did not care where, so
long as from time to time he had news of Bathilde. The poor family were
too sad themselves not to feel for the grief of others. Madame signed to
Buvat to seat himself in a corner, and retired into her own room with
Athenais, leaving Emilie once more with the sufferer. About daybreak
Boniface returned: he had gone with Brigaud as far as the Barriere
d'Enfer, where the abbe had left him, hoping--thanks to his good steed,
and to his disguise--to reach the Spanish frontier.

Bathilde's delirium continued. All night she talked of Raoul; she often
mentioned Buvat's name, and always accused him of having killed her
lover. Buvat heard it, and, without daring to defend himself, to reply,
or even to groan, had silently burst into tears, and, pondering on what
means existed of repairing the evil he had caused, he at last arrived at
a desperate resolution. He approached the bed, kissed the feverish hand
of Bathilde, who did not recognize him, and went out.

Buvat had, in fact, determined on a bold course. It was to go himself
to Dubois, tell him everything, and ask, as his recompense--not the
payment of his arrears--not advancement at the library--but pardon for
D'Harmental. It was the least that could be accorded to the man whom the
regent himself had called the savior of France. Buvat did not doubt that
he should soon return bearing good news, and that it would restore
Bathilde to health.

Consequently Buvat went home to arrange his disordered dress, which bore
the marks of the events of the day and the emotions of the night; and,
moreover, he did not dare to present himself at the minister's house so
early, for fear of disturbing him. His toilet finished, and as it was
still only nine o'clock, he returned for a few minutes to Bathilde's
room--it was that which the young girl had left the day before. Buvat
sat down in the chair which she had quitted, touched the articles which
she liked to touch, kissed the feet of the crucifix, which she kissed
each night--one would have thought him a lover following the steps of
his mistress.

Ten o'clock struck; it was the hour at which Buvat had often before
repaired to the Palais Royal. The fear of being importunate gave place
to the hope of being received as he had always been. He took his hat and
cane, and called at Madame Denis's to ask how Bathilde had been during
his absence; he found that she had never ceased to call for Raoul. The
doctor had bled her for the