"No, dear mother. Madeleine left Prosper, and—well, bless me! he has tried to console himself, the poor fellow; and such consolations are expensive."
He had lifted the lamp; and gently but with much force pushed Madame Fauvel towards the staircase.
She seemed to be more dumbfounded than when she saw the open safe.
"What," she said, "Prosper a thief?"
She asked herself if she were not the victim of a terrible nightmare; if an awakening would not rid her of this unspeakable torture. She could not control her thoughts, and mechanically, supported by Raoul, she placed her foot on the narrow stairs.
"The key must be returned to the writing-desk," said Raoul, when they reached the bedroom.
She appeared not to hear, and it was Raoul who replaced the key in the box from which he had seen her take it.
He then led or rather carried Madame Fauvel to the little drawing-room where he had found her upon his arrival, and placed her in an easy-chair. The utter prostration of this unhappy woman, her fixed eyes, and her loss of expression, revealed only too well the agony of her mind. Raoul, frightened, asked if she had gone mad?
"Come, mother dear," he said, as he tried to warm her icy hands, "come to yourself. You have saved my life, and we have both rendered a great service to Prosper. Fear nothing: all will come straight. Prosper will be accused, perhaps arrested. He expects that; but he will deny it, and as his guilt cannot be proved, he will be released."
But his lies and his efforts were lost upon Madame Fauvel, who was too distracted to hear them.