"Yes; but in heaven's name, tell me what has happened to Mariette!"
"You have killed her!"
"I—great heavens!"
"And when she is dead, you will provide for me, I suppose?" sneered
Mme. Lacombe.
"Dead!—Mariette dead!" gasped Louis. "It is impossible!—But we must summon a physician, do something—her hands are icy—Mariette! Mariette!" he called wildly. "My God! my God! she does not hear me!"
"And this is all the fault of that letter of yours, you impudent scoundrel!" interposed the old woman fiercely.
"My letter?—what letter?" he asked in astonishment.
"Ah, yes; you will lie about it and deny the whole thing now, of course! But last night the poor child broke down in despair and confessed the whole thing to me."
"But what did she have to confess?"
"That she loved you and you had deserted her for another—"