Lupin, fearing the useless and dangerous words which she was about to utter, seized her by the shoulders and tried to drag her away. But she thrust him back with indomitable strength, took two or three more steps, staggered, as though on the point of falling, and, suddenly, in a burst of energy and despair, laid hold of Prasville and screamed:
“You shall go to the Élysée!... You shall go at once!... You must!... You must save Gilbert!”
“Please, please, my dear friend, calm yourself....”
She gave a strident laugh:
“Calm myself!... When, to-morrow morning, Gilbert.... Ah, no, no, I am terrified . . . it’s appalling.... Oh, run, you wretch, run! Obtain his pardon!... Don’t you understand? Gilbert.... Gilbert is my son! My son! My son!”
Prasville gave a cry. The blade of a knife flashed in Clarisse’s hand and she raised her arm to strike herself. But the movement was not completed. M. Nicole caught her arm in its descent and, taking the knife from Clarisse, reducing her to helplessness, he said, in a voice that rang through the room like steel:
“What you are doing is madness!... When I gave you my oath that I would save him! You must . . . live for him.... Gilbert shall not die.... How can he die, when . . . I gave you my oath?...”
“Gilbert . . . my son . . .” moaned Clarisse.
He clasped her fiercely, drew her against himself and put his hand over her mouth:
“Enough! Be quiet!... I entreat you to be quiet.... Gilbert shall not die....”