cles, I will come."

With what a curious air he had spoken these words and how well he had
conveyed the impression of certainty, of strength, of unlimited power,
of indomitable daring!

Abruptly, unconsciously, acting under the impulse of an irresistible
determination, the consequences of which she refused to anticipate,
Yvonne, with the same automatic gestures, took a pneumatic-delivery
envelope, slipped in the card, sealed it, directed it to "Horace
Velmont, Cercle de la Rue Royale" and went to the open window. The
policeman was walking up and down outside. She flung out the envelope,
trusting to fate. Perhaps it would be picked up, treated as a lost
letter and posted.

She had hardly completed this act when she realized its absurdity. It
was mad to suppose that the message would reach the address and madder
still to hope that the man to whom she was sending could come to her
assistance, "whatever the hour, whatever the obstacles."

A reaction followed which was all the greater inasmuch as the effort had
been swift and violent. Yvonne staggered, leant against a chair and,
losing all energy, let herself fall.

The hours passed by, the dreary hours of winter evenings when nothing
but the sound of carriages interrupts the silence of the street. The
clock struck, pitilessly. In the half-sleep that numbed her limbs,
Yvonne counted the strokes. She also heard certain noises, on different
floors of the house, which told her that her husband had dined, that he
was going up to his room, that he was going down again to his study. But
all this seemed very shadowy to her; and her torpor was such that she
did not even think of lying down on the sofa, in case he should come
in....

The twelve strokes of midnight.... Then half-past twelve ... then
one.... Yvonne thought of nothing, awaiting the events which were
preparing and against which rebellion was useless. She pictured her son
and herself as one pictures those beings who have suffered much and who
suffer no more and who take each other in their loving arms. But a
nightmare shattered this dream. For now those two beings were to be torn
asunder; and she had the awful feeling, in her delirium, that she was
crying and choking....

She leapt from her seat. The key had turned in the lock. The count was
coming, attracted by her cries. Yvonne glanced round for a weapon with
which to defend herself. But the door was pushed back quickly and,
astounded, as though the sight that