"I cannot,—I cannot—"
The maid had come back bringing a druggist's bottle which Servigny opened and from which he poured out half upon a handkerchief. Then he applied it to Yvette's nose, causing her to choke.
"Good, she breathes," said he. "It will be nothing."
And he bathed her temples, cheeks, and neck with the pungent liquid.
Then he made a sign to the maid to unlace the girl, and when she had nothing more on than a skirt over her chemise, he raised her in his arms and carried her to the bed, quivering, moved by the odor and contact of her flesh. Then she was placed in bed. He arose very pale.
"She will come to herself," he said, "it is nothing." For he had heard her breathe in a continuous and regular way. But seeing all the men with their eyes fixed on Yvette in bed, he was seized with a jealous irritation, and advanced toward them. "Gentlemen," he said, "there are too many of us in this room; be kind enough to leave us alone,—Monsieur Saval and me—with the Marquise."
He spoke in a tone which was dry and full of authority.
Madame Obardi had grasped her lover, and with her head uplifted toward him she cried to him:
"Save her, oh, save her!"
But Servigny turning around saw a letter on the table. He seized it with a rapid movement, and read the address. He understood and thought: "Perhaps it would be better if the Marquise should not know of this," and tearing open the envelope, he devoured at a glance the two lines it contained: