She herself displayed so little self-control that the physician reprimanded her with considerable severity, whereat her emotion increased, and with her handkerchief pressed to her eyes, she sobbed: “Yes, doctor, yes; you are right; I ought to moderate my grief. But pray, doctor, remove my beloved Marguerite from this scene, which is too terrible for her young and tender heart. Persuade her to retire to her own room, so that she may ask God for strength to bear the misfortune 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.”