t
Norine's door before Cecile, having recognized his voice, removed the
articles with which it had been barricaded, and admitted him inside.
Norine was in bed, quite ill, and as white as her sheets. She began to
sob and shuddered repeatedly as she told him the story: Madame Angelin's
visit the previous month, and the sudden arrival of Alexandre, who had
seen the bag and had heard the promise of further help, at a certain
hour on a certain date. Besides, Norine could have no doubts, for
the handkerchief found round the victim's neck was one of hers which
Alexandre had stolen: a handkerchief embroidered with the initial
letters of her Christian name, one of those cheap fancy things which
are sold by thousands at the big linendrapery establishments. That
handkerchief, too, was the only clew to the murderers, and it was such
a very vague one that the police were still vainly seeking the culprits,
quite lost amid a variety of scents and despairing of success.

Mathieu sat near the bed listening to Norine and feeling icy cold. Good
God! that poor, unfortunate Madame Angelin! He could picture her in her
younger days, so gay and bright over yonder at Janville, roaming the
woods there in the company of her husband, the pair of them losing
themselves among the deserted paths, and lingering in the discreet shade
of the pollard willows beside the Yeuse, where their love kisses sounded
beneath the branches like the twittering of song birds. And he could
picture her at a later date, already too severely punished for her lack
of foresight, in despair at remaining childless, and bowed down with
grief as by slow degrees her husband became blind, and night fell upon
the little happiness yet left to them. And all at once Mathieu also
pictured that wretched blind man, on the evening when he vainly awaited
the return of his wife, in order that she might feed him and put him to
bed, old child that he was, now motherless, forsaken, forever alone in
his dark night, in which he could only see the bloody spectre of his
murdered helpmate. Ah! to think of it, so bright a promise of radiant
life, followed by such destiny, such death!

"We did right," muttered Mathieu, as his thoughts turned to Constance,
"we did right to keep that ruffian in ignorance of his father's name.
What a terrible thing! We must bury the secret as deeply as possible
within us."

Norine shuddered once more.

"Oh! have no fear," she answered, "I would die rather than spea