k for
an instrument."

In the study they drew a breath of relief. Felicite looked in vain among
the papers on Pascal's work-table for the genealogical tree, which
she knew was usually there. She would so gladly have begun her work of
destruction with this. It was there, but in her feverish excitement she
did not perceive it.

Her desire drew her back again to the press, and she stood before it,
measuring it and examining it with eager and covetous look. In spite of
her short stature, in spite of her eighty-odd years, she displayed an
activity and an energy that were truly extraordinary.

"Ah!" she repeated, "if I only had an instrument!"

And she again sought the crevice in the colossus, the crack into which
she might introduce her fingers, to break it open. She imagined plans
of assault, she thought of using force, and then she fell back on
stratagem, on some piece of treachery which would open to her the doors,
merely by breathing upon them.

Suddenly her glance kindled; she had discovered the means.

"Tell me, Martine; there is a hook fastening one of the doors, is there
not?"

"Yes, madame; it catches in a ring above the middle shelf. See, it is
about the height of this molding."

Felicite made a triumphant gesture.

"Have you a gimlet--a large gimlet? Give me a gimlet!"

Martine went down into her kitchen and brought back the tool that had
been asked.

"In that way, you see, we shall make no noise," resumed the old woman,
setting herself to her task.

With a strength which one would not have suspected in her little hands,
withered by age, she inserted the gimlet, and made a hole at the height
indicated by the servant. But it was too low; she felt the point, after
a time, entering the shelf. A second attempt brought the instrument in
direct contact with the iron hook. This time the hole was too near. And
she multiplied the holes to right and left, until finally she succeeded
in pushing the hook out of the ring. The bolt of the lock slipped, and
both doors opened.

"At last!" cried Felicite, beside herself.

Then she remained motionless for a moment, her ear turned uneasily
toward the bedroom, fearing that she had wakened Clotilde. But silence
reigned throughout the dark and sleeping house. There came from the
bedroom only the august peace of death; she heard nothing but the clear
vibration of the clock; Clotilde fell asleep near one. And the press
yawned wide open, displaying the papers with which