'But the woman!' exclaimed Pauline. 'She has been attended to all right, I suppose, since Madame Bouland has been able to come with you?'
Lazare's voice trembled as he replied hoarsely:
'The woman is dead.'
They went into the hall, which was dimly lighted by a candle placed on the stairs. There was an interval of silence while Madame Bouland hung up her cloak. She was a short, dark woman, very thin, and as yellow as a lemon, with a large prominent nose. She spoke loudly, and had an extremely authoritative manner, which caused her to be much respected by the peasantry.
'Will you be good enough to follow me?' Pauline said to her. 'I have been quite at a loss to know what to do; she has never ceased complaining since the beginning of the evening.'
Louise still stood before a chest of drawers in her room, pawing the floor with her feet. She burst into tears as soon as she saw Madame Bouland, who forthwith began to question her. But the young wife turned a glance of entreaty towards Pauline, which the latter well understood. She therefore led Lazare from the room, and they both remained on the landing, unable to take themselves further away. The candle, which was still burning below, threw a dim light, broken by weird shadows, up the stairs, and the two cousins stood, Lazare leaning against the wall and Pauline against the banisters, gazing at each other in motionless silence. They strained their ears to catch the sounds that came from Louise's room; and when Madame Bouland at last opened the door they would have entered, but she pushed them back, came out, and closed the door behind her.
'Well?' Pauline murmured.
She signed to them to go downstairs, and it was not till they had reached the ground floor that she opened her mouth. It was a premature and very difficult case.
'It seems likely to be extremely serious,' she said. 'It is my duty to warn the family.'
Lazare turned pale. An icy breath passed over his brow. Then in stammering accents he asked for particulars.