and
a little sleep is absolutely necessary. I will have a potion
prepared--"

"Oh, my God!" cried the poor lady, wringing her hands, in the fear
of a new misfortune, as bitter as the first; which, however,
restored her to her presence of mind. She called the servants, who
assisted the mayor to regain his chamber. Mme. Courtois also
retired, followed by the doctor. Three persons only remained in
the drawing-room--Plantat, Lecoq, and Robelot, who still stood
near the door.

"Poor Laurence!" murmured Plantat. "Poor girl!"

"It seems to me that her father is most to be pitied," remarked M.
Lecoq. "Such a blow, at his age, may be more than he can bear.
Even should he recover, his life is broken."

"I had a sort of presentiment," said the other, "that this misfortune
would come. I had guessed Laurence's secret, but I guessed it too
late."

"And you did not try--"

"What? In a delicate case like this, when the honor of a family
depends on a word, one must be circumspect. What could I do? Put
Courtois on his guard? Clearly not. He would have refused to
believe me. He is one of those men who will listen to nothing, and
whom the brutal fact alone can undeceive."

"You might have dealt with the Count de Tremorel."

"The count would have denied all. He would have asked what right
I had to interfere in his affairs."

"But the girl?"

M. Plantat sighed heavily.

"Though I detest mixing up with what does not concern me, I did try
one day to talk with her. With infinite precaution and delicacy,
and without letting her see that I knew all, I tried to show her
the abyss near which she was drawing."

"And what did she reply?"

"Nothing. She laughed and joked, as women who have a secret which
they wish to conceal, do. Besides, I could not get a quarter of
an hour alone with her, and it was necessary to act, I knew--for I
was her best friend--before committing this imprudence of speaking
to her. Not a day passed that she did not come to my garden and
cull my rarest flowers--and I would not, look you, give one of my
flowers to the Pope himself. She had instituted me her florist in
ordinary. For her sake I collected my briars of the Cape--"

He was talking on so wide of his subject that M. Lecoq could not
repress a roguish smile. The old man was about to proceed when he
heard a noise in the hall, and looking up he observed Robelot for
the first time. His face at once betrayed his great annoyance.

"You were there, were