It was Maurice’s room; it was the bed in which Maurice had died, and which Constance with maternal piety had kept unchanged, consecrating the room to her son’s memory.  But what could she say?  How could she prevent Blaise from dying there in his turn, killed by her?

The abomination of it all, the vengeance of destiny which exacted this sacrilege, filled her with such a feeling of revolt that at the moment when vertigo was about to seize her and the flooring began to flee from beneath her feet, she was lashed by it and kept erect.  And then she displayed extraordinary strength, will, and insolent courage.  When the stricken man passed before her, her puny little frame stiffened and grew.  She looked at him, and her yellow face remained motionless, save for a flutter of her eyelids and an involuntary nervous twinge on the left side of her mouth, which forced a slight grimace.  But that was all, and again she became perfect both in words and gesture, doing and saying what was necessary without lavishness, but like one simply thunderstruck by the suddenness of the catastrophe.

However, the orders had been carried out in the bedroom, and the bearers withdrew greatly upset.  Down below, directly the accident had been discovered, old Moineaud had been told to take a cab and hasten to Dr. Boutan’s to bring him back with a surgeon, if one could be found on the way.

“All the same, I prefer to have him here rather than in the basement,” Beauchene repeated mechanically as he stood before the bed.  “He still breathes.  There! see, it is quite apparent.  Who knows?  Perhaps Boutan may be able to pull him through, after all.”

Denis, however, entertained no illusions.  He had taken one of his brother’s cold yielding hands in his own and he could feel that it was again becoming a mere thing, as if broken, wrenched away from life in that great fall.  For a moment he remained motionless beside the death-bed, with the mad hope they he might, perhaps, by his clasp infuse a little of the blood in his own heart into the veins of the dying man.  Was not that blood common to them both?  Had not their twin brotherhood drunk life from the same source?  It was the other half of himself that was about to die.  Down below, after raising a loud cry of heartrending distress, he had said nothing.  Now all at once he spoke.

“One must go to Ambroise’s to warn my mother and father.  Since he still breathes, perhaps they will arrive soon enough to embrace him.”

“Shall I go to fetch them?” Beauchene good-naturedly inquired.

“No, no! thanks.  I did at first think of asking that service of you, but I have reflected.  Nobody but myself can break this horrible news to mamma.  And nothing must be done as yet with regard to Charlotte.  We will see about that by and by, when I come back.  I only hope that death will have a little patience, so that I may find my poor brother still alive.”

He leant forward and kissed Blaise, who with his eyes closed remained motionless, still breathing faintly.  Then distractedly Denis printed another kiss upon his hand and hurried off.