une
which has befallen her."

The poor girl had certainly no intention of leaving the room, but
before she could say so, M. Casimir stepped forward. "I think," he dryly
observed, "that mademoiselle had better remain here."

"Eh?" said Madame Leon, looking up suddenly. "And why, if you please?"

"Because--because----"

Anger had dried the housekeeper's tears. "What do you mean?" she asked.
"Do you pretend to prevent mademoiselle from doing as she chooses in her
own house?"

M. Casimir gave vent to a contemptuous whistle, which, twenty-four hours
earlier, would have been punished with a heavy blow from the man who
was now lying there--dead. "Her own house!" he answered; "her own house!
Yesterday I shouldn't have denied it; but to-day it's quite another
thing. Is she a relative? No, she isn't. What are you talking about,
then? We are all equals here."

He spoke so impudently that even the doctor felt indignant. "Scoundrel!"
said he.

But the valet turned toward him with an air which proved that he was
well acquainted with the doctor's servant, and, consequently, with all
the secrets of the master's life. "Call your own valet a scoundrel, if
you choose," he retorted, "but not me. Your duties here are over, aren't
they? So leave us to manage our own affairs. Thank heaven, I know what
I'm talking about. Everybody knows that caution must be exercised in a
dead man's house, especially when that house is full of money, and when,
instead of relatives, there are--persons who--who are there nobody knows
how or why. In case any valuables were missed, who would be accused
of taking them? Why, the poor servants, of course. Ah, they have broad
shoulders! Their trunks would be searched; and even if nothing were
found, they would be sent to prison all the same. In the meantime other
people would escape with the booty. No, Lisette! No one will stir from
this room until the arrival of the justice----"

Madame Leon was bursting with rage. "All right!" she interrupted; "I'm
going to send for the count's particular friend, General----"

"I don't care a fig for your general."

"Wretch!"

It was Mademoiselle Marguerite who put an end to this indecent dispute.
Its increasing violence had aroused her from her stupor. Casimir's
impudence brought a flush to her forehead, and stepping forward with
haughty resolution, she exclaimed: "You forget that one never raises
one's voice in the chamber of death." Her words were so true, and her