turns. The
bloated features and red complexion of Mme. Dugrival formed a striking
contrast with her nephew's re