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“Standing behind his armchair, as if to defend him against me, were two young women, who looked at me with bold eyes. In their petticoats and morning wrappers, with bare arms, with coal black hair twisted in a knot on the nape of their neck, with embroidered, Oriental slippers, which showed their ankles and silk stockings, they looked like the figures in some symbolical painting, by the side of the dying man. Between the easy-chair and the bed, there was a table covered with a white cloth, on which two plates, two glasses, two forks and two knives, were waiting for the cheese omelette which had been ordered some time before of Melanie.

“My uncle said in a weak, almost breathless, but clear voice:

“‘Good-morning, my child; it is rather late in the day to come and see me; our acquaintanceship will not last long.’ I stammered out, ‘It was not my fault, uncle:’ ‘No; I know that,’ he replied. ‘It is your father and mother’s fault more than yours. How are they?’ ‘Pretty well, thank you. When they heard that you were ill, they sent me to ask after you.’ ‘Ah! Why did they not come themselves?’

“I looked up at the two girls and said gently: ‘It is not their fault if they could not come, uncle. But it would be difficult for my father, and impossible for my mother to come in here.’ The old man did not reply, but raised his hand toward mine, and I took the pale, cold hand and held it in my own.

“The door opened, Melanie came in with the omelette and put it on the table, and the two girls immediately sat down at the table, and began to eat without taking their eyes off me. Then I said: ‘Uncle, it would give great pleasure to my mother to embrace you.’ ‘I also,’ he murmured, ‘should like—-‘ He said no more, and I could think of nothing to propose to him, and there was silence except for the noise of the plates and that vague sound of eating.

“Now, the abbe, who was listening behind the door, seeing our embarrassment, and thinking we had won the game, thought the time had come to interpose, and showed himself. My uncle was so stupefied at sight of him that at first he remained motionless; and then he opened his mouth as if he meant to swallow up the priest, and shouted to him in a strong, deep, furious voice: ‘What are you doing here?’

“The abbe, who was used to difficult situations, came forward into the room, murmuring: ‘I have come in your sister’s name, Monsieur le Marquis; she has sent me. She would be happy, monsieur–‘

“But the marquis was not listening. Raising one hand, he pointed to the door with a proud, tragic gesture, and said angrily and breathing hard: ‘Leave this room–go out–robber of souls. Go out from here, you violator of consciences. Go out from here, you pick-lock of dying men’s doors!’

“The abbe retreated, and I also went to the door, beating a retreat with the priest; the two young women, who had the best of it, got up, leaving their omelette only half eaten, and went and stood on either side of my uncle’s easy-chair, putting their hands on his arms to calm him, and to protect him against the criminal enterprises of the Family, and of Religion.

“The abbe and I rejoined my mother in the kitchen, and Melanie again offered us chairs. ‘I knew quite well that this method would not work; we must try some other means, otherwise he will escape us.’ And they began deliberating afresh, my mother being of one opinion and the abbe of another, while I held a third.

“We had been discussing the matter in a low voice for half an hour, perhaps, when a great noise of furniture being moved and of cries uttered by my uncle, more vehement and terrible even than the former had been, made us all four jump up.