"Then you and
your mother have both deceived me? Besides, does a woman go to see her
brother every day, or nearly every day?"

His wife had fainted at his feet.

"Dead," he said. "And suppose I am mistaken?"

He sprang to the bell-rope; called Josephine, and lifted Clemence to the
bed.

"I shall die of this," said Madame Jules, recovering consciousness.

"Josephine," cried Monsieur Desmarets. "Send for Monsieur Desplein; send
also to my brother and ask him to come here immediately."

"Why your brother?" asked Clemence.

But Jules had already left the room.

CHAPTER IV. WHERE GO TO DIE?

For the first time in five years Madame Jules slept alone in her bed,
and was compelled to admit a physician into that sacred chamber. These
in themselves were two keen pangs. Desplein found Madame Jules very
ill. Never was a violent emotion more untimely. He would say nothing
definite, and postponed till the morrow giving any opinion, after
leaving a few directions, which were not executed, the emotions of the
heart causing all bodily cares to be forgotten.

When morning dawned, Clemence had not yet slept. Her mind was absorbed
in the low murmur of a conversation which lasted several hours between
the brothers; but the thickness of the walls allowed no word which could
betray the object of this long conference to reach her ears. Monsieur
Desmarets, the notary, went away at last. The stillness of the night,
and the singular activity of the senses given by powerful emotion,
enabled Clemence to distinguish the scratching of a pen and the
involuntary movements of a person engaged in writing. Those who are
habitually up at night, and who observe the different acoustic effects
produced in absolute silence, know that a slight echo can be readily
perceived in the very places where louder but more equable and continued
murmurs are not distinct. At four o'clock the sound ceased. Clemence
rose, anxious and trembling. Then, with bare feet and without a wrapper,
forgetting her illness and her moist condition, the poor woman opened
the door softly without noise and looked into the next room. She saw her
husband sitting, with a pen in his hand, asleep in his arm-chair. The
candles had burned to the sockets. She slowly advanced and read on an
envelope, already sealed, the words, "This is my will."

She knelt down as if before an open grave and kissed her husband's hand.
He woke instantly.

"Jules, my friend, they grant some days to