ow Van Klopen expects me again at one
o'clock precisely; and I have not breakfasted yet. Remember that my
servants are at your disposal, and don't hesitate to call them. You are
at home, recollect."

It was not without considerable difficulty--not without being compelled
to stop and rest several times on her way up stairs--that Mademoiselle
Marguerite succeeded in reaching the apartments of the Fondege family.
"Where is madame?" inquired the servant who opened the door.

"She is still out."

"Will she return to dinner?"

"I don't know."

"M. Gustave has been here three times already; he was very angry when he
found that there was no one at home--he went on terribly. Besides, the
workmen have turned everything topsy-turvy."

However, Marguerite had already reached her own room, and thrown herself
on the bed. She was suffering terribly. Her brave spirit still retained
its energy; but the flesh had succumbed. Every vein and artery throbbed
with violence, and while a chill seemed to come to her heart, her head
burned as if it had been on fire. "My Lord," she thought, "am I going
to fall ill at the last moment, just when I have most need of all my
strength?"

She tried to sleep, but was unable to do so. How could she free herself
from the thought that haunted her? Her mother! To think that such a
woman was her mother! Was it not enough to make her die of sorrow and
shame? And yet this woman must be saved--the proofs of her crime must be
annihilated with her letters. Marguerite asked herself whether the
old magistrate would have it in his power to help her in this respect.
Perhaps not, and then what could she do? She asked herself if she had
not been too cruel, too severe. Guilty or not, the baroness was still
her mother. Had she the right to be pitiless, when by stretching out
her hand she might, perhaps, have rescued the wretched woman from her
terrible life.

Thus thinking, the young girl sat alone and forgotten in her little
room. The hours went by, and daylight had begun to wane, when suddenly a
shrill whistle resounded in the street, under her windows. "Pi-ouit." It
came upon her like an electric shock, and with a bound she sprang to
her feet. For this cry was the signal that had been agreed upon between
herself and the young man who had so abruptly offered to help her on the
occasion of her visit to M. Fortunat's office. Was she mistaken? No--for
on listening she heard the cry resound a second time, even more