"I am sorry I cannot let you in. My servant is out: she has taken the key and locked the door outside."
"You must let me in," the woman continued; "it is absolutely necessary I should speak to you."
"Come to-morrow."
"I leave Paris to-morrow, and I must have those papers to-night."
He again refused, but she spoke firmly and decidedly. "I must come in. The porter said you were all out, but, from the rue des Menetriers I could see the light in your room. My brother is with me, and I left him below. I shall call him if you don't open the door."
"Come in, then," said Derues; "your papers are in the sitting-room. Wait here, and I will fetch them." The woman looked at him and took his hand. "Heavens! how pale you are! What is the matter?"
"Nothing is the matter: will you wait here? "But she would not release his arm, and followed him into the sitting-room, where Derues began to seek hurriedly among the various papers which covered a table. "Here they are," he said; "now you can go."
"Really," said the woman, examining her deeds carefully, "never yet did I see you in such a hurry to give up things which don't belong to you. But do hold that candle steadily; your hand is shaking so that I cannot see to read."
At that moment the silence which prevailed all round was broken by a cry of anguish, a long groan proceeding from the chamber to the right of the sitting-room.
"What is that?" cried the woman. "Surely it is a dying person!"