“Ah, scoundrel! Miscreant! Wretch! Traitor!” When his vocabulary of vituperation and his breath failed him, he paused and mopped his forehead.
Bondon came a step or two forward.
“I know, monsieur, I have all the wrong on my side. Your anger is justifiable. But I never dreamt of the disastrous effect of my acts. Let me see her, my good M. Bocardon, I beseech you.”
“Let you see her?” said Bocardon, growing purple in the face.
At this moment Zette came running up the passage.
“What is all this noise about?”
“Ah, madame!” cried Bondon, eagerly, “I am heart-broken. You who are so kind—let me see her.”
“Hein?” exclaimed Bocardon, in stupefaction.
“See whom?” asked Zette.
“My dear dead one. My dear Euphémie, who has committed suicide.”