mained bewildered, she opened
the door and fled.

As soon as he was alone he was seized with furious anger against that
old hag of a Mother Walter. Ah, he would send her about her business,
and pretty roughly, too! He bathed his reddened cheek and then went out,
in turn meditating vengeance. This time he would not forgive her. Ah,
no! He walked down as far as the boulevard, and sauntering along stopped
in front of a jeweler's shop to look at a chronometer he had fancied for
a long time back, and which was ticketed eighteen hundred francs. He
thought all at once, with a thrill of joy at his heart, "If I gain my
seventy thousand francs I can afford it."

And he began to think of all the things he would do with these seventy
thousand francs. In the first place, he would get elected deputy. Then
he would buy his chronometer, and would speculate on the Bourse, and
would--

He did not want to go to the office, preferring to consult Madeleine
before seeing Walter and writing his article, and started for home. He
had reached the Rue Druot, when he stopped short. He had forgotten to
ask after the Count de Vaudrec, who lived in the Chaussee d'Antin. He
therefore turned back, still sauntering, thinking of a thousand things,
mainly pleasant, of his coming fortune, and also of that scoundrel of a
Laroche-Mathieu, and that old stickfast of a Madame Walter. He was not
uneasy about the wrath of Clotilde, knowing very well that she forgave
quickly.

He asked the doorkeeper of the house in which the Count de Vaudrec
resided: "How is Monsieur de Vaudrec? I hear that he has been unwell
these last few days."

The man replied: "The Count is very bad indeed, sir. They are afraid he
will not live through the night; the gout has mounted to his heart."

Du Roy was so startled that he no longer knew what he ought to do.
Vaudrec dying! Confused and disquieting ideas shot through his mind that
he dared not even admit to himself. He stammered: "Thank you; I will
call again," without knowing what he was saying.

Then he jumped into a cab and was driven home. His wife had come in. He
went into her room breathless, and said at once: "Have you heard?
Vaudrec is dying."

She was sitting down reading a letter. She raised her eyes, and
repeating thrice: "Oh! what do you say, what do you say, what do you
say?"

"I say that Vaudrec is dying from a fit of gout that has flown to the
heart." Then he added: "What do you think of doing?"

She had ri